Ghost Is Training You On Interrogation Techniques And Thinks Youre A Lost Case. Hes Wrong.

Ghost is training you on interrogation techniques and thinks you’re a lost case. He’s wrong.

———————————————————————

He unfolds a case of what looks like surgical equipment on the wooden table.

“Are you going to check my teeth for cavities, Lt.?” You joke, but he doesn’t laugh. He never does.

He picks up something that looks like a wrench and shows it to you.

“What’s this for?” He asks, to which you reply, with the utmost confidence that it looks like that tool your grandfather used when you were a kid to break the bathroom door because you locked yourself in there.

He shuts his eyes and holds his breath.

“See, I didn’t want to eat my vegetables, and-”

“Enough.”

“That’s what I told them; no more veg-”

“Stop with the focken veggies.”

“You don’t like them either, huh?”

He lets out a long exhale and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think you’re fit for this.” He finally says.

But you are. There's a reason why you are here, and it’s because you’re damn good at your job. Sure, you never learned how to conduct an interrogation the way Ghost understands—in a physical and rather brutal manner—but, you had your ways.

“I beg to differ, Lt.” You oppose him.

“You can beg as much as you want, soldier,” he replies, “but you’ll never be able to make someone beg for mercy.”

You look at the interrogation tools on the table and point at them. “These are unethical, by the way.”

“These,” he says, “serve a purpose for the job and are perfectly legal.”

“So is farting in an elevator,” you reply. “Totally legal to do, yet sorta sucks for everybody else.”

“You should have gone to law school if you’re so passionate about ethical matters,” he says, “but you’re definitely not fit to be here.”

“The captain thinks otherwise.”

“The captain is wrong.” He mumbles under his breath.

“What’s that?” You ask, cupping your palm over your ear, “Are you defying the captain now, Lieutenant Riley?”

“No, I’m jus-”

“That’s against the Army Leadership Code,” you state and shuffle through your bag to get the rulebook. You open it up and clear your throat. He looks at you with that tool in his hand, eager to start plucking your fingernails one by one. Instead, he chooses words.

“I know what the guide says-”

“PAGE 45, PARAGRAPH SIX,” you shout like you’re reporting for duty, “IF AN OFFICER DISOBEYS THE-”

“Stop this instance!” He cries, but you hear none of it. You carry on undisturbed by his roaring voice. You’ll recite the entire book if that’s what’s needed. He leaves the tool on the table and approaches you, posing as an authority figure and yelling in your face. You stop for a minute and turn to look at him, explaining that what he’s doing right now is also against the code, and continue reading out loud.

“FAILURE TO OBEY A MILITARY ORDER BY A HIGHER UP-”

He throws his head up, closes his eyes, and raises his hands up to his temples.

“For the love of god and all that is holy, soldier,” he cries, “please stop talking.”

You close the booklet and throw it on the table. There’s dead silence. You approach him with a smug face and lower your gaze—but not your head—to the ground.

“Well, guess what, Lt.” You ask, and he opens his eyes to look at you.

“You just begged,” you whisper, “and I didn’t have to use any of your,” you gesture with a sneer at the tools on the table, “cheap cutlery.”

He keeps looking at you, confused. You pick a scalpel from the case.

“I thought you didn’t like my tools, soldier.” He says.

“I don’t,” you reply and pull an apple out of your bag, “but I need to cut my fruit.”

He throws his hands to his sides and looks at you, defeated, as you peel the apple.

You stop midway.

“Is the scalpel sterilised?” You ask.

“Of course, it’s sterilised!” he shouts, “we always sterilise our tools as per the rulebook!”

———————————————————————

OKAY THE WAY MIGUEL WAS HOLDING HER AT THE BEGINNING MAKES ME THINK HE CAUGHT HER FROM FALLING SOMEHWERE WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING I LOVE THIS MAN SO MUCH HES SO GENTLE WITH THE BABY …. SOMEONE GET HIM HIS ANTI DEPRESSANTS NOWWW!!!!!

I know damn well gaz is a bottom you can't change my mind 😤

Like dis man makes the beautiful noises when sweetheart fucks him stupid with her fingers or a strap (I know sweetheart got a strap somewhere in her damn room) and he's a babbling mess like crying and moaning loud so sometimes sweetheart gotta use a gag or her fingers so no one hears (but the boys do hear em and they are really jealous and horny) *BANGS TABLE* AND WHEN he rides sweethearts strap this man HHHNNGGG this man will ride sweethearts strap until he collapses.

But sweetheart being sweetheart she does aftercare like running a hot bubble bath for gaz and picks him up and puts his body in and while gaz is in the bath sweetheart is cleaning the sheets and adding fluffly blanket for gaz and when gaz is done sweetheart picks him up and wraps him up in a fluffy towel and dries him up (because I know damn well gaz ain't gonna be walking for a bit)

And let's him wear her clothes that are pretty big on him like AHHHHH cuddles man this man will cling on to sweetheart while she's combing his wet hair HNNGGG and has falls asleep basking in sweethearts warmth.

(Why did I write this much?)

Soap definitely gonna be jelly 🤭

I'm going fuckin insane.

DO YOU WANT ME TO PASS OUT? IS THAT IT??

Good Boy.°

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick × 141!Sweetheart

[Gaz × black!ofc!reader]

Cw.: soft!femdom, overstimulation, dumbification, pegging, cock ring vibrator, handjobs, mommy kink, begging kink (is that a thing? Probably is idk 💀) mentions of scars, horrible attempt at smut, sub!Gaz, Lil bit of edging, praise + degradation, aftercare, cutie cutesy fluff, there's a surprise in here for Sweetheart 🤭 it'll be in pink, jealous ass brats teammates, listening to people getting it on (idk what that's called)

Reader accessories.: Black!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, detailed reader, reader is 6'5, reader is fully clothed fucking Gaz, reader has tattoos and battle scars, reader has long nails, reader has some big ass hands

Word count.: Long. AGAIN. (IDK HOW TO DO A WORD COUNT DAMMIT HELP)

This ain't the best thing 💀💀 but I had to GET THIS OUT IT WAS SITTING TOO LONG IN MY DRAFTS AND THIS ASK IS TOO GOOD AND W O W I RAMBLED ON FOR SO LONG BECAUSE IM NOT GOOD AT WRITING SMUT YET GIMME A BREAK OKAY IM TRYING MY BEST 😭 and i made this LATE like 5 am so i was shit tired and just rambled lol also tried out a new layout on how to do headcanons and drabbles... may like it may not idk ANYWAY ENJOY

18+ MDNI

Minors do not interact with this. Thank you BYE.

