#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x johnny ‘soap’ mactavish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miniwheat77 · 15 hours

Text

Alone with you. (141 x Reader.)

!smut, p in v sex, double penetration, gang bang, overstimulation, non con, proceed with caution, NO MINORS!

This was supposed to be my bday fic but I’ve had writers block, hope you enjoy!

"So this is the culprit hm?" Laswell lifts up the bottle of pheromone perfume.

"Looks like it." You mumble. "Wonder how good it actually works. Might spice up my sex life." You joke. Soap laughs. "What sex life?" he snorts. Seeing Laswell roll her eyes at the both of you. "Exactly my point. Asshole." You mumble under your breath.

When Soap leaves the room, Laswell smirks at you. "I'm sure in super small doses it couldn't hurt." She winks. You catch the tiny vial in your hand that she had just thrown at you. You smile at her. "And that's why you're my favorite, Laswell." You laugh, following her out of her office. Tucking the vial into your back pocket. "Alright. I'm heading out. Graves said he has some leads in North America so I'll be over there for a couple weeks. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone." She smiles. "No promises. As always, safe travels Laswell. Ring when you get to where you're going." You call to her. She nods her head, waving at you. You disappear down the corridor, going to your room.

———

Later that same night, you make your way into the mess hall, cup in hand. It's got water in it. You haven't had the chance to eat yet. You sit down for just a second and a gasp leaves your lips when you hear a small pop come from your back pocket. "Shit." You mumble. You hear the others coming and choose to stay put, only turning to look at your backside when they're distracted. You notice that there's no liquid anymore. Had it absorbed that quickly?

You quickly head back to your room, trying to clean all of the glass out of your pocket. You change into some other leggings that you have since it's almost time for bed anyway it's not like anyone will care.

You make your way back out into the mess hall and take your seat once more. Seeing that Soap has set up across from you at the table. It's silent for the most part, until Soap starts to shuffle awkwardly. He clears his throat a couple of times, finally looking up at you. Only now does he suddenly feel very attracted to you. He was before of course but now, something is different. He clears his throat again and adjusts the way he's sitting. You glance around the room to see each of them stealing glances at you.

Is it the pheromone perfume doing this?

No… it couldn’t be. It was only a tiny vial.

You stand up to get rid of your tray and move to sit back down. “Y/N. Can I speak with you?” Your Captain grasps your attention. You nod your head, following him out to the hallways. “Did Laswell give you the pheromone perfume?” He crosses his arms. “Yeah, I was supposed to throw it away for her but I forgot about it and it broke open in my pocket.” He shakes his head. “Listen, the scent you’re giving off is way too much. Go lock yourself in your room and stay there until it’s worn off.” He finishes his sentence and then grits his teeth, like he’s holding something back. “Go on.” He breathes. You can’t help but notice the beads of sweat on his forehead. You nod your head. As you start walking down the corridor, you hear him.

“No, Johnny wait!” You turn back to see Soap trying to push passed him. Very clearly trying to get to you.

You hurry down the hallway and open the door to your room, closing the door behind you. “Jesus fuck.” You mumble to yourself. Is this stuff really this strong?

You take a deep breath, sitting at the edge of your bed.

For a couple hours, you hear nothing but silence. And it’s a bit deafening. It’s eerie like there’s something off. You lay down, trying to distract yourself but you end up falling asleep.

In your sleep, you feel someone moving next to you, dipping the edge of your bed down. You stir awake when you feel their hands on you. When you realize what’s going on, that someone is actually touching you, your eyes open completely. You jump away from them, seeing that it’s Soap. But he’s not there right now. His eyes are dark. “Johnny… what are you doing?” You breathe. “You smell so good lass. Can smell how fucking bad you want this…” he smirks. He moves off of your bed, circling around it to try to corner you. You make a split second decision and bolt for the door, sprinting down the hallway. You can hear his heavy footsteps chasing after you. You turn the corner, eyes widening and your feet skidding to a stop as you see your Captain and Gaz. They’re both standing there. Clearly blocking you from going this direction. “Nowhere to run, darling.” Gaz smirks. You breathe out.

This has to be some kind of sick joke.

Soap closes in behind you, they make slow steps toward you.

You take off through the mess hall. Seeing a window that opens and hurrying up to it, you pry it open and climb through it. Sliding out of their grasp just barely. You take off running, seeing the watch tower. Perfect.

You make your way up, slowly and quietly. You don’t know if they’re on watch since they’re not thinking right.

You move up inside, closing the door behind you. Breathing. You dig your phone out of your pocket, dialing Laswell immediately. “Y/N, I haven’t got to base just yet, I’m driving.” She mumbles. “I know- it’s not that.” You breathe, hands shaking. “The vial you gave me broke open in my pocket and my body absorbed all of it, now I’m in a freaking wild goose chase Laswell.” You pant. “What? It’s that bad?” She asks. “Yes! They’re like.. freaking zombies Laswell. They’re not even there.” You breathe. “You’ll just have to wait it out Y/N.” She mumbles. “Yeah.. Yeah I know.” You mumble. “Thanks Laswell.” You sigh.

You hear creaking, fear coursing through you. Just as you turn to look at the door, a hand snakes its way around your waist, tugging you into them, another hand clamping around your mouth. “Gotcha.” He whispers. His voice is deep and it comes out almost as a growl.

It’s Ghost.

He moves his other hand from your waist and grasps your phone, pressing the button to hang up. Lowering the phone down onto the countertop. “Didn’t lock the door sweetheart. Almost like you wanted this to happen hm?” He breathes, his warm breath right over your ear. “You know we’re not gonna hurt ya.” He brushes your hair out of your face. “Ghost, please-“ you whine. “You smell so good. Drives me crazy. I almost didn’t want to tell them you were up here.” He chuckles. Your eyes widen.

Just then, you can hear multiple footsteps coming up the metal staircase. Like everything is deafened around you and that’s all you can hear.

What are they going to do to you?

Ghost spins you around. You see the other three creeping into the room, Soap makes sure to lock the door behind himself. “Nowhere to run now, Dove. It’s just you and us now.” Gaz mumbles, stepping closer. You step back. But know it’s no use. You’re stuck, and whatever is going to happen, it’s happening now. “What are you going to do?” You swallow hard. Johnny chuckles. “Nothing you won’t like, darling. How about we get these clothes off of you, hm?”

“I- I don’t-“

“That wasn’t a question. It was an order.” Captain Price’s voice booms in your ears. His sternness always was intimidating. “Y-yes sir.” You breathe. You hope that as you reach for the hem of your shirt, they’ll start laughing. That this will be some kind of sick joke. But they don’t.

You tug your shirt over your head. Breathing out. You clench your eyes shut as they reach for their belts. Still dressed in their military uniforms. “Y/N. Look at me.” You tilt your head up, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you look at Johnny. “Nothing to be scared about. Just relax.” He chuckles. You nod your head. He reaches out, grasping hold of your upper arm and pulling you into him with ease. How easy it is for him to move you makes you realize just how powerful these men are. He forces you up against the small table in the watch tower. It’s old and you’re not sure if it’ll hold you.

You swallow hard, wincing as the table begins to dig into your pelvis. He makes you rest your hands on it. “Be a good girl.” He breathes. His voice sends chills down your spine. He reaches for your pants, tugging them down your legs. He holds them down with his foot, having you step out of them. “Good girl. Now listen.” He breathes. He raises his hands up, unclasping your bra and letting it fall over your shoulders and onto the floor. “Nobody will hear you, so you can be as loud as you want to. Alright? You’re going to like this, because you’re a naughty little thing. Promise.” He mumbles. He pushes you back down, forcing you over the table. A gasp leaves your lips as he pushes apart your legs.

