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Traitors among us

Simon 'GHOST' Riley x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

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---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" there was a rule in training, to let enemies that it was working, that their torture had taken its toll. You were always a rule breaker... this was no different apparently. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

part 2 coming soon...

Beginning of the End Collection

You are wild honey, dark and sweet in their mouths. Poison, dripping down lacquered nails, seeping into their pores. The kick of liquor, intoxicating and breath-stealing. Death and shadows tangled in your fingers, hair, and past. Will the 141 cut themselves free of you and finally bury you for once? Or will they fall into your darkness?

ExShadow!Reader x The 141 Enemies to lovers, honey trap reader. AFAB reader (she/her) pronouns, no Y/N

Inspired by this post by @shmalk, it wormed it's way into my head and this hatched as a result.

MDNI 18+

CW: Swearing, mentions of past abuse, implied SA, torture, canon typical violence, dub-con, corruption kink, dirty talk, praise kink, oral fixation, bondage, cock warming, daddy kink, exhibitionism, explicit sex, unprotected sex

Released:

Part 1: Hello Darling

Pending:

Part 2: First impressions matter

Part 3: Double-Dog-Dare you

Part 4: On loan

Part 5: So that's what it means

Part 6: Open door policy

Part 7: Ruin me

Part 8: Gentle pulls

Part 9: Your ropes or mine?

Part 10: Stay where you're put

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood Masterlist

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks. 

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all. 

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

Updates are posted on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday PST

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

YOU DO NOT HAVE MY PERMISSION TO USE MY FICS FOR AI UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

NAVIGATION PAGE Lore and world building masterlist CRCB Barracks Sims 4 Build Masterlist Support me on Patreon for more bonus content

Divider by: samspenandsword

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction Chapter 2 - Adjustments Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer * Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost Chapter 9 - Save Me Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins* Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together* Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie* Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes * Chapter 17: Alone Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go Chapter 19: Daddy Issues Chapter 20: The New Normal * Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment *

[I only have 30 pounds in my bank account] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader, but only Soap and Ghost in this chapter unless I extend this

chapter 2

You’re just trying to fulfill your dream, plus survive with the money you earn with your shop, but you start questioning if this is a good idea, maybe you should just listen to your friend and be a 9-5 worker, sitting in front of a laptop the whole day.

This isn’t a good location to open a tea shop, your little shop will rather become a place for dealing drugs or getting extorted in the first month. The area is fully ruled by the mafia, hence the cops couldn’t do anything here, but it makes the rent extremely low, which you’re able to afford with money you saved during school, and have a tiny shop that can barely squeeze in more than 8 people.

Looking at the scene playing in your shop for the fifth time this month, you stare at the people fighting and break the cup with dead eyes. You want to shout, to kick these guys' ass out of here or hit them with your broom, yet you glance at their muscles and the knives in their hand –  probably killing every day as work out, to your opposite one because you slump onto the bed once you close the shop and go upstairs, you choose to remain silent as the yelling only become louder.

Maybe you should find the mafia boss or some henchmen and give them half of your income to prevent the mayhem, but first, you don’t even know who actually rules this fucking place; second, you doubt they will have interest in your skimpy bank account. The only information you have is the mafia ruling here called ‘141’, since it’s an open secret to residents here.

“What are ye arseholes doin’?”

Fuck, here comes another one, or two as you spot the man with a balaclava behind the mohawk man who's speaking. They are tall, muscular and built like bricks. Grown like giraffes either, you complement when you need to crook your neck up to look at them stepping into your shop as if it's their backyard.

but the chaos halts immediately as you watch your ‘customers’ seem shocked with terror at the men.

You pretend you’re deaf and attempt to bury yourself in your counter. Please don’t kill me I didn’t hear a goddamn word and didn’t see you threatening them. You recite your defense as you scrub at the same tea cup till the distinct accent from the mohawk man catches you off guard that you almost drop it.

“I guess it’s already clean, lass.” A smirk appears on his face as he points at the cup.

“Wh– what do you want?” 

“Calm down, jus’ want te have some tea.”

“I only have 30 pounds in my bank account.”

“We’re just sayin’ we want tea.” The taller man speaks for the first time after coming in, and it startles you but forces your brain to function at the same time.

Ah, they aren’t here for money. You finally get what they’re talking about.

“Isn’t it supposed te be a tea shop here? One cup for him, and give me a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, of course. What kind of tea would you like, Sir?” You shift slightly to meet the other man’s eyes, and you want to shiver under his cold eyes.

“Just give him whatever you recommend.” 

They round over the glass scattering on the floor and take a seat closest to your counter after you nod at them.

While boiling the water, you sneak a glimpse at them, and the shape of guns covered by their clothes are unignorable as you scold yourself to stop looking at them, or the bigger guy might stab your eyes, but you still curse whole-heartedly in mind when the Scottish accent man meet your eyes with his azure ones and shines you a grin.

Should just quit staring, or you shouldn’t open this shop at all. Regretting your decisions as you turn back and focus back on making their drink, you’re able to recognize them staring at you from the periphery of your vision. Is it too late to kneel down and beg for your life right now?

You still perfectly make their orders and bring them the drinks, even though you’re sweating internally. At least don’t mess it up, and your confidence in your tea and coffee isn’t born from nothing, as you notice the man with the skull balaclava takes a sip first, then raises his eyebrow, added with a side glance at you.

“Haven’t seen him amazed by tea in years, it must be very good.” The mohawk man whistles as he sips at his coffee and gives an approving nod too.

“Thank you…” Your ego shouldn’t be boosted by mafias, but you still relax a bit knowing you didn't screwed up.

“When did ye open ‘is shop?” The man asks while the other continues drinking his tea, but seemingly taking in the conversation too.

“About two months ago."

"That’s why we didn't know about it before…” He taps at the table twice before shooting you another question “Got blokes like those in yer shop earlier often?”

Death sentence is served to your front, that’s what you think you hear. Is it better to say yes or no? Judging by the fact those people are their minions, you’re not sure if saying yes is indicating they haven’t controlled them appropriately.

“Tell us the truth” 

“Yeah, it’s the fifth time this month.” Swallowing, you confirm. Lies aren’t meaningful, and surely they’re able to pierce any veil with those scrutinizing stares and keen minds.

You watch them sharing a glance, and Soap takes out a pen along with a piece of paper, and starts scribbling on it.

“Here, call this number when you run in trouble, aye?" He shoves the paper into your grasp “I’m Soap, call him Ghost.”

"It’s a nice shop, we’ll come back soon.”

Your little shop drops into peace again as your customers leave, and you gaze at the generous tip lying on your counter, to the paper in your palm.

A number is written on it, with a big badge of ‘141’ beside it.

Oh shit, so your shop just became the most far-flung mafia’s property without you knowing.

Imagine you are a photographer for a well known news company, nbc, cbc, bbc, otherwise. You were handpicked to go into a war zone by your manager, to photograph and journal an ongoing conflict in urzikstan. Nervousness abound, you get on that damn plane anyway despite desperate pleas to find someone else, someone with more experience. hell, youve not done anything impressive in your career yet. how're you supposed to survive an active warzone?

this question rattles in your head the whole plane ride, through the shuddering turbulence, the security checkpoints and busy streets. Some deal was struck with people high up, and you are to embed with an a group led by commander Farah Karim and the 141.

The old heads at the office, the ones to document Iraq and Afghanistan back in the day, told you to bring three things;

caffeine pills, cigarettes and Kevlar.

❗️Reblogs get a fat kiss on the mouth ❗️

This isn’t the 141s first encounter with media, and instantly they can tell you are green as new spring. Nervous glances and body language, you still jump at the sound of gunfire and artillery. You even cover your ears when Helicopters fly low overhead and cough at the dust ups. Vest just a smidge too big, your helmet just a bit askew and gripping on that big old camera of yours like someone’s gonna try and take it away from you. You’re cute, they think. you're definitely going to die out here, they think. how the hell are you the reporter that's gonna be embedding with them? When you first meet to shake hands and exchange names, the biggest one looms over you.

“Stay out of our way and you wont get shot”

The CIA woman, Laswell has little to say outside of the regular talking points and media trained bullshit. You’ll report it anyway. You’re grateful to her for allowing your news agency this opportunity, thus, you the opportunity, not that being here doesn't scare you to death. You sense she does have your back though, when the grunts get rowdy she keeps them off your case with stern talking to’s. Part of you is feeling like your watching generation kill unfold in real life, complete with all the unsavouriness. you sneak some pics, and take some notes. As the platoon mobilizes, the rumble of old Humvee's and APCs accompanied by the chemical stench of burning gasoline, she hands you a wooden box. You shake it, hearing it rattle. She cringes at that a bit, and you understand why when you open it. cigars? “Use these only in special occasions” she says, with a secret smile. She only allows a rather plain photo of her in front of the canvas flap of a tent you aren't allowed into.

Farah is a fascinating woman, steadfast and straightforward, she lives for the freedom of her people. Always with her people too, her right hand with one leg at least. A sharp focus, true, deep running determination. A tried and true leader. She lets you take a photo of her and her right hand at golden hour. With the man standing guard in the background, she leans against a Humvee in the foreground, the burning cherry of the cigarette between her lips reflecting in her eyes like fire, Kalashnikov propped up on her hip. She lets you fire it too, as the evening goes on. Your shoulder is bruised for the next five days. She finds humour in this.

You only get initials from the SAS men. You were warned they would be highly secretive, not like the grunts who love to talk. you don’t even get names, just ranks and nicknames, even the nicknames are pushing your luck. They laugh at you when you jump at every blast, genuine glee as they gladly take the cigarettes you have on hand as peace offerings and relax as if the bombs were simply no biggie. To them, they probably weren’t. Just another Tuesday. "how the hell did you end up out here? don't seem up to it" the one with the mohawk asks, leaning back as if he were in a beach chair at a warm, sunny resort. the way the smoke floated up through the air in the sunshine made it almost seem like he was. "i think my managers are trying to off me or something man" you exhale, voice shaky as more heavy gunfire makes you jump.

Before it all happened it surprised you a bit when the one Sargent seemed almost angry that your vest didn’t fit properly, demanding tape to make it fit better. Applied it his damn self too. Now They lead you around the war zone by the scruff of your Kevlar, manhandling you behind cover as you do your job taking pictures of the bombs and guns and bodies.

Does anything really prepare you for the smell of war? Is it covered in their training? Chemicals, fire and copper. Stench of bodies left to rot, dissolve in dark fluids under the hot sun. shit. ammonia. dust. Followed by the hours of driving, driving, driving. Sitting, sitting, sitting. Thinking. They don’t let you look at the bodies you pass on the roads too long, yanking you back from the windows. The SAS guys talk to you in exchange for their nicotine hits, over brown pouches of food. trivial shit, stories and banter mostly. In the low light of the evening, the skies dusky pink over the mountains, you scribble in your little journal, leaning against the metal door of the humvee. the first thing you write? MRE's suck.

Sargent G, “Gaz”, is strikingly handsome. You can’t help but let that be your first thought, after he yanks you behind cover and knocks you off balance. “Stay out of sight” he hisses. “Yes. Sorry” that was your first meeting. You meet again just minutes later, ducking together behind a concrete banister. The dust in the air is making you sneeze, and he pats your back wordlessly. That’s when you hear more shots, and the sickening sound of a ceramic plate cracking, a man hollering in pain. Gaz wastes no time yelling for suppressing fire, running out into the open to drag this fallen… you can’t even call him a man, just a boy really, to safety. You tail him, photographing the fireman’s carry he sustains the whole way out of the hot zone. He does politely ask to see the photos you took once the man is being cared for by the corpsmen, his moans ebbing now with painkillers to ease him. Hours later and covered in dirt, exhausted, panting, downing water by the bottle he hand picks his favorite. “This one?” You ask, pointing to the screen on your camera. “Yeah. That one’s mint” he smiles brightly. A photo of him clouded in dust, the hot sun beating down as he carries his fellow to safety. Around him, you can see where bullets strike the dirt. The other soldiers blood seeps into his own uniform.