This man-- HEHEUAHE YOU'RE SO RIGHT ABOUT GAZ

He's such a bottom for Sweetheart. Like in general

He would always be so shy around her; his chin close to his chest, looking up at her with big eyes and hot ears

And Sweetheart would always eat that SHIT UP

She always has a burning, feral feeling inside her when he acts shy around her. Like she either needs to take care of him or fuck him senseless

And when he just gives into her, gulping before whimpering out a quiet "Yes ma'am." When she gives out an aggressive order.

SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPP

Sweetheart wants to take him where he stands EVERY 👏TIME 👏

Just jerking him off and seeing him whine and cry- AAAAAAAAA

Sweetheart should NOT think of him that way. That's her teammate. Her friend.

...which she wouldn't mind fucking and breaking his back. And she had enough of this overwhelming feeling everytime she talks to him. She thought he was shy because he was intimidated by her, or maybe because of the height difference (She's five and a half inches taller than him) or that he has a burning feeling inside of him too. Hell maybe it was all three, so she asks him.

It was all three 💀

But his feeling was to be fucked by Sweetheart. Not the other way around.

Sweetheart was in HEAVEEENNNNN

So we're back to the now, and it's been two hours, they're in her room; Gaz naked, bouncing on Sweetheart's pink thick strap, while she's controlling his cute cock ring vibrator. His legs wrapped around her hips, ass slapping against her thighs.

They're both sweaty, sticky, covered in cum and tired. But neither of them can stop. Gaz feels another orgasm building up, and he picks up his speed, wanting to reach it so badly that he cries. His moans get louder, more desperate.

"Fuck! Yes yes yes!" He screamed out, tears flowing out just like the cum spurting on Sweetheart's tummy. She breathes out, hands smoothing his hips. "There we go, Gaz. Good boy. Such a good cock slut for mommy." His thighs and hands shake, mouth spewing broken moans and whines. "More..." He starts to grind on the strap, as deep as it can go inside him. "M-more... please.. I wanna cum again-- wan' cum.. Mommy please!"

His babbles make Sweetheart laugh. "Your legs are probably so tired, baby. You want me to take over now?" He shivers when her pointed nails circle over his sensitive nipples. He leans down to her chest, hips still grinding on the toy and prodding at his prostate. “Yes… yes, please. Wanna be fucked by you. Ruin me, mommy…”

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT

Sweetheart feels her heartbeat quicken. The fire in her belly was getting hotter, too hot to control. She growls, manhandling Gaz off the toy to turn him around. She sits up, hands cupping his thighs as she raises her hips to slide back in. Gaz let’s out a long whine as he’s finally full again. Sweetheart doesn’t speak. Carnal desire took over her, her hips ramming into his ass as he screams out. Sweetheart rubs his bottom lip with her thumb before she inserts it in his drooling mouth. “You’re being too loud, hun. Don’t want the others to hear how much of a slut you are on my cock. Now suck on it.”

He sucks hard on her thumb, tongue swirling the pad. Her teeth grazing his neck, lips sucking on his sweaty skin. He’s trying to be quiet, but her thrusts are making him forget any sense he had left. Fuck and he’s almost about to cum, whines getting higher and eyes rolling back. Gaz gasps when Sweets slows down. “Nah-uh, not yet.” She coos. “I need you to beg for it, baby. Beg mommy to cum.” AAAAAAAAAAAA

She starts to grind in his g-spot and her other thumb rubbed his urethra. Babes he was seeing stars.

He can’t really speak as her thumb is still in his mouth, but he rambles on anyway, whimpering please over and over with his hoarse voice. (I have a feeling that Garrick’s voice goes up when he’s overstimulated) “Fuck, you’re so cute. Go ahead and cum for me, Gaz.” Once she picked up her pace and jerked him off, OH he saw the gate to heaven, had tea with an angel and got sent back to earth💀

They breathe heavily. He can't feel his legs at all, and he can't form an actual thought. Sweetheart puts her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Breathe deep, Gaz. Breathe... There you go, that's my baby boy." They both sigh and she kisses his temple. "You did such a good job, Gaz. Such a good boy for me."

AND THE AFTER CARE OMFGGG (YK THATS ON POINT)

She would hold him close to her chest, their breathing finally in sync as Gaz calms down from his orgasm. He's still moaning and mewling, feeling the pleasure in his veins. Sweetheart looks down at him and sighs with a smile. "You okay baby?" She asks him.

He's still kinda out of it, but her voice brings him back to reality. "Mhgm... M'good. M'so good, mommy..." She giggles at his drunken words and kisses his neck. "That's good to hear. I'm gonna pull it out, okay?" He nods his head. She grips under his knees and slowly pulls him up, Gaz whimpering at the emptiness of his puckering hole. She pecks his cheek and lays him down. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He breathes out, feeling sticky and hot. He groans out and puts his hands over his eyes. He can NOT believe that just happened. HE JUST FUCKED HIMSELF NUMB?? AND SWEETHEART FUCKED HIM DUMB?? AND SHE'S GOOD AT IT??? How in the hell can he do this but not TELL HER HOW HE FEELS OMFG

She comes back from the bathroom in a white towel. Gaz chokes, seeing the black intricate designs on her arms, connecting to the ones on her collarbone and traveling to her back. He can see black ink on her ankles and some poking out on her hips. She chuckles, "You've never seen my other tattoos, have you?" He shakes his head slowly, like he's in a trance. "I've only... Seen your womb one..." Sweetheart snorts, walking towards him. "Well, you're about to see a bit more."

She scoops him up in her arms, bridal style. Gaz gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around Sweetheart's neck, now secure and being delivered to the bathroom.

Gaz sees that there's a bubble bath ready for the both of them. She sets him down inside, the warm water helping his aching limbs. He sees her towel fly off, looks up, but her fingers snap, and his head immediately whips to the bubbles. "Good boy." She says. (Gaz's mind:FFFUUUUU--)

She slips in behind him and sighs of relief. Gaz clears his throat. "This is uh... it's a pretty tight fit." His shoulder up and caved with his legs half way bent. "Do you want me to get out?" Sweetheart asks. "No!" She chuckles at his quick answer. She leans in, making him gasp as he can feel her hard nipples on his back. And... something else. Metal? Her arms wrap around him while her head rests on his shoulder. "Good. Don't wanna get out yet." She mumbles.

God-- Gaz feels so small with her. Like a shy little man and a giant Amazonian goddess. He can feel his cheeks get hot. Taking one of her hands in his, he lifts it up, eyeing her sleeve tattoo like a kid in an aquarium. He studies it while she watches him. "Y'like it?" She mumbles in his ear that sends shivers down his spine. He nods, his other hand tracing the patterns. "Where did you get it done?" He asks in a low tone, like they're both in a secret place that they're not supposed to be in.