He frees his cock from its confines and you can see the others standing off to the side. You clench your eyes shut once more, whining as he presses the fat tip of his cock at your entrance. You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes himself past your entrance, sliding in and bottoming out into you. You lurch forward with a hiss at the intrusion. “Oh- f-fuck!” You cry. Raising up slightly with a cry. He only forces you back down. “Shhh. It’s okay.” His attempt at soothing you is pathetic and half-assed. If you weren’t in this particular position, you might laugh at him.

But you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at them the same ever again.

You rest your head on the table, breathing out. Take a deep breath, try not to lose control.

That’s hard to do, keeping yourself together around them when they’re as attractive as they are. And the way they’re touching you.

Just as soon as you’re full, he’s pulling out of you again. He lifts you up, shoving the flimsy table out of the way and kneeling on the ground with you. Ghost steps toward you and you look up at him, he’s still got his mask on. You can’t see his smile. “Look good from this position, darling.” He smirks. You swallow hard, he moves his jeans to the side and tugs his boxers down, revealing his length to you. He’s big. You swallow hard, looking down. “No need to be nervous now. Look at me.” He breathes. You tilt your head up again, feeling Johnny kneel behind you, moving his length up the expanse of your ass. You shudder as Simon steps forward. “Open your mouth.” He breathes. You’re trying to stay focused on Simon but the feeling of Johnny’s length pushing into you from behind has you wincing again. “Relax. Look up at me.” He lifts your chin forcefully. Pushing the tip of his cock past your lips. You take him down as far as you can, swallowing around his shaft. Hearing him gasp.

“Johnny touch her clit.” He breathes.

Johnny does it, listening to his LT.

He glides his hand over your hip and stomach. Calloused hands rough on your skin but his fingertips on your clit has your thighs ready to give out. He draws his hips back, thrusting back into your ass. Hearing you choke on Simon’s cock. You draw back, taking a deep breath. You rest your hands on his thighs, pulling him closer to you so that you can take him further down. “There.. see.” He breathes. “All you had to do was make her horny.” His laugh is deep and taunting. He tilts his head back, groaning out. You focus on the tip of his cock, knowing it’s got the most nerve endings. Being gentle but still sucking hard. It only takes a couple of minutes before his thighs are shaking.

“Fuck-“ he draws back away from you. “Wanna be in that pussy.” He breathes. “Gonna make me cum too fast.” He breathes.

He kneels down in front of you. Wiping your lips of saliva and clearing them. Johnny’s hard thrusts into you keep you wet, and you whine when he pulls his hand away from your clit. “It’s alright. Gonna get you nice and full lass.” Soap chuckles. You probably look fucking pathetic in front of them. Fucked out and desperate. You knew you needed to get laid but this…

This is too far. But it’s something you didn’t know you needed.

They raise you up, wrapping your legs around Simon’s waist. Johnny slides himself back inside of your ass, feeling you tense up. Simon glides his tip up between your folds, pushing past them. You whine out, starting to squirm. “S’alright.” He breathes. His voice is low. Only you can hear it. When they’re both bottoming out in you, your breath is gone. Lungs are empty and burning. You’re trying to catch your breath but it feels impossible. A sob gets caught in your throat and you clench your eyes shut as they start to fuck you. “Fuck- not gonna last-“ Johnny hisses. Ghost holds you still, both of them moving in unison as they thrust into you. You shake and cry, overstimulated and you haven’t even cum yet.

“Fuck!” Johnny slides out of you, pumping himself with his hand. He bucks his hips into you, resting his forehead on your back as he finishes. Simon doesn’t stop his thrusts, keeping up his bruising pace.

Johnny moves away from you, he’s been selfish thus far. It’s someone else’s turn.

Gaz takes his place. Desperate to feel you. He inches closer, spitting into his hand and gliding it over the tip of his cock. He slides into you again. Feeling you gasp out. Lurching foward into Simon. He laughs. “You’re doing good. Keeping up.” Ghost mumbles.

Gaz grips your hips and tries to hold you still as he and Simon fill you. You can feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. Shivering as it inches closer and closer.

Chills start at your toes and work their way up your body.

“I- oh god-“ you whine.

You clench your eyes shut, letting it take over your body. You’re sure it’ll be the hardest you’ll ever cum. They don’t stop, riding out your orgasm as it washes over you. You know they’re not going to stop.

You relax, trying to pace yourself despite being overstimulated. You raise your hand up and rest it on Simon’s shoulder. Hearing Gaz chuckle behind you at your fucked out state. Simon’s breathing is getting a little heavier. He lowers his head, lips right by your ear. “So tight baby… getting me so close.” He grits his teeth. He starts to pant, cock throbbing and twitching inside of you. He groans out, sliding out of you. He grits his teeth and tries to contain himself as he cums.

He takes a second, panting. His head is buried into the crook of your neck as he comes down. He finally pulls away from you. Standing up and adjusting his pants.

Captain Price is quick to take his place. You’re ready to tap out but it’s clear that they’re not going to let you. Gaz grasps your chin, tilting your head back. “You’re doing good. Just a bit more.” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours. You can feel your captain’s hands on you, groping your breasts in his hands as he lines himself up with your entrance. “You still smell so good.” He growls. Gaz lets go of you and you finally get a good look at John. His eyes are dark, like the others. Their pupils are dilated, they look dark. Empty. Like there’s nothing there, only lust.

What the hell is this stuff and who made it?

You whine again as he slides into you. Tears filling your eyes. You clench your eyes shut and brace yourself for what they’re going to do to you. You rest your head on John’s chest as they start fucking into you mercilessly, John is desperate. He’s been waiting the longest. He’s eager and horny and the way he fucks you shows it. You’re sobbing into his chest in just minutes, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Your body shakes and you can feel the warmth pooling in your lower abdomen again. You can’t stay quiet. Moans spill from your lips uncontrollably and tears stream from your eyes. You’ve never been so overwhelmed in your life. “Do you feel good? Hm?”

“Yes!” You cry. “Tell me how good you feel.” He breathes. Forcing you to look up at him. “Tell me how good all of us have made you feel. And it better be good honey. Let everyone know how good they’ve fucked you today.” He forces your face up again by your jaw. “It feels so good- so so good- you’re fucking me so good.” A gasp leaves your lips as they thrust together at the exact same time. “Now what do you say hm? It was kind of us to fuck you.”

“Thank you!” You cry, head falling again. You chant it as they thrust into you. “That’s a good girl.” He chuckles.

They last another few minutes, but this time, neither of them pull out. Filling both of your holes up.

They ride out their highs before halting, cocks buried up inside of you still. You’re panting hard, clit throbbing. You don’t know how you’ve taken it or kept up with them to this point.

It’s Soap who lifts you up and carries you to your room. Your thighs shake uncontrollably and he helps you get cleaned up before putting you to bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable. And even when he leaves you alone, he’s still got that same dark look in his eyes.

Maybe you wouldn’t wake up alone.

341 notes · View notes

v1x3n · 22 hours

Text

♡ they find your smut

141 x reader ┃ navigation ୨୧ tags : smut?

comment to join main taglist

୨୧ taglist: @xxshadowbabexx // @wonyoungloversblog // @ambitiousabi4288 // @royaltysuite // @tiredlittle-wallflower // @namgification // @strawberrychita // @hilmiponken // @pinkslaystation // @snowyaddiction //

@rosiehale23 // @chnets // @butchbabes // @tulsajesvsfreak // @styrofoamplat3s

150 notes · View notes

miwsolovely · 2 days

Text

pov u cant count 🔥🔥🔥 ( i think this is 16 sentences but oh well… )

Kyle thinks for a moment. "What do you think?" He asks with his eyes still on you. "I told Price that maybe she needs a break from the drugs—"

"Medication." Johnny corrects with a stone gaze casted on his partner. "We're makin' 'er better. The medicine will do nothin' but 'elp."

