#Pub Ken | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovifie · 18 days

Note

Price had a young girlfriend and did not tell anybody until he decided to get married...

He probably didn't tell them until the night before the wedding…He asked them to come over for a little celebration and everyone expected a middle-aged woman. But when they saw a girl in her mid-20s opening the door with Price they were shocked

Soap probably even asked if she's his stepdaughter LOL

Hey, love!! 💗💗

I wrote you a little something...

I hope you like it 💗

❤️Mr. & Mrs. Price❤️

Masterlist

They were having a pint at a pub close to base when he told them.

“I'm getting married next Saturday, you have the weekend free, so drop by so I can introduce you to the missus.”

Now, Ghost wasn't surprised he didn't know about his captain having a girlfriend, let alone a relationship serious enough to talk about marriage. What surprised Ghost was that neither Soap nor Gaz knew about it.

“Married?!” Gaz asked, loud enough to make some people turn their heads.

Price furrows his eyebrow, surprised by the reaction as if he had just told them about what he's having from breakfast.

“I didnae ken ye had a pretty bird waiting for ye at home, Captain!” Soap says, just as loud.

“Yeah, I have for a couple of years now.” Price simply answers, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a sip.

“A couple of years?!” The three men ask in unison like a bad comedic joke.

A chain of questions starts to unravel, curiosity for the mysterious woman pouring out; but Price waves his hand shutting them up. “No point in that, you are meeting her this weekend, easier that way”

They begrudgingly agree, keeping to themselves the mental image of the possible woman. She must be around Price's age, so between 40 and 50 years old; knowing how little the man likes to go out they probably met at work so she must be military too. Stern woman.

Price tells them that is something minor, the close family and a bunch of friends; that they can join at the reception at his house and to dress nicely.

“No ghost mask.” He chastises the man pointing at him. “I don't want work involved, alright?”

During the week until the wedding, they keep thinking about her, about how she must look like, her personality, her age, her eye colour.

“What do you think she'll look like?”

“In my mind, she's like Laswell… but being into men.”

And out of every possibility and different mental image, the last thing they expected was the pretty thing that opened the door for them on Saturday.

Pretty little thing, around 25 years old, with the kindest smile on her face even when looking at the three giants on her doorframe, flowy white dress, little hair strands framing her cute face with the rest of it gathered up in an intricate updo in the back hold together with shiny pins and a silky bow.

“Oh, you must be John's friends.” You say, voice sweet as an angel. “Please, come in, don't just stand there. I'm gonna go get him, be back in a second”

You step back, holding the door open for them, inviting them in and once inside you close the door, walking past them to reach their captain who is looking in the opposite direction, talking to somebody else.

“That must be the stepdaughter… right?” Soap asks what all of them are thinking.

They stare as you walk up to Price, placing your hand on his lower back making him turn to look at you; a wide smile appearing immediately. He leans forward, his arm moving behind your shoulder and his hand keeping your jaw in place as he kisses you.

Lips crashing against yours, closing his eyes and letting his tongue into your mouth tasting the champagne you were drinking just a moment ago. A passionate, sloppy kiss that would make a maiden blush at the impropriety of it even for the newlyweds.

“Mate, I sure fucking hope she's not.” Gaz answers after a moment.

The two of you finally pull back, telling Price about his friends arriving and he looks behind you to see them. He smiles, not as wide as when he looked at you, and gives you a quick peck before walking to the door.

“Welcome, lads. Thank you for coming.” He says simply, crossing his arms and looking proud. You appear from behind him, hand resting on his arm slightly leaning to his side.

“Do you want anything to drink? To eat?” You ask softly, love pouring out of Price's eyes as he looks down on you.

“I'll help you.” Ghost says, a curl of his lips you could identify as a smile if you wanted to. And once the captain is left with the sergeants, the attack starts.

“How does an old churl like you manages to get a pretty thing like her?”

“Where do you even meet a doll like her?”

“How many years have you exactly been dating for?”

Ghost clears his throat when he turns around the corner on his way back, with you chirping on his side about how happy you are to finally meet them. He has a more natural smile on his face now, clearly infected with your enthusiasm.

Price finally introduces you to them, exchanging everyone's name. You hug both the sergeants and shake Ghost's hand, the man glad that you made the observation of his lack of appreciation towards body contact.

After a little chat, you excuse yourself; promising to get back in a while wanting to talk to your own friends still waiting around the room. It leaves Price on his own and that's when he tells the nosy men how he met you.

You were his neighbour, sharing half the walls of the old flat he house to live in before moving in together. How he introduced himself to you one day when he saw you leaving your house, how he told you he was military so you wouldn't freak out if you saw him in the middle of the night or suddenly disappeared for months, how after a specially long deployment he got back and you dropped by hours later with a bunch of tupperwares with homemade food “I assumed you would be tired, it's nothing special but I'll save you the hustle of cooking”, about how he had wanted to marry you ever since, how he gave you the tupperwares back one by one so he had more reasons to talk to you, how he finally asked you out with the last one and how after that it all was easy between you two.

The four of them swiftly move to sit down on the kitchen table, Price still telling them everything about you and the relationship. Ghost is just as invested as the other two, trying to play it off as polite interest. Slowly and smoothly people leave the house as the day goes by, the sun having set a couple of hours ago; and you walk into the kitchen, sitting on Price's lap with a sigh.

“I know it isn't proper of a good host, but these shoes are killing me.” You announce looking at the three men as you bend down and take them off, a sigh of comfort leaving your mouth as you lean back on Price. “I'm also sure you have endurance worse than some stinky feet.” You joke with a tiny chuckle making them smile.

“Everyone gone, darling?” Price asks, his hands resting on your lap as you nod smiling. He looks up to the boys as he says. “Better to tidy up then”

“Jonathan Price, don't be rude!” You exclaim looking at him. “They are your friends and there are more than enough rooms for them if they want to spend the night. They have been drinking too!”