"Back at home. For my 20th birthday. I got this whole piece done for my 20th, actually." She raises her other arm up to show him, his hands going over the different textured skin. "Did you... get tattoos to cover these scars?" When he asked that question, it's like all the sound in the world stopped. He felt like coal dropped in his stomach when she was silent. He was going to speak, to apologize, but she interlocked her hands with his. "I did. There are many tattoos on my body because I didn't want to see my mistakes anymore. So I covered them up."

He breathes out. Thank God she's not mad. But just to be sure-- "And don't you dare apologize." She smiles on his skin, nibbling his neck. He snickers, feeling her kisses all over.

"Wow." She chortles, "Never noticed how small your hands are to mine." He hums, seeing the difference too. (It shouldn't turn him on but wow there he is turned on)

She opens her hands and so does he. The size difference goes crazy 💀 Sweetheart's hand is an inch bigger than his. She laughs, now leaning back on the tub. "You're so small."

Gaz scoffs, turning to her with a frown. "I am not small! You're just really--"

His eyes fall to her chest. He didn't mean to, it just happened. But he looks at her left breast.

And he sees it.

And he sees it.

"You... you have a nipple piercing."

"Huh?" Sweetheart looks down. "Oh shit, I forgot I had that on. But yeah, I do. Just the one, though. Hurt like a bitch, so I just stopped at this." She explains. Gaz can feel him getting hard again. The sparkly, rose gold heart ring shield around her dark nipple was fucking calling out to him.

He frowns. "But I never... see it." Sweetheart's eyes widen a bit but turns to amusement. "You lookin' at my tits often, Gaz?" She says. Gaz snaps his head up, like he's seen a ghost. She leans in, their lips almost touching. She coos, eyes dangerously low and lips grinning. "Didn't know you were the perverted type."

Someone kill him now. He shakes his head violently. "Oh god no! No no no no I was just--" Now he was stammering, trying to find the right words to say to not sound like a creep. But Sweetheart bellows.

"Chill, baby! I was just messin' with ya." She winks at him, and Gaz just wants to curl up in a ball. "But I remove it when I go out so I can wear a bra. Sometimes, I honestly forget about it. 'Specially when we're on a mission or I'm training. And I don't think piercings are allowed on base... so I dont really wear it alot." Gaz nods. That makes alot of sense. She covers her mouth and looks away, mumbling something under her breath.

"And I also don't want Krueger startin' nothin'..." He frowns. "Huh?" Sweetheart looks at him and waves him off. "Nothin' , nothin'."

She huffs, staring at Gaz for what felt like hours. But he didn't move, as he stared right back. Heart beating quick for her next move.

Her hand moves under her left breast and lifts it with a smug grin. "Wanna take a closer look?"

That triggered another three rounds of milking and nipple sucking 💀 (which Sweetheart is now HEAVILY into)

After all that, they both cleaned themselves, and Sweetheart dried him off (because he couldn't feel his legs AGAIN) she carried him and plopped him on her desk chair. He huffs out a laugh. "I feel like a princess, being carried and pampered like this." BECAUSE YOU ARE BABY

She snorts and rolls her eyes, putting on some clothes and gathering the bed sheets. "Wear whatever I have. There's some men's underwear in the bottom drawer." She explains. Gaz quirks an eyebrow. "Why do you have men's underwear?" She shrugs, hands full with bed sheets and a comforter. "For emergencies." And then walks out to the washing machine.

Gaz chuckles, shaking his head as he opens her drawers. Some with bras, some with her underwear (it's in the second drawer, he remembers) and he found one with shirts. He grabs a cream colored sweater and unfolds it, seeing how big it actually is. "Jesus... I'll surely act like a 'girl after doing the deed' with this on." He contemplates if he wants to wear it. (He does)

He puts on some black men's underwear, which surprisingly fits him (bit tight around his thighs) he throws the sweater on and looks in her floor mirror. The sweater covers his underwear completely, and the sleeves are big and long, covering most of his fingers. The collar is wide, showing off his branded neck with many hickies. Sweetheart's hickies. He purses his lips.

"Yeah, I definitely looked like I've been fucked."

"Because you have been, silly."

He turns to the door and sees Sweetheart with new sheets and comforters. Gaz blinks. "That was fast." Sweetheart hums, closing the door with her hip. "I found new sheets in the storage. I'll clean the other ones tomorrow. Right now, I'm tired as shit." She makes the bed with ease as Gaz stands there, trying not to fall with his shaky legs. (Yall he was WORKED in that bath tub)

She dusts off her hands as her head turns to Gaz. She freezes, eyeing him up and down. Gaz feels like a piece of meat under her hungry eyes. He doesn't mind being eaten by her 🤭🤭

She smirks, plopping down on the bed. "I like my clothes on ya."

He grins, arms wide out to show how big the sweater is on him. "I'm like a smurf compared to you." He jokes. Sweetheart laughs, collecting him with her arms circling his waist and his hands rest on her broad shoulders. "But it makes ya look real cute, Gaz." She says with another smirk. (Jeez, she's on one today-- freaking teasing and bold as shit)

He could feel his cheeks getting hot. "Kyle." He murmurs, sitting on her thigh. He has a tingly feeling when he bends his legs, but nothing he can't handle. She looks at him with confused eyes.

"You took my ability to walk, so I think you could also call me by my actual name." He explains. She smiles at him, making his heart speed up. That smile could stop wars.

"Alright then, Kyle." Once she said that, her eyes sparkled. "Kyle." She hums, kissing his neck. "Kyle... Mister Kyle Garrick!" She covers him in quick kisses, making him giggle and filled with warmth. She laughs and holds him tight when she flops on the clean bed. "Kyle. I love saying your name." She whispers, fingers tracing his face. God DAMN she has his heart. His everything. Just- take him. Take all of him. So he can end this longing.

"And I--" Gaz reaches up to her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip.

Say it.

"I love..." His eyes flicker to hers, dark irises studying each other.

Say it. Fucking say it.

I love you. I love you and I want to be yours.

Say. It.

"Love... what you did... for me today. Thank you." ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW

She giggles, pulling him into her more, his head against her chest. "Of course, baby. It was an absolute pleasure... pleasuring you." They both quietly laugh, the warm relaxation molding them together. Her nails rake the nape of his neck, sending shivers down Kyle's spine. He sighs, wrapping his arms around her chest and leg around her waist. "Goodnight, mommy."

Sweetheart croons, hand rubbing his back. "Goodnight, Kyle." She mumbles into his hair as she kisses it.

