Masterlist

Ahhhhh.... My favourite number, 13. Well, my darlings, your wish is my command; tomorrow I will post part two to that HC, maybe I'll write some more for the zombie AU, and then I'll tease you with a little something new. Kisses

P.S. I will confess that I mistakenly selected 'poll' instead of something else for the masterlist, but now that I've seen how it works I will edit that too.

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

As I lay in bed, it's 5 am. My alarm is supposed to ring at 7 am. Insomnia hits again. So here we go! Enjoy the product of my foggy brain!

Warnings: fluff, some mentions of torture, curse words, insomnia, nightmares, threats, stalking but it's good natured, some mistakes ( grammar and spelling), interact at your own discretion.

-

When you first met it happened in the nonstop supermarket at the intersection a couple blocks from his apartment. It was 3 am. You were looking for coloured paper, he was looking for Kentucky burbon.

Both of you couldn't sleep for very different reasons. He just got back from a long mission, unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, not as familiar as the base, always bustling with activity. The house was too quiet. Ears straining to hear something. An understimulated brain makes up sounds, that turn to memories, then night terrors. He was out in search of relief, getting so drunk he'd pass out and get some shut-eye.

You on the other hand were finishing up on materials for your little students. And then you needed coloured paper to finish. You huff and puff, and almost curse out but refrain from doing so, looking at your wristwatch you determine you have a few hours until the school day begins. Do you trudge to the intersection, hopping, begging for mercy and coloured paper.

You were the only ones there besides the half-asleep cashier. Your sound of triumph at having found what you're looking for travels to the liquor aisle. Simon's eyes point in your direction, not really sure he actually heard it or hallucinated it.

At the register, you cut him off not even noticing his dark-clad 6'3 body, whiskey bottle in hand. He let out a 'bloody hell', an almost whisper, but your teacher's instinct kicked in. 'Language' you'd said in a chastised voice eyes darting to fix him with a glare, the same you'd do to the children in class. But instead of a meager 'apologies, miss' you get a grunt out of him. You glare some more and turn away, making a barely audible comment directed at him. Naturally, he confronted you on that and you went on and gave him a lecture on how people like him make your work 10 times harder and how they are a bad example to future generations.

Both him and the cashier look at you like you've grown two heads. Honestly, the young guy behind the cash register, thought you might start a fight with the graveyard shift regular wearing a balaclava and buying alcohol well into the hours of morning.

But you didn't. After having said what you had to say you turned around on your heels, slapped the two packets of coloured paper in front of the young man, and then angrily put the money in his outstretched hand. You left in a flurry of murmurs, not even acknowledging the farewell words.

'feisty' he had commented eyes trailing on your departing figure. He chuckled at your interaction. That day he drank himself into unconsciousness thinking of you, and your plush lips spewing insults in his face, eyes alight with passion, face scrunched in barely contained annoyance.

You were a primary school teacher, that much he has gathered from your discourse. He wanted to see you again, and walking around aimlessly he came across the nearest school in the neighborhood. He started searching for your face behind closed windows. He had found you and waited for you, like the stalker that he'd turned into. He hoped you wouldn't call the cops on him.

As you near the gates, two rows of 3rd-year students behind you, loudly talking about how much fun they had with you. You laughed at their happy and springy attitude. They were the best students you've had so far.

And then your eyes met brown ones in a staring match. You'd walked closer starting to threaten him to go before you got him removed from the premises. He smiled under his balaclava, eyes watching in admiration. 'let's grab dinner...' he interrupted you. 'huh?' that was the most articulate answer you could muster. 'I owe you a proper apology. So dinner on me.' He explained in chopped sentences the voice deep and laced with a Manchester accent.

You forgot what you were saying and blushed hard, a cute smile plastered to your face. You were so easily swooned by this stranger and his interest in you. He could have been a killer or kidnapper. You threw caution to the wind. You said yes.

And now, now you were happily married, a couple years into it, actually. The house you bought is small but cosy. The living room table is always full of clippings of coloured paper and half finished materials strewn about. It's home for Simon.

He knows you're busy with schoolwork when he's deployed, so he doesn't worry about you missing him too much. But you do, and he misses you tenfold. So you make something for him, a little couloured origami frame that contains a picture of the two of you, for him to have. He carries it in his chest pocket, but only on base, where he knows it's safe to do so. Being captured with personal things like this in his possession could give the enemy leverage over him. He knows that, he's an expert in interrogation techniques. But he doesn't tell you all this, he knows you're sensitive to violence. So he instead promises that he will keep it close to his heart, all the time. His lucky charm. You're enamoured with him and he basks in your love without shame.

To be continued...

"I like your voice" ok the let me read to you while your head rests on my chest and i scratch your head until you fall asleep

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part IV

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, I got some inspiration from The Rookie for the undercover part

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the fourth time you meet it’s no longer up to chance but up to your discretion

- the last mission scored you one of the most prized rewards in your field: a golden ticket; basically you get permission to retire from your field an choose another with less risk and a larger pay check, a “thank you gift card” from the director of the MI6, the King and England herself; it’s a type of mobility many dream of, having checked off the bucket list almost dying in al sorts of crazy situations and the young adventurous attitude toward danger having morphed into a veteran hesitant mentality; you are given plenty of time to decide where you want to go       

- a month later you hear rumours of a task force newly formed, one-four-one they’d call it; cheesy you think not really giving anymore attention; and then the briefing about some partnership between under cover specialised agents and this mystery task force for a top tier mission; you think about it, you haven’t had any action in three months now and anymore desk work will drive you up a wall if it continues; you skim over the file on the task force with disinterest, mostly because task forces like these were made up of brutes, eager to pick fights with the enemy and partially because most of the words had been redacted; a few are left out in the open among the sea of black ink: task force, covert mission, high-performance, low collateral casualties, you hum in thought

- what makes you not only volunteer with a manic grin, but actually consider having found the place for your relocation; under the captain’s name John Price, follow three more names; the last two are unknown to you and unimportant, two Sergeants, one John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and another Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick; but the one is impossible to mistake: Lt. Ghost; no first name, no last name; the only person whose file you ever read to bear that name.

- your application for the mission gets accepted almost instantly your reputation proceeding you almost any briefing room now; you’re informed that you’ll depart within the hour and other things you need to know about it; nothing really matters as you know you’ll get the chance to confront that knobhead that has plagued all your waking hours and some dreams with his obscure choice of words as you departed;

- you’re ready in 30, not really owning much and usually being moved from HQ to HQ, or base, or house within small time frames, which doesn’t allow for many personal things anyway; you wait in the shade, dragging from a cigarette, to pass the time, until the heli lands on the heli-pad; you don’t get to wait much, the pilot is here a little early; good; you don’t like to wait

- the flight is short the base not, far from the MI6 HQ; you pass the time reading a book you took, some title that caught your attention at the library across the street of where you usually buy cigarettes; the story doesn’t raise to your expectations, the writing style is mediocre and the characters have as much depth as a glass of water; you contemplate throwing it out the window, but refrain when the pilot announces ETA: less than 5; you hum heart beating a little quicker at the excitement you feel for finally being able to decipher the meaning behind those blood words

- as soon as the heli touches down on tarmac you’re out the door, no words of goodbye to the pilot; he’s used to it’

- the welcoming committee consists of the two Sergeants, now finally connecting faces to the names you read on the files; they’re casual in your attitude towards you which is a little invigorating, but they wouldn’t drop the “ma’am”; they’ll get over it; you’re probably a little older than them

- John ‘Soap’ MacTavish is chatty Scott, who’s a little to nosy for your liking, but within reasonable limits; you’re not sure if is actually trying to charm the pants off of you or that’s just how he is usually, throwing compliments left and right, but those have no effect on you and slide right off without much care; he sports an unusual haircut for some of the strictest branches of army that’s ever existed, SAS you see the patch on his shoulder, and a wacky tattoo representing the Task Force 141 insignia on his huge forearm

- Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is almost opposite to “Soap”, he’s more laid back, observing more than talking, making small comments when the Scott’s cascade off words gets interrupted, chuckling at his comrade poor attempts at complimenting you; he’s not as well built as Soap, but he stands a couple inches taller than you

- ‘He’s always like that?’ you direct your attention to “Gaz” as the two of them walk in front of you like two loyal guard dogs

- ‘Yes ma’am, though he get’s easier to ignore with time.’ You both chuckle, a huge disservice to the Scott that protests ‘Oi’ followed by a 'What's that suppose tae mean?' in the thickest Scottish accent you’ve had the chance to hear