“Mrs. Price.” John says with a teasing tone, standing up and helping you stand. “Talk to me for a second, love.”

Price bends down to pick your shoes up, holding your hand to walk you to the living room. They hear the two of you whispering back and forth, then silence and lastly the unmistakable sound of kisses. They peak behind the door, managing to see you sitting in the backrest of the sofa with Price standing between your legs, grinding his hips against yours. You moan softly against his lips, before pulling back and whispering something they can't make out; Price pulls back as well and they sit back on their chairs.

Price walks in just a second later. “Lads… thank you for coming, I'll see you when I'm back from the honeymoon, now… OUT!” He barks the last word making Soap chuckle as they all finish their drink in a gulp and start to walk out of the house, congratulating Price on the marriage and walking out one by one; meanwhile, you remain completely out of sight for them.

“They gone?” You ask for the top of the stairs, looking at Price with a smile.

“Yep.” Price says locking the door.

“You didn't have to kick them out like that, though.” You say cocking your head with a smile.

“Oh, yes, I did.” He says, turning around to start to walk up the stairs.

“Why? Afraid they might join?” You say winking at him, making him laugh before he throws you over his shoulder making you shriek.

“Wouldn't you like that, you little minx!” He jokes, landing a smack on your asscheek.

You gasp dramatically holding onto his clothes. “It's Mrs. Price to you, young man.”

He chuckles, making your body shake, before he throws you down on the bed; him instantly crawling on top of you.

“Who's your husband, darling?”

“You, Mr. Price.”

TagList: @waiting-so-long @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadow24 @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @crashtestbunny @sodavrr

#young price my beloved #call of duty #cod #captain john price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #price x reader #cod x reader #price #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty x reader

2K notes · View notes

jointherebellion215 · 1 month

Text

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile….

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

261 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 18 days

Note

thinking about how johnny asks moon to be his wife as soon as they meet 😭

i just wanna know so bad how would the guys react if their lil crush actually agreed

like soap asks moon for her hand in marriage and shes just like ok sure

actual marriage or does soap just go straight to dating status instead

You give that man an inch and he'll take a mile.

Soap spots you for the second time in as many weeks across the bar. The only decent pub near campus, and thus the only place he and the 141 scurry off to. Apparently the only place you know to hide out as well. He feels a little guilty abandoning his mates, but they'll understand. (Understand that he's pining and you're smart enough to know better) Again you don't even look up when he takes the seat next to you.

"Tennessee," He greets, tapping the bar for a pint. You glance at him with a sigh.

"Doctor," You correct, and he can't help the smile that takes over his face. You're just so pretty, sweet little accent and round vowels making him want to pinch you.

"Mrs. Mactavish," He offers instead. You roll your eyes and sip your drink. Not beer this time, it's a short glass with neat amber liquid tipping against the side. "Whiskey?"

"Bourbon," You mumble.

"You'd get on with Ghost, couple of good ol' boys," Soap mutters, giving a half hearted sniff at the offending liquid. You smile against the rim of your glass, your teeth catching the edge in a way that Soap can't help but find charming. It's like you're trying to hide that he could have any affect on you.

"Maybe I should be talking to him instead," You set your glass down, glancing around the bar. Something in Soap's chest burns, his ears hot as he settles a hand on your knee and leans close to catch your eye.

"Ah saw ya first," He tips his head, watching the way you lean back to avoid bumping him, pretty thing, pretty pretty thing, "Ah dinnae ken if ah could give ya up."

You hum, pluck his hand off your knee and set it on the bar. Those few seconds of holding your hand leave him wanting, every spare molecule of your touch buzzing when you let him go. "I'm not interested in dating coworkers," You tell him firmly.

"Was thinkin' of somethin' closer to marriage actually."

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes Soap want to shiver. Oh you stupid pretty thing, you don't believe him do you? "That's funny, you're funny," You signal for the bartender to refill your glass. Soap raises his fingers to double it.

"What's funny about it?" He leans against the bar, crowding you in to your seat, forcing you to keep your attention on him.

"You wantin' to marry me." Your voice raises ever so slightly at the end, question as much as statement. He wonders if you believe your own doubts, or if you're just that used to shooting people down. Soap tips his head, and you mirror the motion, your fingers grip your glass and bring the recently refilled amber to your lips. Soap traces the path of your tongue over your lips, the way you catch each drop of bourbon without so much as a flinch, his eyes trained on the motion with reverence.

"You want me to get on one knee?" He offers. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes, back to sipping your drink and ignoring him. It almost gives him an idea. "How many of those are you havin' tonight?" He nods at your glass as you settle it on the bar.

It takes a lot to get you drunk, a fact you're particularly proud of, but that also means once you're there it takes very little to start making terrible decisions.

Your head is pounding when you wake up. You ignore that the sheets feel funny in favor of rubbing your fingers against your eyes. A quick wince when you bump something metal makes you draw your hand away to inspect the ring on your finger. A diamond bracketed by two rubies. Gold. You don't wear gold.

"What the fuck?" You mumble, trying to piece together the gap of memory you have in your night. Johnny pops his head into the bedroom and gives you a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to manage anger around the splitting headache. You sit up, or attempt to, as he saunters into the room, and just as quickly grab the sheets to pull them back up over your bare chest.

"Please tell me we didn't fuck," You grit, closing your eyes against the sunshine he draws into the room.

"Course not," Johnny's fingers find your jaw, tipping your head back, "wouldnae take advantage of ya like tha'." You keep your eyes shut tight even as relief courses through you. God you can't think of anything worse than sleeping with your coworker before the semester has even started. "Did get married though," Johnny fills in, giving you a peck of a kiss before pulling away, "be careful with the ring, yeah? Family heirloom an' all that."

Ok. One thing worse than sleeping with your coworker before the semester has started.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #professor au #oc: moon

311 notes · View notes

skele-ghost · 20 days

Text

Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 4

Welcome to: (Y/N) doesn’t know anything!