"My good boy."

Lil Bonus.!

When I tell you... that EVERYONE. WAS P I S S E D. Except for Price, because his room is pretty far, so he can't hear all the way to Sweetheart's room. BUT THE REST OF THEM??? WTF they wanted to strangle Gaz istg

Hearing the bed creak and Gaz's loud, whiny moans thru the walls was PAIN. And hearing Sweetheart's low grunts and praises to him? Torture. Bitch it was torture. And you know DAMN WELL that Soap, Roach, and Horangi jerked off from hearing them. Ghost, König, and Alex were too fucking pissed to do anything, even sleeping wasn't an option. (They still had raging hard ons tho) Roach hearing Gaz call her mommy-- AND SHE LIKED IT-- he came so hard he had to muffle his cry with a pillow. Soap now knowing that Gaz is the one getting fucked?? And is enjoying it??? Nosebleed. He got a nosebleed and had to stop masturbating to clean it up💀 Horangi overstimulated himself. Ear up on the wall so he could hear everything that was going on, and his overworked cock spurting out more cum on the wall. There's a thick puddle of cum on the floor as well because he's not stopping. Alex is just pissed that he's not watching them (he likes to watch fucking cuck) and Ghost is just so damn salty and judging everything that's going on in that room ("his moans are so bitchy. Bitch boy. Fucking bottom ass fucker. Taking it up the ass. I could do way better than him taking it up the ass..... wait--")

König was just... listening. Just laying in his bed, looking up at the ceiling with a throbbing, dribbling cock, and just listening to them. (WEIRDO)

Next morning, Soap and Ghost were such BITCHES OMFG Soap was so pouty and had such attitude, and Ghost was so DRAMATIC (THEY'RE BOTH BRATS YOUR HONOR)

Okay that's it, bye LOL

THANKS FOR READING HAVE A GOOD DAY 🙏 LIKE COMMENT SHARE AND SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE (I just youtube'd yo ass 🤭)

viii. but i can't help falling in love with you

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 5.6k Warnings: bruises, injury, medical inaccuracies, blood, scars, scar mention, talks of abuse Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

“Everything about it says it was just a random break-in—”

Price hums, clearly not happy with the answer.

“—the guy’s prints weren’t in the system, and he didn’t have any affiliated markings or tattoos,” Ghost continues, hands gripping tight around the back of Soap’s chair.

“We asked around on our ends,” Alejandro sighs, gesturing between himself and Valeria. “No one recognizes him.”

“We haven’t heard anything either, but I have Ayah keeping a lookout for anything new,” Farah adds from Price’s left side, trying to add some small amount of comfort to a clearly upset Price.

“It was probably some guy looking to score,” Kyle reasons from the chair across her. The dining room lapses into silence as Price sits in thought, arms crossed and fingers drumming against his bicep.

“We should ask the bird,” Nik cuts in. “If it’s someone she knows, this could be a targeted attack against her, not the club.”

“Let her sleep,” Price says, leaving no room for argument. Nik gives him a questioning look but nods and stays silent.

“We could keep a set of eyes on the hotel for a few weeks, see if anyone comes lookin’ around?” Soap suggests.

“We can’t spare anyone right now,” Ghost huffs. “Not with the way things are.”

“But—”

A soft knock draws the room’s attention to the door leading to the sitting room.

It’s the worst anyone has seen you look. Dressed in leggings and a maroon sweater that’s a little big on you, you look exhausted and run-down, with deep purple bruises lining your neck.

“He-ey—” you croak out, wincing as you give a haggard cough.

Rudy’s on his feet immediately, guiding you to the closest chair, the one directly opposite Price’s seat at the head of the table. He sits you down as you try to clear your throat.

“I told you, no talking,” he chides, gently tilting your head back to lightly press his fingers against the bruises, just like he had when Price brought you here last night. You sigh through your nose, giving a quick sorry in sign language.

“How are you feeling?” Alejandro asks. You open your mouth to answer and shut it promptly when Rudy sends you a warning look. You shuffle, reaching into the pocket of your leggings to pull out your phone.

You type for a quick second before your phone chimes, and a robotic voice answers for you, “Like I almost got choked out by a man twice my size.” That earns you a few chuckles, though Price looks less than amused.

You type again, a quiet beat before the voice in your phone asks, “What did you do with him?”

There are a few glances around the table, most landing on Price as if they’re unsure whether they’re allowed to answer.

“He’s taken care of. No need to worry,” Price answers. You nod, trying not to hit Rudy’s fingers with your chin.

“Did you…recognize him at all?” Roach asks. “Maybe you’ve seen him around the hotel or…?”

“Roach,” Price warns.

“It’s a fair question,” Nik scoffs. “We need to know if this was random or if someone’s going after her.”

They go back and forth while you type, waiting for a lull in their argument to answer. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but from what I saw, I don’t recognize him.”

“And…do you have anyone who might be after you? An old co-worker? Friend?” Valeria presses.

You swallow tightly, fingers hesitating over your phone. Rudy catches that, pulling back from you to give you a curious look.

“Canary?” Rudy asks softly, his quiet voice loud in the room's silence. “Is someone after you?”

It’s too late to lie now.

Think, think, think.

You type again, “The cops? The ones who interrogated me when I covered for after Hasan. They seemed pretty mad, and they knew where I was staying.”

You give your best worried look, setting your phone down to fidget and pick at your nails.

“That could explain why we didn’t find anything on him,” Alex says, looking at Price.

“Shepherd wouldn’t risk one of his guys like that,” Kyle disagrees. “Especially not to go after someone who’s barely involved with our business. No offense, Canary.”

“None taken,” you sign, giving a casual shrug.

“It wouldn’t hurt to look into it,” Farah sighs. “Can you ask Kate to check around and see if she can find anything on her end?”

Price, silent until this point with his eyes fixed on you, takes a deep breath. He sits up in his chair, the room lapsing into a tense silence as everyone looks toward him.

“Rudy, how’s her neck?” Price asks.

“Still swollen, but it looks like it’s going down,” Rudy answers before turning to you. “You’ll have to take it easy for at least a week. Minimal talking and no singing.”

You give him a salute and a thumbs up.

“I’ll call Kate and see if she finds us any information,” Price sighs. “We’ll close the club tonight while the rest of you find out what you can and put out feelers—see if any of the other families are trying to branch out. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Price stands, and the others follow suit, taking their leave with gentle goodbyes and smiles aimed toward you.

“König, hang back a second,” Price calls as he walks to your end of the table and takes the seat next to you, pulling the chair closer to fit you between his spread legs. König nods, lingering near the door as Price gently traces his finger along the bruises on your neck.