Sargent M, “soap”, the Scot, is the most chatty but that’s a low fucking bar to clear. you imagine he was once an extrovert and liken him to a buzzing fly, hovering with the constant request of bumming a cig. At one point during a particularly stressful, moonless night where the constant artillery fire rocks your core until you can’t stop trembling, you give up and just hand him a whole pack. he does grin at that. "bought yer-self a friend now, aye?" You lie prone, just feet apart in the arid grass, mere inches of micro terrain to protect you, and he whispers in the dark. You write by the low light of the distant fires, scribbling chicken scratch to keep up. Some call it soft balling, you call it finding the heart beating under the plate carrier. His gravelly Scottish lilt carries through the chill, you can see his breath as he talks. A man with no family ties back home and barely concealed anger at the treatment of the enemy to the civilians of urzikstan. Your blood boiled too, but it wasn’t your job to be angry, merely to document. It wasn’t your job to criticize, make moral stances or suggestions. Your bosses probably intended you to write a propaganda piece anyway. it was hard to say nothing, do nothing, but your job was to keep your mouth shut and document. Document you did. Descriptions of true atrocities float into the dark and onto the page, your mind conjuring the images. A glimpse into the abyss. You take a picture of him there, lying on his side in the sand. These men don’t smile for photos, but he gives a thumbs up, your arm extended into the picture as you light his next cig of the night. Maybe you’d get one to smile for you someday.

You meet the lieutenant in the morning. You don’t get an initial. Sargent M tells you his nickname is “ghost”. The first thing he says to you is that if you try to take a picture of him, he will destroy your camera himself. You heed the warning and keep him out of your shots, much to your disappointment. Guys a fucking tank. He’s massive. He wears all black, now spattered brownish from dirt. He’s the only one who won’t accept your cigarette peace offerings. And the mask. No one will ever believe you, a guy running around a war zone in a fucking skull mask. he would be a fucking fantastic subject. But, you stay out of his way, and do your job. then there was a skirmish. You saw too much that day, sustained stress over the last few weeks was eating you alive. Worse, your photos and notes today were turning out shit because of the tremors in your hands, throwing gas onto the stress wildfire consuming you whole. Your stress is making the others stressed, their stress is making yours worse, and you know its your fault which makes it worse. caught in a Feedback loop. “Little army humour?” for a second, you blank. was he talking to you? “Huh?” you breathe, barely the sound of bullets flying, making you flinch. he hardly moves. “what do you call a soldier that survived mustard gas and pepper spray?” you raise an eyebrow. "a seasoned veteran" “that... was fuckin awful” you say, so why do you laugh anyway? why do you feel a bit better? "do you get used to it?" "used to what?" You pause, thinking a bit. "I know you get used to the chaos, clearly" you gesture vaguely at him. "but when?" he shrugs. "when you need to." you decide to respect his wishes not to be photographed.

The captain, you heard his call sign was bravo 6 on their radios that you probably weren't technically supposed to be listening to. Guys interesting. Has a developed a Pavlovian response to your presence, in which, he always ends up politely but gruffly asking for a cigar. Doesn’t do the caffeine pills like the sargents, drinks actual coffee. This was about all you knew about the guy for a while because man dodged questions like matrix bullets. He was just as bad as Laswell. either stern silence or a media trained script recital. One time you bitterly joked that he could have been an actor in another life. There is one thing you could get out of him though. a topic of conversation struck up as you jostled around in the back of the Humvee a few days back, bumping sweaty elbows with the smelly Sargent soap. “Who brought the Metallica CD?” You had questioned, more out of boredom than anything else. listening to The Unforgiven play over the shitty, borderline antique and deeply abused tinny radio felt like a disservice to the song. There was a shine in his eye as he looked back at you from his seat in the front. That was your ticket in. That was weeks ago.

“I can’t answer that” he rumbles, breathing out smoke in the front seat. You pause between sips of your water. Still not answering all your questions, You’d gotten scant much out of him outside of trivial shit. He liked Metallica, and his favorite song was ONE. His favourite Gatorade was “the blue one”. which blue one? "the blue one". He did talk your ear off about the intricacies of cigars one morning over his absolute war crime to the taste buds coffee he brewed, but you were bored out of your skull by it. well, you understood why Mrs Laswell gave you those now. Creature comforts. They must be friends. You sigh out a pfft, before slapping your thighs. You were running out of time, they had orders to head straight into a hot zone, casevac helicopters had been flying over all day. you needed distraction from the anxiety chewing up your gut. “Alright. I have a real heavy hitter now. Answer honestly” you leaned in, mustering the most serious face you could. He simply hummed.

“What are your thoughts on the snare drum in st anger?” You leaned back in victory as he finally cracked a smirk, you could see it in the way his beard quirked up. “To answer your question.” He says, after a breath to shove that smile back down. “I don’t think about the snare drum in st anger. Try my best to pretend that album never happened” You hum, acting as if you just asked a real hard ball question and taking fake notes, just scribbling. “Would you say it sounds more like hitting a trash can with a metal pipe, or a child getting nailed in the face with a PVC dodgeball?” The broken sound of a buried laugh signaled your victory, and you snapped your pic before he could strangle it back down. capturing the crinkle around his eyes, some teeth in the grin. he coughed and waved you away. “No, please, get rid of that one.” He pleaded. nah, you figured.

there was still time to snap some more, you think, taking a shaky breath.

so apparently it's really fucking hard to get into the SAS. and ontop of that I've been getting tiktoks of people going around an army base asking why they joined. most responses were to pay off student loans, bills, school, (someone said there's was 6 years of prison or school and *mental note for idea*), the recruiter lied or spoilt them, barracks bunny.

141 (poly?) x notsobaddasssoldier!reader

and now i can't stop thinking of soldier!reader. who really half-assed their way through everything - only doing the job for the money and to pay off student loans + they had nothing better to do.

who somehow ends up being adopted by Price (kinda like Gaz i guess ???) all because reader happened to be in the right place at the right time and saved Price's ass while managing to complete a mission the Task Force were doing.

and it's not that you saved his ass or completed the mission that makes Price go *this is mine* - it's the fact that afterwards all you can say is-

"this shit is so not worth paying off my student loans."

"oh fuck i forgot to cancel my subscription. fuckk- waste of fucking money"

- all the while a building is burning in front of you but yeah just not at all concerned about what had just happened. so price just *grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you up, claiming you as part of his task force now.*

(lol you probably can't do that irl but this is fiction sooo suck my ass.)

and laswell's just like no... they are very much still green john. way too green. no.

but it's too late. he's already introducing you to the task force. singing your praises and you're just like

"man he promised to pay off my student loans and give me food." basically how ur recruiter got ya ass.

enough said. you get the whole off the books speech, saving the world by doing things others wouldn't like. but u couldn't give a rats ass - you should but nah...

and like... you know you're the rookie... you're still green... but some of the shit 141 do you just...

"so you just gonna kidnap the wife AND the child...? right... kid, you wanna watch bluey? here..."

"and you do this often...? crazy."

but you don't exactly protest. how could you with how much you get paid. you kinda just side-eye and look away when it's geta a lil crazy. *bombastic side-eye*

and the other 141 guys - oh my days. become just as enormed as price and want to start really trying to amplify your skills. but every time, they start explaining how to do things - the best way to go about a situation or how to fight a certain way.

you pull this face. like your top lip pulls back, your eyebrows scrunch together, and there's a slight frown on your lips as they speak. like you look confused/disgusted. but you don't even realise cause-

"why're you pulling that face?" 141

"that's... that's just my focusing face..."

"oh..." 141 feels bad

then when they do take you in feild you're shaking your head no. like you haven't been around that long. what the fuck? now you're bout to infiltrate an enemy base!?!?!

"can i just wait in the car?"

"no." price

"i'm gonna vomit."

"aim at the enemy." ghost

people think that because you're suddenly in this badass task force that surely they're just using you for your assets.

they all think you're the 141 barracks bunny. and maybe you should be pissed or annoyed or grossed out. but all you can do is sigh and pause from the burger price got you, and let out a long exhale.

"fuck... maybe i can just do onlyfans or be a pornstar... shit maybe it's not too late..."

"military is bascially sex work - selling my body..."

"not that different from what i'm doing now. body being used, check. body sore in the strangest places, check."

your tone so empty, blank and nonchalant, but there's a serious look in your eyes that when you grab your phone out to maybe do a little research on how you could do that, your phone is snatched from your hand by one of the guys and they walk out the room without a second look back.

with an annoyed huff, you go back to eating your burger. but suddenly, you turn to the person who genuinely thought you were a barracks bunny.

"hey you think if i be a barracks bunny i get out of missions and shit?"

"...that's not how it works..." rando.

"fuck."

and maybe you try...

like you go to price's office and the guys are already in there, chatting about something that you should really pay attention too but you can't be assed. instead you unashamedly start to speak...

"if i suck ya'll dicks can i get out the mission?"

"no. you still have to join." gaz says amused

"even if you-" *que long sigh from price* "even if you suck our dicks."

"that's fucked up. i should've done porn."

and with the most hurt and broken-hearted look on your face, you leave the office, closing the door with a dramatic sigh. the guys just stare at the door in... confusion, amusement, and maybe arousal if ya'll dig that

idk man just gimmie more soldier!reader who just really ain't the fucked, there for money, lowkey hungry and doesn't know what the fuck is happening. kinda a pet or little sibling energy that the 141 love.

bonus*

"wait so they aren't sucking our dicks?" *soap says getting slapped in the back of the head by ghost

a/n: brain is rottinnggg. i should be doing so much other shit but... cod just consumes my brain 24/7

Part 8

You had planned to spend Sunday morning nursing a hangover with Mere and Tabitha, but after last night’s events you had decided to catch up on organizing the shop while putting your phone on do not disturb.

You had turned your location services off in hopes that for a few hours the world would just leave you the fuck alone.

A few hours was all you were given before a tapping came on the front door of your shop around noon. Peering through the glass window, you spotted him.

He was holding a huge brown paper bag looking at little worse for wear since the last time he showed up. You debated on ignoring him. He had missed the early morning shower otherwise you really would have left him outside.

Bastard.

"John-" When you opened the door, he entered immediately. No doubt guessing you planned to slam the door immediately after telling him to fuck off.

He would have been right.

"Please," you say flatly before closing the door. "Do come in." After last night, after this week, the last thing you wanted to do was see anybody. Him, Johnny, Simon, Kyle, fucking Meredith or Tabitha. Why was it so hard for a person who had very few people in her life, all of which were on the skirts with her, to leave her alone for a single day?

"Well?" You asked when he said nothing. He cleared his throat, as if preparing himself for a long, drawn out speech.

Instead he handed you the bag, the smell hitting you. Warm and welcoming. Price was the only one out of the four who could cook a damn good meal, which made him extra picky when it came to eating out. “Wanted to check in.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them now. “Simon said you had a rough night.”

You scoffed at the understatement. "Yeah," you hated this. You didn't want to tell John about your shitty night with your even shittier friends. "It wasn't the best night out."

"So you know that bloke who got handsy or was he just some random prick?" Your mouth fell open in shock. You didn't expect Simon to be such a fucking gossip. And how fuckin' dare John for thinking he had any right to know who was grabbing your ass and your involvement to that person.