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse, dangerous situation, crowds, allusion to r*pe/sexual harassment/assault, heats, stranger danger

Masterlist

It doesn’t take them long to figure out that (Y/N) (L/N) has no idea what courting is.

She’s a beta, sure, and betas haven’t always been courted in the same fashion as omegas or even alphas. But that had changed in the modern age—even Gaz was courted by Price, and König made it a point to give just as much attention to Gaz as Soap while he was courting into the pack.

To be completely fair, they hadn’t yet asked to court her officially. Normally there’s this sort of pre-courting process, flirting and dates and smaller gifts, almost like a hint or a heads up before the formal ask.

Even so, the flirting went right over her head. She would laugh along, joke, tease back—but when someone compliemented her, really called her beautiful—she would blush, say ‘thank you,’ clear her throat and pick up the conversation where it had left of.

They would have thought she was turning them down, if not for her genuine confusion over the courting gifts.

Soap, the good omega he is, offered her a blanket from his nest. An awfully profound gift that spoke volumes, an item from an omega’s safe and private space, doused with the scent from each pack member.

“Oh, but this is one for your favorites,” she frowns, holding the ball of fabric in her arms.

“I ken. It’s the warmest one, too,” Johnny beams at her.

“You don’t want it?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I want you to have it, angel,” he insists.

“Are you sure?” She asks as if he’s a child picking out a flavor of ice cream she knows he doesn’t like. “Because you know I have that big quilt my mama made me—“

“(Y/N), come on,” he laughs nervously, tamping down his growing fear of rejection. “It’s a gift. From me to you.”

She eyes him skeptically, looking at the blanket for a moment. “Alright. But no take-backs,” she jokes. “Thanks, MacTavish!”

And then she just leaves him standing there, a slight hop in her step as she walks down the hall towards the barracks.

Ghost, who had been listening the whole time from an adjourning room, takes to Soap’s side.

“The fuck was that?”

“I ‘ave no fuckin’ clue.”

Maybe it was a bad first gift, in retrospect. Betas didn’t have the same noses as the other designations. She might not be able to smell their scents on it at all. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

They keep trying. König takes her out to lunch, only to come back disappointed because she took the opportunity to talk about her favorite TV show and he couldn’t get a single word in. Not that he had the desire to stop her when her eyes were alight with excitement.

Ghost left her one of his hoodies, draping it over her duffel—and she gave it back to him the next day, thinking he’d put it with her things by mistake.

Gaz gets her a hat with the task force’s insignia…and she looses it the next day to a windstorm. She apologizes profusely, of course, but even with his arm slung over her shoulders, even when he presses a kiss to her temple, telling her it’s no big deal—she just doesn’t get it.

The last time they tried was a month prior, two weeks before the Mexico mission. They invited her out to the pub, adamant that they’d really lay on the flirting, sure that they’d finally get her to understand.

To say it was a disaster would be an understatement.

—

You and Soap head out early, something about getting a table before the pub’s too crowded. The sun periodically casts a golden glow on the buildings when it peeks out from behind the clouds, signaling sunset as the shadows get longer.

You two hold idle conversation, talking about work, mostly. It had been a busy, hectic week, hacking into cartel servers and pinpointing locations.

Every once in a while you bump shoulders to avoid other pedestrians. It makes you realize that some people are staring. Your brow furrows as you follow their gazes, mostly focused on Soap. He does seem a little less energetic than usual. A little less talkative, considering that you were carrying the entire conversation. His cheeks are flushed, but it’s been a hot summer.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, head tilted up to look at him properly.

“Yeah. ‘S just hot,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“It’s just 80,” you reply, not completely convinced.

“Fahrenheit. How hot does it get back home?”

“We always get a couple of 100° days in the middle of summer—“

Someone bumps into him lightly, but it sends Soap stumbling. You catch onto his arm and stabilize him, finally noting how hot his skin is.

“Jesus! I think you’re getting heat stroke or somethin,’” you gasp, and he leans on you for support.

“I jus’ needta siddown. Pub’s there,” he points and you have no choice but to go. You try your best to ignore the stares from onlookers as you drag him along with you. They look concerned and it doesn’t help your hammering heart.

You decide that just sitting down won’t be helpful, considering that the sweltering pub isn’t even air conditioned. So you shove past strangers, muttering excuses and apologies, and take him into the women’s bathroom with you. It’s empty and there’s a lock on the inside of the door that you bolt.

“Just lean here for a sec,” you instruct him, leaning him against the wall instead of on your shoulder. You quickly take off your shirt, thankful for the tank top underneath, and soak it with cold water from the sink.

A groan of discomfort has your attention turning back to Soap, just to see him slide down the wall and onto the floor, sitting and plastering himself against the tiled wall.

“MacTavish! You have any idea how many diseases are probably on this floor?!” You curse, guiding his cheek from the wall, wiping his face with the cool cloth.

He chuckles, “yer so cute when you get that furrow in your brow.”

You just purse your lips, keeping the cloth against his jugular while you pull your phone out with your free hand, navigating to the dial pad.

He grabs your wrist. “Call Ghost.”

“I’m calling the police, you need to go to the hospital—“

“Call Simon. That’s an order,” he says, his tone serious although his eyes are half-lidded, cerulean focused on you.

You frown. Technically, he doesn’t have the authority to order you around. On the other hand, if Soap MacTavish was telling you to not call the police, then you weren’t going to.

“Fine.”

You dial the number and return to the sink, soaking it with cool water while the phone rings. It picks up on the second chime.

“What?” Ghost answers gruffly.

“Something’s wrong with Johnny,” you say, wringing out your shirt of excess water.

“What d’you mean? He alright?”

You set the phone on the edge of the sink and put it on speaker phone, kneeling next to your teammate once more.

“I-I don’t know— He all sweaty, his skin’s on fire. I think he’s got heatstroke, I should take him to the hospital—“

“Calm down. Where are you?”

“The bar, the lady’s room,” you say quickly, watching as Soap’s face contorts into anguish, tears spilling past his waterline.

“Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone, understand?”

“It’s locked—“

“Simon,” Soap whines, a whimper following a moment later. You gently shush him, wiping the tears from his face as they come.

“‘S alright, Johnny. Gonna be there soon, you’re gonna be fine,” Ghost soothes on the other end, his voice not losing its softness as he continues. “(Y/N), we’re almost there, darlin. You have somethin’ to defend yourself with?”

“I-I got mace, why?” You stammer, mind reeling with what the hell he could be talking about.

“Almost there. You use it if you need it, okay?”

“I—okay,” you agree, letting Soap pull you closer, his arm snaked around your waist.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the pounds on the door. “Hey! You can’t have him in here like that!” A man shouts on the other side.

“Don’t talk to ‘im,” Ghost instructs just as you open your mouth to speak.

The door shakes with the force of the pounding. “Hey! You hear me, you little—“

You don’t even hear the call hang up as there’s a muted thud from outside. You reach for your mace.

There’s a curt rap of knuckles on the door. “(Y/N)?” You feel your fear dissipate at the sound of Ghost’s voice, “you can open the door now, lovie.”

You have to wrench Soap’s arm off of you to get up and unlock the door. Ghost enters as soon as there’s enough room, no hesitation as he rushes past you and kneels by Soap’s side.

“He just got sick all of the sudden, I don’t know why—one minute he was fine and the next he was all hot. He was fine on the subway, I don’t understand—“ you ramble, only stopping when a hand on your shoulder startles you.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), he’ll be okay,” Gaz reassures you, his presence a comfort of its own. “You did everything right.”

You just nod, watching as Ghost lifts Soap (who seems to have calmed down quite a bit) into his arms and carries him out of the room. The back hallway of the bar is just barely large enough to fit your entire team.

König stands guard at one end but immediately abandons his post when Ghost calls for him, his eyes something dark like you’ve never seen—not that he even seems to see you. They exit the back door where a car’s already waiting in the alley.

The only thing stopping you from following is the captain, his hold on your upper arm keeping you back.

“We’re not going?” You ask, brow furrowed as you watch the door close.

“No, we’ll catch up with them later,” Price says, ushering you and Gaz out of the same back door; the car’s already gone.

“Where—they’re taking him to the hospital, right? I think he’s hyperthermic.”

“It’s just a fever, (Y/N), Johnny’ll be right as rain in a day or two,” Gaz soothes, maneuvering you to walk between him and the captain as you start down the alley.

“It’s happened before?” You ask, shocked.

“Happens four times a year,” Price informs you, a knit in his brow.

“Four tim—what, like every season? That’s so bizarre! What is it?”

“(Y/N)…He’s an omega. It’s a heat,” Price says.

“Ohhhhhh,” you say intelligently, your eyes widening. It certainly silences you, makes all of the pieces click into place—most of them.

You thought heats were only once a year. That’s what your cousin had said, at least. But it doesn’t explain why that guy at the door was so angry, or why Soap didn’t want you to call the police.

It confuses the hell out of you, but in the silence on the walk back and in the metro system, you decide it’s probably better that you don’t know.

You’ve heard some of the horror stories: how omegas used to be treated. How some of them are still treated. A knot forms in your stomach at the thought that someone would want to do that kind of harm to Johnny—at the realization that you were the only thing standing between him and cruelty.

What if the team hadn’t been there in time?

A/N: Hello! I hope this chapter gives more insight into the 141 + (Y/N)’s relationship before she presented. It should also explain why the boys were so angry at first when she presented—they thought that she had been lying this whole time, pretending not to know about designations and such. Furthermore, in my humble version of the Omegaverse, suppressants can take away scents and the ability to detect scents. Let me know if you have any questions!

#cod x reader #task force 141 #cod mw2 #cod omegaverse #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #cod soap #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #konig cod #cod konig #poly 141 #141 x reader #tf 141 #baby it’s hot outside

176 notes · View notes

flawdchaos · 1 month

Text

Opposites Do Attract

Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven x Reader

Word Count - 915

Based off of this request - Can I request a Buck x reader, where the reader is very extroverted, maybe even the opposite of Buck, but they fit so well together. They could be going out for drinks or her meeting the boys or something similar.

Anyone who met Buck Cleven and Y/N Y/L/N at Thorpe Abbotts shared a common thought - they were an unexpected pair. It had become all too common for the newcomers to assume Y/N was with Bucky with her loud, bubbly energy and it almost seemed brash for cool, calm, collected Buck to be with Ken Lemmons loudest female mechanic but damn, did it work. They had met one morning as Y/N was going over some last minute inspections on Buck’s plane for his daily missions.

“How’s she looking, ma’am?” his voice startled her, her head hitting against the plane’s metal.

“Good lord!” she exclaimed. “Give a girl a warning before you sneak up like that.” she complained, rubbing the back of her head. She fully stepped from under the plane's wings and caught a glimpse of the man behind the voice. Her eyes widened once she noticed a Major was standing before her awaiting her response. “Major Cleven” right hand flying to her forehead to salute “Plane is all ready, sir.”

“No need to salute, ma’am. Thank you for taking such good care of her. I put her through hell.” Buck spoke as he opened the plane’s hatch to stow his bag and she couldn’t stop the scoff that left her mouth. “I think that’s an understatement, sir.”

Most of the guys probably wouldn’t have taken this kind of attitude, per se, from a mechanic - let alone a woman- but he couldn’t care less. The sight of her almost made him want to laugh. There she stood, hip jutted out and hand secured atop it, eyes squinting up at him most likely awaiting some sort of angry remark but all he could do was shuffle the toothpick around in his mouth and nod in agreement. “I’ll be waiting to fix her right back up for ya later, Major.”

The couple had been sealed since. When Buck finally caved and spilled the beans about a woman to Bucky, he thought John was going to have a medical emergency right there in the mess hall.

“You have a woman and you just now think to bring it up?” Bucky said, astonished. “I didn’t want you to scare her away.” Buck quipped. If he only knew.