“Any news from Majka?” Price asks quietly.

“Nothing yet. Conor said he’d let me know if he heard anything,” König answers. Price nods, a brief flash of disappointment across his face.

“Okay, thank you. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir,” König says, giving you a nod before leaving the room.

The room sinks into a comfortable silence as Price looks over the purple and blue of your neck. He’s as gentle as possible, fingertips barely ghosting over the swollen skin.

“How are you?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper as he pulls his fingers away to slide his along your cheek and cup your jaw. You set your hand over his, squeezing softly with a small smile.

You shrug half-heartedly, trying to reassure him without talking, lest you incur Rudy’s wrath.

He nods in understanding, leaning forward to kiss your head softly. When he pulls away, you lean forward, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Gaz and Roach brought your things over last night. You can pick whichever room you want, and we’ll move your stuff there,” Price says, perching his head on top of yours with a comforting hand rubbing up and down your back.

You reach for your phone, keeping yourself attached to him as you type, “The room I was in last night…?”

“My room,” Price chuckles.

You pull back to look up at him questioningly, tilting your head. “Then where did you sleep?”

“In one of the spare rooms,” he shrugs. “We got done late, and you needed the rest.” You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue in disappointment.

“If you like the room that much, you’re welcome to it,” Price teases.

You narrow your eyes, glaring playfully at him before you type out your answer, a smirk on your face as your phone says, “I’d prefer the room with you in it.”

Price’s brows raise as he smiles down at you, but there’s a hesitance in his eyes. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to after what happen—”

You set a hand on his chest to stop him. Setting your phone down, your hand slides up to rest on his cheek, gently pulling him closer and closer until you’re barely centimeters apart.

“You make me feel safe,” you rasp before you move forward and close the gap.

For a brief moment, Price stills, and anxiety rockets through you at the thought you’ve overstepped.

You move to pull away, and he lunges, warm hands coming up to frame your face as he kisses you with a year’s worth of bubbling tension finally boiling over.

You don’t know how you feel as you kiss him. It’s a combination of emotions you haven’t felt in so long: relief, desire, comfort, joy. They all swirl together into the one emotion you’ve been chasing since your wedding.

Safe.

-

Living with John is suspiciously easy.

It feels as if you've known each other for years, and that same familiarity extends to the rest of the club.

You remember nights with your father as a child, listening to him tell you old war stories from his chair while you took and apart and cleaned his guns in front of the warm fireplace. Those memories bring a fondness to your heart that you always thought was the peak of what familial love was meant to be, but it’s nothing compared to your life in the manor.

Dinners with Kyle, Farah, and Alex are filled with laughter and teasing and almost always made by you and John. There’s no tense silence as everyone picks at their plates, no stilted conversation about business and only business, no large work dinners that force you to parade around in an uncomfortably tight dress while you serve your guests.

When Soap and Ghost stay the night, you sometimes run with Soap in the mornings, turning morning exercise into a friendly competition. There’s no pushing on his end, no yelling at you to pick up the pace, or warnings about falling behind. It’s all encouragement and jokes and teasingly elbowing each other as you walk the rest of the way back to the house.

Sometimes Ghost joins you instead, the two of you enjoying a quiet run around the property. He indulges you in the few questions you have about the flowers you find. The answers are short, as you expected, but he’s surprisingly knowledgeable about the flora around the manor and has a cute eagerness to his voice when he explains a flower’s meaning to you.

After a month, Nik finds you one afternoon, grinning at you as he wipes the black grease from his hands onto his overalls. He leads you to the garage, where he shows off the extensive collection of cars he’s worked on, both classic and modern, and tells you to take your pick. You try to assure him you don’t need anything more than your beat-up car—it may be falling apart, but it’s wormed its way into your heart.

“That’s fine, but you’ll have to drive something else while I fix up your piece of shit,” he tells you. It’s then that you notice the back of the garage where his workshop is set up, and he’s got your broken baby up on a lift with the tires taken off.

So, you pick a new one—something practical, efficient, and baby blue—and thank Nik when he tosses you the keys.

Alejandro visits often, mostly to talk with John about happenings with the club, but he always makes a point to find and say hello to you. Sometimes, Rudy or Valeria will join him. When Rudy does, he checks in with you, asking how you’re feeling and making sure your throat isn’t bothering you anymore before joining John and Alejandro. When Valeria visits, she skips out on business talk entirely, insisting on taking you out to go shopping or see the city.

“There’s no point in sitting through a bunch of information Alejandro will tell me about later,” she laughs with a dismissive wave.

You don’t see König or Roach at the house much, and when you do, it’s usually late at night, just as they're leaving John’s office. John never tells you what they come for, but he’s always a little more tense after their visits.

You don’t know how to describe John. The best fitting word that comes to mind is welcoming.

He lets you have half the space in his massive walk-in closet, even though you barely have enough clothes to take up one of the shelves. He has you pick one of the spare bedrooms, telling you to redecorate it and turn it into whatever you want. You’re allowed anywhere in the house, save for the few rooms belonging to the other club members, to do anything you want.

The freedom is almost overwhelming.

When he senses your hesitance, he assures you that he wants you to feel at home, that this space is as yours as it is his.

You let yourself explore over the weeks but do your best to stay out of the way of club business; it’s not that you’re not curious, you just…don’t want to know, don’t want to be involved in the stress of it all.

You’ve dealt with that enough in your life. It’s a new era for you, and you’re determined to hold on to it for as long as you can.

-

When Rudy gives you the okay to perform again, you nearly tackle him in a hug. Even if it’s only for the first half of the show, you’ll take what you can get.

Farah switches out with you during intermission, and you head for the bar, where Alex already has a stool open for you.

“Feel good to be back?” he asks, smiling wide as you take your seat.

“It feels amazing,” you laugh. He slides you a glass of water, briefly turning to tend to another patron.

Someone clears their throat behind you, tapping you on your shoulders. There’s a dull thrum of pain, but you ignore it and spin in your seat to find König staring down at you.

“Boss wants you upstairs,” is all he says before turning and walking away.

…okay?

You finish your water, giving Alex a quick wave before heading to the club’s second floor.

You pass a few private game tables, not finding John at any of them, and head towards the few closed-off rooms.

You don’t need to guess which one he’s in when you turn the corner and find Ghost standing guard outside the door.

“Everything okay up here?” you ask as you approach.

“Nothing unusual,” Ghost gives a slight shrug, his shadowed eyes flitting about the hallway.

“Then, mind if I…?” You point to the door behind him. He nods, taking a step to the side to let you through.