- ‘You’re bothersome, bruv.’ Soap hits Gaz’s shoulder in brotherly fashion and the playful banter begins; you tune them up, and think about finally getting to change out of your civilian clothes and into something blacker, more unflattering and less eye catching than the light blue skinny jeans that have managed to flare out more than one whistle as you passed; arseholes and jar-heads come to the forefront of your mind

- you’re led first to your room and left there with the promise that one of them, most likely Soap, cause he already volunteered to do it, will come collect you for the briefing before supper

- you’re left alone to install, unpack, get changed and unwind from the irksome travel and the fact that you are being watched like deer in the headlights, fresh faces always attract the interest of the crowd in places like this

- the walk towards the briefing room is short but Soap manages to pour so many words in that interval that you’re almost sure he’s going to run out; once inside Soap’s chatter dies down and you make eye contact with the captain

- John Price gives off the energy of a strong father figure, his facial hair adding to his age; he not much older than you but the stress of leadership is visible on his face, eyes winged with crow’s feet; he gives a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod as you and the sergeant enter; he waits for Gaz to join you before he begins the briefing

-   as for the hulking beast of a man, clad in black, brown eyes surrounded by black army issued face paint and hidden behind that grotesque mask of his, oh no, you haven’t miss him, just ignored him; you felt his gaze burning your skin, searching for eye contact, which you vehemently denied; suffer just like I did, bloke

- Gaz comes in and is witness to the unthinkable; you the new face, pretty one might say without lying, so much different from these hardened man, more in common with the civvies than them, go and sit right next to Ghost, no space left in between the two of you; and what’s even crazier, you don’t acknowledge him; Soap and Gaz share a look; the captain seems amused by your actions and the sergeants confusion; no one, absolutely no-fucking-body ever sat next to Ghost, willingly and without starring dumbly and frightened at him; no one, never

- you take your seat, and place your notebook and pen neatly in front of you, facing the whiteboard as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; the two chaps sit down slowly, eyes trained on you half expecting you to realize your mistake and jump out of the chair; but you surprise them once again when you finally decide to meet the glare directed at you head on and to crack a smirk at the lieutenant

- their minds are blown, mouth open in disbelief, they glance at one another; their minds are set, you get labelled as the agent who clearly lost their mind somewhere in some gone wrong mission; they’ll bombard you with questions later

- as for Ghost, he’s as still as puma waiting to spring to attack; if looks could kill, you’d be disintegrated to the last atom; you’re as unbothered as a new born foal, unaware of its impending doom

- Price clears his voice, catching your attention and diminishing the tension that clouds around the semicircle table

- he makes an introduction for you, stating the reason you’re here, and what you’re specialized in: undercover espionage; you give a nod to all the men

- on a laptop in the furthermost side of the table a connection is established and a blonde American woman greets you; she’s CIA, their handler and yours for the upcoming mission; you have no qualms to work with the other most prominent intelligence agency, the one from over the pond, as long as you get to do your job as you know best; you feel the respect the men have for her and the fondness in the captain’s eyes once they greet each other; they’re old friends, that much you can tell   

- you decide you’ll respect Kate Laswell and trust her, as much as one can trust when one builds their carrier on lying to others and distrusting everyone; she’s pleasant so far, familiar with the men, and cuts straight to the chase just how you like it

- the target is one drug overlord who decided to take things up a notch and deal in arms with terrorists; the goal: disrupt the block-chain and cut the heads off the snakes; simple enough nothing that you haven’t tackled before

- you’re given green light to propose how to approach and infiltrate this business; you explain that you have to get quite high in their hierarchy if you want a shot at real damage; you skim over the information available on his deals: fentanyl, the most recent drug that’s flooded the streets; you know how to “cook” it from a previous cartel you took down; you’ll enter as just that “a cooker”, but you’ll also need a bodyguard to make yourself seem more important, but more on that later; you point out the name of the current one, the first target

- if you manage to get that person out of the game, you’ll have a chance to fill that spot, maybe the most important chain link in the whole operation

- you already have in mind the persona you’ll assume, a chemistry drop-out that took to cooking drugs; you know that your skills far surpass the target’s and you know how to cook a purer form of fentanyl; as for your bodyguards’: a crook; fresh out of prison on the lookout for work that pays well; one with knowledge of guns and explosives, surely to pique the terrorist cell’s interest in their skill

- Soap offers for the role, impressed so far with your knowledge and method of operating; you’re through, and he’d like to learn more on infiltration; you agree hearing he’s got what it takes to be convincing enough

- Laswell, Price and Gaz all hum in agreement at your plan waiting to hear their part in it; simple: Laswell can help with credentials and all the raw materials you’ll need to pull this off; Gaz, the captain and Ghost will be your back up, providing fire power

- the first target is easy to take down: he’s a middle-aged creep, who likes pretty young women and heavy drinks, parties like he’s twenty not fifty something; they already have info on his preferred hotspots; you’ll go in lure him out for the men to bag him and make him disappear

- everyone agrees so far adding small details here and there; it’s only your first few hours or so and every single one understands why you’re held in so high regard; it’s all warranted

- Ghost is the only one who hasn’t said anything, allowing you to direct the briefing, already know you’re more than capable and have far more experience with such delicate planning

- once everything is settled you start planning out the preparations you’ll need to make beforehand; Soap will train under your supervision; you point out he already looks the part, a delinquent; the comment lacks any trace of ill intent, but everyone can’t help but chuckle at his huff of indignation followed by ‘ ’M not’; you sweeten the deal praising his charming nature and easy-going attitude; he smiles at that but it’s short lived by your next comment

- ‘You'll do fine as long as you let me do the talking. I doubt you calling anyone 'bonnie lass' will get you very far.’ That gets everyone to let out a chuckle, everyone knowing Soaps anticks; even Ghost lets out a grunt reminiscent of a laugh; the bruised ego Scott follows up with a ‘Pish off’ that’s met with laughter from you; you let the insult roll off in good humour

- the briefing ends, Laswell disconnects, and the rest of you stand up to make your way to the mess hall in time for dinner; Price holds you back, and you obey; you talk a little, mostly him, praises fly at you, for good planning, attention to details and overall how well you managed to fit in with them in such a short time; you thank him, having heard this all the time; you try, really hard, to be pliant and easy to work with; no need to be a hard-ass; you’re all on the same side

- he agrees with your well-spoken point of view; but he can’t help but ask what’s the deal with you and Ghost

- ‘Worked together before. We get along well.’ Your answer seems to put at ease some of his worries about the teams chemistry; with that out of the way he leads you to the mess hall where he gets you to sit with them at the table; you can feel everyone else’s eyes on you as the new face of the 141’s; but you ignore them chatting with “your” team; you kind of like the sound of that; you can quite imagine working along side them for the rest of your carrier, however short, as you know the death rates among undercover agents grow the further they go; very few get to retire in one piece, actually you can count them on one hand, at least the ones they tell you about at the academy

Previous part here.

Next part here.

Echoes of Salvation: Negotiations (Part II). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader

Part I

Warnings: none, really, just some casual fluff and domestic stuff, maybe some grammar error and misspellings.

Enjoy!

The story starts after the dash.

-

Synopsis:

It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.

You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.

One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.           

-

Once you get back inside you notice the little girl fast asleep on the couch a peaceful look on her face. Bellamy keeps closely to your side not letting you move without following. The masked brute stands a few paces away at the other end of the sofa, his eyes carefully scanning over his sleeping daughter. Once satisfied that she is comfortable he turns to you and gestures towards the kitchen and for you to follow him. You wait a few seconds and keep a healthy distance once you start following him. Once inside he points at the door and you shut it. You look around searching for a safe place for you to sit now that you’re trapped in here with him. You decide to sit on one of the chairs the one with your back to the wall. Bellamy lays at your feet eyes glued to him.

He leans against the wall opposite from you, arms crossed over his chest. He watches you, studies your face for a while. You try to appear nonchalant at his cold fixating glare, but your hair stands up, goose bumps forming on your skin. He clears his throat ‘I have a few more questions for you’ he says voice just as gruffy as before. ‘Like wise’ you quip from your seated position.

'Have you had run-ins with the infected?'

‘I haven't seen any for the past few months. and even before that they are rare and far in between. And to my knowledge there isn't any other person alive around this area.’ You answer as truthfully as you can.

'You're pretty isolated out here. No neighbours within a decent radius?'

‘Only the Johnsons, Neil and Margaret, they used to live about a half a mile down the lake bank. They were a retired couple.’ You reply a little sad.