Kyle's frown runs deep on his elegant face.

Just when were they calling it medicine? When it hurts her so? When she's unaware of whether she's alive or dead?

"Price." Is what the tiny voice inside him says.

"Jonathan is making them do these things, think these things."

This could've all been perfect if she hadn't been hurt.

76 notes · View notes

nobodyinfart · 9 hours

Text

Is your love as unrequited as you think? Or does the team hide more than you think?

Maybe you’re just a lower rank soldier or just lack the confidence,, but you don’t believe that a love with the main characters of the task force would be possible, even in your daydreams as a hopeless romantic.

Johnny’s achievements are nothing to be humble about, being the youngest candidate to pass the selections process and being deemed a demolitions expert are ever praiseworthy. His cheeky demeanour makes even the quietest soldiers crack a smile, and lights up the base unlike any other. Maybe that’s why you code him as Sunshine in your journals,, scrawling affirmations of adoration between the margins. Coded lines of love decorated your many notebooks, all sealed within the depths of your cabinet to never see the light of day. Of course, you’d know it’s too selfish of you to ever confess, since there is no possible chance. Maybe you would change your mind if you ever caught a glance of how Soap casts his first look at you to see if you laughed at one of his corny jokes. Definitely making notes on what kind of jokes make you smile the brightest, obviously.

Although understated, Gaz is obviously brawns and beauty. Like, was it really necessary for him to have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen? You can barely focus, line of sight often slipping down to his lips before moving them back up just to feign ignorance. You saw him as an aspiration at first, viewing his top place on the SAS selection rankings to be a goal to achieve. It wasn’t long for that awe to morph into something more affectionate. Dangerous territory, too dangerous that you decide to bury yourself in your training. Trying to snap yourself out of that lovesick daze, you push yourself to your own limits in the process. Using that pain to distract yourself, you definitely don’t notice Gaz’s worried gaze when you head towards the training grounds once again, his concern evident when he realises your hands are still bruised from the previous day. He’ll have to sneak some ointment into your gym bag again, somehow.

Ghost, who doesn’t know him? The stoic Lieutenant in the task force, prime of his trade in ambush and stealth. It’s tough to even get familiar with him, let alone be in a relationship with the lieutenant. Respecting his quiet demeanour, you have always kept your distance as a form of respect; never pushing more than what you know he can handle. A secret is that you always keep his tea bags in stock, replenishing when stocks go low. Simon hides a secret of his own; sometimes gripping the standard military knife you normally practise with to gauge your hand size,, just for an accurate daydream of how your hands would fit in his own. Would your fingers lace with his just as well as he imagines? Don’t tell anyone, but Simon has been staring at you long enough for Soap to notice, who knew Ghost could be so distracted?

Honestly, Price is the one you have to be the most cautious about. Out of everyone in the force, he is the most observant thanks to his expertise in the military field. Rugged and charming, it is not hard at all for Price to get your attention. His gravely chuckle lets a fire in your stomach, you desperately wishing to be the cause of it someday. Yet, a love between a Captain and his subordinate remains unfeasible on all sorts of levels, especially one as devoted to his job as John Price. Even if your love is impossible, you always try to make his life easier; doing paperwork with both speed and detail. Often, his heart softens when he sees a light peeking from under the door of your office, hoping for an opportunity to get to know the angel who files their reports perfectly. No matter how much he shouldn’t, he sincerely hopes to find a chance to make himself a stable placement in your life soon enough.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #cod gaz #gaz mw2 #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #nobody’s works

89 notes · View notes

hecateslore · 1 day

Note

Thoughts on ghoap x reader 🫡👀

I love my two boyfriends. I think everyone should have two boyfriends who kiss.

#lunden’s response ❀—#simon ghost riley #ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #ghoap x you

74 notes · View notes

xxshadowbabexx · 2 days

Text

Melodrama: Liability

Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five (this), part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven

check series masterlist for warnings

You were glad the taxi driver stayed silent as you wept in the back seat.

Today was your birthday. Woo fucking hoo, because Johnny was fucking Ghost.

It’s fine, you told yourself. You don’t need Johnny anyway. And he was always going to be a cheater.

You don’t know why you thought today would change that.

You’re mot sure what’s worse- the fight you and Johnny got into, or the fact that he called up Ghost after. He said something about “needing someone who cares” as if you were the one who didn’t care. Whatever. Those weren’t the words stuck in your head.

You’ve seen Johnny get angry a plenty, but never at you, or at least not like that.

“Maybe I made a bloody mistake! But did ye ever think tha’ the mistake was nae cheatin’ it was dating ye in the first place?”

“Being around you is poison, hen. Sorry for wanting to breathe,”

You collapse onto the floor when you get home, not even making it to the door before sobs wreaked havoc on your body. Your chest convulsed as you wailed, plump and salty tears running down your face and hitting the floor.

You love him. You love him!

Why isn’t that ever enough?

Why aren’t you ever enough?

Johnny’s not the first person to cheat on you. The only relationship not yet soured is the one you have with yourself. Ironic, since you give them everything and leave yourself nothing.

Your phone lights up. Probably Johnny, you don’t check.

Then it lights up again, and this time you catch the name before the screen darkens.

Kyle.

With shaking hands, you reach for your phone. Two messages- both from Kyle. You open them.

Kyle: hey, i was with ghost when he left to see johnny so i figured something happened

Kyle: i know we aren’t close or anything but i’m here if you need anything

You were about to reply when he sent another text.

Kyle: also happy birthday

•••

You were a bit tipsy. Alright, maybe more than that- but the wine Kyle brought was doing wonders for your melancholy. The food was hitting the spot too, and damn, Kyle was actually pretty good company.

Funny, sweet, and good at making you forget why you had been miserable. Good looking too.

You set down your glass, biting your lip, “C’mon Kyle, up up,”

He raised his brows, “Up?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I wanna dance,” He laughed but did as he was told. The moment he was on his feet you put your hands on his shoulders and began to sway, head resting on his chest.

You didn’t know, but Kyle was smiling to himself as he put his hands on your hips. “Want me to put on sone music?”

“No! I mean- no I like,” you frowned, why couldn’t you ever play it cool? “I like listening to your heartbeat,”

“Yeah?” he asked and you nodded. You heard him chuckle and then he… he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You pulled back, staring into his eyes, “Kyle,”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me,”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “No can do,”

Oh. “But-“

He brought his hand up to your cheek, placing his thumb over your pouting lips, “You deserve better, hun. I know everything is confusing right nos, but I’m not going to let you sink down to his levels,”

You knew what he meant, and a sober you would’ve felt flattered, but you weren’t sober. And you weren’t flattered.

“Awh love,” his thumb brushed your under-eyes, “No tears, okay?”

You nodded, and laid your head back on his chest.

You both resumed your dancing in silence.