“Well.” Bucky clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. “When am I gonna meet this mysterious young lady?” he urged, squeezing his hands down before an idea crossed his mind “Bring her to the pub tomorrow!”

______

If Buck could have taken a picture of the looks on the boys’ faces when he walked in with Y/N on his arm, he would have framed it and taken it with him on every flight he ventured out on. “Well I’ll be damned, Buck.” Bucky uttered, for once in his life he was almost speechless. Almost.

“I’d suggest you pick your jaw up off the floor, Major. I’d sure hate for you to swallow a bug.” She teased and the entire table erupted in laughter. Buck couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his own face, a sense of pride soaring through his body. Bucky took a long swig of his drink before retorting. “Seems you’ve got yourself a jokester, Buck.” He nodded. “She’s a little more than that.”

“Wait, ain’t you the girl who works with Lemmons?” Blakely spoke, realization washing over the faces of a few of the men. “Yeah! You’re the girl who fixed my landing gear the other day.” Brady sat up, pointing at the girl standing firm besides Buck.

“You’re welcome by the way.” she waved her hand towards him. “Actually, everyone is welcome. You can thank me for getting you up in the air in the first place. Now I’m getting a drink. Keep the gossip to a minimum while I’m gone, now.” She turned, patting Buck on the chest. “You want something, baby?” looking up at her doe eyed boyfriend. “Just a Coke for me, honey.” She jokingly saluted, walking off towards the bar.

____

Buck had full confidence Y/N would fit in with his crew of men. Whether most of them had realized it before or not, she was the sole reason they were able to make it off the ground in the first place. He couldn’t help but say it almost made his heart swell with pride watching her interact with his friends. “Should I sing?” Bucky’s voice broke through his train of thought, hands tapping against his arm chair. There wasn’t time for him to protest before Y/N jumped up from her place on his lap. “Let’s go, Bucky!” Y/N’s laughed.

He couldn’t explain the feeling that was coursing through his body but as he watched his best friend - more so a brother at this point - and his newfound love sharing a laugh together over the less than perfect singing, he only grew more confident in his relationship. Many would describe Buck Cleven as a many of very little words but if anyone asked about Y/N, his Y/N, he didn’t think there were enough words in the dictionary to explain just how he felt.

Once the song stopped and the singing duo had left the stage, Buck watched as Y/N headed to the bar and Bucky made his way back to him.

“Buck, I gotta say -“ pausing to take a drink of his whisky. “You’ve found yourself a keeper. You two couldn’t be any more opposite but man, does it work.”

#masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #anthony boyle #gale cleven #john egan #masters of the air imagines #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #gale cleven x reader #buck cleven x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader

269 notes · View notes

precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

Text

not to aestheticize a working class man clawing to get employment during the worst economic crash ever but…

#🩰🎀🍒🥇#something about black and white y’all should know is that it’ll send me everytime #something about that shirt and torn trousers and those forearms too are mighty effective #and also #Callum Turner #and his oak trunk thighs #joe rantz #boys in the boat #bts #masters of the air #Pub Ken

140 notes · View notes

spectrerie · 1 year

Text

Would you let me go? Even if I asked you to

Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader.

Requested by my awesome mutual @lululandd

Part One. ~ 3k words.

Simon meets a young woman on a night out with the 141 ft. Los Vaqueros. He's drawn to protect her and when she needs him, he makes a promise he's not sure he can keep. With one war over another begins, and his task: Protecting you, no matter what it takes.

POV alternates between Ghost and the Reader.

this is a stalker fic where Ghost watches over the reader and discovers that he's not the only one doing so. Eliminate the hostiles and fulfil his mission. Easy. Right?

TW: Stalking, kidnapping, murder, extreme depictions of violence, swearing and foul language, threats, minor character death. Possessive!Simon, Toxic!Simon

Additional parts to come, with additional warnings. This is just a general TW for the whole fic

“I swear lads, I swear I thought I was gonna die of laughter if he didn’t kill me first!” Drinks sloshed and laughter rang out around them as Gaz recounted some sage, albeit dodgy, advice Price had given him.

A night out with the 141 and two of the friends they’d made along the way was long overdue. The weeks of blood, sweat, and smoke had taken its toll on them. Killing came with a a cost, and they paid it gladly. For their countries, for the world. For themselves.

Life in battle was easy, everything came down to friend or foe. Friends were hard to make, and the latter easy to dispose of. Usually. Killing could be easy, if they let it be. If that made them bad people so be it, they’d be bad to keep the balance. But not tonight.

Tonight donned in their civvies they occupied a corner booth of a hole in the wall pub, a town away from the barracks. It was their last night all together, one of their first nights all safe. Before the Cowboys went back home to fight another day. Before Soap went back to Scotland to see the country he missed dearly. And before Ghost and Gaz went back to their corners of England. Before Ghost crawled back to the barracks, to the only life he knew how to live.

“Ah, will ye fuck off, ‘e didnae say that! ‘ E’s been up te his oxters in work.” Soap barked out as he clutched his sides. The group waited with baited breath, stifling peals of laughter as they waited for Ghost’s response.

“Christ, Johnny. In English?” The stoic blonde said from across the table.

“Eh? D’ye no ken what I’m sayin’ L.t? That was bloody English.” Soap whined back as he closed his bleary eyes. The first of the laughs began to eek out. When he opened them the blonde Lieutenant was staring back at him with his dark eyes. “Gaun'ae no dae that? That was bloody English! Fine. ’Oh emm gee, he did not say that. He has like totally been up to his armpits with work!’ THERE!” Johnny shouted back in a mock American accent.

The group fell about themselves with laughter as Simon shook his head slowly.

They needed this. This release. There’d been other nights for tears, for recalling the horrors they’d seen over the months, but not tonight. Tonight was only for good things. For accents coming out too thick, for drinking too much knowing you were in safe company, for friendship.