'Used to?' he asks intrigued.

'Yeah. They died soon after the infection started spreading' you shudder, the image of Neil coming back to you in full force.

'How did they die?' his head lens to the side as if to take a better look at you.

‘I found Margaret dead in their garage throat ripped out. I'm guessing that Neil got infected when he went to the market in the nearby town. When he got home, he must have turned and killed his wife.’ You fumble with your hands picking at your nails and avoiding his sharp gaze.

'What about the husband? What happened to him?'

You dreaded this question. You take a deep breath to steady your quick heart and face downward in shame. 'I Killed him...' you say after some consideration. 'He attacked me and Bellamy and.... I had to...' you mumble your words not wanting to remember anymore of that terrible day.

He watches you intently, there's no sign of surprise on his face. 'You did what you had to do. There's no need to look shameful.' He seems understanding, but something about his look causes a chill to run down your spine. 'How did you do it?' He adds softly.

'The hatchet. I was out cutting wood for the stove.' you keep mumbling, a distant look on your face as you focus your eyes on spot on the table cloth.

'I see.' He says without any kind of judgment in his tone. You find it hard to look at him at this moment. 'You didn't hesitate.' He adds.

'I did. I acted out in fear more than anything.' you say lowly rubbing the back of your neck trying to rid yourself from the cold sweat taking over you.

He continues to observe you calmly, as if trying to understand you on a more fundamental level.

His expression changes slightly, becoming softer, less intimidating. 'Was it hard? Taking a life?'

'Yes.' You say looking straight into his eyes tone genuine. 'But I'll do it again if I have to.' you admit to him hinting that you are not as weak as he thinks you to be. You did manage to survive all this time alone and it wasn't all luck. You worked hard to build and improve the defence around your house and make it sustainable for a long period.

He notices your determination, and for a brief moment, he seems to respect it. 'I believe that you would, I’m counting on it' he says, voice still low. 'How did you survive on your own for so long?' he changes the subject having made his opinion of you on that matter.

'I learned how to farm. When I first move here six and a half years ago, I bought books on how grow vegetables and some medicinal herbs. Margaret was kind enough to show me how to grow chickens, I have a few in a coup behind the house' you motion with your head in that direction. 'In the back, there is a small plot of land with an orchard. Apples and cherries. I also invested in solar panels. I still have electricity and running water. Though on cloudy days the batteries half charge. I have to keep an eye on consumption.

He nods slowly, taking in the information you have shared with him. He seems to be taking mental notes of your capabilities as a homesteader. He speaks again, ’What did do before shit hit the fan?'

‘I am a licensed architect so it was easy to design everything around here, the doing was the harder part' you say proud of what you managed to achieve.

'An architect', he repeats in a low, amused voice, 'and you chose to live in the middle of nowhere?'

He pauses. 'What made you come this far out?'

'I wanted peace and a quiet place surrounded by nature. Cities were to crowded for my liking. I never felt at home there. But here' you look around you, 'here is perfect.'

You hear him let out a breath, seemingly agreeing with your statement and your choice of location.

He studies you for a few seconds, then says, 'You don’t have anyone else? Family? Parents?'

'No.' the answer is short and a far away look takes over you. that is a story from another time. 'Where did you come from?' you turn the attention on him rather than giving anymore information about yourself.

He hesitates for a moment as if deciding whether or not he should share anything about himself.

'I'm ex-military.' comes the final answer, spoken in his usual blunt manner.

'That much I figured' you nod towards his uniform. 'Is she your daughter?'

He nods without saying anything further. There's a strange tension coming from his body language. He seems to be on high alert. He clears his throat as if he needs a change of subject. 'You said you are an architect?' you raise an eyebrow at that 'Yes, why?'

'Are you any good?' He presses, not beating around the bush and being direct with his question.

'Um... as good as they come, I guess!?' you tell him not trying to appear humble.

'So, what is your specialty? Residential? Commercial? Industrial?' he asks very specific.

'Residencial, but I do have some knowledge of the rest. Why do you ask? You try to understand were the sudden interest in your carrier choices come from.

'Just curious.' He says casually, but something in his eyes suggests that he's interested in finding out more. 'And that cottage you're living in.' he points at your house. 'You designed it?'

'Yes' you say eying him suspiciously. His questions were awfully precise. But once again he changes the direction of your conversation wanting to know more about your house. He asks you about the house, the structure and the layout, how you keep warm, where do you get wood for the fireplace.

'You're pretty self-sufficient.’ He concludes.  ‘How often do you have to go out for supplies?' his question catches you by surprise. Ever since you saw the news about the outbreak you haven’t ventured anywhere close to civilization, afraid that you’d encounter infected and be ripped apart.  

'I haven't really left the property in the past year. The further I go is the lake for fishing. Most of what I own comes from the time when things were delivered to your door or post office. I used to buy items in bulk.' you shrug, it made more sense to you that way. ‘There was no reason for me to leave. Plus, there is a lot of work to do around here, animals to feed. Which reminds me of something…’ you say fixing him with a hard stare mirroring his own. He waits for you to continue.

'You'll have to pull your weight around here. Food and accommodation are not for free.' You set clear boundaries. You may be kind enough to let them stay, considering the threats he’d flung your way earlier, but you won’t be taking advantage of.

He sighs almost offended by what you said, ' I don't plan on freeloading.' He assures you. 'Good' you intend to hold him to his words. He grunts in acknowledgement before going on to speak, 'I hunt regularly, and I know my way around a gun. I'm capable of offering protection.' He says in a serious tone, almost like a pledge. His military training is showing.

'There is not much fighting to do around here, but I'll keep in mind.' you say with a chuckle. It'll be fun seeing him do household chores. You wonder if he'll keep the mask on while feeding the chickens or picking apples.

'I do have one last question.' He says, suddenly sounding more unsure of how to phrase it. You nod at him to go one whipping the smirk on your face and

'If our partnership is to work…’ he pauses seriousness taking over him like a heavy veil, ‘you will have to abide to my one rule.' You sit up a little straighter, your attention fully on him.

'My girl comes first. In a survival situation, every decision I make will rely on her safety. No negotiation.'

You nod your head in agreement. 'Got it. I'll try my best not to get in your way.' You promise tone filled with sincerity.

'Good.' That seems to conclude the interrogation. He seems to relax a bit, and his demeanour is less hostile than before. He rises to his feet and turns to walk to where his daughter lies on the sofa. You watch as he drops his gun and knife on the table and sits on the armchair guarding the sleeping girl.

You let them settle in while you busy yourself with chores. you go out to feed the livestock you keep, collect any fresh eggs, and tend to your garden. The sky begins to darken, wind picks up. you can faintly hear thunder cracks in the distance. It's going to rain tonight, you muse to yourself. You quickly finish your work outside making your way inside. Once in your living room you notice the absence of masked stranger. He is nowhere in the house. You put down the basket you filled with fresh vegetables on the kitchen table and approach the sofa. The little girl stirs awake and looks curiously at you.

'How are you feeling, darling?' you ask in a warm tone smiling gently at her. The little girl rubs her eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep in them. She then looks up at you once again with her adorable big eyes. ‘A bit tired’ she says before yawning.

'It's understandable, you went through a lot out there. What happened to you?' you ask pointing at her bandaged arm The little girl looks at you for a moment as if thinking what to tell you. 'I got hurt by a bad guy's dog...It bit me.' She tries to sound brave but you hear the quiver in her voice.

'Oh... that's awful. Would you let me take a look at it?' you say softly siting down on the couch next to her. ‘Yeah…’ she nods. She holds out her arm for you to take a look at.

On her arm, you can see the puncture marks. They don't look like a human bite mark and that makes you sigh in relief. They were telling the truth. But what worries you is the yellowish liquid oozing out of it. That and the fever indicate that the wound got infected. 'How long ago did that dog bite you?'

‘About three days ago...’ She says quietly. ‘...It hurts now more than before.’ her soft, innocent eyes are filled with concern, fear and worry. ‘...I feel hot...’ she added. 'Let's clean it and rebandage it, okay?'

'Okay' she says with a small, relieved smile. You fetch a med-kit and some disinfectant and begin to clean the wound. It's a bit irritated from the infection. She seems to be in good spirits despite the pain.

You try to comfort her by keeping her mind occupied with conversation while treating her wound.

