Cherry's Lies

me when im trying to write smth serious for omegaverse but i misstype alpha as aloha

my bebe girl oc with ghosts boys

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met in his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and his cock into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

Price loves his sweet wife, all smile and charm, all pretty and wits. But oh, does he love when she gets mad.

He doesn’t mean to get you riled up, but he also doesn’t mean for his pants to get all tight and uncomfortable when it happens. He doesn’t mean a lot of things, actually—just like how he didn’t mean it when he told you about an old broad that made numerous attempts to sweeten him up down at the bar his crew often resided.

There was no broad, nor was there anything but drunken laughter shared with his men.

But the sight of you, his precious wife, spouting out annoyed curses, rolling your pretty eyes until they nearly fell out your head, yapping on about how you’ll happily stomp that bitch in the curb the next time you see her? It’s like injecting him with a poison that had his dick growing so hard in his pants he could feel its own pulse.

Price had already married you, practically got on one knee to pop the question the moment you two met, but seeing that nasty side of you stirred something sinister in him. Naturally, he did everything he could to lure it out just to ease the aching need he had for you.

Sex with you was already spellbinding, but when you were flushed hot with bitter jealousy, pretty hands pressed firm against his chest as you slammed your hips down on his weeping cock in a repetitive motion was a sight he wished he could frame forever.

He’d never tell you that most (all) times, he was only telling you little, white lies to get your rage pumping. It was his dirty secret.

You certainly never seemed to mind taking it out on him, which was exactly the goal. Hell, you even let him paint your walls pearly white as an apology for getting so worked up, something so utterly rewarding to him.

He loved this calm life with you. Wouldn’t change a thing about it. But the occasional angry wife, spitting burning fire and only egging him on? Yeah, that was something he didn’t mind becoming a routine, so long as his cock was the thing you were using as your release.

“What the fuck do you mean by you don’t want to?” If Price had been any louder, anyone outside his car would’ve been able to hear him.

It had been a few months into your relationship with Price after almost a year of being friends with benefits. You weren’t sure how your arrangement changed over time but you were glad to be with him as he valued you a lot.

“I mean, think about it. You’re like, what? 40-“

“I’m 37, love”

“Right, yeah, I just think that it doesn’t really matter as long as we’re having fun together. Honestly, I thought you’d agree.” You said before taking a bite out of your burger.

Price could only watch you in shock. Sure, your relationship started on the basis of sexual benefits but when he did think of the future all he thought of was you. Even if you were a generation younger than him, he had never felt such synergy with anyone before. It was a connection of a lifetime - emotional and sexual.

“So you don’t give a shit about marriage because you think I don’t care about it.”

“Kind of. If I’m gonna get married I need my partner to be on board too, don’t you think?” He sighed at your reply. You looked up at him, confused and cheeks full with your dinner as you grabbed the plastic cup of coke.

His heart swelled at the sight. It was like looking at an innocent chipmunk. To think that the same face looked fucked out an hour ago awed him but he couldn’t let himself get distracted by your unintentional seduction.

He grabbed your drink and put it back in the cupholder. You were about to whine but he grabbed your face and pulled you close, noses almost touching.

“You-“ peck “-are the most wonderful thing to happen to me and I’ll be damned if I don’t tie you down with me in the future.”

Your face heated up. You had swallowed your food not too long ago but your mouth felt like it had gone dry.

With your face in his hands he continued. “I’ll have a rock on your pretty little finger before you know it.” He left a longer peck on your lips this time and pulled away.

What you didn’t know was that he already had a ring for you. It was stored away in a hidden drawer in his desk, waiting to be worn by you.

In fact, he had brought it just a month into your relationship. He wasn’t religious but he knew that a person like you was the blessing of a lifetime.

𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖿 141 𝗆𝖾𝗇 ── .✦

── .✦ 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍

the couch is comfy, the lights are low, and you've just started this week's episode of the great british bake off. simon sits beside you, eyes half-focused on his phone, thumb scrolling. your feet rest on his lap, his free hand absently tracing circles on your ankle. he seems entirely uninterested, barely looking up at the screen as you comment on the contestants’ desserts.

for the first twenty minutes, he’s quiet, only glancing up occasionally, but then someone messes up their cake, and he lets out a low snort. he mutters, "did they not put it in long enough or what?"

it’s a small crack, but it’s enough to make you smile. "guess they didn't. timing is everything, right?" you tease, knowing full well he’s starting to pay attention.

in the next challenge, a contestant fumbles with a piping bag, and simon lets out an unimpressed tsk, his eyes narrowing at the screen. “how can they not know how to pipe a line straight?” he scoffs. "basic stuff."

you laugh. "i didn’t know you were such an expert."

he grumbles, still keeping his eye on the show, now feigning casual disinterest but failing miserably. as the episode progresses, he starts asking more questions, wanting to know the contestants’ names, who’s been there longest, and who has been star baker.

when the star baker is announced, he nods his head in approval, as if he saw it coming all along. he shifts his gaze to you, smirking at your amused expression.