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #simon riley #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #cod soap #ghoap #kyle gaz x you #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick

45 notes · View notes

mar3ggiata · 2 days

Text

professional help, c9. Reign of Terror.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Cool about it, boygenious

abstract: listen, I don't even want to hear it. yes, it's Simon. I told you already, I'm gathering intel during this part. don't think too hard about it, this doesn't mean anything. and yes, I think she was telling the truth. I follow my instincts and they only failed me once or twice…

When the routine settled back in, she felt like the Al-Jareena mission was a thing of the past. A week had gone by, she had no news about the mission. Or Arash. She was snapping her fingers following the rhythm of the music. 'And one, two, balancé!' She watched as the girls rehearsed in front of her, moving in pairs, one from each side of the room. They had been going on and on for an hour, the poor girls were exhausted. 'Okay, from here, piquè', she had been demonstrating everything, trying to remember her notes and the changes she had to make to the original choreography. Her blue leotard was sticking on her skin, she could feel sweat dripping down her back and in between her breasts. Her bun was starting to come untied, she kept fixing some shorter hair behind her ears. 'I don't want to see those stiff hands Jenny, please', she resumed, 'piquè, finish on your right leg. Sam and Gemma, you're going to go stage left with two saut de basque'. She stopped talking to demonstrate the jump, which was quite difficult, she had to admit. 'You finish on relevè, arms in fifth position, then repeat to the other side'. She was too old for all this activity, (Jude is delusional, she's 26). She had to catch her breath without letting the girls know she was getting tired. 'Then, Kyla, Cassie and Luna, same thing to the right as soon as the first two finish jumping, same thing to the left with group three.' She instructed and approached the mirrors in the front of the room. 'Let's see it, please'.

She packed her bag while the girls said bye to her. God, did she love being called 'Miss Alba'. She put on sweats, lifting them up over her legs without bothering to remove the pink tights she hated so much. She preferred black ones, they concealed stretch marks, cellulite… See, if the school was hers, she would let her ballerinas pick the colour they wanted. She could see during the lessons some of them were self conscious about their bodies, like she had been for years when she was younger. The way they looked at each other in the mirrors, like they were comparing themselves to the others. Some were thinner, some had bigger bums, bigger breasts, some had more muscle, some you could see their whole ribcage sticking out. School policy, black leotard and pink thighs. They were too young. But still, even Alba herself had some serious issues with her figure, demonstrating in front of everyone was challenging and took a tool on her mental health sometimes. She knew she was fit, don't get me wrong, she had worked fucking hard for years to get to where she was. Strong, lean quads, a good set of abs. She had followed every diet in the world, she learned so much about what foods not to eat, how to get the perfect body… How to be slim and toned and have fat in the right places. She gained back weight after the 'bad year' when she didn't work and decided she was not gonna feed herself anymore. Cooking was just too much back then, she spent hours going on walks with headphones in, on the verge of passing out. She was better now, she only had those thoughts every now and then. They were under control, she was healthy. Let me tell you, her legs, arms, her hips, a fucking work of art. Still, being watched by those young girls who probably spent way too much worrying about their weight and having to be the representation of perfection was daunting. Keep your abs thigh, your foot straight, your hips aligned. Hide how painful it is, hide the fact your calf is cramping and you're losing balance. A game of pretend.

When she got to work the next day, she was surprised to see a special someone waiting for her beside her door. No fucking way. She stopped in her tracks when he saw him, bag hanging from her shoulder, boots clicking on the floor. What are you doing here, how do you know this is my office? Did you ask around? Are you following me? She approached him and he took a step towards her. He had a blue jacket on, no skull mask today, simple black one. She could finally see his hair colour, dirty blonde. He needed a trim. 'Can I help you?' she said. Well well well. 'Not really' he replied, crossing his arms against his chest. He was tall, he was scarily tall. She had to tilt her head to look at him. That position made his arms look even bigger. She no problem admitting how good looking he was. 'Am I in trouble?' she asked tilting her head to the side. His mask moved slightly, but his eyes didn't exactly show a particular emotion. Was he smiling or about to punch her, she didn't know. She had always loved risks. 'You're not' he answered. He wasn't in the mood for jokes maybe. Noted.

She nodded and took a step towards the office door unlocking it and getting in, supposing he would follow. Being in there made her feel slightly more secure. It was a place where she normally had some authority. Not with him she didn't. He closed the door behind him as she put her bag on the desk. The office had two big windows which let in few shy rays of sunshine. She had a couch with a few pillows for the patients and a chair for her. She looked at him and indicated the couch, as to say 'sit'. He really didn't want to. He felt like a patient. He went to therapy before, he just didn't want to be her patient. He stood there in the middle of the room watching Jude take off her coat and hang it on the chair. She wore jeans today. Tight jeans and a jumper. He could see her boots clearer now, they were shiny and the tip of the shoe was round. They looked from the 80's. She had cream coloured socks. She looked younger dressed like that. She looked less professional and more… a civilian, a normal 23 year old girl. He had settled that was her age. Her hair loose, her casual outfit, she looked ready for a walk in the park. He wondered if she walked in the park with her dog. She looked like she had a normal job, like waitressing or maybe she was a painter or a student. She looked like she could go to the movies dressed like that, or play bowling. She looked like she was about to sit down, take her shoes off, get comfortable and tell him about her day, talk about nothing for hours without ever boring him.

She finally spoke, sitting down in her leather chair. 'Why are you here?' she asked, her hands on her thighs. 'You can sit if you want', she added. He still wouldn't move. 'I wanted to apologise for asking about last year, I realised it might be a sensitive topic'. His voice was low and soothing, his British accent heavy on every word. She didn't expect that. That was very considerate of him, the 6 foot soldier standing in the middle of her office like the representation of death that comes knocking at your door. What a strange thing to say man, did you hear stories? Did you hear your friends say I faked it? Cause I know they're saying it. 'Thanks', she said softly, a tone she had never used with him. She tried not to get triggered by his words, not to let her mind wonder back to the event he was referring to. She had to fight hard to not let her brain spiral, a fight against herself. She always seemed to lose. 'It's just something really bad, I don't like to think about it more than I already do', she explained. His eyes were fixated on her like she was a wild animal about to go extinct. He nodded and silence filled the room.

'How did the mission go?' She asked even if she already knew the answer. She was just making conversation. He didn't want to stay too much. He thought about seeing her, he thought about talking to her again and now that she was there, now that he purposely went to her office to talk, he wanted to run. 'Good. Good, yeah, thanks to you, actually'. He finally sat down. That was what patients saw then. The desk behind her, the windows and her, on the leather chair. He tried to imagine her during sessions. Her back straight, compassionate eyes, maybe a notebook on her lap. The window on her right illuminated only half of her face. Making her half an angel. She wasn't commenting on his answer, she squinted her eyes. 'Are you saying I was right and you were wrong?' she asked. Cheeky. She wasn't smiling, cause she knew she was right all along. 'I'm saying you got lucky.' She made him weak, his mouth was dry. 'So what are you gonna do next? I might get lucky again', she said. Could he tell her? She already knew so much. He decided he could share, vague answers only. 'We find where they took Khorram, we'll probably find Arash as well. We leave in a week.' She kept biting her lower lip, not in a provocative way. She was thinking. 'What did he do exactly? He's the one with that snake flag right?' she asked. She was informed. She had seen the flag she was referring to on the news and on social media. It was a green flag with a snake print, with red eyes. A symbol. 'The viper, yes. We've been following him for some time. Human trafficking, mainly.' Her expression was of disgust. 'He formed an army, he controls the main cities, he lets people starve, public executions…' he decided to stop there. She nodded, she got the gist. 'Makes sense…' she murmured. 'Reign of Terror kinda thing.' There was silence again between them.