No. Fuck that.

"We're not doing this," you said putting the bag on an empty display table. Fuck. You need to go ahead and unbox that shipment in the back.

"What?" He asked, oblivious as to what he said that was wrong. You push heel of your hands into your eyes, trying to stop the headache that was threatening to form. "Some prick took a fell of ya' and I want to see if-"

"If what?" You cut in. "If I need some comfort at being utterly fucking humiliated at Simon going all caveman in front of everyone and dragging me outside like a child? Or do you want to finish want Simon start with almost killing him!"

"From what I heard, he didn't kill him," John's audacity to correct you as if Simon's restraint was remarkable baffled you. "There's something to be said about that."

"He held him by the neck in the air like a ragdoll. He choked him out in the middle of the pub."

"But," he held up a finger. "he didn't break his neck. He knew you'd be upset."

"You're not seriously defending him right now." You could feel your blood pressure rising. Your lid ready to blow like a fucking kettle.

"From what Simon said it didn't look like the attraction was mutual." That gave you pause. Simon told John it didn't look... mutual. Could Simon tell you were uncomfortable? Did he hear everything Percy said?

Where the fuck did Simon come from anyway?

why the fuck was he at the pub in the first place???

Your mouth hung open for several beats. Any longer and a bug could fly in. But fuck if it didn't feel like cold water had been dumped on you. Why and how did Simon think it wasn't mutual? Why did he care??? Why was he acting like he didn't?

"He-" You began, trying to think of what to ask only to simply screech out "What?" John held his hands up in surrender. Your kettle whistled. You were pissed. More pissed than John had ever seen you and it was still a miracle you hadn't hurled the take out at his head.

"All I'm saying is if he grabbed you without an invitation and Simon saw, the prick is lucky to be alive, much less still walking around with hands."

"Si-" you started. "He-" You clinched your fists so tightly your nails painfully cut into the palm of your hand. "UGH!" You stomped your foot. It was childish, but you didn't care. "I don't need him rescuing me goddamit! I don't need any of you pissing on my legs like a fucking dog and-" you didn't stop. You weren't sure how long you carried on verbally lashing John nor did you give a single flying fuck.

Fuck him. Fuck Simon. Fuck all of them. They didn't get to stalk you and relay information like gossiping fucking school girls. They didn't get to break your heart and believe that you would let them piece it back together. They didn't get to neglect you only to realize you knew your worth. Only giving a shit until you walked away.

You went on and on until your throat ached. You weren't sure what thoughts had left your lips. You weren't entirely sure all what you said. All you knew is that you didn't feel any better. The look on Price's fallen face didn't give you any relief. You took it out on him and you were still hurting.

"Why?" Your voice was hoarse and pleading. "Why won't you guys just fucking leave? You were barely staying in it when we were together? Why now?"

He took a tentative step forwarding. His hands started to reach out to touch your arms before falling back down at his side. He knew he had lost the right to touch you. To comfort you.

"I miss you, Dove." He confessed it as if it would somehow make it all better. "We miss you." You try not to let it phase you, but fuck you were made of flesh, not stone. No matter how angry furious disgusted absolutely devastated you were with everything that happened, with what they did and didn't do, you still, or at least had, loved them. That love didn't vanish over the span of a week. Lord know your broken heart hadn't. "We'll do better."

"It's not that simple." You shook your head, your palms covering your eyes as they began to prickle. You hoped the motion would come across as tired frustration, but John knew. It was your tell. You were close to crying. You always rubbed your face when you were upset.

"It is." He said, finally taking the chance to touch you. Even if it was just to hold your hands in his calloused ones. "We mucked things up, let us fix it. Give us at least the change to be better."

"How?" You asked. "Stop fucking yelling at me for a couple of months until something makes you blow your fucking lid and I'm left feeling like a little kid who's in trouble?" You were surprised not to see him flinch away, but the soft look in his eyes was enough to break your heart all over again. "Or Kyle actually showing up for dates? Johnny not treating me like a fuck buddy?"

"We haven't been good to you." He admits and you still don't feel better. Leaving them hasn't made you feel any better. Only angrier. Yelling at him didn't. Fucking Johnny and breaking his heart didn't. Maybe Mer had a point. Just not with Percy. "We all wanted you and slacked off in doing right by ya."

"So what?" You press. "You want to resume where we left off? I just take you all back and work through the fact of how shitty you all were and hope that you make it up to me?

"No," he shook his head. "Not like that."

"Then what?" You asked.

"I'm fighting for me and you. No one else." You didn't know what to say. The four of them had always been a part of the deal. All or nothing. I mean, the fact that you even entertained the idea of being with all of them was the reasoning that if one of them had went down on the field, three more were there to take care of you.

"If the others can get their own shit together great." He shrugged his shoulders. "If I can't and they can, that's fine too." He stared in your eyes and for a moment, you thought about the first time John apologized for getting angry. Not at you, just in front of you. How he had gotten on his knees and told you the last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid of him. To look at him the same way recruits looked at him. "But I think where we failed was all of us was expecting another one to pick up the slack."

That much was true. Where others failed, others thrived. Simon always stayed after sex, Johnny never raised his voice, John was insistent on going on dates, and Gaz was emotionally available... when he was around at least.

"I know I wasn't the man I needed to be. I wasn't the man you deserved. I took things out on you that weren't your fault. I spoke to you in a way that if any other man did, I would knock him right the fuck out." He shook his head before giving your hands a squeeze. "I'll do what I need to do to set things right between you and me. I'll put in the work to do whatever it takes to have you trust me again."

"It wasn't about not trusting you." You counter

"But it is now." He said. "You don't trust me to respect you; to show kindness, patience. And I know I have my own shit to sort out before even thinking about us being like we were. When things were good, I mean."

You don't know what to say, but you can't say he's right. You don't trust him. Not with your heart. Not anymore.

Moments of silence pass before John lets go of your hands and takes a quick survey of the boxes around you. Your background music of Van Morrison still playing softly from the speaker near your computer.

"You seem busy, so I'll let you get to it." He takes in a deep breath. You're expecting another spiel about how he promises to work on it. Just to give him a chance. You're actually worried you'll consider it. "I picked up your usual. Figured things haven't changed that much since we last went to our spot down by the river."

"Haven't been there in a minute."

"You wouldn't." He said. "Closed the place and moved shop. It's over by the park."

"The one with the asshole geese or the one where Johnny and I were flashed by that guy strung out?" That makes him laugh. You can't remember the last time John laughed. The way his eyes crinkled and his smile shifted his whole face into something entirely joyous.

You missed it.

"Asshole geese." He answered before turning and heading to the door. You didn't speak until the chime of the bell rang.

"What if the others don't?" You ask before he had the chance to close the door. "Get their shit together, I mean."

He turned, giving you that signature closed smile that makes him look like a quokka. You told him that once and he had to googling before arguing that he didn't look like the world's happiest rodent. "That's on them. I have my own work to do." His smile dropping into something softer. Something pleading and pitiful. "But, we still want this. We all still want this. Want you."

You shook your head. The threat of tears returning as you realized how wrong he was. Maybe he did. But not all of them. "Simon doesn't." you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. "He's made that much clear."

"That I don't believe." He shook his head. "Not for a minute."

"Believe it." You sucked in air through your nose as if trying to clear it. Price knew he had to leave. He knew he couldn't see you cry. He knew you wouldn't want him to even if he wanted to stay and make up for all the times he was the reasons behind your tears.

"I didn't do what I needed to and I'll do whatever it takes to get you back." He promises. "But if it came down to it... if you want to settle down and just chose one of us to have you, to keep you," he took in a deep breath. The next words like a knife twisting in his chest. "I wouldn't truly love you if I didn't tell you that Simon is the only one of us who deserves you."

"Why?" You knew in that moment Simon hadn't told John about that night. About his cruel words and your realization that he was right. There was never a true happily ever after with them.

"Because he's the only one willing to hide in the shadows and let you live your life," his smile now gone completely. "I'm sorry that I'm too selfish to do that."

Scratches in the Surface

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: Finally free from torture and pain, can you ever bring yourself to forgive John for what he caused? Learning to move on and heal is easier said than done.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Heavy angst, blame, vulgar language, gore & violence, anxiety, self-image issues, trauma, John’s going through it, alcohol, there’s barely any fluff in this but it’s there, bittersweet ending?

A/N: I can finally say that I completed pt.2. Honestly, not my best work, but I did what I was able to try and upload this for those who wanted it. Part one.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Keep reading

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

I'm just imagining getting bent over Price's knee and spanked with his belt in front of the boys. Not even because YOU did anything wrong, but because THEY got into trouble. Price wants to teach them a lesson through your humiliation.

"See what happens when you disobey orders?" Price growls, tightening his grip on the back of your neck. His breath is hot against your shoulders.

"Y-yessir..." You hiccup out, tears spilling down your cheeks. You blink them away, only able to see your boys' silhouettes standing feet away behind the desk.

He lashes your bare backside again and again. The feel of the canvas belt welting your skin starts to become unbearable. You can't help but sob as you take more and more.

"Captain-" Gaz tries.

"Did I tell you to speak, Sergeant?" Price huffs. He drops the belt. The metal clink of the buckle hitting the floor makes you sob in relief. You don't have to look up to see the pained expressions on your boys' faces.

"Your recklessness has endangered our entire operation, including Miss Care here." Price continued, his voice hard and cold in a way you hoped to never hear it again. "Do you think this is the worst that would happen if Makarov got his hands on her?"

Silence.

You refused to look up at them, certain to see their immense discomfort.

"Or Valeria? Or Shepherd?"

"Shepherd's dead!" Soap hissed. Judging by the silence that followed he knew he'd fucked up by speaking again. You bit your bottom lip.

Then you were flipped around.

You were still over Price's lap, pants and panties pulled down beneath your ass, but now faced away. Before they couldn't see your naked back end, and now they could. Hot shame washed over you as Price rubbed a hand over your burning skin. He gently spread your legs apart, showing them everything, down to your swollen core.

"Just because Shepherd's dead you think it's over?" Price hums. He let two of his fingers trace your lips before spreading them apart. You couldn't help but whimper at the feeling of the cool air hitting the entrance of your sex.

"There's still Graves, his shadows, and all of Shepherd's friends in high places." Price huffs. He gently rubs around your clit with one of his fingers. It's not enough pleasure to make your head swim, but it is enough to make you squirm.

A full palm cracks against your ass and you squeak.

"Stop moving." Price warns.

"Y-yessir..."

Tulips and blood

(A Call of Duty fiction, based on MW2. This chapter contains TF141)

Chapter one: The rookie

All I remembered is the pain that surrounded me from a rather young age. Always blamed, never understood, never good enoug. But mostly being alone, terrified, isolated for my own good. From my so-called parents and from the world. Maybe too well. Always quiet, seemingly fine.

It was a quiet day for Ghost; he was able to stay in the office, filling out paperwork that Price gave to him. As a lieurenant, it was his job too keep track of whag the base needs. Such as ammunition, explosives, and that kind of stuff.

His calmness was interrupted before 2pm, when a military truck arrived to the base. A batch of recruits, freshly out of training. Only one was able to be the newest member of Price's famous team, the Task Force 141.

That specific group was small, counting up to four ppl, not including the lucky one. The lieutenant quietly observed the twelve newcomers, examining everyone, even that one and only woman who arrived too; while Price and Gaz talked about the plans.

  While he heard other soldiers betting on when the rookies start complaining, when they'll drop out from the special training, even bets on weekly football too. All kind of betting; surely a light and friendly spirit. The LT supressed a smile under his mask; he had a good feeling about this batch of recruits.