“see? knew they had it in ‘em,” he murmurs, squeezing your ankle gently.

you raise an eyebrow, playing along. “so you’re an expert now?”

instead of answering, he leans over, his hand still wrapped around your ankle, to presses a kiss to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. you can’t help but laugh as he nuzzles closer, his tone dropping to a playful murmur. “might have to make you something better than all that… if you’re lucky.”

his lips linger, making you laugh again, your fingers brushing his jaw. simon may be a fierce critic, but at this moment, he’s more than content to just savor this quiet time with you.

── .✦ 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗉

from the second the episode starts, johnny's practically buzzing beside you. he’s been all in on the great british bake off since day one, and tonight is no exception. every time his favorite contestant, a sweet scottish lady with a knack for old-school recipes, appears on screen, he perks up, practically bouncing on the edge of his seat.

when she starts her bake, he mutters words of encouragement under his breath. "c'mon, hen, show 'em what a real baker looks like." and when one of her rivals stumbles, he grins, clapping his hands together. “ach, my nan could beat the lot of them in her sleep! they’ve got nothin’ on her shortbread.”

as the judging rounds begin, his excitement ramps up. his favorite contestant gets a compliment, and he yells, clapping loud enough to startle you. “there ye go, lass!” he hollers, and suddenly, he’s grabbing you by the shoulders, shaking you in glee. “did ye see that, luv? she’s bloody brilliant!”

by the time they’re announcing the star baker of the week, johnny is practically holding his breath, eyes glued to the screen. when they call her name, he jumps up with a whoop, fists pumping in the air. “yes! that’s it!”

before you know it, he’s pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off the couch in his excitement. he plants a big, wet kiss on your lips, grinning so wide it’s infectious. “didn’t I tell ye? she’s got it all—best baker in the lot, no question.”

you laugh as he sets you down, his enthusiasm contagious. johnny love for the show might be loud and over-the-top, but as he flops back onto the couch, arm still around your shoulders, you can’t help but smile at just how much he’s gotten you invested, too.

── .✦ 𝗀𝖺𝗓

at first, kyle watches the program with an easy, relaxed attitude, barely reacting when the contestants present their bakes. he stretches out, arms resting behind you and smoothing down and up your nape, all while nodding along when you explain the technical challenge, giving little more than a shrug in response.

but as the episode goes on, his interest starts to show. he sits up a bit, leaning in every time the camera shows off a new dessert. when a contestant presents a towering lemon drizzle cake, his eyes light up. “could you make that?” he asks, an excited glimmer sneaking into his voice. “i’ll buy the ingredients and clean everything up, promise.”

you snort, but he’s already pointing at the screen, his tone downright eager. “what about those cinnamon rolls? look at the icing on those.” he’s watching you now with a hopeful smile, like he’s a kid at a bakery window. “come on, love, just think of the smell. i’ll even be your sous chef—whatever you need.”

by the time they’re onto the show-stopper, kyle is all in, leaning forward as contestants knead and roll their creations. every new bake has him asking if it’s something you can try: sourdough, brioche, even the elaborate pastries. “we could have a whole buffet,” he says, only half-joking. “imagine—warm, fresh pastries every day. i’d never go back to store-bought again.”

when the episode finally ends, he’s scrolling through a recipe app on his phone, jotting down a list of things he’s ready to buy. “alright, love,” he says, grinning as he gives you a playful nudge, “you bring the talent, I’ll bring the supplies. deal?”

with his enthusiasm—and his promises to handle cleanup—there’s no way you can resist, especially when he’s looking at you like you’re the star baker of the night.

── .✦ 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖾

you’ve just settled into a new episode of the great british bake off when john wanders into the room, curious but clearly trying not to look too invested. he stands right in front of the tv, thick arms folded across his chest, watching with a thoughtful frown as contestants start their signature bakes.

you chuckle, leaning forward to get his attention. “love, if you’re gonna watch, at least come sit down. i can’t see a thing.”

he raises a brow, glancing over his shoulder with a little smirk, but he doesn’t move. so, grinning, you reach over and give him a playful smack on the butt with one of the pillows, laughing as he finally grumbles and takes a seat next to you. he watches intently, nodding every so often and making small, approving sounds whenever someone does a particularly good job.

it’s not long before he’s making comments that surprise you with their accuracy. “you know, the rise on that dough’s spot-on. smart move not to rush the proofing,” he says, as if he were one of the judges himself. when a contestant uses too much sugar in a caramel glaze, he clicks his tongue in mild disapproval. “that’ll be sickly. just needs a touch less.”

you blink, impressed, and maybe just a little bit...turned on. “you know a lot about baking, captain.”

he shrugs, scratching his beard with a faint smile on his lips. “just some bits i've picked up,” he says, casual as ever, though you can tell he’s enjoying himself. then, after another thoughtful hum as he watches a contestant start their showstopper, he glances at you. “could give it a go myself, if you want. just say the word.”

you beam, practically bouncing as you loop your arms around his neck “yes! let’s do it!”

he chuckles at your enthusiasm, his hand squeezing your hip gently. “alright then,” he says, a bit amused, a bit serious, “but you’ll have to help out, and no slapping my cake when i’m concentrating.”