'Reign…' he felt bad that he didn't know what she was talking about. He didn't have a degree. Jude had probably 4 or 5. But no, he wasn't that cultured. It made him feel small. Guns and war, he was the best. It was the second time he didn't know what she was talking about, she said something about a Little King or some shit. (It was the Little Price, the book). 'French Revolution, doesn't matter', she cut him off. Don't make me feel stupid Jude. He got up saying he better be going, she did too, she said 'of course'. She offered him her hand to shake. You're Italian, he decided. The hand gestures, the physical touch. Yes, to Simon shaking your hand twice was considered physical touch. She wasn't British, she was too polite and beautiful for it. How do you speak English so well then. What made you come here? What's your real name something Italian like Julia or Sarah? He reached for her hand, glad he was wearing gloves this time so he couldn't feel her skin. Less of her to think about. She looked at him, then looked down to their hands, still holding it. Her soft, caramel skin, with those dainty black nails against his skeleton printed gloves. She turned his hand so she could see the skeleton print and smiled, with her head tilted down. A smirk. She had dimples. Her eyelashes were almost touching her eyebrows. He let go of her hand and turned around, regretting he didn't wear his other mask. Would have hidden the fact that he was blushing.

notes: I was listening to 'cool about it' by boygenius when writing this. also, writing ballet is fucking hard… how do I describe the pain. also also, Jude's shoes are those chunky coquette Mary Jane shoes that you wear with socks.

notes: Julia and Sarah are not correct spellings of Italian names, more on the American side. makes sense Simon doesn't know how to spell the Italian versions. (they are Giulia and Sara). How are you guys doing, you all good? You guessed it I'm still taking my exams and working and being clinically insane and unbelievably tired.

love, mare.

taglist:

@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

25 notes · View notes

moondirti · 2 months

Note

Your ghostsoap x preg!reader!!??? I'm in love I need more of this. You have more thoughts for that universe? I just fell in love with your writing.

Let me camp in this corner of your blog, I'm friendly and don't bite (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

they're all i've been able to think about all day. of course i have more to say <3 if you're curious, anon is referring to this, which should be read before this part.

tags: DARK FIC. manipulation. vehicle tampering. planned abduction. pregnant fem!reader. established ghostsoap – who are not the fathers but would definitely like to be. mentions of somnophilia

Delusional as they might be, it's hard to justify something as egregious as blunt-force kidnapping. Though it briefly occurs to Simon – to pluck you from the parking lot and drive off the hour after they decide to keep you – the logistics don't iron out. Of chief concern, you're six months pregnant. What they'd typically use for POW's thus become's inconsiderable for you; Johnny's the wiz, but even he knows the effects chloroform can have on a foetus. The alternative isn't any better, either – his partner just balks at the idea of tying you up and throwing you in the trunk. (She'll never git ower it, Si. Dae ye want her tae hate us?)

So, things unfold in a far subtler manner.

They go home that night they first meet you. Can't coordinate without resting on it, they rationalise, without scoping their place to assure it's suitable for their soon-to-be-mother. They tuck away the knives laying on random countertops, air out the quilts gifted to them by Johnny's ma in an attempt to make their room cozier. And when they sleep, they dream of you tucked in between them, knocked out, sex-drunk. Dressed in nothing but a shirt, cunt bared for either of them to toy with throughout the night.

Hours upon hours later, well into noon the next day, Simon wakes to find his boy rutting into his thigh, still somewhat comatose, and sneaks a rough hand into his boxers to tug the tension out of the poor thing. They only get up as the fissures of dusk begin to spread across the sky, loading their car with a toolbox and making the drive back to The Dahlia, staking out in the parking lot as they wait for you to arrive for your shift.

(Johnny had deployed the old charm as you brought out their food in two baggies last night, disguising the trap with a lilting laugh as he audibly wondered why you picked up such a late shift.

You’d only shrugged and said you preferred to work nights.)

Sure enough, you pull up in a beat-up Kia at 2200, fussing with your bag as you stumble to the back entrance of the roadhouse.

"Forgot to lock it." He mutters, following your form until it disappears from view. Johnny only frowns, tightening his fingers over his thumb. A little nervous tick.

"Should we be doin' this?"

"And what is this?" Simon turns to appraise the scotsman, larger hand enveloping his, calloused fingertips smoothing over scarred knuckles. "Y'think they'd be kinder to 'er? The type of scum we know grace this earth? It's a wonder she made i' this far, Johnny."

He isn't convinced.

"Look a' me." Blue eyes widen to meet his, dark as their owner battles intuitions that have always been straighter than the Ghosts'. "Wanna give 'er a good life, yeah?"

"Aye. The best."

"Would she be so convinced?" But he knows the answer. They both saw the way you withdrew after being hit on, losing the effusiveness you initially greeted them with. Avoidant. Classic case of hyper-competency, perhaps the very reason you put up with such shitty circumstances to begin with. A stubborn knot they'll have to undo themselves.

And Johnny likes the challenge.

"Lass's got something tae prove." Moments pass in silence. Then: "Ah’ll get th' wire."

"Atta' boy."

They only enter the establishment an hour before the end of your shift. It’s 0600 and space is sleepy. At a point that had escaped their notice, someone had made the choice to shut the overhead fluorescents, and so all that functions to illuminate the dinette is the pale dawn outside. Johnny finds he prefers it like this, grumbling a tired endorsement, before branching off in search of the bathroom, hand rubbing the sore column of his throat.

The softening mass in his pants jumps once Simon catches sight of you, balancing two trays in one hand as you wipe down the serving hatch. He doesn’t need to say anything. You catch the dark blur of him in the corner of your eye, shuffling into a booth, where he occupies an entire side with the mere spread of his legs.

“Hello again. Just you today?” You’re twirling your pen, cradling your belly, and he notes the perpetual shadow cast under your eyes. Poor pet.

He shakes his head, then cocks it toward the loo. “Think he’ll have a go at the toastie today.”

“Good choice. Hard to fuck up.” You give him a tired smile. “And for you?”

“M’good.”

“You sure? Look like you’ve been on the road again, and-" You pause, the water of your eyes rippling as you appraise his mask. Something seems to click just then, because you nod and tuck your notepad away. “I’ll ask again at the end. Maybe you’ll want something to-go.”

In the end, they do take something to go.

Not as greasy as the toastie Johnny spends the hour tearing into, glossing the pads of his fingers with oil. Nor as sour as the coffee he sipped on last night, burnt and way past freshness, just like you’d warned them about. But a much, much sweeter keepsake. Something that’ll sate them for much longer.

You’ve already clocked out once they leave The Dahlia, faces grim but as innocent as they can possibly muster. Sure enough, you’re out standing by your car, wiping tears with the back of your hand. They’re close enough that they can catch snippets of your conversation on the phone (No, I don’t– and It is old but never–).

They wait until you grow desperate, hiccuping – Don’t have that kind of money. Please – before intervening.

“Hey. What’s the matter, hen?” Johnny approaches first, concern no faux thing, smoothing a hand down your arm. What Simon said earlier comes back around (Wanna give 'er a good life?) and his chest tightens at the sheer despair he sees etched across your face. You shouldn’t be this stressed about anything this far along, should have someone taking care of you.

He, they, can be that for you. Could give you everything you ask for and more.

“M-my car. I-I don’t– I don’t know what’s wr-wrong with it, and–”

“Shhh, issalright. Not starting, eh?”

“No. And I have to- to get home before… before–”

Simon steps in, crowding you against the side of your car. You don’t have it in you to look for the red flags; the glances they throw one another, the subtle crinkle in the masked one’s eyes as he smiles. No, you don’t– can’t consider it dangerous. Not when these two wonderfully kind men, who tipped you 100% of their bill both times they came in, are one of your only means of getting help.

“Where do you live? We’ll drive ya if it’s on our way.” A lie. They’ll drive you regardless, and you won’t be taken home.

“Oh- no. That’s okay, really. I’ll just a-ask my boss if I can get a sub on my pay, and–”

Johnny smooths a finger across your cheek.

“Nonsense, hen. It’ll be a skoosh.”

next part

#༄dee answers #ive got a massive headache this is probably the worst thing ive ever written #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x Johnny ‘soap’ mactavish #johnny ‘soap’ mactavish #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghostsoap #ghoap #x reader #ghost #soap #cod #call of duty #simon riley #john mactavish #x female reader

822 notes · View notes

bagofshinyrocks · 5 months

Text

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?”