  But only one person caught Ghost's eyes and it was the only woman amongst the recruits; not because she had a good physique, but she was a bit different. The way she carried herself, her moves seemed experienced to him, and if she moves like this, she surely hides something. How experienced she's in reality. Slowly of corse, so she wont be alarmed, but how he can investigate without getting caught by her? Oi, he can ask Price and observe the woman sometimes. The excercises didn't helped him much, Ghost was still deep in thoughts. He wanted to know the truth; he'll be more surprised, shocked, angered than he thought.

  His way led to Price's office, where he knocked kn the door then entered. The captain was a good, caring man beside being strict and hardworking. For a few moment, the two men looked each other, waiting for the other one to break the silence.

-Capt'n, we need to speak.

-I told you Ghost, no more missions for a week.

-It's not 'bout that.

-Then?

-'bout the recruits.

-D' you have a problem with them, or you have an idea.

-No, I have a request, Price.

-And that is?

-The only one female. She hides somethin' important... Hiding valuable informations is forbidden, Price

-I know. She requested it specifically. But I read it. You dont want to, trust me, Simon.

-Capt'n. I'll train the new member, I need to read their files.

-You can, but not hers. For your own sake, I'm tellin you.

  The lieutenant let out a sigh and glared at the man for a few moment then left the office, heading to the training grounds. He saw only professional and experienced, well thought out moves and reloads. Ghost just watched her and tried to understand why she acted like that and why was that linked to the only restricted file about the recruits.

-Yennefer! --Ghost shouted to get her attention, no need to say, she walked up to him immediately. Even thought the anxiety ate her away from the inside, she didn't showed it-- Come here.

-Yes, sir? What is it.

-When did you enlisted?

-When I was eighteen, in 2010.

-First enlist?

-In 2010.

-Thank you, Yennefer. You're dismissed, get some rest.

-Sir, the sergeant said we need to fire two mag away...

  Ghost let out a sigh and waited for her to finish and put the gun back to it's place. Once again, he saw that the woman knew what she does. Fourteen years of service. What happened under those years exactly, he wanted to know why she had that kind of request. What was her rank before, where does she served.

  Even later, at lunch, Ghost searched for her or any tiny bit of information crumble about her. This went on days, no particulary new information that was important. He started to get pissed off, but being patient finally paid off, since he noticed the woman sitting down to an empty table; the furthest table from the rest of the hall. Avoidance? He thought, or she might likes to be alone today. No, that can't be possible, he rarely saw her beside training and eating. He also knew that she never spoke unless she was asked. That was suspicious on it's own. Simon knew a bunch of reason why would ppl be this quiet, since he was one of them. The main reason was trauma. Then doubt and self esteem. Even the first reason had a bunch of possibility.

So he sat down at Yennefers table who were too anxious to do anything, so she just let him do whatever he wanted. The LT noticed this, the nervous twiching and looking around. He doesn't know why he expected her to speak; but when realisation hit him, disappointment was strong. Only for a moment. Ghost let out a sigh, thinking what he should ask without triggering more than he wants...

-So, Yennefer...how does that fourteen year was before 141?

-Uh... --she froze up, but somewhat relaxed, knowing that the Lt probably wants to know more about her. Not her injuries. But having severe social anxiety, a broken soul and an ill mind made her life much harder than intented-- it was hard. But I had better moments too.

Her voice was above a whisper, more likely it was a mumble. Ghost still wandered why doesn't she speaks louder. Or longer. More into depth and not only in a nutshell. There is no way that a woman like her speaks this as much as him, maybe even less; must have happened something with her at some point. But what? Something similar to his own past? Or something else? One thing he was sure, whatever she hides; for a good reason, he'll get to that bits by bits.

Give It To Me

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

["Give It To Me" by Timbaland]

[18+]

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• summary - you've always had a crush on your best friends older brother. looks like he has a crush on you too lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 4.7k • warnings - fem!reader, best friend's older brother!gaz, unprotected piv, oral [f!receiving], fingering, praise, alcohol consumption, you smoke weed with gaz, you fuck while you're high too, strong language

ok ok there are not enough fanfics of gaz on this bloody app and enough is enough i say. proud gaz whore right here 🙏 gaz nation rise up !!! also i LOVE timbaland like early 2000s music has no right to slap that hard.

this wasn't requested at all lol but hey maybe it's just a 1k special. lots of luv x

the hat stays on while we fucking— yoooo who said that that's crazy ????

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You had always had this stupid crush on your best friend's older brother.

How could you not? Just look at him.

He was nice, funny, a bit shy but yet still such a social butterfly. He was ridiculously attractive, too, obviously. Pretty dark eyes, a perfect smile and— good lord— abs that you could see whenever he wore that tight compression shirt during his morning workouts.

Spending the night at your best friend's house was always so much fun. Yeah, your friend was the best and you always had such a good time with her. But, if you woke up at just the right time and, conveniently, went downstairs to get a glass of water, you'd run into Gaz. Compression shirt on, dampened slightly with sweat, as he stirred up his protein shake at the kitchen counter.

You'd feign innocence. Hi Gaz, what brings you up at this hour? Real subtle, you thought, considering you'd found yourself in this exact situation four times. But hey, you can't blame yourself. He just looked... so good.

So, for the longest time, it was always a stupid crush. Nothing more than that.

Until it was more than that.

The ball began to roll the day he returned home from deployment a month or so ago.

You were lounging on the couch, your best friend in the shower, when he stumbled into the house, looking absolutely beat. He saw you first as he closed the front door.

"Hey." He smiled.

"Hey, Gaz," you smiled back. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," he laughed breathlessly. "I'm so happy to be home."

He looked around the quiet, empty house. You could only just hear the shower upstairs running. Gaz exhaled through a laugh, shaking his head slowly.

"So much for a welcome committee." He joked.

"Hah, were you expecting one?" You asked, smiling.

He shrugged. "I mean, it would've been nice. I've been gone for three and a half weeks, you know, risking my life and all."

"Oh, I'm sorry, thank you for your service," you mock saluted from the couch, much to his amusement. He smiled at you, finally dumping his duffel bags in the hallway near the door. You cocked your head at him, jokingly saying: "Would you like me to be your welcome home committee?"

He faked appreciation, placing a hand to his chest and pouting. "I would be honoured. Thank you."

"Oh my god." You rolled your eyes, and the both of you laughed while you got off the couch.

You crossed the room, clearing your throat as you stretched your arms wide. "Sergeant Garrick! It's so great to have you home!"

He laughed again, smile stretching wider as he wrapped his arms around your middle, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. He leaned back, your feet leaving the ground and making you release a noise of surprise. After hugging you tight, he gently lowered you back to the floor.

"Thank you." He smiled.

You pat his chest. "Of course. Thank you for your service."

He still had his hands on your waist when you said that.

And that was only the beginning.

The ball was rolling slowly, but steadily. A few weeks later, after days of joking with one another— flirting? you weren't sure— and throwing banter back and forth, it happened again. A moment between you two that contributed to the shift in your dynamic.

He stumbled into the house in the early hours of the morning, drunk as fuck. You and your friend had been up all night watching movies, and she had only just fallen asleep upstairs. You told her you were going to get a drink of water so, as Gaz staggered into the house, you were at the kitchen sink, a half-drunk glass of water in your hand.

He was tripping over his feet, muttering something, laughing to himself. You watched him silently, as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He dropped to his knees, failing to crawl up them. He gave up, and slouched against the bannister.

"Rough night?" You asked him, placing the cup in the sink.

"Mhm," he muttered, pulling himself away from the stairs and into the kitchen. "V-very rough."

He sank onto one of the barstools, swaying slightly.

You shook your head at him, grabbing a fresh glass and filling it with water. You slid it to him, and he happily accepted.

"Thanks," He slurred, and chugged the whole glass. He pushed the empty glass back towards you. "More?"

You gave him a look as you took the glass. It was meant to be a “slow down” kind of look, but he clearly took it a different way.

"More, please, love." He said, resting his head on his arms, watching you with hooded eyes as you refilled his glass.

"Drink this one slowly," you said, giving it to him. He did, sipping at the water as you watched. "Special occasion, was it?"

He swallowed his mouthful. "Not really, but Soap's in town. He... he can drink me under the t-table, Jesus Christ. He had like... f-five hundred more pints than... than me and he walked outta there fine."

You laughed quietly. "Your fault for taking him on."

He hummed, finishing his glass. When he passed it back to you, he gave you a lazy smile. "Thanks, love."

"Sure." You said calmly. Your stomach was doing fucking backflips.

He hummed again, watching you place the glass in the sink. When you turned back around, his eyes dropped for just a moment. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, but long enough to make you say—

"My eyes are up here, Garrick."

His lips quirked further, smirk unfaltering. "I like your pyjamas."

You rolled your eyes. Short shorts, a loose fitting tee that you have no idea where it came from, fuzzy slippers.

"Whatever." You scoffed.

"No, I do," he said, still smiling. "That's my shirt."

Your body went hot.

"Seriously?"

"Mhm..." He chewed at his bottom lip.

Your best friend had loaned it to you. That bitch—

"I'm so sorry. Do you want it back?"

"Oh my god, no, don't even worry," he sounded sincere for just a moment, before: "It suits you better, anyway."

Moments like these continued to happen.

And eventually, the ball rolled to it's final destination: today, your best friends birthday.

She was pretty popular, considering she did a whole bunch of extra-curricular activities and made friends with quite literally everyone she met. So her house was packed full of people, most of whom you knew, drinking and dancing to music that would most likely cause a noise complaint further into the night.

You had had a fair bit to drink. Not enough to be absolutely pissed, but enough to have your body buzzing and your eyelids fluttering if you sat down for a bit too long. Your best friend, on the other hand, was drunk as hell. You spent half the night making sure she didn't somehow end up on the roof like last year. But that was a whole other story.

Later into the night, your friend had wandered off— safely, thank god— to join a game of beer pong in the dining room. You needed some fresh air, so you made your way onto the front porch, devoid of any people.

You could still hear the people and music pulsing together inside, and you took a deep breath, cool air filling your lungs. You felt yourself sobering up as the chilled air hit your bare skin. Probably for the best, anyway.

"Had enough, eh?"

You recognised the voice. The voice you were weirdly attracted too. Was it weird to be attracted to a voice? Probably. Maybe you were over thinking—

Gaz sat down beside you on the front step, your knees brushing.

"Yeah, just wanted to chill for a bit." You told him, the warmth of his body beside yours really making the alcohol clear out of your head.

"Fair enough," he said. "Birthday girl's had a bit to drink, hasn't she?"

You bit out a laugh. "You have no idea. I don't think I've seen her touch anything other than alcohol all night. She's gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"Her fault." He said, humour in his words.

He looked over at you, taking in your face for a second. You met his eyes, head cocked slightly as he smiled at you.

"What?" You smiled.

"You smoke?" He asked.

You shrugged. "Depends."

Gaz laughed. "Depends on what?"

"Depends who I smoke with," you replied. "By myself? Sure. With your sister? Sure."

"What about with me?" Gaz asked, patting his jacket pocket.

"Sure." You said simply, the two of you fighting smiles.

•º•

A little while later, you were sitting on Gaz's bed, right beside the semi-open window. You'd never been inside his room before, so you were intent on playing it cool. It was much how you expected it to be. Simple, but him. Photos from his high school days, from his days in the military. A punching bag in the corner— which, on any other day, would have been a red flag if it wasn't Gaz we were talking about here.

He passed you the joint, fingers brushing yours. He was slouched against the bed, too, head resting on the windowsill, peering out the window. Wisps of smoke furled from his lips, disappearing into the night.