'How old are you?' you ask her as you wipe her arm with some alcohol blowing a little over it to ease the burn. 'Nine!' she answers earnestly with a toothy smile as she looks up at you, still enduring the sting of the disinfectant. 'What's your name?' you ask remembering that you haven’t been properly introduced so far. 'Olivia' she says with a soft, cute smile. 'What's your name?'

You tell her. 'I haven't met anyone else with that name before' she says pensively. 'Well, we don't really meet many people anyway. Just infected.' she says with a sad sigh. 'Yeah, me either.'

You finish treating her wound and re-bandage it. A shiver runs through her little body causing her to tremble. ‘Are you cold?’ you ask, reaching your palm to her forehead. She is indeed a little feverish. ‘...A bit.’ She mumbles with a small shiver.

You stand up making your way toward a small closet where you keep some blankets. You pick a fluffy one and hand it to Olivia. 'Here you go, sweety'. She smiles brightly as she accepts the extra layer and buries herself in it. 'I'll go grab some firewood to get a fire started.' You announce heading for the door. Just as you reach for the door handle, the door opens and there stands the tall dark figure of the man, his hands full of firewood. 'Oh...' you say in surprise as you step aside making way for him to enter. Outside rain is pouring. He puts the wood in the fireplace and starts working on the fire. You close the door and watch in silence as he works. In no time a well-built fire heats the small house casting a warm glow from the fireplace. The shadows flicker on his face, the white mask adding a level of horror to the otherwise cozy scene.

‘Thanks,’ The little girl says softly to him, to which he only grunts in acknowledgement.

You quietly make your way to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Bellamy lays on the kitchen floor quietly supervising the two strangers in your house through the open door. The dinner you had in mind this morning included fish but you were rudely interrupted, so you'll have to settle on chicken with a side of veggies. You work quietly and efficiently, casting a glance once every few minutes in the living room. You see Olivia tiredly saying something to the masked man and him leaning back, the chair reclined, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching you prepare dinner. Soon, everything is ready, and three plates of steaming food lay neatly on the kitchen table. You walk into the living room to invite your involuntary guests to dinner.

The tall man is sitting on the comfortable armchair, the little girl lays on the sofa next to him, propped up by the pillows. As you enter, they quiet down and stare at you. He slowly stands up, holding out a hand to the girl, but she swats at it and raises by herself with a huff. He says nothing and he follows you two the kitchen. For how big he is he his movements are fluid, calm and quiet. You can barely hear his footfalls.

The little girl sits next to her father and digs into her plate burning herself in the process. 'Take it easy, kid.' he gently admonishes her. It's a weird scene seeing him at the other end of your small table, still in full gear watching the two of you eat in silence. Earlier he was threatening to kill you, now he sits in your kitchen hands rested on his knees watching like a hawk and frozen like a statue. You cast a few glances at him wondering if he'll take the mask of to eat but he remains unmoving. Perhaps later when I’m not around you think to yourself.

You try subtly glancing at the masked man, now that you sit in awkward silence. The little girl eats hungrily, she seems to love the food. Her blue eyes are focused on her plate, but you notice that she also seems to sneak in a few glances at her father while she chews. They look at each other as if communicating solely with their eyes. Perhaps they could, after spending so much time together in situations that require keeping quiet and nonverbal communication. You’ve notice so far that he prefers gestures instead of words. Once she’s finished eating the girl turns to look at you 'Is there any dessert?' her question is followed by a small burp and a quiet laugh. Her father pumps his knee audibly into hers under the table and throws her a pointed look. ‘What?’ she feigns innocence. You chuckle at their antics watching them bicker.

'I have some cherry jam if you're interested.' you offer with a smile.

'A bit, please.' she replies. Olivia’s eyes are sparkling while her father looks as unimpressed as ever, while you prepare a few slices of homemade bread and spread jam on it. She sits closer to him whispering something in his ear. He bands down and you watch as he whispers back.

She seems to be a very attached child, and you wonder if that is a consequence of all the trauma she has gone through. His manners on the other hand seem a bit less harsh, slightly more relaxed, although his dark gaze still lingers on you as if his prepared for you to rush him or something.

After you finish eating you collect yours and Olivia's plates and dump them in the sink to wash them later. You then turn towards Olivia 'How about we get you out of those dirty clothes and give you a warm shower? you ask motioning upstairs were your bedroom and personal bathroom are. She looks at her father with a look of silent plea.

'Go on.' he says quietly with a nod. She gets up, excited to get a warm shower, the prospect of getting cleaned and changing clothes is too much for her to resist. Olivia runs up the stairs followed quickly by you, leaving the man alone to eat.

A few moments after you are out of sight, Simon takes off his balaclava and puts it on the chair where his daughter sat. he grabs the cutlery and just as he’s a bout to start cutting into the chicken he stops, feeling eyes on him. He casts his eyes at the door where your dog watches him curiously head tilted to the side and years pointed up. ‘What?’ he grunts in annoyance, and the dog gets up and leaves the room. With a sigh Simon starts eating, he can’t remember his last proper meal that didn’t involve expired cans of beans.

-   

Once in the bathroom, you turn on the shower and set the necessary water temperature before stepping out to wait for her. You go inside your bedroom searching for some clothes that will fit her better than what she has. Her soiled clothes go straight to the bin. They’ll need a proper wash for sure. You wait by the door for her to finish. You can hear her saying something to you through the cracked door.

'I don't remember the last time we had warm water' she says from behind the shower curtain. 'Were you on the road for a long time?' you inquire curious to know more about them, and now taking your chances with Olivia who is chattier than her father.

'Yeah...We've been on the move and camping for a while now in abandoned houses.' she replies as she turns off the shower and steps out. She is wrapped in the towel, her wet hair sticking to her forehead and with a shy, bashful look on her face to which you can't help but smile at.

'Come' you motion for her to go inside your bedroom 'let's get you dry.' She happily obliges and you both step into the bedroom.

You help her dry her hair and then you give her some privacy for her to change into the new clothes. By the time you are done, she is completely dry and wrapped in a cozy sweater and shorts. She looks really pretty now that she’s clean, her pixie cut framing her round face perfectly.

She smiles at you and then starts looking around the room. Your bed is made, covered in cream linen bedsheets, your bedside table is nicely decorated with some flowers from your garden, and your desk is neatly organized.

A few books and magazines laying at the corner of the desk that catch her attention. She walks closer looking at the covers curiously. You notice her looking at a particular magazine cover, it shows a woman holding some gardening tools and a child playing nearby.

'Do you like gardening?' you ask her.

She shrugs. 'I don't know', she answers sincerely. Right, if they were moving from place to place, they didn't have time for that. Probably didn’t have time for many other things. The realization dawns on you. Growing on the run in a world full of monsters must’ve been rough on her, not really being able to be a child, always on high alert.

'Maybe you can help me tomorrow in the garden if you feel better.' you offer kindly. 'That would be nice.' she replies earnestly, her warm smile lighting up her adorable face, making her look like a normal kid.

'Okay, for now, let's get you settled in the bedroom downstairs.'

'Alright… but can I ask you something?'' she looks up at you scuffling her feet, the wool socks you gave her sliding and pooling at her ankles. 'Sure thing.' You turn towards her and wait for her to voice her question. There's a brief pause in which she mulls over, seemingly struggling to form the right words.

Finally, she speaks, 'Why did you accept us in your house? She takes you by surprise. You pause, looking around, giving yourself time to think before you answer. 'It was the right thing to do. You needed help.' You say conviction in your tone.

She nods a little bit, still unsure. 'But you don't know us...you could have just closed the door on our faces. It happened before. People keep their things for themselves out there.' She arguments.

Your heart falls a little, your hopes in humanity crumbling. You knew people could be selfish at times, but now they really turned borderline savage and hysteric. 'People can be like that when they feel threatened.' you admit.

'But you aren't?' she follows up your statement with a question. You hesitate a bit, her eyes are focused solely on you, their innocence and naïveté are so endearing it somehow breaks your heart.

'I try not to be.' Your answer seems to have raised even more questions. She is curious to know more. 'Why? Why do you try not to be like the others?' she tilts her head as if trying to solve you like one does a riddle. 'I don't know. It just doesn't feel right to me. I think people should be kind or at the very least not violent with one another.' Your philosophical reply is met with more confusion. '..So why did you let us in?' she asks earnestly. She doesn't understand why someone like you would extend a warm generosity to perfect strangers who have nothing to offer when the same kindness is so scarce.