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

13K notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 3 months

Text

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

7K notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 31 - Free Use

Poly 141 x Reader - 4.3k (on ao3)

summary: Glimpses into your life as a housewife and free use toy for the 141 post-retirement. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: soft sex, half-drunk sex, light somnophilia, anal sex

note: last kinktober of the month! sorry i got off by a day at the end here, but i hope you guys have enjoyed everything so far :) btw this is less "free use" and more "sex with the 141 while living in domestic bliss"

Your days are filled with sex. Sex with all of your boys, in every position you can think of, in every room of the house they’d bought for the five of you after retiring.

You all split the chores evenly these days. No one does more than they’re more comfortable with, and you’ve all found your stride, something to give you purpose, after the rigidity of the military.

Gaz has taken to bee-keeping. As odd as it sounds, he’s got the patience for it, and he’s quite protective of his bees, even has nearly an entire library of books he’s taught himself with. Price helps him out by selling the honey he harvests, keeping track of his profits and managing the household’s finances.

Ghost hunts, spends his days out finding game to bring home, tracking herds and predators around your property. Johnny does a little of everything - fixes things when they break, chops firewood every morning, helps Simon skin his prey, tries to help Gaz and his bees.

And you take care of the house. You make the meals, clean up after everyone, and find yourself perfectly happy to keep your men fed and warm.

Your other chore is to bend over whenever they want. Well, bend into any position whenever they want, Ghost and Soap tend to enjoy getting a bit more creative. It’s not really much of a chore, considering how eager you are to do it.

It’s a great deal for you. Johnny and Kyle are always eager to get you off, and neither Simon nor Price is stingy with the orgasms these days either. You live your life floating between domestic labor and orgasms - not a bad existence, by your metric. You get to live without a care in the world, four men to take care of and four men to take care of you. It’s like a dream come true.

———————————————————————

You hum to yourself as you dance around the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly apron as you wait for your pancakes to cook. The small radio on the dining room table plays music from a local radio station, something cheery to start your day. It’s hard not to smile, with sunshine pouring in from the windows and a batch of fresh eggs to scramble on the stove.

Your small moment of bliss is interrupted by a pair of hands on your hips and a large body bracketing yours.

There isn’t even a moment of fear, you instinctually lean back into the man behind you. A moment later, a rough beard brushes over your cheek.

“Pancakes this mornin’?” Price asks, big paws resting on the softness of your hips.

“Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head to claim his lips. He sways the two of you back and forth slowly, to the beat of the song, and lets you take your time with him. “Blueberries in yours,” you tell him when you come up for a breath of air.

One hand shifts to your ass, the other to your stomach, and you feel him smile. “Thank you, love. Got time for a quick round before they burn?”

You mimic his smile, let him bend you over slowly. “You’re just in time, Captain, I haven’t cracked the eggs yet.”

“Perfect,” he purrs, pressing himself to your backside. He tucks his plaid pajama pants down a little, rubbing his warm morning wood against you. You fold your arms beneath your head, let your eyes drift closed as his fingers make quick work of getting you ready.

Moments later, the heavy length of his cock fills you slowly. You moan, shifting your legs a little bit wider as he massages your waist.

“There you go,” he sighs, bottoming out and grinding himself slowly inside of you. “Tight as always, perfect girl.”

You giggle a little drowsily, wiggling your hips against his. “Always for you, John.”

He sighs contentedly, pulling out slowly. “Don’t I know it.”

He fucks you slowly, a steady pace that drags against all your most sensitive parts on every thrust. John’s thick, and the stretch isn’t quite comfortable with no prep. But you’re still a little loose from your time with Soap and Gaz last night, so it’s far from painful to take him.

He hunches over you as he gets closer and closer to the edge, elbows resting on either side of you and breath ghosting across your nape.

“Aw,” you hear Soap say,voice rough from sleep as he steps into the kitchen. “I wanted first go today.”

“Early bird gets the worm, Johnny,” Gaz teases, settling into a chair in the little breakfast nook Simon had built soon after moving in. “You’re the one who stayed up so late with her last night.”

“Wasn’t just me, jackass, you’re the one who-”

“Boys,” Price grunts, hips slamming against yours, leaving you squirming beneath him. “Will you shut the fuck up while I’m balls deep in our girl?”

You can’t help but snort beneath him, pushing yourself up enough to arch your back further, stick your ass further out for him. “Ye-yeah, boys.”

“Hush,” Price scolds, one hand shifting to your neck where he forces you flat to the counter again. “‘M almost there…”

He groans lowly as he buries himself deep inside of you, pumping slowly as you tighten up, trying to milk him. “Fuck, feels good…”

You smile against your arms as the pleasure that had been building inside of you starts to dull to a simmer, something warm in the root of you.

Price pulls out only moments later, two thick fingers tucking into you to keep any of his come from dripping out. “Keep me safe inside you, pretty thing, c’mon. Clench down.”

You take a deep breath and try your best to listen, straightening up and doing your best to keep yourself from dripping down your thighs.

He turns you around, leaning you back against the counter and cupping your cheeks in his hands, tugging your face up to give you a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers into your mouth, just quiet enough for you to hear.

“Of course.” You reach up to grab his wrists, holding him close. “Never gonna say no to you, John.”

The two of you linger in the moment, sunlight warming your skin as you breathe into each other.

It’s Soap that interrupts you, an intentionally obnoxious clearing of his throat nearly making you jump. “Any chance at coffee sometime today, bonnie?”

You huff a laugh into Price’s mouth, pushing him away and shooting a half-playful look to Johnny. “Can’t give me a minute of peace, can you?”

He smirks, “Nope.”

John scoffs as he pulls away, moving you with him and giving you a quick tap to the ass to send you over to the counter with the coffee machine. “Someone’s gotta teach you some patience, MacTavish.”

“If Ghost still hasn’t gotten it into him, no one is,” Gaz laughs, shifting enough for Price to join him on the bench.

“Who says I haven’t?” Ghost says, stepping from the hallway. He’s already got a cigarette lit between his lips, and you wave him away with a spatula.

“No!” You scold, trying to shoo him closer to the window. “No smoking in my house! You know I hate the smell.”

Ghost rolls his eyes good-naturedly but lets you herd him to the open window, resting a shoulder on the windowsill and blowing a mouthful of air. You hmph, satisfied, and move to flip the pancakes. “You’re not the one who has to get that smoke out of all the furniture, you know.”

Ghost sighs, but he’s dramatic enough about it for you to know that he’s intentionally exaggerating his annoyance. “Awful early for all that nagging, woman.”

You glare at him playfully, picking up an egg to crack. “Awful early for a cig, too.”

He huffs and you crack your egg, the kitchen shifting into a comfortable silence. You continue your humming as the song changes to something more upbeat, unable to keep a smile from your face.

———————————————————————

You’re half tipsy, giggling into Soap’s mouth as the two of you stumble into the house. You manage to trip over the lip of the entrance, and you yelp as you start to fall.

Johnny just barely manages to twist and catch the both of you in time, grunting loudly as he hits the ground. The breath is knocked from the both of you, and you lay there in the dark for a moment, still.

You’re giggling as soon as you can breathe again, unable to stay still with all the energy and wiggling against his chest. “Jo-Johnny!”

“What?” He pants, still not fully able to take a breath in. You can see the outline of a smile, though, and his hands come up to fully cup your ass. “You were the one taht tripped, lass!”

That only makes you laugh harder, kicking your feet against his shins. “I-I know!”