You giggled at the sight before inhaling, taking a couple of hits before rolling the joint mindlessly between your fingers. Your slightly hooded eyes watched Gaz and the way his own eyes darted across the sky, looking at the stars. Then, as you put your lips around the tip of the blunt again, his eyes fell on you.

"You good?" He asked, sitting up as you passed the joint to him.

You smiled at him. "Mhm."

The music was loud downstairs. You could feel the vibrations coursing through the walls as you leaned your head against it. You had butterflies in your stomach, a warm, fuzzy sensation in your brain and your cheeks were beginning to hurt from the strength of your smile.

Gaz took a few lazy hits from the blunt over the span of a couple of minutes. You watched him in silence, chewing at your bottom lip. You watched the way his eyelashes fluttered, how his pupils had expanded in the moonlight, and how he wet his lips with his tongue after every inhale. You now had a second heartbeat deep in your core, and you released a shaky exhale.

"You're so pretty..." You sighed, watching the way he twisted the narrow joint between the knuckles of his index and middle finger.

He hummed, eyes darting across your face. "I think that's supposed to be my line."

You giggled behind your hand, body heating up more than it already was. You shifted against the mattress of his bed, blankets bunching beneath you, smelling of him.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked in a whisper, reaching over and plucking the blunt from Gaz's fingers. He watched you take a hit, his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth in concentration.

He nodded as the joint tip glowed. He kept nodding, slowly, lazily, until you passed it back to him. You held it out to him, fighting a smile, wiggling it in front of his face, fresh embers flickering.

Instead, he gently grabbed your wrist— as though you were the most fragile being on earth— and pulled you closer to him. You obliged, shuffling along the bed on your knees until they knocked against his own, your silhouettes framed by the moonlight streaming in from the partially opened window.

Still holding your wrist, Gaz lowered his mouth and took a deep hit, eyes locked to yours. Your stomach flipped, brain feeling extra fuzzy and warm as you locked your eyes onto his glossy brown ones. Then, without exhaling, he gently pried the rest of the blunt from your fingers and placed it on the ashtray on the windowsill.

He pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, thighs beneath yours. He placed one hand on the small of your back, the other cupping the side of your head. He guided your face down to his and you parted your lips in a small gasp. When your lips brushed— not quite a kiss— he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, tendrils of ghostly white passing between your mouths. You released a sound, low in your throat, as you felt the smoke swirl, bitter, into your mouth, your eyes fluttering while you struggled to maintain eye contact. Gaz responded to the sound, pulling your hips closer to his own.

You were the first to pull a way a bit. He watched you closely, eyes moving all over your face.

Your core was pulsing, your body was warm.

"Jesus..." Gaz whispered, hand rubbing carefully along the side of your face, along your jaw. "M'gonna... m'gonna kiss you, okay? Is... is that okay?"

It was your turn to nod slowly, wetting your lips.

"Mhm." You hummed, trying to hold a poorly timed giggle at bay.

He exhaled deeply, breath fanning across your face before he leaned in and captured your lips with his own. It was tame, in the beginning. Then, he licked his tongue along the seam of your mouth and you opened for him, letting him explore. You and him both moaned in unison when your tongues connected, warm and solid, tasting both bitter from the weed and sweet from the cheap alcohol. His hand moved to the back of your head, bringing you closer, tilting you in a way that he could sink his tongue deeper.

The kiss was now the furthest from tame— all tongue, teeth and spit. The wet sounds, combined with his soft whimpering and your low whines, made the kiss much more pornographic than intended. You pressed your hands down his strong shoulders, feeling the muscle, scratching your nails against the cotton of his shirt.

The hand Gaz had on your lower back moved southward, brushing along the curve of your arse and squeezing the flesh there gently. He kneaded it through the material of your skirt while you ground yourself onto his lap.

You tried to pull away from the kiss, but he chased it; eyes still closed, seeking the heat of your mouth. You let him as he whined into your mouth, the hand on your arse moving back to your lower spine.

"Gaz..." you whispered once you finally broke your lips away from his. He blinked up at you, lips wet with your shared saliva, breath coming in shallow pants.

Wordlessly, you reached around and grabbed the hand that he had on your back. You moved it between the two of you, urging him beneath the front of your skirt. His eyes grew wide in excitement, letting you guide his hand to your underwear. He cupped your core, and, for the second time that night, you moaned in unison. You were wet and warm against the skin of his palm, even through the material of your underwear.

"Bloody hell..." He muttered, dipping his fingers past your underwear, dragging them lightly against you. His eyes flicked up to yours, trying to gauge your facial expressions as he made his touch firmer, sliding two fingers through your slicked folds.

Is this okay?, his deep brown eyes asked.

You hummed a moan, your eyes finding his, replying; obviously.

His two fingers languidly sunk into your cunt without resistance, your core slick and dripping, still maintaining a steady heartbeat, which made you squirm in his lap. He sunk his fingers to the knuckle and he let out a low whine before pulling them out and repeating his actions. You keened into him, chest flushed with his, tossing your head back as his fingers began a steady pace.

His thumb crept up your core and pressed against your clit, already puffy and swollen with your arousal. Gaz moved in slow circles, listening to your body, listening to your sounds. Much like your kiss, the sound of his fingers entering your hole were loud, even over the bass of the music. Wet. So fucking wet. You could feel the glide of his fingers, the arousal that leaked into your underwear.

Gaz had his mouth agape, watching raptly as you breathed out whine after whine, face inclined towards his ceiling. He kept you firmly in his lap, having moved a hand down to your hip to keep you steady. His other hand, knuckle deep in your sopping cunt, searched for the spot inside you that'd have you seeing stars.

He found it.

He knew he did when you choked on a gasp, a beautiful moan falling from your kiss-bruised lips. You tilted your head forward to look at him, and you whined a sickly sweet "Gaz" that had his pace increasing and his cock hardening.

"S-so good, Gaz, oh my god..." you whimpered, his fingers hitting that spongey spot within you that caused your tummy to tighten, thighs beginning to quiver against his.

He applied further pressure to your clit as the blunt force of his fingers nudged you closer to climax. He was still looking at you— admiring you— basking in how pretty you looked all for him.

"Cum on my fingers, baby, that's it," Gaz whispered, leaning forward to kiss you. It was gentle, and lasted for less than five seconds, before he was pulling away to suck a hickey onto your neck. "That's it, come on. Know you can do it... know you can, love, come on. Give it to me."

You fucking gave it to him alright.

"Mmm—Gaz—!" You moaned as you hurtled over the edge, your orgasm hitting you hard and hot. Your hole clamped around his fingers, making him grunt into your neck as he fucked your through it.

He pulled off of your neck. "That's it, good girl, there you go..."

He sounded equally as fucked as you as he thrusted his fingers into you once more, then retreated. You kissed him, your mouths moving without real intent, just swapping spit with weed-tainted tongues. While you did that, he pushed you backwards onto his bed, shifting you so your head rested on his satin pillow. He crawled over top of you, only breaking the kiss to drag his mouth down your neck.

"More." You whispered to him, a smile creeping along your face as you clamped your legs around his hips.

"Yeah?" Gaz leaned back on his heels. "More?"

"Pleaseeeee." You dragged out, ripping your shirt over your head as impatience bubbled inside you. He laughed when you tossed it across the room, then quickly unclasped your bra, also throwing it away.

Tits exposed, his eyes dropped from your face, jaw slackening.

"My eyes are up here, Garrick." You laughed.

The familiar words struck Gaz across the face. He smiled at you, leaning down without words to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You exhaled a pleasured sigh, holding his head carefully as he kissed and sucked along your left tit, before moving to the other. He rubbed your waist and hips as he did so, fingers skimming the band of your skirt.

Eventually, the pleasure mounting in your core was making you impatient, so you pushed him away with as much strength in your shaky arms as you could. Gaz just chuckled. He flipped your skirt up and slipped your drenched underwear down your legs, untangling them from your ankles and flinging them across the room.

He blew out a breath, catching sight of your cunt, slick folds fucking glistening in the moonlight.

He couldn't resist. He didn't even give you a warning.

He slid his head between your thighs and licked a stripe up your cunt, sucking briefly on your clit before dragging his tongue down your folds and thrusting into your leaking hole. You cried out, hand immediately coming to clasp the back of his head, hips bucking. His nose pressed to your clit as you did that, making you whine deeply. Your thighs fastened firm around his head. He groaned, continuing to fuck his tongue deeper into you.

Your mind was warm and full of Gaz, Gaz, Ga—

He moaned into your cunt, the vibrations making your tummy tighten.

"Fucking hell," he moaned again, and you gasped in return. "So fucking good, baby, holy—"

His tongue cut him off, stuffing back into your cunt, lapping up as much of your arousal as he could with messy slurps that made your cheeks sting with pleasure. You were far too gone to be embarrassed.

His hands gripped your thighs, indenting the soft flesh. He quickly swiped his tongue upwards, circling your clit and skimming his teeth across it.

"Fuck, Gaz," You keened. "M'not gonna last, please—"

"S'okay, love, s'okay, come on," he groaned into your cunt, tongue sliding back into your leaking hole. "Come on, baby, wanna taste more. Let me— f-fuck, baby— let me h-have more."

Your second orgasm, much like the first, hit you like a fucking freight train. As the chorus of whatever song it was downstairs reached it's tempo, you came in his mouth. Your thighs trapped him to your cunt as you rode the continuous waves of pleasure, his tongue solid inside you. You bucked against his face, orgasm simmering, his nose nudging your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

When you finally loosened your hold on him, he placed one last wet kiss to your swollen clit, before literally lunging over your body and slamming his mouth onto yours. Hastily, and with little words exchanged between the pair of you except for moaned curses, Gaz stripped. His clothes meshed with yours on the floor, and soon, the solid weight of his cock was in your hand as you helped guide it to your cunt, your legs parted for him.

He watched you stroke him, notching his cockhead at your dripping entrance with a soft giggle-turned whimper. He smiled, fucked out, as he took your hand and brought it back to your face. He made you lick it, before wrapping it back round his cock and moaning loudly. He used your hand to pump himself, his own fingers large over yours. Pearls of pre rolled from his tip, smearing against your fluttering hole.

His other hand adjusted the way your skirt was still flipped up over your lower tummy. He played with the material of it while you pumped his cock.

"Pretty..." he remarked, tugging at the soft fabric.

"Mmm... wore it for you." You drawled, nudging his sensitive tip through your slick folds.

He whined a fuck. "Did you now?"

"Mhm..."

He removed your hand from his cock, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He wrapped his own hand around the base, languidly pushing the tip to your cunt. He slowly pushed in, and you whined, wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails down his back. He moaned through gritted teeth as you sucked him in. His hips soon came flush to yours as he bottomed out with a deep utter of your name.

"C-can't believe I didn't... fucking hell... didn't do this sooner," he pulled out of you, slowly pushing back in. "Waited s-so long for this pretty cunt. So... so long."

He was taking his time fucking his cock into you. Your gummy walls tightened around him, your arousal easing the glide. He huffed each time the head of his cock reached far enough inside you that a small bulge appeared in the soft mound of you lower tummy.

"You feel so good, oh my god—" He whimpered.

"Please, Gaz, need more—" You whined. "Please, faster—"

His pace increased instantly. It wasn't the most graceful and rhythmic— possibly a factor of weed and alcohol, making you fight off a grin— but it was fucking good. He nailed that spot inside you with each thrust. You moaned his name, over and over, throat beginning to become sore. He fucked you to the drumming of the music downstairs, bed creaking. The room smelt of weed, sex, you and him. You could get high off that combination alone.