The room is dark, low-lit, and filled with cigar smoke and laughter. You make your way through the haze to the poker table at the center of the room, where John sits with Nik and a few other men you’ve never seen before. A couple of them have women with them, barely dressed and making more effort to distract the other players than paying attention to their companions.

Something tightens in your chest, fight or flight buzzing around the back of your mind.

Sitting in a dark room, shoved in a barely-there dress, put on display to distract the other players. The threat of being left to wolves should you fail looming over you.

John wouldn’t that to you.

He’s not the same as—

“There she is!”

John reaches out to grab your hand as soon as you’re near and kisses the inside of your wrist.

“Care to join us?” John asks, staring up at you with a look of adoration that sends a shock of straight want down your spine. “Could use my good luck charm.”

Nik barks out a laugh, “With the way you’re playing, you need more than luck.”

“You don’t have to,” John murmurs, while the others are too busy with their laughter and jokes.

The softness in his voice puts your anxiety at ease. Of course, he’d never force you to be somewhere you didn't want to be.

“Why not?” you shrug, smiling as he tugs you forward and pulls you down to sit across his lap. A hand settles around your waist, a soft kiss pressed along the curve of your neck, and the cards are dealt.

You watch while they play, bets higher than anything you’d be comfortable with. They’re pretty good, but you’ve spent a lot of time around poker tables and even more time around liars. You wait until the final community card is flipped, and the man directly across from you—the last one left in the game against John, older with dark, greying hair—blinks three times and makes his bet before you lean into John as if to kiss his neck.

“He’s bluffing,” you whisper, following it with a kiss before you straighten up. John doesn’t acknowledge you, blank face trained on his cards, but you feel a small squeeze of your hip where his hand rests.

John calls, and the two reveal their hands. It’s not even close, your observation correct, as John wins by a landslide.

He presses an appreciative kiss to your shoulder. You catch Nik smirking at you, and you wink back at him.

The game continues well into the night, and you don’t leave your place in John’s lap. The two of you take it easy, letting John lose a few games while still winning a majority. You play the part, batting your eyes at the others with a flirty smile so they think nothing more of you than John’s arm candy while you lean in to pepper kisses along his neck and whisper hints in his ear.

By the time they call it quits, the left side of his neck is covered in your lipstick, but he’s a few hundred-thousands richer.

“Quite the good luck charm you have there, Price,” one of the men next to Nik—red-headed with one of the scantily dressed women pressed against his arm—laughs, drinking you in with a leer that sets you on edge. “Maybe next time, I’ll try her out.”

John laughs, but you can feel how hard he tenses beneath you.

“She’s spoken for, I’m afraid,” he says with a polite smile, pressing you just a bit tighter against him.

“Sure,” the man laughs before turning to mumble to the others, “Must be all that good luck she’s rubbing off on him,” The others laugh along, save for Nik, who focuses on gathering the cards on the table.

“Go wait outside for me, Dove,” Price speaks quietly. You nod, standing from his lap.

You lean down to kiss him on the cheek before smiling to the table. “You girls want something to drink? It’s on me!” The three women glance at each other before noticing the tension rising in the room and nodding. They follow you out, and you direct them toward the bar before turning to Ghost.

“You might wanna head in there,” you tell him. He nods, waiting until you’ve turned down the hall to go inside.

You spend the next hour with the women at the bar, having a fantastic time as they drink and dance and tell you all about how awful their men are in hilarious detail, probably having their first taste of freedom in a while.

You understand. You’ve been there before.

They leave for a fifth dance, and this time you decline, far too exhausted to keep up with them.

As soon as they’ve disappeared into the crowd, you let out a long exhale, letting yourself lean against the bar.

“Tired?” a baritone voice murmurs into your ear, strong arms sliding around your waist.

“A little bit,” you sigh, turning to face John. “Everything go okay?”

He hums, one hand pulling off your waist to wrap around yours and bring it to his lips. He leaves a lingering kiss on your fingers, eyes holding your gaze as he allows you to see the dried blood and bruising on his hand.

“Probably should go home and wrap this,” he sighs, trailing kisses down the side of your hand to the inside of your wrist.

“Is he still breathing?” you ask, giving your best attempt at a look of disappointment despite the smile slowly growing on your face.

“Unfortunately,” John scoffs, pulling you closer so his mouth can continue its path up your arm.

You click your tongue at him, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance as you pull your hand out of his embrace to set your hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to do that whenever someone says something like that to me. It’s bound to happen.”

His brows knit together, concern and confusion drawn across his face.

“Not to my girl, it isn’t,” he says, firm and final.

“John—”

“Get a room, you two!”

You’re startled apart as Soap and Kyle reach the bar.

“Hey, let the old man have his fun!” Alex scolds through poorly held-back laughs. John groans, head falling into the crook of your neck as the three burst with laughter.

“Ready to go home?” you laugh softly. John nods into your shoulder, stepping back from you with a long sigh and deep reluctance. He takes your hand in his, pulling you away from the bar as the two of you are followed by cheers and shouts of:

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

“Take it easy on him, Starling!”

“Have fun!”

Your first priority will be taking care of John’s beaten knuckles. The fun can come after that when you thoroughly thank him for defending you.

-

It isn’t unusual for John to be up late, either busy at the club or in his office.

Just as it’s not uncommon for you to go to bed alone. Of course, he makes up for it by making sure you never have to wake up alone, but you still miss him on nights when work comes first.

To make up for his absence, you take to wearing his shirts as pajamas, melting into the rich smell of him that lingers on the fabric as you sleep. When he’s finally done for the night, he often finds you lying on top of the covers, snuggled down into the fabric of his shirt. It’s a sight that fills him with equal parts adoration and want, something that he will never get tired of seeing.

You always wake up whenever he finally joins you for the night, moving so you can get under the blankets and let him pull you into his side. Sometimes, he talks to you about his day until you’re lulled to sleep by the soft vibrato of his voice, and sometimes, the sight of you in nothing but one of his shirts leads to even longer nights spent touching and feeling and worshipping until your voice leaves you.

Sometimes, it leads to nights like tonight, you laying beside him with your head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart while he trails his fingers in nonsense shapes across your back.

Things are fine, content, even downright serene until he skims over a ridge of the scar on your shoulder, and you tense instinctively, hissing softly under your breath.

He pulls back immediately, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

One thing about John: he never pushes.

He knows about the scar, knows how you go out of your way to cover it up, how you flinch whenever someone touches on that side. He observes, stores the information away in his brain, takes care to avoid touching you there, but he never asks you about it.

“It’s alright,” you sigh, rolling your shoulder, trying to get the ache to leave.

You want to tell him. You have for the last month, but every time you think to bring it up, something catches in the back of your throat, gnawing at you until you back out.