Now he laughs, a full-bellied sound that has you bouncing on his chest. He manages to push himself up so that you’re in his lap, and presses his mouth to yours without warning.

You make a high sound of surprise but quickly kiss him back, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips.

Your kiss is messy, both of you a little too drunk and a little too needy to bother for tact. Johnny’s softer than he usually is, all tongue and no teeth. You wrap your arms around his neck, shifting so your knees rest on either side of him and squeeze his hips.

“Need you,” he pants into your mouth, shifting you over him to start a slow grind. “Need to be inside you, bonnie.”

“Yeah, please,” you say, quickly dropping your hands to his belt and clumsily working at his belt. It takes several tries for you to get it undone, and both of you get more and more desperate. Your underwear get more and more damp as you work yourself over the rough denim of his jeans, your skirt rucked up around your hips as he palms at your ass.

“Come on,” he growls, landing a harsh slap against the meat of your thigh. You yelp at the sting, then giggle, and finally manage to get his belt loose, quickly tugging it off.

“There you go,” you mumble, throwing the belt to the side and hearing it slide against the hardwood. “C’mon, c’mon, need you now, Johnny.”

He nearly snarls into your mouth, jerking your panties to the side and stuffing two fingers into you with no warning. You jolt higher on your knees and moan, digging your nails into his shoulder.

“Sit still,” he growls, tugging you back down and scissoring his fingers quickly to spread you. He slips a third finger in easily, your cunt already slick and dripping for him. “Stop fuckin’- stop wigglin’ around.”

You can’t help but giggle again, pushing your smile against his lips and nipping at his chin. “Can’t hold me down, MacTavish?”

You feel him grin, growling playfully, and before you can keep prodding him he’s got you flipped onto the floor beneath him. You squeal when he somehow manages to keep his fingers inside of you, pushing deep as he pins you down. He tucks your knees higher, both of your legs resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll show you held down, lass,” he growls, smile just barely visible above you. “Want it rough, then?”

You bite back another laugh, pushing up just enough to bite his bottom lip and tug it down with you. “As rough as you’ve got, MacTavish.”

It works as the perfect taunt you’d meant it as, and he’s buried in your tight heat before you can try and push him any further. Your head falls back against the hardwood floor as his falls to your throat, both of you moaning loudly as his hips meet your thighs.

“Fuck,” he groans, teeth pressed against your throat. When you arch your neck even further, he bites into your flesh, sucking a hicky and making you ever wetter between the thighs. “Fuck.”

“She tight, Johnny?”

You both yelp at the sudden voice, Johnny jolting away from your neck and shifting inside of you, causing you both to melt again.

There, in the corner of the room, is Ghost. He’s smoking a cigarette by the window, illuminated only by the glow of his cigarette butt and the moon. You can’t quite see his expression, but you can just imagine the cocky smirk.

Johnny groans above you, sinking back down to press kisses along your throat and forcing your knees almost to the side of your head. “Scared the shit outta’ me, Ghost,” he sighs, pulling out just enough to give you a few tiny thrusts. You moan, letting yourself relax into the floor.

“Not surprised,” Ghost says, and you watch as he stubs out the cigarette and take a few steps to where the two of you are tangled in each other. “How much did you two have to drink?”

You laugh at the question, but it melts into a moan as Johnny starts to find a rhythm that works for both of you. Your knees nearly knock against your own face as he makes his way across your neck, leaving bruising kisses.

“Not-” you choke a bit on a particularly rough thrust, just barely managing to keep your eyes open and watch as Simon settles into an armchair. “Not that much.”

“Yeah,” Johnny pants, lifting himself up enough to look down at you. “How-how much’ve you had, L.t.?”

Ghost snorts, taking a swig from a beer bottle you hadn’t noticed before. “Less’n you two, I can tell that much.”

You and Johnny both snicker, half out of breath already, but none of you try and keep speaking as Johnny starts to really fuck into you, finding a perfect rhythm that’s just a little messier than usual, a little jerkier.

The two of you make no attempt to be quiet, moaning and whining loudly as you work to find that peak. Even with folded in half as you are, you try to push into him as much as you can to help him hit the perfect spot inside of you.

You nearly scream when he does, clenching down so tightly onto him that he’s forced to a still inside of you, his length throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

The world blurs around you as Johnny takes your lips again, pressing your tongues together in a slick slide as he batters inside of you.

“Clo-close,” you gasp, clawing down his shoulders. Your nails dig in enough through his shirt to have him moaning, arching further into your touch.

“Me too, bonnie.”

He shifts enough to lean his weight further onto your thighs, newly freed hand smoothing down your chest and stomach to work against your clit. You melt beneath him, muscles going loose as you turn into nothing but a limp doll for him to fuck.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm starts to overcome you, Johnny’s work against your clit and the hot length inside of you finally shoving you over the edge.

“Fuck- fuck!” Johnny nearly shouts above you, your orgasm triggering his own. You cling tight to him, dragging his body as close to you as possible while your muscles clench down around him. The two of you are nearly drooling in each other’s mouths, eager for as much physical touch as possible.

It feels like an impossible amount of time later when you hear Ghost crouch down next to you, see his shadow cast over both you and Johnny. “You two done, then?”

You feel Johnny huff where he’s leaned against your cheek, feel his smile grow against yours.

“Yeah, Si,” you say, squirming a bit beneath Johnny to try and get out from under him. “I think we’re done.”

Johnny gans a little but he obliges and shifts back enough for his softened cock to pull out of you. You both whine in sync at the separation, and he finally lets your legs fall to the ground, heels thudding against the floor.

Johnny rolls off of you, flopping to the floor next to you. “Carry us to bed, L.t.”

You giggle and blink up at Simon, softened from your orgasm and the lingering buzz from your night out. “Yeah, L.t.,” you lift your arms high, making grabby hands like a toddler. “Carry us to bed.”

Ghost snorts above you, but he still leans down and scoops you up beneath the knees and the back. You squeal when he hefts you over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. He ducks low again and you grasp onto the bottom of his sweatshirt, then giggle when Johnny flops bonelessly over Ghost’s other shoulder.

He carries the two of you effortlessly down the hall, and Johnny’s soft laugh joins yours - well, at least before you hear a muffled slap and he quiets himself/ Of course that only makes you laugh, earning you a spank of your own.

You’re dropped rather carelessly onto the massive mattress all five of you share these days, hand flopping against what you’re sure is Price’s chest as Ghost falls on top of Johnny where he’s dropped.

You hear a muffled oof! from next to you and curl into Price with a smile, tucking yourself close to his chest. He rumbles a low noise, instinctually tucking you close. You can hear Gaz getting annoyed with Ghost and Soap, feel him kicking at them to fight for his own spot on the mattress. You fall asleep with Ghost’s back to yours and Price’s chest to yours, surrounded by warmth.

———————————————————————

You groan into the sheets in frustration, fists clenched tight. “Simon, come on, please.”

He spanks you sharply, but the pain is hardly noticeable compared to the need you’re drowning in.

“Quiet,” he grunts, three fingers spreading your ass. “Need to stretch you out properly, don’t want any tears.”

You whine, arching your back and pushing your ass further into the air. “I’m ready, I promise, just need you inside. I’ve been stretched for the last ten minutes!”

“And you’ll get stretched for ten more if you don’t quit complaining.”

It’s almost impossible to bite back a complaint at that, but you manage to dull it down to just a near-painful eye roll. You try your best to stay still for him, stay patient, even as you feel like your pussy is dripping like a faucet.

Ghost has fucked you with far less prep than this, you know he’s just trying to be an asshole - no pun intended. You also know that the more you rush him, the slower he’ll go. So you force yourself a little looser, let your body sink more comfortably into the position he’s got you in.