Ghost stood and pulled his dark cap lower, casting a shadow over his face. “Same orders, yeah?” He asked the group and he walked out of the booth. He had to good sense to leave the mask at home. Or so they thought. He had it folded in the inner pocket of his jacket, his armour against the world.

“I’ll have a Dom Perignon if you’re buying, whole bottle please.” Called out Gaz as Alejandro poured him another shot of earthy Tequila.

Ghost shook his head and huffed out a low laugh, chasing tequila with pints. They were clever chaps, weren’t they?

As he made his way across the bar, the din of dozens of conversations hushed as he walked by, the packed room parting in his wake. He cut an intimidating figure. Six foot two, almost six four in this heavy dark boots. A myriad of faded scars dusting his jaw and hands, the only part of him easily visible. The brightest thing about him was his blonde hair, neatly tucked away from prying eyes. He didn’t need the mask tonight. His crew knew his face, and no one in the pub could bring themselves to look at it, averting their eyes sheepishly as he moved by them. At most people glance up at the top of his head in awe, surveying the space he took up with his sheer bulk and height. He didn’t need to be Ghost. Not here.

He placed a hand on the bar and slid in, eliciting no complaints from the other patrons. What could they have said? Move? That’d be the day.

— — —

“So you’re not going crack a smile, baby? I thought that was a pretty good one.” The drunken lout beside you laughed in your face, the smell of hops, stale cigarettes and chips blowing at you.

“Ha. Ha.” You said dryly. Turning your attention to the bartender trying to get drinks for you and your ever-late friend. You felt an overly warm, sticky hand slide around your waist, tugging you back towards him. “Alright then, you tell me a joke, if I’m no good at ‘em.”

“I’d rather not, sorry.” You said with a terse smile, eyes drifting back to the bartender hoping to catch his eye.

“Okay, okay, let’s play a new game if you don’t like jokes. If I guess your name you buy me a pint, but if you tell me now I’ll buy you one.” He winked at you, or rather he tried to.

“How about I tell you and you go away?” You asked, before barking out your name and turning away, though his grip on you tightened.

“Oi, mate. Two Coronas, three lagers. Whatever’s easy, yeah?”

A low voice beside you called out to the bartender you’d been playing a one sided game of cat and mouse with.

“Is Carling alright?” The bartender’s attention went straight to the owner of the voice beside you, as did yours. You were about to tell him you’d been here first, as you looked up and you were met not with a face, but the middle of a wide set of shoulders. Was this a man or a mountain?

“Excuse m-“ craning your neck up you caught a glimpse of a face and your protests died on your lips. The giant was handsome. In a rugged, cold sort of way, but handsome nonetheless. He cast a glance in your direction that turned cold quickly. All the heat of your body pooled at the bottom of your stomach, you didn’t even notice the arm around your waist had dropped immediately.

“Hmm?” He grumbled in way of a prompt.

“Uhh, I was— I was just going to say I’ve been waiting.”

“I don’t know you.” He said curtly. A normal person would ask ‘do I know you?’, or rather a normal person would understand basic bar etiquette. Though it seemed this man had no need for niceties.

“Well no, I was waiting to order my drinks. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners?” You said, letting go of your decorum. Two could play at this game. You’d had enough of men thinking they could have whatever they wanted.

“What?” He said, turning away from the bartender. Your bravado dissipated as quickly as you’d found it. You felt your eyes grow round in shock and a heat creep up your neck to your face.

“I just-“ your sentence was cut off by a low laugh from him as he said “What, as in what were you going to order?”

“Ah… just two ciders, sorry.” Fuck. Where had all your confidence gone, he wasn’t going to hit you for teaching him manners.

His gaze grew cold again, well maybe he was.

“You let your girl do all the talking, do you?” He said, seemingly to the man who’d been pestering you for the better part of your evening thus far.

“I’m not his anything.” You said before the man behind you had a chance to speak.

The handsome one turned away from you again, “And two ciders, cheers.” He said to the bartender. When the man behind the bar asked what sort he angled himself back to you again, you sheepishly pointed to the tap of your choosing and said your thanks quietly.

You heard your name from the pest behind you and ignored it, watching the bartender pull your pints along with those of the only person at the bar you had any interest in.

“Fine then, be a bitch.” The man huffed and walked away, you only knew because your new companion’s eyes watched him closely as he left. Tracking him through the crowd. Something about him made your skin tingle. Made the hairs on your body stand. There was an edge to him that scared you.

“Sorry about him” you said at the same time, eliciting a laugh from you both.

“So, you planning on neckin’ two pints or are you waiting on someone?” He asked as he slid his card over to the barman.

“Oh, no you don’t have to pay for these. Please, let me ge-“

“Think of them as payment, for tonight's lesson. Anyway, are you alone?”

“Oh, I’m just waiting on a friend.” You shook you head, confused. “Wait. What lesson?”

He laughed, tucking his card back into his pocket, arranging his three pint glasses into a triangle, then balancing the two bottles on their rims. He’d never be able to carry these back to his table, at least not without spilling half their contents.

“In manners,” he said with a wink before grasping the drinks in his big hands and slipping back into the flow of the crowd, disappearing like a ghost.

— — —

“Bloody took you long enough, L.t” Gaz crowed, clearly they’d need less pints and a few glasses of water to offset all the tequila they’d drunk in Simon’s absence.

“Did you go to brew la cheve, Ghost?” Rudy chimed in, emboldened by the alcohol.

Ghost huffed and set the full drinks down deftly. “Shut up and drink.” He didn’t have to tell them twice.

The conversation and alcohol flowed easily as the boys cleansed themselves of the stresses of war. Minutes rolled into hours and their raucous laughs drew a few sidelong glances to their table, they couldn’t care less.