He was breathing hard, whimpering into your neck as he sucked another hickey. Your best friend's older brother. A moan slipped out of your mouth at that thought alone. What were you doing?

Whatever it was, you were fucking loving it.

"So good, Gaz. Feels so good." You told him through a whine, his cock slamming repeatedly into the plug of your womb, balls slapping against the curve of your arse.

He moved away from your neck, focusing now on your pretty face as he fucked you.

"Yeah? Feels good, love?" He asked, snaking a hand away from your hip to toy a finger against your puffy clit.

"S-so good, fuck—!" You almost screamed at the sensation, your nerves on fire.

He rutted into you, again and again, hooded eyes raking down your body with each arch of your back and buck of your hips. He loved how pretty you looked right now. All for him. His imagination these past few weeks had nothing on what he was looking at right now.

"Mmm that's it, good girl," he said lowly as he felt your cunt begin to pulse around him. He pulled all the way out and slammed back in, making you toss your head back and moan. He moaned too, your silk walls clinging too him. So needy. "Want you to cum, please, baby. You can do it. Want you to cum 'round my cock. Come on, give it to me."

Gladly, you came a third time.

"Gaz!" You moaned, pulling him tighter over you as your entire lower body spasmed, legs clamping around his waist and cunt squeezing around his cock. He groaned at the sight of you, at the feel of you, as your climax rocked through you, amplified by the swimming warmth in your brain. Cosy. Safe.

"Gaz..." You finished with a whimper, soft and barely audible. He kissed you, passionate and slow, continuing his pace, removing his finger from your sensitive clit.

"I know, I know, good girl, baby," he whispered, cooing. "Did so good. Almost there... almost there... good— girl—" he punctuated the good girl with heavy thrusts, making your mouth drop open.

It seemed like it had been mere seconds since your third orgasm when your fourth crept into your lower abdomen, coiling tight. You don't think a man has ever made you cum this many times.

You couldn't help it. It was so sudden that you had no time to warn him. You gushed around him, fourth orgasm leaking out of you with each rut of his cock. He groaned, deep and breathy, feeling the slick escaping from your cunt as he pounded into you, his thrusts only just beginning to falter.

"That's a good girl, there you go, feels so fucking good," he rambled. "M'gonna cum, holy fuck, m'gonna cum—"

He sounded so desperate. You kissed him.

He buried his cock to the hilt inside you, hips flushed with yours. As you kissed him, he came, moaning into your mouth. Warmth filled you deep, the sensation making you arch against him. Warm dribbles of his cum slowly seeped out of you as he softened, still buried inside you while his body dropped onto yours, face buried in your neck. He kissed you there as you kissed his forehead.

After a while of just holding each other and listening to the music downstairs, Gaz got up. The joint was basically lying dead in the ashtray, but he still ground away the remnants of live embers. He closed the window.

"You reckon someone heard us?" You asked lazily as he dipped into his bathroom, remerging a few moments later with a cloth.

"Doubt it," he said, dabbing the warm, wet cloth to your core, cleaning you gently. "They're too pissed to even notice we're gone."

He cleaned you, then discarded the cloth. Soon, he was shimmying a pair of his clean boxers up your legs, then grabbing a fresh tee and helping you into it. Then, boxers on, he slipped into bed beside you and pulled the covers up. He placed a kiss to your forehead, cheek, then finally your lips.

"Need anything?" He asked, rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone before kissing you softly again.

"Just you," you smiled at him. "All I need is you."

"Perfect," he smiled back. "All I need is you, too."

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lol x

OMG PART TWO🙏

Accidentally Kidnapping Mafia Boss Price

A.K.A. Reverse Trope Writing Prompts

masterlist

cw: guns, car accident

You hate your job, and part of it, is because of how much you hate your boss.

If watching "The Devil Wears Prada" taught you anything, is that working as an assistant is an exhausting, humiliating and underpaid job.

But still... is the best one you have had.

So when your boss tells you that you need to drive his car to get his dog to the hairdresser, you agree. Because out of all the disgusting things that he makes you do, driving his way too expensive car to take his actual delight of a dog to the hairdresser and waiting two paid hours while doing anything, it's really not the worst.

Taking the keys from his desk when he tells you that the dog is already in the car waiting and that you better hurry, you waste no time in taking the elevator. Three massive men, in black suits, walk out right as you enter; catching on the corner of your eye as they walk towards your boss's office.

You recognise the car immediately, only a money freak like your boss could afford it; so without even looking at the back seat, you turn on the car making the engine roar before going out onto the road.

Missing the identical car parked behind the column.

The dog must be sleeping behind, you assume when you can't hear his usual panting. You can hear his breathing, and the sound of movement. But it's the sound of a lighter that makes you look up into the rearview mirror.

You freeze when you lock eyes with the man sitting in the back seat. Blue eyes, mutton chops and a mischievous smile on his lips.

"You are not the dog." It's the only thing you can say, thankful for the red light and the fact the car is stopped, unable to look away from the mirror.

"Well, good morning to you too, darling." He says, a deep chuckle escaping his lips around his cigar.

"You- You can't smoke here, my boss, he hates-" You mumble, trying to keep an eye out for the changing street light.

"I can't smoke in my own car, sweetheart?" He asks, cocking his head as he does.

"Pardon?" You ask, turning your head to finally look at him. The massive man sitting cross-legged on the back seat, the suit obviously expensive for the way it clings to all the right parts of his muscular body.

"I think you got into the wrong car, sweetheart." He says, resting his elbow on the door.

"No, no. This is my boss's car and you are supposed to be a dog!" You exclaim, pointing at him. "Where is the dog!?"

"Are you calling me a dog?" He asks, amusement in his voice.

"No! I- I'm supposed to take the dog to the fucking groomers, not you!" You say, exasperated.

"I wouldn't say no to a grooms session." He says, rubbing his beard as he looks into the window reflection. "The light's green."

You furrowed your eyebrow, jumping when the car behind honks at you and you start driving again.

"You should probably drive me back, though. My boys won't take nicely your attempted kidnap." He says casually, looking at the back of your head. "Especially Ghost."

"Who are you? A mob?" You ask, snickering to yourself.

"Precisely." He answers with a nod of his head. "Not to sound cocky, but have you heard of the 141, right?"

And it takes a second for the pieces to fall together, Price chuckes again when he sees your eyes widen at the realisation.

"No!"

"Yes."

"Noo!"

"Yeeah!"

"You are not!"

"I am, in fact."

"You can't be!"

"Well, I am, love."

You rub your hand over your face, quickly using it to change the destination on the GPS to go back to your building.

"I- I will drive you back, and I'll get on the car I'm supposed to, yeah? We can leave this as a funny history, right?" You ask, looking at him through the rearview mirrors.

"Sounds good with me. We wouldn't want anyone thinking you tried to kidnap me, right, love?" He asks and you quickly shake your head. "You are a good girl, right? An honest mistake?"

You nod your head eagerly, trying to fight the tears back. And something about the pathetic scene playing before him must make him feel bad because he leans forward, resting his hand on your shoulder. "It's all good, sweetheart. Let's go back."

You nod again, sniffling with a lack of decorum; and when you look forward again, you can only see a black car driving beside you. You make eye contact with the driver, coming face to face with a skeleton mask.

He then moves back, letting you see the man sitting beside him and the gun he is holding. Pointing at you.

You barely have time to raise your shoulder, moving your head down, before you feel the pain on your arm. It makes you lose control of the car, driving straight into a light pole.

You hit your head on the driving wheel knocking yourself out, and the last thing you hear before going dark is the man behind you shouting.

"Johnny, you bloody muppet!"

It could have been hours by the time you come back to your senses, hearing the car alarm going off and the searing pain of the bullet wound on your shoulder.

"I said that one of us should have stayed with you!" You hear a muffled voice complain from outside the car.

"I don't need a nanny, Kyle. Besides, the three of you are a bigger threat than what the poor girl was." You recognise the voice as the man that was sitting behind you

"She managed to kidnap you, Price. I would call that a threat" A second mysterious voice adds.

"She was driving back! Was supposed to take a dog to get a haircut or something." The blue eyes man says.

"Eh, she's moving." A third voice says, considerably closer than the rest, urging you to move. You barely lift your head enough to see, coming face to face with the barrel of the gun.

"Make sure not to miss this time." One of the voices says.

"Johnny, lower the bloody gun!" The only voice you recognise says, the gun automatically lowering.

"But why, sir?" The man whines, apparently angry at not being allowed to kill you.

"Because you three dumbs dumbs just killed her boss when you were supposed to interrogate him, so that makes her both..." He says, leaning his arm on the ceiling of the car and looking at you. "our only source of information... And my new assistant. What do you say, sweetheart?"

Taglist: @crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z

@lyralein @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @dumb12bvtch1212

@thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock

@arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk

@reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat

@lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @fraserbraw

@rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting

@dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708

@katreintjie @sacvh @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @wolfieisacat

@yuki2129 @mikaronn @idk-justkane @shanhalen @thatoneslvt

CALL OF DUTY

** means nsfw / smut (18+ content)

below are writings based in this fandom <3

coming soon !!

Lost in Ikea. || John Price x Reader

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

4. Lost in an IKEA

41. Price and Reader run into each other (literally)

48. A character tries to hide that they are crying or upset

Rating: E Words: 1.3K cw: period/menstruation + symptoms, feelings of inaddequacy?. Tags: afab!reader (bc menstruation), you/your pronouns but no Y/N, crying, hurt/comfort, strangers. Summary: Reader is just having a bad day and John is a kind stranger. a/n: I just needed a little hurt/comfort for the soul. This isn't too serious. Also the 'lost' part of Ikea is more emotional than physical. ALSO ALSO, OFC I HAD TO DO THIS PROMPT, my screen name is literally Ikea.

Should you have gone to Ikea while on your period, when you’re in pain and light-headed and in a mood to kill a man? No.

Here’s the thing, you wanted a specific little bear plush they sell there (DJUNGELSKOG). And a meal from the restaurant. And maybe a new lamp. And a new set of bed covers and pillows. And honestly, you could use a little trolley for your craft supplies. And since you’re there you might as well no longer postpone buying that shelf you need-

You walked around the store for over two hours just looking at everything and, steadily, filling up your card with more than you expected. Little knick-knacks, a new set of cups for the kitchen, a picture frame, etc. etc. 

You took your time, moved at your own pace, slowly observing all the room displays… Maybe got lost at one point, but that’s neither here nor there.

Once you found a storage trolley you liked, as well as a shelf, you advanced through the warehouse, pushing your large cart along.

The trolley came first. It was small and light enough and after checking that the box said White, you found yourself perfectly able to drag it onto the large metal warehouse platform cart.

But then the shelf- you crouched down and tried to get a grip on the box and pull, but the bitch was heavy. You huffed and struggled, but it wouldn’t budge. It probably didn’t help that both your womb and your lower back were throwing a rager of cramps and all your muscles were sore.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come on your period. Another weekend, any other weekend, and you’ve been strong enough to get the box with the disassembled shelf off its perch… But you wanted to do it today! 

You wanted to feel like you got something done. You wanted the sense of accomplishment… You wanted to feel like you persevered through the pain! 

You had the whole day planned out: You got out of bed, you showered, you had proper food and a desert, you cleaned your house, you went outside, and you finally completed something you had been putting off!

You couldn’t leave without the last one! You had to get it out! You wanted to take the stupid shelf home with you!!!!

Tears start pooling in your eyes, your lip beginning to tremble. You’ll blame it on the hormones and the frustration.

Stomping your feet, you walk down the aisle, abandoning your cart and turn the corner intent on pushing the box out from the other side-

Then you smack into a person and it knocks you so off balance (you were already sort of light-headed either way) that you drop onto the linoleum floor.