It leaves you with an awful sort of guilt, one made worse by the fact that you don’t have anyone to confide in about it. No one to bounce your ideas off of. No one to reassure you that John’s opinion of you wouldn’t change if he knew.

You trust him implicitly.

He’s never given you a reason not to.

You can’t keep complaining about being haunted if you won’t let go of your ghosts.

So, in the quiet darkness of your bedroom, you suddenly sit up, throwing one leg over him to place yourself in his lap, and set your hands flat against his chest.

“Did Kyle ever tell you I was married?” you ask softly.

John goes still beneath you.

“Things were good at the start. Or he made it seem like they were so I wouldn’t realize what he was actually doing, but over time that façade he put up melted away, and I—I realized how big of a mistake I actually made.”

He doesn’t speak, but John’s hands settle on your thighs, gently kneading into the bare skin.

A small attempt at comfort.

A silent I’m here.

“He never hit me or anything like that. He found other ways to hurt me, ways that would be harder to prove if I ever left, and he had this…charisma—he was so likable and charming that whenever he’d say no one would listen to me, I’d believed him. One day, he—” Your voice catches, and John’s hands slide up to your hips as he sits up and sets his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispers.

“I want to,” you reply. It takes a second for you to collect yourself, and you’re still not sure you’re ready, but you push yourself to do it anyway. “One day, I just snapped. I couldn’t take the snide comments, the vague threats, the constant anxiety—I couldn’t do it anymore. I tried to leave, and he tried to stop me, and we got into this huge argument. He grabbed my arm, and I pulled away too hard, not watching where I was going…and broke my shoulder, falling down a flight of stairs.

“I try not to think about it a lot, but my shoulder never really healed properly, so sometimes even the smallest touch just makes it ache, and all I can think about is that day, lying at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if it wouldn’t have been easier to have broken my neck instead.”

The pain lingers, but there’s a considerable weight that lifts from your chest.

There’s a beat of silence before John moves again, gently grabbing your hand and setting it on his chest, guiding your thumb along the skin where you feel a small raised circle underneath the hair.

“One of the first deals after I’d just started the club,” he sighs. “Went in all cocksure and arrogant, thinking I knew everything and that no one could touch me. The dealer we were meeting with had this idea that we were overcharging him, which we were, but we weren’t going to tell him that.

“Well, I got mouthy, and his men got violent. He pulled a gun, and the friend I was with, the man I’d started this club with, shoved me out of the way. Bullet tore through him but slowed down, going off kilter just enough to miss my heart. The Hell I unleashed after my recovery is what laid the foundation for what the club is today, but sometimes…Sometimes, I think about him, and I wonder if it was a fair trade. If it wouldn’t have been better for me to have taken the bullet and let him be here instead.”

A trade. One painful memory for another.

An implied confession: you’re not alone.

You lean forward, a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

I’m glad you’re here.

He pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours.

I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.

Your hands wind their way around his neck as he flips the two of you, laying you down against the bed. He hovers over you for just a second, blue eyes gazing down at you with far too much emotion for you to handle. You pull him by his hair, and he follows your lead, closing the space to pour all that emotion into a kiss that you return with the same intensity.

I love you.

-

If there’s one thing John loves more than surprising you, it’s spoiling you.

It starts with jewelry, small boxes of simple, elegant bracelets and necklaces left on your vanity during your performances.

Then it extends to clothes, your half of the closet slowly filling with pieces you find when he takes you shopping. He carries your bags for you, and you repay him by modeling every piece of lingerie you buy when you get home.

When it’s his turn to handle date night, there’s always some outrageously fancy restaurant or sold-out showing waiting for you, everything complimentary, and the staff exceptionally welcoming to the two of you.

Spoiling you isn’t restricted to expensive gifts, either.

When you catch a cold in the middle of spring, John takes the day off—something Kyle says he apparently never does, and something he can’t afford to do, says Ghost—to tend to your every need.

He overhears you talking with Valeria, telling her how you’d love nothing more than to sink into a hot bath, and you come home to a candle-lit bathroom and a tub filled with warm water and bubbles. He washes your hair, massages your shoulders, and whispers in your ear all the things he plans to do to you once you’re out of the tub.

You appreciate every single thing he does for you and tell him so often. He shrugs it off, saying he’s happy to treat you the way you deserve.

In truth, there’s something else, something far more selfish, that drives him.

He loves you. He loves to see you smile. He loves the way your eyes light up when he takes time away from the club to spend it with you—something he finds himself doing more of recently, an attempt to escape the stress and paranoia that’s been building.

He loves it even more that it’s him that’s making you happy, that he’s the only one who can make you smile like that, laugh like that, moan like that. You’re his just as much as he’s yours, and he has no intention of ever letting you go.

"Zip me up?"

Especially not now, when you’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, half-dressed in a gown he bought for you, trying to get ready for a gala.

You look like a dream, dress hanging off your figure as you gaze at him over your shoulder with that beautiful look on your face. The one that always makes him feel like a shy teenager stumbling over his words.

John steps up behind you, and you turn a little more to meet him with a soft kiss. You turn back to the mirror, standing up straight to give him access to the zipper of your dress and the bare expanse of your back.

You wait patiently, adjusting your jewelry here and there. So distracted. So trusting. It tugs at something in his heart how vulnerable you allow yourself to be around him, a man with so much blood on his hands, they're stained down to the bone. Yet here you are, allowing him to touch you, to stain your skin with that blood and violence and danger that will follow him for the rest of his life.

He doesn't know what he's done to deserve you, but you meet his eyes in the reflection, giving him that stunning smile, and he knows it doesn't matter.

He'd burn the world to the ground if it meant he could have you in the ashes.

-

It’s the middle of the night when Ghost walks into his office unannounced, carrying a small, black folder.

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” Price asks, looking up from the journal on his desk.

Ghost doesn’t speak, walking up to the desk and setting the folder down. Price sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before picking up the folder.

“Are you going to tell me what this is, or do I have to guess?”

“Tried calling you.”

“Phone’s in the bedroom.”

“You’ve been gone a lot.”

“Is this late-night visit for something important or just so you can tell me you’ve missed me?” Price doesn’t mean to snap; the irritation that he’s having this conversation instead of finishing up his work so he can join you in bed grinding against his nerves.

“We found the man that attacked Canary. We know where he’s from.”

Price’s eyes shoot up to meet Ghost’s. Ghost looks about as tired as he does, and Price can’t blame them. Things have been tight for months, walls slowly closing in around the club.

There’s something else in his face, something that sets Price on edge.

Price knows Ghost, knows the man who’s been by his side for years, helping to take care of every dirty deal the club’s had to deal with.