'Well, your father did threaten me with a gun.' you give her a more appropriate answer, something she understands better: violence. She sighs. Her adorable little face drops as she realizes that her father's actions might have put you in danger. 'Oh.' She remembers your earlier encounter, her father's less-than-friendly approach to strangers seems nothing new to her. ‘Right…. He's protective, he has to be.' she promptly excuses his actions, her expression a little troubled but at the same time, she seems to understand. 'But he's not a bad person' she quickly adds.

'I didn't say he was.' you remind her. She nods her head a little, still thinking about it all.

She is very smart, it is evident that she is much more aware of her surroundings than the average kid her age, you wonder what she would grow up to be, and what kind of adult she would turn out to be in such a harsh world. You imagine she will be a spitting image of her father, cold and ruthless.

You gently lead her down the stairs and to the guest bedroom ending your conversation. Once you reach downstairs you notice that her father is missing yet again. 'He's probably outside smoking. He never does it when I'm around though. He says it's bad for the lungs. But I don't understand why he keeps doing it' she confesses. She sounds more like an adult than a child. She has probably matured fast due to the circumstances, but that doesn't change the fact that she is still so young.

She still needs guidance, she still needs help figuring things out. Even as she speaks of his flaws, she is quick to excuse him and defend him, she loves him and looks up to him so much. It's almost like she sees him as two different people, one good and one not-so-good. You wonder if that is just her way of trying to cope with his actions.

'It's a bad habit people tend to have when they are stressed' you tell her. You remember your college years going to bars with colleagues and smoking a few cigarettes from your friends. But you never bought a packet.

'Do you get stressed?' she asks you, seemingly trying to see if you are the same as her father.

You take a few seconds to think it over, but her innocent, naïve gaze is hard to lie to.

'I do.' you confess, '…Sometimes. But I do other things to relieve the stress.'

She looks at you curiously, you can tell that she is looking to you for advice on how to deal with stress or she’s just looking for options for her father. 'What kind of things?' she asks, her voice filled with childlike wonder and curiosity.

'Well, gardening is a good way. Bellamy likes to help.' at the mention of her name, your companion leaves her guarding post by the fireplace and approaches the two of you. Olivia hides a little behind you at the sight of the dog. 'Don't worry, she won't bite you, I promise. She's really friendly with people. Look...' You crouch next to her and stretch your palm towards her nose. Bellamy starts wagging her tail eager to be petted.

Olivia watches you cautiously, but then sees how Bellamy loves to be petted and she can't help herself from being curious. She cautiously puts her soft little hand forward, hesitantly touching Bellamy on the cheek. The dog allows it, and soon Olivia warms up to her and starts petting her.

She smiles at you as she does that, then she speaks. '...Does she like me?' she whispers loudly as if the dog might understand her. 'I think she does' you playfully match her tone.

Olivia smiles even more, petting Bellamy even more enthusiastically. 'What kind is she?' she asks, showing a bit more enthusiasm in her voice. 'She's a Border Collie. She is a dog meant to herd sheep and keep guard from other animals.' '…She must be very smart.' Olivia says as she continues petting her, her voice is full of curiosity and admiration as she says that. 'She is' you say with a tone of love for your sole companion. ‘Dad told me that the dog that bite me was German Hepard. A guard dog.’ She informs you the way children do to prove they are just as knowledgeable as adults. ‘Shepherd. German Shepherd.’ You correct her with a small laugh. ‘That’s what I said.’ She counters with an incredulous look on her face at you for not taking her seriously.  

Olivia slowly yawns her eyes hooded with exhaustion. 'Let's get you in bed' You guide her towards the bed pulling the covers and allowing her to get in. Once she settles comfortably you put the back of your hand on her forehead checking for any signs of increased temperature. to your relief, her fever went down a little. It means that the pills still have an effect even after all these years. 'Good night' you whisper to her as her eyes flutter closed. She nods, tired from the day's events, and slowly closes her eyes as the sleep starts to take over her. '..Good night..' she whispers to you with a sleepy voice before she falls asleep.

You quietly sneak out of the room, closing her door softly behind you. You can still hear her soft snoring coming from inside the room, and a little smile forms on your face. You know she feels safe with you, and that warms your heart a little. You then head towards the kitchen, Bellamy in tow, only to discover that there are freshly washed dishes on the drying rack. You hum to yourself in appreciation. He may be a hulking terrifying military man but he has manners. You chuckle at the thought, despite the cold and aloof vibe he gives off, he still manages to surprise you with small gestures like these. It's clear that no matter how rough he seems, he does have a softer side to him.

Bellamy follows you next, and the two of you make your way outside. The rain has stopped, but there is still no sign of the man. He seems to like to disappear like a ghost. you scan the area around your garden, which is now damp with the fresh rain. Further outside, from the fence to the outside world, the darkness envelops everything. The light from your house is not strong enough to penetrate outside your garden. You take a deep breath the air humid and refreshing. The clouds hide the stars, you wish the sky was clear so you could map out the constellations with your finger, a favourite pastime of yours during the summer nights when the air is too stuffy for you to fall asleep.

After a while, the gate opens, and the masked man walks in, rifle slung on his shoulder, strap gripped tightly in his hand. The white skull on his face is the only thing that reflects enough light for you to make it out. A shiver runs down your back at his frightening attire. No wonder other people turned them down. He looks more like a serial killer from a horror movie than a human being. As he comes towards you, you can't help but wonder out loud 'Why the mask?' you watch him as he approaches you.

He doesn't respond to your question. Instead, he looks you up and down, studying you for a moment before he speaks with a firm voice. '..To hide my face.' He states in an obvious manner.

You stare at him dumbfounded the look on your face most likely betraying your confusion at his answer. He walks past you a small chuckle audible enough for you to catch it. He goes inside without another word. He's such a hardass... you think to yourself but you follow after him locking the door behind you. He looks around, most likely looking for his daughter. 'Olivia is asleep in the guestroom.' you point your thumb over your shoulder at the door. He stares at you silently which makes you really uncomfortable. 'You can make yourself comfortable here. My bedroom is upstairs...' you inform him awkwardly.

He stands there, not uttering a word, not even moving an inch, just looking at you, his eyes searching your skin and face, analysing your body and appearance with a prodding, cold, and distant gaze.

After what seems like an eternity, he finally utters a few words in response to you. '..That'll do..' he dismisses you with his usual monotonous and stern voice.

You nod and go up the stairs. once inside the room, you lock the door and sit on your bed. You stay like that for a while trying to comprehend today's events. You're unsure how things will play out between you and the masked man downstairs. You only hope that it won't interfere with the peaceful life you've built for yourself here. After what feels like hours have passed, you rise and start digging in your closet for pyjamas and a towel. You'll take a shower, hoping it will wash away the unease that seems to overtake you.

As you strip away your clothes and step into the shower, the warmth of the water fills your body as it washes away the cold. You let the hot water run over you for a while, allowing yourself to relax and forget the tension still lingering around you. After a few minutes, you step out and dry off by sliding your towel along your wet skin. Feeling refreshed and cleaner, you pull on a comfy set of pyjamas before returning to bed.

Once under the sheets, you close your eyes and try to fall asleep. Unlike Bellamy who snores peacefully on the rug next to your bed, you don't have such luck. You stare at the wooden ceiling above you. The house is dead quiet and you try to focus your hearing in hopes you'll catch something from outside your room. A few minutes pass when you can distinctly hear the faucet of the downstairs bathroom sink. You keep listening trying to imagine what he's doing. He's probably washing up, you think. The house creeks as the wind outside starts to blow. Soon after the rain starts once again, the sound of raindrops hitting your window finally lulls you to sleep.

I believe in free education, one that’s available to everyone; no matter their race, gender, age, wealth, etc… This masterpost was created for every knowledge hungry individual out there. I hope it will serve you well. Enjoy!