If the day wasn’t already bad enough and you weren’t already crying, taking a hard seat on the floor in front of a stranger only made you feel that much worse.

“Christ, you alright?” A man’s concerned voice comes from above you. You wince and close your eyes hard, trying to conceal the tears in them.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry. I was in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention.” You murmur and turn to the side, using the floor and the industrial shelf next to you to pull yourself up to your feet.

“No, I’m sorry, I was walking fast too.” He replies. “I wasn’t fast enough to catch you. Might be getting old. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.” His tone sounds playful, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, haha.” You try to laugh it off. You still haven’t properly glanced at him and he can tell that you’re trying to conceal your redened eyes as you look off to the side.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?” He checks, his voice a lot more gentle.

God, you feel pathetic. Crying in front of a stranger in the middle of an IKEA warehouse. 

“I’m fine… Just… having a bad day.” You reply and for a moment you finally look over at him.

Great. On top of making a fool of yourself in front of a stranger who happens to be super kind, said stranger is also older and hot, definitely a dilf. Great, just great. You really should’ve stayed at home today.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He replies softly as he peers at you with bright blue eyes under thick brown eyebrows.

“It’s fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make this whole thing awkward. I’m sorry.” You turn to return to your things. Fuck the damn shelf, you’re going home and never coming to this IKEA again.

“Wait. Hey!” He says as he calls after you. Turning to look at him, your face twists into an upset, embarrassed look.

“You don’t have to apologise for having a bad day or having a cry, it’s alright.” The man says as he approaches you again when you’re already at your cart.

As he speaks, you notice there’s no pity in his tone, or some sort of cringe-riddled sentiment of awkwardness that comes to normal people when a stranger suddenly overshares. He’s just… kind.

Your face softens a bit more and you quickly turn to look away. Instead, your eyes find the stupid box with the shelf you want, still on the industrial shelves, and you start crying more.

“I just want that bloody shelf and it’s… it’s too heavy and I can’t get it into the cart and- I can’t believe I’m crying over this!” You complain and gesture vaguely to the space in front of you as you find yourself sniffling.

“Alright. Hey, it’s alright.” He assures you and gives you a friendly tap on the back, on your shoulder, over your hoodie. “How about I get it for you?” He asks.

You find yourself looking up at him. “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not at all!” He says with a friendly smile and a nod. “I’m plenty strong and I’m already here! Plus, imagine me walking away now after offering?” He jokes.

You can’t help the chuckle the escapes you amidst your broken sobs. “Would’ve been proper rude.”

“Of course it would. And my mum raised me right.” He adds playfully, causing another chuckle to rise out of you. “That’s the smile I wanted.” He cheers.

John moves forward and crouches, helping to slide the heavy box off the shelf with a mighty grip of his big hands, sliding it onto the bottom of the metal cart with the rest of your shopping. “There it is.”

“Thank you…” You murmur as you seek for tissues in your pockets, grabbing one to dab away your tears.

“It’s alright.” He assures you again. “And, for the record, there’s no shame in crying. If you would’ve asked me 3 days ago what I was doing, I’d tell you I was having a good sob in my car after going to the supermarket because I was so tired and overwhelmed.” He admits and chuckles.

“You?” You ask, not quite sure if he was being sincere.

“Oh, yeah. I cry all the time, me.” He tells you and winks one of those blue eyes at you, making you chuckle again.

“Well, thank you, erm…” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.

“John.” He says while reaching a hand forward for you to shake. You return the introduction with your own name.

“You think you’ve got this? Or are you gonna need help getting it into the car?” He gestures at your entire cart.

“Oh, shite, you’re right… Need to get this into the car…” You groan and facepalm yourself.

“Tell you what-” John says as he looks at you. “You wait for me while I get the rest of my things-” He takes a list of paper with scribbled reference numbers on it from his pocket. “And we’ll go through checkout together, and I’ll help load this up into your car?”

His offer is so sweet and sincere and kind, you find your eyes clouding with tears again. Then, you nod eagerly and dab away the tears with your crumpled up tissue again.

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

All I wanted was you. PART ONE.

A Phillip Graves x Reader two part drabble, around the time of the betrayal, but not canon...

I made this part really long. It was only meant to be a one and done! I'm still super new to writing, so I'd love to know what you think.

Tw// betrayal, marriage breakdown, angst, a little toxicity, the one that got away.

...................................

He knew he fucked up when the light in your eyes faded when you looked up at him, your gaze once full of light and love, is now replaced by a cold, icy stare. You were furious.

"How could you?" You ask him, seething with anger. You step into his space, your voice soft, but deadly. You place your hands on his chest, grabbing the straps of his tactical vest and pulling him closer to you, making him see what his actions had caused. His cocky smirk was replaced by a stern look back at you, a robotic version of your once loving husband. You didn't even recognise him anymore.

"My family, my friends, my team... Soap, Ghost, Alé...." You pause, unable to look at the man you once loved. You remove your hands from him as if you had been burned, your voice unable to stop shaking as you processed what he was telling you.

"You betrayed them all, Phillip. You betrayed me." You gasp as you head towards the door, only turning to wrench off your wedding ring and watch as it bounces off the floor into the corner of the room.

Graves looks up at the door as it slams shut, the noise echoing in the otherwise quiet base.

"I did it for you, sweetheart." He says to himself.

"It's always been for you."

......................................

After driving away from your family home where you left him reeling, tears stinging your cheeks, your heart broken into pieces, you walk back to into base, your steps heavy with the weight of your husbands betrayal. You hadn't been allowed on this mission, you picked up a stray bullet in the Middle East and stayed on base at the order of your husband, Shadow Company Commander, Phillip Graves.

You had begged to come along, but Phillip saw you as a 'medical liability' and wanted you home safe, so you bit your tongue and stayed back. You hated that he treated you like you were a fragile doll, and over time, you had begun to see what he really was, a snake in the grass.

But, you simply couldnt shake the guilt riddled through you as the thought of Phillip danced through your mind. You couldn't believe he would betray you like this, turning on the team he swore to protect, turning his back on you. You at least thought he would be honour bound at protecting you.

Hearing Soap and Ghost over comms as they found each other, not knowing if the other is alive is what ate at you the most. You had become a member of the Task Force by proxy, being recruited in with Soap, but was welcomed in like you has always belonged. You had seen the team as family, but would they now see you the same?

You take a breath before knocking on Price's door.

"Enter." Came the reply.

You walked in, unable to meet your Captains gaze. Although you didn't partake in the betrayal, you felt a responsibility as it was your husband who gave the order that sent everything into chaos.

"Look at me, Sergeant." He ordered. Your gaze snaps up to his, and you hate what you see. Pain, anger, and possibly the worst of all, disappointment.

"I will ask you this once, and on your life, you had better be bloody honest with me." He pauses.

"Did you know?"

Your face pales. You stare back at him, with what you hope is a neutral face.

"Sir?" You ask cautiously.

"I said. Did. You. Know?" He repeats slowly, his voice low and dangerous.

"No, Captain. I didn't know what his plans were." You reply honestly, wringing your hands together.

"This is as much as a surprise as it is to me, as it is to you."

Captain Price stares at you, taking in every detail, and after a few painstakingly painful minutes, he stands up from the desk.

"No ring?" He taunts.

"No sir. I'm filing for divorce in the morning." You reply quickly, the discomfort and embarrassment of what Phillip is putting you through with his actions showing all over your features.

He simply nods.

"You know, I had to fight Laswell to keep you on the team?" He says bluntly. He walks around the desk so he is toe to toe with you, his broad body taking over much of the area between you both.

"She didn't want me to allow a traitor back into our team. But there's something different.. something I put my finger on when I figured you weren't 'cleared' for the mission."

"He didn't want you there as he wanted you out of the way while he buried us, he didn't want any witnesses or survivors, and as his wife and someone on our team, he saw you as a liability. One of my best soldiers and a jumped up asshole with money decided that you weren't good enough to come raised all the flags I needed. There's a difference between protecting your loved ones and hanging them for your own actions, you have never been a liability." He continues, almost reverse echoing Phillips words back to you.

You nodded, listening to your Captain.

"So I have a choice for you. You are to be taken to a safe house, as a liability to the team that he thinks you are unti lthis is cleared and you will be in court alongside him. Or..."

"Or? Sir?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

"You come with me and the 141 and we end him. For good."

You take a step back, and gather your thoughts. Your ex husband wouldn't have even hesitated, so why should you.

"I'm in, Sir. " You clarify, holding your head high.

"I only have one condition."

Price nods, encouraging you to speak.

"I get the first punch in." You demand, a glimmer of defiance and strength in your eyes.

"I am not a liability."

*a/n I really worried about the length of this one, so I am breaking it into two parts. What do you all think? It went a weird way so part two will clear things up? Nervous as hell as always.*

@going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @xoxunhinged @misshugs

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: kissing, a little tinsy bit angsty, flirtatious banter.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10

-------------

“Why’re you putting these up anyway?” You say standing at the bottom of the ladder that John is currently stood on, installing cameras he purchased for outside your home.

“Cause i’ll have to return to work this weekend and i’d like to make sure you’re safe.” you smile to yourself at his protective nature.

“I’ve lived here for ages and nothing has ever happened.” you reassure him as he descends the ladder.

“It’s for my peace of mind.” he says quietly between the two of you in the spring air.

“Okay.” you reply as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Onto the next corner.” he says gathering the ladder, walking to the other side of the house as his tool belt clings and clangs.

—------------

“Anything you can tell me about this next mission you’re going on?” you ask as the both of you lay on the couch.

“I leave on Sunday and don't know when I'll return, that's all.” He tries to make his deep gruff voice soft it’s a cute attempt. He knew this was going to be the hard part for both of you. You want him to stay and he doesn’t want to go but duty calls.

“Mmm.” you breathe into his chest, trying to inhale him, commit his scent to memory sure it’ll linger but this is straight from the source.

“I'll call you when I can.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to bring a personal phone, that’s what Gaz told me.” you rest your chin on his chest looking up at him.

“Gaz isn’t the captain.” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Ah abuse of power is it.” You quip. 

“If that’s what it takes to reach you.” You look away not being able to contain your blush after that as if he couldn’t feel your heartbeat quicken.

He lifts your chin back up, leaning down almost straining his neck for a kiss. Of course this kiss turns into more, you move further up the couch straddling his waist you’re hungry for him, for his kisses, groans, deep inhales of air, all of it. He’s flipped the two of you over pinning you beneath him with almost half his weight.

“John, why’re you teasing me?” You whimper.

“Not teasing, takin ma time.” 

He kisses down your throat, over your pulse to your collarbone ridding you of your shirt tossing it somewhere to be picked up later. This has been a common occurrence recently thing is he won’t fuck you. No, he will do everything else and give you absolutely anything you want except well what you want. 

“John.” You say as he starts to take your pants off.

“Yeah doll?” He slows the movement of his fingers and simply rests them on your hips.

“Why- why won’t you- you know fuck me?” So you did notice.

“Well because I- I actually-“ he’s a stuttering mess for the first time since you’ve met. 

“Do you not want to?” You begin as you sit up.

“Of course I do, believe me, but I want to savor you in every single way I can, you're irresistible as you are if I have you the way I want it’s all I’ll think about whilst also trying to not get killed.” He admits while comfortingly rubbing your thigh.

“Oh, that’s actually quite hot.” You feel a little bad, I mean who are you to demand something that’s literally a part of him.

“When I’m back I promise I'll give you my cock like you so desperately want.” Well damn.