“Right,” Garrick said as he stood, clapping his hands together and rubbing them mischievously. “I’d murder a kebab right now. Have you lads had kebabs before?” He asked their Mexican companions. Soap stood and stretched, the promise of a trip to the chippers rousing him from his stupor. “Not a kebab on a stick, like… with lamb and cabbage and sauce, y’know. A kebab.” he chimed in, clapping Gaz on the back for his enlightened suggestion. Alejandro and Rudy shook their heads with a laugh, “teach us the British way, amigos. Where do we get this ‘kebab’?” Rudy asked as he and the other two men stood from the table.

The pros and cons of a kebab after a night out were being discussed as though life’s meaning could be deciphered after one drunken bite. As Soap and Gaz evangelised a groggy ‘no!’ caught Simon’s attention. The quiet pleads were mixed with a name that was new, yet familiar.

“One second, lads,” he said as he moved ahead of the group, instinctively making his way towards the source of the disquieting feeling growing in his chest. Something was wrong, very very wrong.

“No, I don’t— I want to go. I don’t— I’m too tired. I want—no,” the girl from the bar was pulling against the grip of the man who’d ran with his tail between his legs at the first sign of confrontation. Simon didn’t have to listen to the young woman’s garbled sentences to know this shouldn’t be happening. She didn’t know him. She didn’t trust him. Neither did he. The would be assailant kept muttering her name and steering her towards the door as she shook her head and kept glancing behind her.

“Oi. Is there a problem, mate?” Simon asked, as his friends caught up with him. The man blanched as he looked up at Simon, growing quiet as the girl's protests got louder, drawing the attention of the few patrons left in the pub.

“She’s wasted, I’m just trying to get her home,” a shaky laugh punctuated the lie.

“I’m sure. But she doesn’t know you.” Simon pushed the mans shoulder, sending him two steps back and giving the girl the chance to shake him off.

“She… her friend knows me, he told me to get her home. Right? David,” he reached out to the girl in an attempt to get her attention. The look in Simon’s eyes told him that wasn’t a smart move. “Hey, tell them that David told me to-” before the sentence could end Soap spoke up, putting himself between Simon and the man, as Simon stepped closer. Whether this David existed or not didn’t matter, the Lieutenant was ready to separate the man’s lying head from his body. A scene was ill advised, especially if the police ended up getting involved.

“Alright,” Soap said, he reigned in his brogue as best he could, “let’s not put words in anyone’s mouth.” He began trying to deescalate the situation, much to Simon’s irritation. The girl looked up at him and he watched as she took in his face and something dawned on her.

“Ah, manners,” she said, mumbling to herself as she drew nearer to him. Simon couldn’t help but soften at that, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her protectively. She’s been full of fire at the bar, a small part of him felt more sad than angry at the situation she found herself in. Maybe he should have stayed with her, at least until her friend came.

“Yeah, that’s me. Can you tell me your friends name, or what they look like? Maybe we can find-”

“The ghost with manners” she said weakly as she pressed her head against his chest, body going slack, knees buckling beneath her. Simon’s arms reached around her, his grip like a vice pressing her closer to him. The Ghost.

Ghost. How could she know that name?

He clung to her weak frame like a raft on a rocky sea. His fingers digging into the soft flesh of her as they both spiralled.

— — —

Weak pleads and careful promises swirled behind you, you couldn't hear them. Not really. Every fibre of your being was fixed on the man holding you up. The ghost from the bar with the big hands and scary eyes. But he wasn’t scary now, not anymore. Not to you.

“Hey,” his deep voice rang out above the world around you, though he spoke to you gently. A whisper that contained the roar of a distant sea. Who? Who was he?

“Simon, my name’s Simon.”

Shit. Had you said that out loud? Why couldn’t you tell? Why couldn’t you stand? You tried to take a shaky step back, to get free. To get a better look at this ‘Simon’, but your legs wouldn’t work, the muscles felt heavy and useless. How were you still standing, why couldn’t you remember how you’d gotten here?

You and David had been drinking, laughing. He’d gone to the bathroom. Said he’s meet you at the door and you’d get a taxi home together. Then the room began to slip away. A tide pulled you to the door. Sticky hands, a shake voice, and your name over and over again as you were pulled away. You’d wanted to fight but your body wouldn’t let you. You wanted to scream but your voice wouldn’t work right, your words didn’t fit together. The last few minutes became a puzzle somehow, and it terrified you.

Then Simon.

Like some vengeful angel, he appeared from nowhere. Pulling you close, holding you up though you felt as heavy as a star.

“Please, Simon… Simon,” you muttered, not sure whether he could hear you or if you were speaking in your mind again. Though a part of you felt like he could hear everything in there too.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Suddenly you were warm and weightless, drifting through the cold air. Fear beat in your chest, thumping against your ribs like a molten ball. You were going to die. You were certain. Your stomach rolled at the realisation.

“You’re not going to die, pet. You’re just a bit poorly now. But I’ve got you.”

His voice was closer now, warm lips pressed against your ear as he spoke into your mind. You wanted to believe him, so badly. You wanted to believe it was true.

“It is. I won’t let you die. I swear.”

“Don’t you let— don’t let me down. Are you gonna drop me?” please don't, Simon. Please.

“No, never.”

Simon.

Your ghostly Simon. The word shone bright in your foggy mind. “Never— don't hurt me.”

Something deep in you told you he couldn't.

— — —

The nurse at the desk was asking all the wrong questions. Simon could guess the answers she wanted, he could form a loose timeline in his mind. A version of events that made sense. But one thing was certain, he’d have to embellish the truth to get the right result. Civilian life was easier in someways, harder in others.

He gave her a name, gave an approximation of an age but he wouldn’t be allowed to stay with you unless he started filling in the blank spaces. He’d made a promise to you, and he’d keep it.

“I need a surname for the intake form, sir. Do you actually know this young lady?”

He sighed. He wasn’t the villain here. He knew how it looked, five men bringing a clearly intoxicated girl into the ER was dodgy. But he wasn’t the villain.

“Yeah, I already said that. Look, she needs help, and I have to stay with her, she’ll be looking for me when she wakes up.”