FREE ONLINE COURSES (here are listed websites that provide huge variety of courses)

Alison 

Coursera

FutureLearn

open2study

Khan Academy

edX

P2P U

Academic Earth

iversity

Stanford Online

MIT Open Courseware

Open Yale Courses

BBC Learning

OpenLearn

Carnegie Mellon University OLI

University of Reddit

Saylor

IDEAS, INSPIRATION & NEWS (websites which deliver educational content meant to entertain you and stimulate your brain)

TED

FORA

Big Think 

99u

BBC Future

Seriously Amazing

How Stuff Works

Discovery News

National Geographic

Science News

Popular Science

IFLScience

YouTube Edu

NewScientist

DIY & HOW-TO’S (Don’t know how to do that? Want to learn how to do it yourself? Here are some great websites.)

wikiHow

Wonder How To

instructables

eHow

Howcast

MAKE

Do it yourself

FREE TEXTBOOKS & E-BOOKS

OpenStax CNX

Open Textbooks

Bookboon

Textbook Revolution

E-books Directory

FullBooks

Books Should Be Free

Classic Reader

Read Print

Project Gutenberg

AudioBooks For Free

LibriVox

Poem Hunter

Bartleby

MIT Classics

Many Books

Open Textbooks BCcampus

Open Textbook Library

WikiBooks

SCIENTIFIC ARTICLES & JOURNALS

Directory of Open Access Journals

Scitable

PLOS

Wiley Open Access

Springer Open

Oxford Open

Elsevier Open Access

ArXiv

Open Access Library

LEARN:

1. LANGUAGES

Duolingo

BBC Languages

Learn A Language

101languages

Memrise

Livemocha

Foreign Services Institute

My Languages

Surface Languages

Lingualia

OmniGlot

OpenCulture’s Language links

2. COMPUTER SCIENCE & PROGRAMMING

Codecademy

Programmr

GA Dash

CodeHS

w3schools

Code Avengers

Codelearn

The Code Player

Code School

Code.org

Programming Motherf*?$%#

Bento

Bucky’s room

WiBit

Learn Code the Hard Way

Mozilla Developer Network

Microsoft Virtual Academy

3. YOGA & MEDITATION

Learning Yoga

Learn Meditation

Yome

Free Meditation

Online Meditation

Do Yoga With Me

Yoga Learning Center

4. PHOTOGRAPHY & FILMMAKING

Exposure Guide

The Bastards Book of Photography

Cambridge in Color

Best Photo Lessons

Photography Course

Production Now

nyvs

Learn About Film

Film School Online

5. DRAWING & PAINTING

Enliighten

Ctrl+Paint

ArtGraphica

Google Cultural Institute

Drawspace

DragoArt

WetCanvas

6. INSTRUMENTS & MUSIC THEORY

Music Theory

Teoria

Music Theory Videos

Furmanczyk Academy of Music

Dave Conservatoire

Petrucci Music Library

Justin Guitar

Guitar Lessons

Piano Lessons

Zebra Keys

Play Bass Now

7. OTHER UNCATEGORIZED SKILLS

Investopedia

The Chess Website

Chesscademy

Chess.com

Spreeder

ReadSpeeder

First Aid for Free

First Aid Web

NHS Choices

Wolfram Demonstrations Project

Please feel free to add more learning focused websites. 

*There are a lot more learning websites out there, but I picked the ones that are, as far as I’m aware, completely free and in my opinion the best/ most useful.

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC - Part 2

Part I

Author's block and tummy aches don't make a great team. Apologies that it took some time to post this. Enjoy!

Warnings: none other than mistakes, it's fluff.

-

Being a primary school teacher is far from easy. From the endless hours spent correcting homework or grading tests to preparing visual materials, your work never ends. Maybe you should listen to your colleagues and double down on the work you put into this. But you can’t deny the satisfaction you get from seeing your students get excited in class even when you assign extra work for them over weekends and holidays. But now that you came down with the flu, another downside of working with kids, you couldn’t care less about the little punks.

You lay down in bed covered in the thickest of blankets, shivering and barely able to breath. The house is empty and you’ve never felt so alone. You wish Simon would walk through the door and snuggle you until everything is better again. He was deployed again, and in the past few months you managed to talk to him for a total of 10 minutes. He’d call you to check on you and let you know he was fine, but he’d be quick to tell you he can’t say more about his whereabouts.

Being married to him brought a hell of a lot more stress than you could have imagined. Not knowing where he was or what he did was eating you on the inside. You worried about your husband’s well being but you always reminded yourself not to pester him too much. His job is stressful as it is, no need for you to put anymore pressure on him when he was home. You painted an image of his coworkers through his brief comments on what they did on base. The most you heard about was the Scot, Johnny, the young lad had made an impression on Simon. Even though he’d complain that Johnny was a ‘pain in the arse’, you couldn’t miss the small chuckle he let out whenever he spoke of him. You concluded that this young Scottish man was the closest thing to a friend your husband had.

The clock on the nightstand reads 2AM. The fever and headache are back. Your body hurts everywhere. you stand up readying yourself to leave the warm cocoon of the blanket and go to the kitchen to make some tea and take some more medicine. The otherwise short trip to the other side of the house seems now like an endless maze, it’s dark and you can barely see; you keep one hand on the wall just to be safe if nausea takes the better of you. You take a seat at the dinner table as the kettle starts warming up.

There is a faint click at the front door, so soft that at first you believe you imagined it. But it turns out that it was real, that the sound was a key turning the lock and the knob twisted, and the door opened. You watch everything as in slow motion, your brain too fuzzy with the flu. The massive body dressed in all black walks in illuminated from behind by the street lights, leaving their shoes on the rack. It’s Simon…. He’s home but you don’t have the energy to move. In the still and quiet atmosphere of the house the bloody kettle lets out a blood curling whistle signalling the water is boiling. Simon’s eyes dart towards the kitchen space, not having noticed you until now.

  ‘What’re you doin’ in the dark, love?’ he chuckles coming over to you. He’s becoming suspicious when you don’t make a single move to get up and greet him as you would. He first reaches for the knob to turn off the stove, then he pulls off the balaclava, reaching down to your sited position to kiss your forehead. ‘You a bit warm…’ he hums and you nod sniffling your runny nose. The rest is a blur, you can faintly remember him pouring the tea for you and handing the medicine. Next thing you know strong arms carry you to the bedroom, the same arms you fall asleep until morning.

Simon is trained in the art of staying still no matter what waiting to get a clear shot of the enemy. But since he met you, that skill has been put to a better use. He had no qualms with becoming your body pillow over night. He just loves the feeling of you pressed so closely to him, head rested on his peck near his beating heart. He would gladly stay there for an eternity is you asked him.

Anything for you. Always, no matter how costly or how small, he’d do anything to see you happy. That’s his love language, while he struggles to word it he makes up with his actions. And you’d never trade him for anyone else in the world. The following days are spent with him not leaving your side, pampering and loving you the way you’ve never been loved before.

Once you feel better, he asks you to go on a date just like first time he asked you accepted with a school girl giggle. It’s safe to say you’re in love. The date goes well and you find yourself walking through the park like two hopeless romantics, talking and laughing. He tells you that Soap caught a whiff of him being married to you and now he won’t stop pestering him with questions about you two. ‘Maybe you should invite him to dinner… if you want to.’ You smile at him. ‘Maybe’ he grunts not looking at you. Bringing Johnny to your house, to meet you, it involves risks. But he knows that he can trust the sergeant with his life, so what if his only friend meets his wife. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Bonus:

On base, Ghost approaches Soap in the armoury, making sure no one is in ear shot. He gives the Scot a date, time and the name of a bus station somewhere in suburban Manchester. At Soap’s questioning look Ghost lets out a grunt ‘Wife wants you to come to dinner.’ At that Soap grins and accepts politely which prompts the lieutenant to threaten to kill him if he tells anyone about this.

The day when Johnny arrives at your doorstep comes faster than expected. You open the door and greet him, rather warmly which is a stark contrast to your husband’s harsh demeanour. Opposites do attract, he supposes. At dinner you listen to him talk, about their time on base, stories from missions, nothing too detailed though, and about his own family. He shows you pictures of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. They’re cute. You talk about your pupils, sharing stories of your own. Johnny perks up at the knowledge that you are a primary school teacher. He asks if he can have your number in case he needs help with their homework. You gladly give it to him, asking in return to keep an eye on Simon for you. He accepts your deal.

Johnny leaves after a couple of hours, going back to the hotel, even though you insist he can take the couch. But you know that Simon is glaring at him over your shoulder daring him to accept. Once he left you turn towards your husband hugging him and kissing him. You thank him for letting you meet his colleague, and he reminds you that he’d do anything for his lovely wife.

A couple of weeks go by. You’re in bed with Simon having a heated kissing session when your phone rings. Groaning you pull off from him and grab it. Johnny’s name lights up the screen and you answer. The conversation is short, something about math and how to use the graphic method to solve a problem. Simon listens intently seeing you smile conspiratorially. When you end the call, he grabs you and pushes you underneath him, trapping you between his body and the bed. ‘Why does Johnny have your number?’ the low rumble pulls a laugh from you. You know you have no chance to lie to him, he’ll see right through. You explain to him that he wanted it so he can ask you whenever he doesn’t know how to solve his nephews’ homework. He watches you not really convinced by your answer. ‘You hate talking to parents on the phone. What did you get him do? Spy on me on base and report back to you?’ Busted. You laugh and let out an even more unconvincing ‘no’ for an answer. He knows you too well.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part I

Warnings: torture, blood, pain, unconscious Ghost and basically kinda useless, really capable YOU persona ;), rushed writing, possible mistakes, reader is pretty neutral so far

P.S. Don’t judge the unexplained inconsistency of how a guy like Ghost gets captured, but spy you get to waltz around unbothered, yeah, you’re that good, so good you got plot armour. Besos!   