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people will see a fandom thing and be like "why isn't this a fanfic" "why is there no fanfic about this" my brother in christ, because you're not writing it

me, logging into ao3 5 minutes before bedtime: WAITER! bring me your finest enemies to lovers!

ao3 tag search function: excellent choice, sir! how would you like it cooked?

me: explicit. with a side of hurt/comfort

ao3: lovely! and may i suggest a drizzle of mutual pining?

me: of course, and can you add a spritz of angst? make it a 100k slowburn for good measure

ao3: coming right up, sir

me: thank you. oh, and waiter?

ao3: yes, sir?

me: make it gay

BARKING DOG | Jealousy + Price x GN!Reader

》 WORD COUNT: 4,9k 》 WARNINGS: None (don't look at me, i'm just as surprised as you are). 》 TAGS: Fluff. Angst. Coarse language. 》 NOTES: I've gotten a few asks (read: two) about my take on Jealous!Price, so this is that. —Jealousy would be rare in an established relationship. He sees jealousy as distrust, and since trust itself is the foremost foundation he'd want before even pursuing a relationship, it would be extremely out of character for him to give into it. —That being said, before you get together? When feelings are not yet Actualised? Ooof. 

winter soldier au with John Price who was held in a gulag for three years and comes home wrong. comes back snarling and furious and threatening to rip apart the goddamn world if they don't give him what belongs to him, what's rightfully his, if they don't give him back his fucking wife, right this second—

the only problem is: John's ex-wife remarried. she's halfway around the world, and Laswell knows John enough to immediately squash that idea right away. but if not her, then who?

and then you walk into the room—a newly hired secretary that John has met less than a handful of times; a pencil pusher barely even a blip on the radar—but he pounces. snatches you up before any of them can react, tucking your bemused face into his chest, cradling you tight; possessively clutching at you as Kyle tries, and fails, to calm him down.

"you don't know her, sir. just let the girl go—"

it's met with a nasty snarl. all gleaming, bloodied teeth. a stranger in a familiar shape as John drags you further away from them. "this is my goddamn wife."

his declaration is met with shock. you're definitely not his wife. you barely know him much outside of a several, threadbare exchanges where he breathed down your neck about filing the wrong reports, and the cluttered mess of your desk ("a goddamn eyesore—"). you're not even friends. and in all honesty, you didn't even think he liked you that much. so. wife?

but he's beyond reason. his head a mangled, trenched mess of artillery fire and Makarov's torture. three years, Kate breathes. three whole years.

you can tell, almost immediately, by the look on her face that this—that you—will become a necessary loss in the grand scheme of things. and when John lets her close enough to whisper into your ear (having somehow convinced him that he can just walk out of here with you, his fucking wife, leaving for the marital home (and bed) that he demands from them for this brief stalemate)—she hurriedly tells you about their plot. this high risk, no reward scenario of playing along. not that you have much of a choice.

keeping John Price as close to them as possible was worth more than something as flimsy, as malleable as your agency, your autonomy. and if the way to do it was to let a brainwashed man play house with you, then so be it.

she, at the very least, offers a grim sort of smile even though you can see her working out the mechanics of it all as she makes promises on your behalf. things like, yes, John, you can leave with your wife. she missed you so much, John. she's so happy you're home.

"we kept your wife safe for you, John—" no one seems to react to the violent way Johnny has to be dragged out of the room by Ghost, kicking and screaming at the injustice of it all because th' captain wouldnae do this! don't do this t'him!

and John—if there's any part of that man still inside him, he doesn't let an inch of it show—just nods, lip pulling up into a snarl as he bullies you closer to his chest, and growls about finally getting you home.

"I'll keep you with me," he rasps, blunt fingers spreading wide over the fill of your body. a mad, twisted gleam of possessiveness, ownership, burning in bruised blue as he familiarises himself with this body he claimed as his. "right where you belong, wife."

(the word comes out in a bite. snaps around you and sounds just like mine.)

thinking about a futuristic/dystopian au where the tech company you work for moves you into one of their r&d flats under the premise of being a paid, live-in tester. you can't refuse—it'd be foolish to refuse. free rent, a pay bump, and all the latest gadgets available at your fingertips? goodbye, communal bathroom and capsule bunk. hello, filtered air and privacy.

“Get a load of this guy” yeah I'm trying

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

never you, honey

Kinktober Day 24 - Somnophilia

Gaz x Reader - 1.6k

summary: Gaz has been infatuated with the pretty girl in his apartment building for weeks now, but he forces himself not to rush her into a relationship. At night, he comforts himself when she can't be scared off so easily. (Gaz POV)

cw: light somno (no penetration or oral), creepy stalker gaz

Mutuals changing their icons makes me feel like a child crying when their dad shaves his face bc they don’t know who he is