——————

“Do you guys share a room wherever these missions are?” You ask as he dices up tomatoes for your antipasto Salad. 

“Em there’s rarely time for sleep but sometimes depending where we are we do and other times we don’t. Most times there aren’t even rooms there’s tents or simply no sleep.” He answers before tossing them into the large bowl beside his cutting board as you hum in understanding.

You didn’t know he knew had to cook, well sort of. He can grill, but that’s something that you cannot. So recently he’s been showing you how to smoke and grill different meats, today is what he said was the best of them all and longest cooking time, brisket. 

“Do they snore?” You ask as he laughs at your random questions.

“Yeah actually soap snores like a fucking pig, it’s horrible.” Now it’s your turn to laugh as he nods towards the door for you to follow him outside so he can check on the meat.

“Do I snore?” you ask sheepishly. He smiles looking over his shoulder at you, your arms crossed across your chest to make up for your lack of a sweater. When he sees you this way, so comfortable and raw, hair in your face and pajamas at 6PM, it’s everything and more. 

“You do.” your eyes go wide.

“No, do I really?” you seem so genuinely concerned.

“Doll everynight i've got to spend beside you has been the deepest and best sleep of my life, if you snore I've got no idea.” 

“Thank goodness.” You sigh out as he approaches you.

“Ready to eat?” He asks brushing hair from your face. 

“Yes.” 

Dinner is more talking than eating on your behalf, you want to soak up every second with him that you can. He listens intently wishing his brain was a recording machine so he could play it back when he needed to feel sane. 

“God John that was so good.” You say half an hour after he’s already finished his meal which was also his third serving. 

“I’m glad, you always cook. I'm happy to be able to provide you with this one thing.” 

“You’ve provided me with much more than this one thing.” You say with a soft smile, it’s so sweet it nearly knocks him breathless.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You admit.

“I know, doll.” He reaches across the table for your hand holding it firmly but not tightly as he looks away.

“But I know you have too.” His eyes return to yours.

“How will I spend my days without thee John Price? What will I do?” You say it over dramatically.

“Nothing too risky I hope.” He replies, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Maybe I’ll skydive.” You tease.

“Please don’t.” 

“Can’t promise.” You joke.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs.” He said showing you the few already on his head.

“That’s exactly what I want, I love the grays.” And he loves you, but he can’t bring himself to admit it although it isn’t even something he can try to rid himself of at this point it has consumed him whole, sprouting colorful and beautiful things inside him.

“Movie time my darling up we go.” He says as he stands motioning for you to do also. 

This is something that has become ritual, dinner then movie. It’s the perfect unwinding time although sometimes most times it turns into more.

“You pick?” You say as you hand him the remote, getting comfortable at his side tucking your head beneath his big arm. 

“You’ll fall asleep half way through this.” He looks down at your already drooping eyes.

“No I won’t.” 

“You will.” He plays a show you two had begun the other week as he settles in more comfortably moving one of your legs to rest across him. 

He’s laughing unaware of just about everything as his whole body shakes, that’s until he notices you’re not and to his not so own surprise you’re passed out cold. 

——————

When you wake it’s sometime deep into the night. The tv shows its rest screen and John is sleeping. Unfortunately after a weak attempt at falling asleep you’ve decided you're no longer tired so you just lay there, hand beneath John’s shirt rising and falling with every breath he takes. The only noise to be heard is his heartbeat and the clock ticking. 

You begin to overthink the more time passes, you’ll be alone in just two days. The comfort and protection John brings you will be miles away. This warmth that fulfills your soul won’t be in your home any longer. It scares you, how much you want him around how much you love him. You wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for you or if it’s something he’s gotten used to. 

It’s overbearing, too much. You untangle yourself from him, sliding your leg over his body and onto the floor, stepping as lightly as you can onto solid ground.

You tiptoe to the kitchen and open the fridge for water. You lean against the counter before taking a sip out of the bottle breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. You’re zoned out completely so much that you don’t notice John come into the kitchen till he’s placing his hands on your hips. 

“You scared me.” You jump slightly as he offers you a sleepy smile. 

“What’re you doing awake?” 

“Can’t sleep.” You say not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asks. 

“thought you’d need as much good sleep as possible.” You say quietly, leaning your head on his chest.

“That’s not as important as you.” He rubs a firm hand onto your back pulling you close. He holds you like this for what seems like eternity and you relish in it.

“I’m going to paint for a little, please go lay back down.” He looks exhausted as you finally bring your eyes to him. 

“Come paint in my room.” He is tired but he’d rather be sleep deprived than have you anywhere but next to him. 

“What? You’re crazy, all my stuff is in the sun room.” You say with a small laugh.

“Then I’ll move it, I can’t sleep when you’re more than 5 feet away from me.” 

“Okay.” You know he won’t give up so you’ve learned to give in.

You simply watch as he picks up the heavy canvas and its easel hauling it across the house as you grab your brushes and paints and follow. 

He sets it dangerously close to his side of the bed, he even moves the nightstand over to the corner to ensure you have enough room. 

“Perfect.” He says after pulling his desk chair out of his office and over to it.

“Yeah actually it kinda is.” You smile. 

“Well, have at it.” He says giving you a firm kiss then walking over to the bed and getting comfortable. You sit in his very big but very comfortable desk chair and begin to mix colors in the small pallet that rests on your thigh.

“Goodnight.” He says pulling the chair towards him with an outstretched arm for one more kiss which you happily give. 

“Night.” 

—————

Released an hour early as a little surprise

It’s my best lol it’ll get better just getting back into my groove:)

As always love ya!!!

————-

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

John MacTavish has The hairiest ass crack known to man

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

Chapter three the boys are realizing what they did…

And none of them apologized…

Reader is showing them “I can give the same energy” quite literally.

A Simple (Mis) Understanding

The last time she had seen any of them, she had a gun aimed straight at her head. Price hadn't bothered to get up from his chair. Gaz had taken up residence in Ghost's usual spot, standing in the shadows while Ghost egged Johnny to pull the trigger.

The four men who had once cared about you now wanted you dead; over a simple misunderstanding.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

PART TWO OMGOMGOMG PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Can’t stop thinking about poly141 who get so wrapped up in their own bullshit they begin to neglect reader. So you leave 🤷🏼‍♀️

It wasn’t a big deal at first. You understood that their jobs were intense to say the least. You own a bookshop, which in itself was exhausting, but you understood how they could get carried away with work.

You had excused the many delayed returned texts or missed FaceTime dates when they were deployed. When they came home, they almost always made it up to you. Showering you with attention and quality time.

But the past two returns home have been… different.

Usually at least one of them made a beeline to your shop or your loft if it was too late in the evening. You always held your breath when it was just one of them.

“They’re okay.” Was the usual answer. “Everyone made it back okay.” It was only then that you could melt into whoever’s hands you were in.

After one of their recent returns home you had voice to Price that you didn’t appreciate several days passing after they came back and no one had bothered to tell you. He had snapped. Arguing that a mission doesn’t finish just because they land back on soil. There was paperwork and debriefing to be done. If and when they wanted to see you they would.

He didn’t apologize until later. Crawling into your bed, using one of the keys you had given them. Blaming the stress. How they had almost lost Johnny for the reason of his outburst. What else could you do but forgive him?

So you had given them space after that one. Not holding it against them to decompress before seeing you.

The next time was the final straw. Solidifying how little they cared about you and how much power you had given them.

Johnny had come in around 7 one evening. He was dressed nicely, for civilian standards. You were reading a book on the couch when he had let himself in. You were wearing on of Simon’s sweatshirts and panties. He took you in for a moment before scooping you up.

He fucked you absolutely stupid. Adamant on having you cum on his tongue, his fingers and his cock. You were only able to bask in the afterglow of him filling you up before he started pulling his pants back on.

“What are you doing?” There were times that you would practically need a crow bar to get Johnny detached from you just long enough to relieve yourself. You had gotten many a UTI courtesy of Mr. John MacTavish.

“Dinner with my family tonight.” He explained by the time he was already buttoning his shirt. “The youngest just graduated and ma’ feels the need to go all out.” Now came the tie. Johnny was actually wearing a tie. To go to dinner. “A fancy dinner in London.” He huffed. “Meanwhile I’m out scufflin’ with bloody fuckin’ terrorists and I get a pat on the back.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. Promising to call you later.

You just sat in your bed. Still naked. Almost in shocked. He had fucked you and just… left. You were close to a panic attack as you called Simon.

Simon wasn’t the one to cuddle and coddle. But there was something so soothing at the sound of his voice or even how his heavy body felt perfect laying on top of you. Yes. Simon wasn’t the time to lift you up with words, but he was your own security blanket. Just having him close helped.

“Can you come over?” It wasn't unusal for Simon to be the one to come later in the evening. Insomnia was a bitch to deal with and you could sleep through the sounds of whatever he played on the tv. Most of the times you were content laying your head on his lap as he ran his hand along your head as if he were petting you. It was a bit cringe, but it knocked you out every time.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The low timber of his voice already calming you.

“Johnny came over.” You sniffled. “He just fucked me and left.”

“Not surprised.” He scoffed. You could almost see him rolling those deep brown eyes of his. “If you wanted to cum, I’m happy to come over and help.”

For whatever reason, that only seemed to make you more upset. “You’re not listening.” You said, trying to spell it out for him. “He left. Like didn’t even stay and cuddle just left. Fucked me and left.”

“That’s why you’re calling me crying about?” He almost seemed… annoyed.

“Yes!” You said, nearly snapping. All of the tension from the last several months coming to the surface. “I’m not just a warm body to keep a bed cozy until you assholes decide you need to get one off.” Assholes. You called them assholes. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“Johnny is Johnny.” Simon tried to defend, not really caring to continue the conversation now knowing that you weren't in any sort of physical harm. “He wanted his dick wet and from the sound of it, that’s what he did. Don’t hold it against him because he had other things to do.”

“It’s not just Johnny leaving.” Your throat felt like it was tightening. A telltale sign you were close to crying. Whether from sadness or anger you weren't entirely sure. “The only time any of you want anything to do with me anymore is to fuck.” You missed date nights and lunches. You missed texting any and all of them about your day, about theirs. About new books. You had been trying for months to tell them over dinner one of your books got picked up. Yours was being traditionally published.

None of them had bothered to even try penciling you in.

“You got yours.” You heard the popping of a can top. Simon was settling in for the night. Once he popped a top at home there was no getting him out. He wasn't coming for you. “I don’t understand what you’re bitchin’ to me about. Yeah, in the beginning we indulged ya a bit? Dressed you up, took you out. But you should have known spreadin’ them legs of yours wouldn’t end with one of us puttin’ a ring on your finger.”

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? These were the men that pursued you. Initially, individually, but when tensions became to much they offered a solution. All of them. Four times the attention, of the affection.

Four times the love.

But also four time the neglect. Four times the amount of heartbreak and disappointment. Loving all of them meant putting yourself in a position to let each of them hurt you in their own way and they had.

John's constant state of snapping at you as if you were one of his men.

Johnny swinging by as if you were just a fuck buddy. Not even bothering to give a peck before leaving.

Kyle essentially ignoring you for weeks now. Ghosting you for hours or having to cancel on date nights last minute or claiming that he really did forget that the two of you had planned to meet for lunch.

And now there was Simon. Telling you that all you meant to them was what was between your thighs.

Spreadin' them legs of yours wouldn't end with one of us puttin' a ring on your finger.

None of them ever intended on making this into something more. That much was clear now.

You didn't know what to say to Simon. You couldn't think of a witty retort. You couldn't find the proper insult to whirl his way. You couldn't convey just how much his words had hurt.

So you did the only thing you could.

You hung up.