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the first time you meet it's messy. He's supposed to extract an agent from behind enemy lines but instead he gets captured

-  you pose as a computer science PhD who is in charge of the enemy base cyber security, when in reality you're there to install a backdoor with remote access.

- you know someone should come to help make your exit, but when no infiltration is reported panic starts to rise in your chest

- you start investigating, searching through the facility trying to find out if something happened.

- you gain access to a part of the facility you don't have clearance for.

- you stumble upon a gruesome scene in one of the holding cell in the underground levels

- you find a man tied to the ceiling, bare feet barely touching the floor, muscles stretching under the tension ready to snap

- a black hood is thrown over his head and he's shirtless, remnants of once black cargo pants hang on his hips.

- he was tortured, for days by looks of it

- you know enough about that to know that he hasn't cracked yet, otherwise he'd be dead not hanging there in the damp cold cell.

- you take your chances and take the hood off

- he groggily turns his head to look down at you, he’s a big that much you can say

- blonde whisps of hair matted to his scalp stained a dark red, pale skin the same blood oozing from small cuts on his cheeks dripping down on his pectorals. From behind black and blue and inflammation two brown eyes scan your face

- 'the wolf walks alone' you quietly utter the code phrase for identity verification

- he watches you like an owl watches a mouse with cautious patience but he gives no indication that he'll answer

- you can't stay there too long; someone might catch you here or someone could report that you never came back from the bathroom break

- you reach for the hood to place it back on the prisoner’s head, knowing that you can't do anything for him and in this state he can't even provide a distraction for you to slip out unnoticed

-as you get closer tiptoeing to reach above his head he grunts, you stop in your tracks making eye contact

- his dried and busted lips start to quiver you wait for a moment giving him a chance to prove you wrong

- 'But the pack's got its back...' he draws out in a deep guttural voice laced with a thick Manchester accent

- phrase matching your own, you get to work hastily finding a way to get him down

- as you unlock the chains wounded around his wrists you try to support his weight which proves impossible

- you barely manage to break his fall turning yourself in a cushion under his massive form

- you huff and try to pull him up ' I can't carry you' you mutter to him. 'You gotta get up, soldier' you try and nudge him, you slip and talk in the familiar British accent

- he stalls, taking in deep breaths trying to surpass the pain and ache, multiple bones broken, muscles tumefied, and skin bearing to many cuts and bruises. Blood covers him like a deathly veil

- he tries and with your help he manages to stand but he can barely walk on his own, he can barely see, he can barely think, having sustained multiple concussions

- with great difficulty you get moving, praying to yourself that the guard might be gone, taking a piss or having a smoke

- your prayers are answered, no one is on the otherwise busy hallways this late at night, many having called it a night going back to their rooms

- as you pass the med bay your quick thinking finds a credible disguise: you steal a lab coat and a doctor's key card, some glasses that make your vision blurry once you put them on, and get the wounded soldier in a wheel chair

-he huffs but you can clearly see the relief overtaking him as he no longer has to stand

-you throw a medical gown over him concealing the dried blood on his bare torso

-once you clean his face a little and bandage his whole head to cover his identity, you grab a few bottles of morphine and a med kit for later and push the wheelchair out the door

- you aim for the underground parking lot, where civilians’ workers such as your cover, keep their personal cars

-you hope that the sentinels stationed at the gates won't look too closely at your backseat as you carefully push the wounded man in the car

- everything goes smooth from there, the guards wishing you a good night, no questions ask as to your departure from the base

- once you get farther away you start speeding eyeing for any police cars that might stop you or any military vehicle that might chase you

- to your dumb surprise no one follows you the mountain road dark and deserted

- you head to your safehouse where you have stashed money, fake id's, a new disguise and another car.

- once you change everything and make sure that the soldier still breathes in the back of the SUV, after you've administered some first help giving him the relief of morphine, you burn everything down

- the wooden house the other car, everything, nothing can be left behind to be tracked to you or to the MI6, you have taken precautions that borderline OCD, but you know that you have to be through, no detail to small

- once you're back on the road you contact your handler, a tired voice but you can hear the sound of relief as he hears your voice

- he's pleased that everything went smooth, no alarm was triggered, no shot was fired, no chase happened and you even managed to save your would-be saviour, sent specifically to get you out of that den of wolves

- you announce your E.T.A. to the agreed pickup location and you are annoyed to hear you'll have to wait a bit, your nerves are starting to fray, and body to tire

- you don't have the manpower nor the firepower to make a stand in the woods until the heli gets there

-but you do as you're told, as always

- you grab the pistol you keep under the passenger seat and place it in your lap; the heaviness in your lap gives very little reassurance

- but not long passes and you can hear the lovely sound of an Apache helicopter

- in a whirlwind of dust and voices shouting out instructions both you and the soldier are placed in the metal beast's bowls

-you inform the medics of the dosage of morphine you gave to the soldier as they start hooking him to machines that monitor his vital signs

-you don't even know his name and he definitely doesn't know yours as per protocol, and you doubt you'll ever see him again

-you won't even be there when he'll wake up, he'll probably never know of your act of kindness; you could have left him behind but instead you risked your safety for his

- any other agent would've done it, but not you, you couldn't leave one of your own behind

- you still hold your breath, eager to cross the border and get back to HQ where meetings and debriefs will be held, and rapports will be written then redacted

-you expect the compliments at a job well done and the proud pats on the back from your superiors, even though for you that's just a show

- you know you will get a free month at best to recover and then you'll be shipped somewhere else to do it all over again

- it's a lonely life, and full of danger but it makes you sleep better at night knowing you helped soil some plans that could be used to hurt innocents

- once the pilot announces that you crossed the borders you slightly relax on the padded bench, closing your eyes in relief but not allowing yourself to fall asleep yet

- when you feel the heli dipping down towards the tarmac you open your eyes eager to get off the noisy thing and looking forward for some commodities you know wait ready inside the base

- you watch as the soldier gets rolled toward the med bay and you get pulled by a Sargent that informs you, he's there to take you to the commander of the base

- you'd hopped to at least get a few hours of sleep before the rounds of interrogations start, but the higher-ups are hungry for the confirmation of a successful mission

- you trudge behind the Sargent mentally preparing for the onslaught of questions and can't help but wonder what of the wounded soldier

-you subconsciously hope he'll pull through

Next part here.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part II

Warnings: blood, violence, kidnapping, mistakes hehe, a bit of fluff

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the second time you meet you don’t even recognize him

- you are sent to meet up with a freshly assembled team, a few hand-picked men and women with various skills, the most capable, for a new sensitive covert mission

- with your experience and prone eye to details, you’re quickly made team leader alongside an S.A.S. Lieutenant

- he wears a skull mask sewn on a black balaclava, 6’4 wall of hard muscle, and the most intimidating gaze you’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes

- you don’t back down when you are introduced to one another, handshake firm, brown eyes meeting your own for a long time, as if caught in a duel of gazes

- you learn his name, in fact his callsign ‘Ghost’

- you deem it fit for his choice of gear and his mannerisms

- he rarely speaks and when he does it is short and to the point, making astute observations or asking good questions, the rest of his time is spent in silence, sharp eyes scanning the room full of people or the files handed to him

- for how big he is he sure likes to disappear unnoticed acting just like his namesake

- nothing is known about him, in truth no one on the team knows much about the others, no more than the essentials: their callsign and specialization, the rest is redacted

- you are not a curious person and you leave him be, but you can deny that he’s intriguing

- you find out you work well together; you plan and scheme for the operation, making up fictional scenarios and coming up with backup plans for every backup plan there is

- you don’t socialize much outside your work, but the silence between you two doesn’t feel awkward, more like understanding, a silent pact to not disturb the other from mental preparations and other thoughts regarding the near future danger that awaits you

- the plan is quite simple: you’ll pose as an ex-military expert in explosive devices, who just got dishonourably dismissed for having slept with a superior office at the base, and with no pension and a wish for revenge on the government that failed you; you get recruited by a terrorist cell via dark web that wants a large amount of explosive for a big hit on London;