Ghost has a certain detachment, no care about what he’s doing or who he has to hurt to do it.

It’s not Ghost he’s talking to, but Simon who’s staring down at him with sadness and pity.

“Look in the folder,” Simon sighs.

Price doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to know about whatever’s in here, what information he’s about to have to deal with. He wants to throw the folder back at Simon and bury his head in your neck, ignoring the rest of the world.

But he’s the Boss for a reason.

He sets the folder down, steeling himself with a deep breath, before flipping it open.

A stone sinks into the pit of his stomach, and his heart shatters.

“Oh.”

The mask slips back on, Ghost’s protective nature taking over as he watches Price visibly deflate.

“How do you want me to handle this?”

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I have been feeling Sick the past few days so I'm gonna disassociate and pretend that this is happening to me in the Werewolf!AU 😖 Who's completely unafraid and snuggling with me all the time to keep me warm while a fever kicks my ass and who is three countries over and still running from The Germs ™️

(Dont answer this if you dont want to, also I'm on three different kinds of meds rn so if this is incoherent I'm so sorry)

Werewolf AU! w a sick S/O

cw: none really! sfw, fluff, some kissing licking yada yada, mdni

make sure you're taking your vitamins and getting your vaccine friends!! I hope you both feel better!! 🫂🫂

Gaz

hates being sick, so he tries to hang around in the other room if he can. he'll immediately get up if you holler for him, but would prefer not to be sick.

however, Gaz is a total sucker and if you whinper a bit, he'll curl right up with you. he wraps his tail around you, balled up against his torso.

usually falls asleep there with you. you end up sleeping through most of your sickness with him.

when you arent sleeping, he finds this as a perfect excuse to catch up on shows together.

orders some hot pho to make you feel better.. asks if you can feed him some of the raw meat slivers. he probably ordered an extra side of raw steak just for himself.

*licks your fingers clean* *wags*

Price

also hates being sick! but he rarely EVER gets sick, so he doesn't mind curling up with you if you are.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, John is a working dog. needs a job to do or he'll go mad. even if its just fetching your medicine every few hours, he's on it. you tell him to bring the medicine into the bedroom so he doesn't have to keep running to get it, but he insists he likes the back and forth.

helps your fever go down with cool showers. his gigantic back keeps most of the water away from your skin and his big warm arms keep you at a manageable temp

if you can't stop shivering tho, he's either laying himself on top of you or putting you on top of him. pushes your head into his plush fur and nuzzles your head.

puts his cold, wet nose against your forehead or your neck to keep track of your temperature or to help you cool off.

Simon

hates seeing you sick so works overtime to make you feel better asap.

unlike Price, he gets the sniffles easy so he tries to not lay with you all day. he'll stay in bed until youve dozed back off in a medicine induced slumber and tip toe off so you get rest.

but he doesn't abandon you by any means! it's actually quite the opposite. he's doting on you often, checking your temp and bringing you drinks to keep you hydrated.

knows you don't have much of an appetite but does his best to make your favorite soups. doesn't force you to eat, but leaves snacks on the bedside table just in case.

"gotta eat somethin', sweetheart."

can't resist you if you're grabbing at him and gently pulling him sleepily back into your arms. you'd much rather cuddle him than est another gross saltine anyway. he'll crawl over slowly, making sure he doesn't squish you before he plops next to you with a big wuff. pulls you right into his chest. rroorororoooo

Soap

obviously prefers not to be sick, but doesn't care if he gets your germs because your germs are yours and he loves you.

Dr McTavish is in the building

really takes on the role of taking care of you, runs you luke warm baths, bringsbyou the best food his mom taught him how to whip up. want a massage? he's on it! sinuses are swollen? he's getting little chilled patches for under your eyes.

Soap is a drooler and it comes in handy sometimes. licks and kisses your hot skin, cooling it in the process when his breath fans over it. good shivers when he licks the back of your neck so help you cool off.

"yae feelin' be' er?

wags his tail when you smile and nod. little boost of confidence knowing he can take good care of you even has a lumbering werewolf.

Alejandro

egg cleanse 🥚

muttering various Spanish under his breath as he goes from the kitchen to your bedside, back to the kitchen, to the bathroom and back again.

dotes on you but like.. as if he's mad the sickness even date infected you in the first place.

"as soon as this is over with, you're going to start taking vitamins. everyday"

one plus side to this is now you'll sit in a cold bath with him. wraps you up in his arms, resting his muzzle on your shoulder. good cuddles ♡

shakes out his fur because of course he does. and wraps you up in several towels. doesn't wanna get the bet wet, so he waits on the floor until he's dry.

likes when you poke an arm out of your towel to pet his head. even as you're falling asleep, he's asking if you need anything before you doze off.

asleep;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

word count: 378

warning: fluff

note: never played the game. dont know jack shit. i just have tall people wearing masks kink.

summary: your housemate ghost fell asleep on the sofa with paint on his face and you help.

You went home to silent snoring coming from the sofa. It was your 6’3 housemate Simon Riley, curled up against his duffel bag, recently arrived home from whatever job he has.

Sometimes he’d be missing for weeks, sometimes months, and one time it was a year and a half. Three months into that year and a half absence, an extremely handsome man came knocking on your front door and hands you an envelope full of cash, saying “He said this is for rent.” before just walking away.

The man was full of mysteries, telling you funny stories about his unnamed friends when he got tipsy, having random knives on him when you needed something to be cut, scoffing at the TV when they have bad trigger discipline in movies and tv shows.

But at this very moment, he looks like an ordinary man. An ordinary man with ordinary black paint around his eyes. You know, normal people stuff.

You went upstairs and quickly grabbed your makeup remover, cottonballs, and a couple cotton swabs. You debated whether micellar water would be better, but whatever it is around his eyes seemed industrial strength.

It was a miracle that he didn’t wake up at all. Only swatting your hands away once or twice, muttering “Fuck off, Soap.”

Admiring your clean and stealthy work, you smiled to yourself and wonder what else you can get away with while he’s knocked the fuck out on the couch.

You brought down your whole tray of face products. It’s a sin to skip washing his face entirely, but you feel this is the micellar water’s turn to shine. So you start there.

—

You got startled awake the next day, someone had shoved you in your sleep. The first thing you saw was Simon Riley looming over your bed, his large body preventing sunlight from hitting your face and your whole upperbody.

“Why the fuck does my face feel nice.”

What.

Blinking sleep away from your eyes for a couple seconds as you stared at his face, you can tell he was miffed. But there’s also something else there that you can’t place.

“If it feels nice then why did you wake me up?” You squinted at him.

“Because I want it to keep feeling nice.”