“I understand that sir, but only family are allowed to stay with patients overnight. And you still haven’t given me her—“

Surname and relationship to him. Yeah, because he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to be here, all night if it took that long. He had to be there when you woke up, so he could fulfil his promise. So you'd know you were safe.

“Riley. It’s Riley.”

“And you’re family?”

Was he?

“Yes, of course.”

Now he was.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #stalker fic #tw stalking #tw possessive behavior #ghost mwii #simon ghost riley requests #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost x female reader

592 notes · View notes

applesaucesims · 3 months

Text

The pub owner had quite enjoyed the first performance of Kenny and the Kats and thus invited them to perform regularly.

At the beginning, their jazz was mostly heard as background noise by visitors of the establishment. But soon, they noticed certain listeners reappearing and seeming to do so more for the music than the drinks.

Of course, Ken's family would come to see him and his band perform some nights, too. Seeing the proud sparkle in his parents' eyes gave him an extra boost in confidence, especially from his mother who had taught him the art that he was making his career.

[TRANSCRIPT]

Edward: "That's my boy!"

*Maureen and Emma laughing*

#ts4 decades challenge #ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 legacy #1930s #kenneth jones #tatiana ventura #quinn jiang #leon piper #edward darwin jones #maureen baker #emma jones #proud dad edward proud dad edward #also yes their name is kenny and the kats i thought of that name in 5 minutes

71 notes · View notes

kittykat8311 · 9 months

Text

Hey look, it's the new Unbearable Weight of Existential Dread Barbie! NOW WITH SUNGLASSES 💖

This dress was arguably not the smartest choice for sitting in a cinema for 2+ hours then a pub all evening but somehow I managed to get away without any stains on the incredibly precious pale rubber so I'm gonna take that as a win 😅

Also the movie is amazing and I wanna see it again 💖

Also also watch this space for a reel in this outfit coming soon ✌️💖

Also also also while discussing what barbies we all are over drinks last night my partner said I should be Latex Mommy Barbie, which I love, so if you've got this far in the caption I'd love to know which Barbie (or Ken or Allen) would you be and why? Answer below please 👇💖

Dress: @westwardboundlatex

Shine: @vivishine.company

#barbiemovie #existentialdread #pinklatex #latexbarbie #latexdoll #barbiedoll

181 notes · View notes

mrsniallhoran505 · 16 days

Text

Good Afternoon Callum Turner Girls!

Theme 26: pub ken

GACTG! Tag List:

Sometimes tags work sometimes they don't!

If you want to be added to the tag list, send me a message!

@slowsweetlove @ilovemycrayons @devyn4203-blog @ab4eva

#callum turner #good afternoon callum turner girls!#callum turner x reader #callum turner x you

44 notes · View notes

gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 3 months

Text

For @nrdmssgs

SoapxGN!Reader, can be read platonic, friendly or romantic

Tiredly, you shuffled to the entryway of your apartment to check who it was through the spyhole, but the only thing you could see where... flowers?

There was a knock on your door, but you weren't expecting anyone.

"Delivery fer y/n!"

It couldn't be.

You hastily opened the door and there he was. John MacTavish, all toothy grin and broad shoulders, with an enormous bouquet in his hands.

"What are you doing here?" You croaked, too stunned to even remember you were wearing your comfy "home" attire, which was by no means what you would wear to any kind of gathering.

"What does it look like, hen?" He chuckled, standing right there, looking at you with his baby blue eyes.

You were always weak to those puppy eyes.

"I... I told you I wasn't feeling well to go to the pub and watch the match"

"Aye, ye did" He shrugged, still grinning, but not explaining further. That was usual in him, to invade both your thoughts and vicinity, and not explain why.

"Then, why...?" You sighed, smiling against your will. You couldn't help it, even with the ice daggers piercing your body, mind and soul.

"Dinnae ken, hen" Soap shrugged, shifting his weight from his bad knee to the other. "Figured if Muhammad dinnae go to the mountain, the mountain would come fer ye"

You blinked, your sight suddenly blurry, but you were able to fight it back. Maybe watching the match on the tv together would help with keep away the thoughts for a while.

"Please, come in..." You moved aside to allow him in, and he promptly stepped inside, handing you the flowers.

Your favourite flowers. But not only your favourites, but also his, your mothers, and any type of flower you had ever voiced a liking to, making it an inmense cacophony of colours that made your eyes teary again.

"Johnny, this is too m..." You started protesting after closing the door, following him to the living room, where you found him already sprawled over your sofa.

"Nope" Johnny playfully patted the seat beside him. "Ye c'mere and relax that pretty head of yers"

You stared at him for a moment, your heart swelling with gratefulness.

Everyone should have someone like Johnny in their lives.

"I'll put them in water first" You fled to the kitchen, to do as you said, but also to have a quiet sob.

Or maybe not so quiet, because you felt two strong, thick arms circling your waist and pushing you back against a broad chest. His chin came to rest on your head.

"Thought ye were gonna use the tap and not yer tears, bonnie"

You laughed tearfully. He always managed to make you laugh, no matter how sad or desperate you felt.

With the soothing humming coming from the depths of his chest, you managed to finish fixing the flowers in a pretty vase, and then you allowed him to walk you back to the sofa.

Johnny didn't ask. He never did, instead being just a reliable, strong presence that you could rely or support yourself against. He never asked, or interrogated, or tried to guess. He was just... there.

Ready to listen, and uh-huh and nod and sometimes curse in the most ridiculous and high-pitched fake squeak to make you laugh even through your tears and anguish.

So with the match as background noise, and with yourself comfortably nestled against a very warm Scot, you felt the nasty thoughts wash away. You even felt sleepy, after being up countless nights, lost in your head and your demons.

And when you finally drifted to sleep, lulled by the steady, firm heartbeat under your cheek and his fingers combing through your hair, you heard him murmur something soothing that you couldn't quite understand, but made your heart sing.

#cod x reader #soap x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfiction #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap mctavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish

132 notes · View notes