- the buyer wants a meetup in a couple of days and a live demonstration that your devices work and do the desired amount of damage

- you’re the main piece on the chess board, the rest are there to support you and extract you in case the meetup goes awry

- and you prepare accordingly, mastering the art of explosives in just a few days, you are a fast learner, you work very clean and organized which make you look the part

- one day before the expected meetup, everything is ready, all the plans have been poured over, every detail accounted for

- it’s the calm before the storm as they say, you’re more quiet than usual, mentally going over every possibility and carefully repeating answers to possible questions

- Ghost notices this and in a small gesture of kindness or maybe just good fellowship he brings you a mug of tea, your favourite Earl Gray with a splash of soy milk; you’re surprised to find out that it’s perfect, from temperature to ratio to taste; he’s been watching you and taking notes of your methodical way of making tea; you can’t help but appreciate that and the attention to details; a man after your own heart

- you thank him and he smirks under his balaclava at your reaction of pleasant surprise that you quickly school with a small nod focusing your gaze to a fixed point on the coffee table in front of you

- the last few hours before the mission starts is spent in the lounge room; you read your notes for the final time and he listens to music on his headphones, so loud you can hear the rhythm

- he sees you absentmindedly bouncing your leg to the music, not once asking him to turn it off; he smirks again noting that you probably have similar tastes in music as well, he’ll have to test that theory

- when you carpool together to head towards the location sent to you by the target, he senses your tension and tells you a joke, a dark one that makes you smile a bit; he seems to be smirking a lot at your interactions lately

- he pulls the SUV a few blocks further away and before you make your way out of the passenger seat he grabs your upper arm making you freeze entirely, he’d never touch intentionally until now

- you make eye contact and reminds you to pull out if something feels wrong and you nod in agreement

- he reminds that he won’t be able to listen to you because you can’t take a wire with you (you’ll surely be patted down), but he’ll be close, and he’ll have eyes on you on all times through the scope of his sniper rifle; the bravo team will be close by to provide back-up; this time you’re not alone

- that thought is a lot more reassuring than you thought, you trust him completely, having seen his marksmanship skills at the firing range

- with that your mission begins

- you walk towards the alley you’re suppose to meet your target and you’re not surprised to see a black van pulling over, two brutes climbing out of it grabbing you and putting a cowl on your feet while dragging you inside the car

- your plan included this situation and you know that Ghost will follow the car at a safe distance until you reach the final destination

- you feel hands on you, patting down hard and pulling your shirt up looking for any hidden device; it makes your skin crawl but you manage

- you count around 45 minutes of driving and when the asphalt ends and gravel begins you know you are close to the actual destination  

- when the car stops you are shoved out of the car and they drag you somewhere inside

- when the cowl is ripped off you find yourself in a hangar with windows on both sides and a thick concrete wall in the middle that’s only connected to the floor

- you are surrounded by men in dark clothes, faces covered by shemagh scarves and in the middle a man dressed in a suit beckons you forth greetings kept to a minimum

- you are brought to a table where explosives and an array of electrical components lie in a heap

- his voice is deep, not as deep as that of Ghost and is laced with an eastern Asian accent 

- the instructions are simple, make an IED with what’s on the table in under 20 minutes, it has to work and it has to take down that wall 

- a timer is set before you and you get to work

- 16 minute and 54 seconds later you’re done and you mount the device in the middle of the wall

- every one gets as far as possible, turning away from the blast

- when the dust settles the buyer claps impressed that little remains of that wall

- you begin negotiations; you push for £1.000.000.000 he refuses, you argue that you need to buy supplies and they’re not cheap; he proposes a lower fee and that he’ll provide what is needed; you agree on the condition that he brings you to his supplier arguing that you want to do a quality check first, eliminating all and any error in the manufacturing process; he takes a moment to think about it; you argument that he can be double crossed and buy useless crap at huge prices and that you can lower those prices based on what the seller has to offer; he agrees and tells you that soon you will be contacted the same way you were today; you hum and ask for part of the payment now ‘for the trouble’ you say as you nod towards his brutes; he accepts.

- you’re taken back to the alley you were picked up from, the ride played in reverse, once again the cowl is thrown over your head

- Ghost picks you up from the park nearby, your established pick-up point

- once inside the passenger seat he notices the small exhale of relief you try to mask as yawn

- he drives in complete silence eyes front; he breaks it asking for the deal; you summarize; not only did you manage to meet the buyer and impress him but you managed to convince him to bring you to his supplier; he whistles in appreciation

- you feel your cheeks warm up; shock: you never blush, never, not at compliments not ever; you hate it but also like it a little.

- you ask him in return, and he clarifies that he had you in his sights all the time, ready to drop anyone that dared as little as breathing wrong in your direction, just as promised; you hum in a show of respect and appreciation, he nods in return; you are amazed how easily you can communicate non-verbally with one another - you make a great team         

Next part here.

Previous part here.

Simon Riley x biker!reader HC (neutral reader)

Warnings: short drabble written during the commute to uni, mistakes (as per usual), riding without a helmet (please wear appropriate protection when engaging in dangerous activities), bikers being hot as f..., you can't change my mind

Enjoy

- you cut him in traffic one day, he has to press hard on the brakes to avoid you, a stream of curses leaving his covered mouth

- he gives chace after you, in a moment of unexepected road rage, so rare to see such raw display of emotion from the mountain of a man

- he catches up to you at a gas station

- he comes toward you with full intent on ripping you a new one

- you take your helmet off and tilt your pretty head in amusement

- he loses it on you

- you just laugh in his face 'bloody right I did. You drive like an old lady'

- he's stunned, never had he get this kind of reaction from anyone, except his colleagues in 141, who are like brothers to him

- he knows he's intimidating

- he knows he could twist your pretty neck right there and there

- but your stance is countering all his desire for violence

- your hands rest on your hips, head tilted, weight rested on one foot, as if to say 'you done?'

- he gets silent, panting with annoyance and adrenaline from earlier

- you huff a laugh and leave him there as you walk inside to pay and buy a snack

- when you return you find a small white piece of rectangular paper

- he left you his number followed by a small drawing of a skull

- you huff a small laugh the audacity

- but you take it and put it in your breast pocket and ride off

- you send him a message

- it's the emoji of a red motorcycle 🏍️

- you don't get a reply until weeks later

- it's the skull emoji 💀

- you smile at that, but don't indulge him anymore

- he has your number now, he can make a move if he wants, you're done chasing after men

- and a move he makes

- another message follows a month later

- no greeting, no sweet talk, just some coordinates and a date and time, little skull at the end

- you grin, it's on, old man

- you meet him there

- there being the most beautiful place in the British isles

- a parking lot at the curve of the road, high up on the hillside

- the city sparkles in the distance

- you seat with him at the wooden bench and table

- you talk, it's a forth an back, light banter fills the night air

- he's not putting pressure on you, he just enjoys your presence

- it's refreshing

- you depart on the promise that you'll see each other again, when he's in town

- a while passes until you meet again

- it's as unexpected as the firs time

- he's just leaving base quietly listening to his colleagues plans for the off time they got

- you're riding your bike stopping at the red light in the intersection

- your bent over position and tight leather suit catch the attention of the men

- one of them, a tall bulky Scott sporting a close-cropped mawhawk whistles in apreciation

- the engine rumble and the music in your earphones prevent you from hearing the lewd sound

- simon spots imediately, eyes shrouded in recognition, an infenetly small change that other wise anyone would overlook

- Johnny has a keen eye and a fascination with his Lt. Making him much more interested in noticing such traitorous change in the stoic man's posture

- Johnny starts commenting on the hooked stare to your form, Kyle's attention piques at that

- but the comment dies on his lips as you turn, visor pointed at the group

- and then you wave at them, at Simon, but the two sergeants don't know that

- not until the massive shadow moves toward you ignoring his companions protests, brown eyes glued to you

- the moment he gets near your bike you pat the seat behind you

- Simon barely has time to get his feet on the stands, grabbing your waist by instinct, which, due to his far taller stature makes him fold his body flush against yours, one hand on the gas rezervoir and one hand snaked around your stomach

- the light turns green and you turn the acceleration lurching you forward

- both Johnny and Kyle remain dumbfounded at the events witnessed, not quite believing the reality at this point

- they turn to look at eachother, shock plastered on their handsome faces

- 'steaming jesus' the utterance hangs in the air

- they will make their personal mission to find out more about the mysterious rider that just whisked their superior from under their noses