It doesn’t make the wait any easier.

You’re not sure how long it’s really been when he finally deems you stretched enough, but he finally pulls his fingers free. You whimper at the cold dribble of lube as he spreads a bit more across your stretched hole, the slick sounds echoing in the room telling you he’s likely spreading it across himself too.

“Alright, love,” he says, notching himself at your back hole with both hands on your hips. “Loosen up for me now.”

The stretch is sinful as he finally gives you his cock, enough for you to feel the sting but not at a painful point. Your eyes roll back in pleasure instead of frustration, and your knees shift just a little wider to welcome him more fully into your body.

“Fuck, you feel good<’ he grunts, grip tightening on your hip.

On a normal night with Ghost, you’d expect minimal prep and long rounds of edging. He likes to keep you from coming for as long as possible, then coax an orgasm that feels earthshattering from you when he finally shoves you off that ledge. Either that, or he fucks you quick and dirty - in the yard outside, in the shower, in the middle of the night, really any time he feels like getting off. With you around, there’s no need to masturbate. That leaves you getting bent over and used at any time he feels the slightest urge to get off, but you couldn’t mind less.

Now, though, Ghost paces himself far more slowly than usual. His thrusts are long, bottoming out and pulling back until the head of his cock just barely breaches your hole. If you couldn’t feel the way his hands bruise your hips, you’d almost call his pace leisurely.

The two of you are near silent as he fucks you, content to fill the air with soft moans and the occasional whine instead of dirty talk. It feels nice, such slow sex with Simon. It’s a side of him he rarely lets you see, even now.

He knows you can’t come from anal alone, and is feeling generous enough to grab one of your hands and shift it down, telling you, “Rub your clit for me, love. Wanna feel you come.”

And, well, who are you to disobey?

You bring yourself to a slow, rolling orgasm with rhythmic circles against your clit, hips working against his even with his grip. You moan more loudly now, moith open and spit spreading across the pillow.

“Si-Simon,” you gasp. “Feels so good, so deep.”

“Yeah? Deep in your ass, huh, love?”

“Mhmm, mhmm. Can hardly br-breathe around you, Si.”

“I know, so big in your little hole. You’re taking me well, though, being such a good girl for me. Gonna - fuck, love - gonna make me come, give you a nice load then plug you up.”

“Yes, yes…”

“You want that? Want to be stuffed with my come? Keep me inside of you ‘til I say you can take the plug out?”

“Yes, I’ll keep it in for you, Si, be so good for you.”

“Oh, I know it, love. Always a good girl for me, most perfect girl… fuck, feel so good around me…”

He groans when he finally gets himself off, pulling you back onto his harsher thrusts and letting your channel squeeze the come from him. You rub your clit a few more times, ignoring the aftershocks in favor of forcing your muscles to milk him a bit.

When he finally pulls out, he tucks a good-sized plug into your loosened hole before any of his come can slip out. You shift from your knees to your stomach with a soft hum, tugging a pillow into your arms as your eyes drift shut.

“You stayin’ in here for a bit?” Ghost asks, brushing some of your hair away from your face and dipping down to press a dry kiss to your cheek.

“Hmm. Gonna take a nap before dinner.”

“Alright. Need any help tonight?”

“No,” you hum, curling deeper into the bedding. “You can set the table, if you really want.”

You hear him laugh as he pulls away, weight shifting off of the mattress. “I’ll leave that to Johnny, I think.”

A few moments later the door click softly shut behind him, and you float into a peaceful slumber while trying to half-plan dinner.

———————————————————————

You’re half-asleep when you feel someone shift in bed next to you, their body covering yours. There’s a distinct hardness against the small of your back, and you press back against him.

“Stay still,” you hear Gaz whisper in your ear as he urges you further onto your stomach. You hum a little in response as he settles over you, kneeing your thighs apart enough for him to rest between them. “Don’t wanna wake anyone else up, right sweetheart?”

You hum again in what’s probably supposed to be agreement, but is really just a half-asleep sound. You trust all your boys, though, so you’re perfectly content to let Kyle do whatever he wants.

You sleep naked these days, so it’s easy for him to spread your cheeks a bit, to rub at your folds. You’re still a little damp from the shower sex with Price you’d had right before bed, and Kyle doesn’t seem to think you need much more than that.

You’re almost asleep again when you feel the tip of his cock at your hole, and then the familiar weight of him entering you. It’s hard not to groan, especially when you’re so dazed, but you think you do a good job.

Well, until Kyle shushes you loudly, stuffing a few of his fingers into your mouth.

You make a small offended noise, but it shifts into a sound of pleasure when he sinks fully inside of you.

“Hush. Don’t wanna share you right now, just needed to feel you for a bit.”

You feel his hips shift against yours before he sort of falls to the side, taking you with him. You’re left spooning him, his cock buried deep inside of you and kept warm by your body.

He sighs, pleased, against your back and pulls his fingers from your mouth, letting his hand float down to rest on one of your breasts. He squeezes you for a few moments, but that only works you up more and has you squirming against him.

Kyle makes a small, whining noise and squeezes you more tightly to him. “Stay still, love. Just want to hold you, let you hold me. Go back to sleep, yeah?”

You sigh, debate trying to get him to finish what he started, but ultimately decide that it sounds like far too much work for your current state.

So instead you let yourself relax into Gaz, body quickly adjusting to the weight and stretch of him. It’s easier than you might’ve thought to doze off like that, held close to Kyle’s chest.

10K notes · View notes

miwsolovely · 3 days

Text

CALL OF DUTY MASTERLIST.

darkfics will be stated as such / mostly female reader

SIMON GHOST RILEY

to be loved, for real. ONESHOT. UPCOMING. SOFT HURT / COMFORT. 3K

“ I don’t love. ” “ that’s okay, i’ll do it for you. ” or: simon riley doesn’t love. you though, you have enough love to fill the entire globe twice. scratch that, thrice.

good days. SERIES. UPCOMING. ANGSTY. EX-MILITARY!NANNY!READER.

“ protect her. can you do tha’? ” “ with my life. ” or: you need a job, a friend of a friend of a friend needs a nanny. military, nanny, synonymous words no?

JOHNNY SOAP MACTAVIST

frozen leaves. ONESHOT. UPCOMING. FLUFF. 3K.

“ marry me. ” “ take me on a date first mr. mactavish. ” or: your neighbor has a dog that loves you more than him. it’s not jealousy, it’s love at first sight.

JOHN BRAVO SIX PRICE

magnolia in may. SHORT SERIES. UPCOMING. SAD THEMES.

“ well aren’t you just as pretty as a magnolia in may. ” or: you almost freeze to death. not to worry, the resident cowboy nurses you back to health. not your fault he’s handsome though.

↳ CHAPTERS: part one. / part two. / part three.

pretty girl. ONESHOT. UPCOMING. FLUFF. 2K.

“ you make me forget the rules, dove. ” or: the king’s son takes a liking to you. the rules say no but your hearts scream yes.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK

loverboy. HC FORMAT. FLUFF. 1K. FIGURE SKATER!READER.

“ i love you. seeing you makes me smile ” or: you have a loving boyfriend. who supports you in everything you do. especially sports.

calming tea. ONESHOT. UPCOMING. FLUFF. 2K.

“ comin’ after my own heart aren’t ya doll? ” or: you like drinking chamomile tea with a little snack while reading. not your fault the barista at your favorite cafe knows your order inside out. not your fault hes a sight for sore eyes either.

MULTI / POLY

impurities. 141. SERIES. ONGOING. ANGSTY. MILDLY DARK.

“ how can you be an outsider, in a team full of them? ” or: they make your chaos make sense

ichor. 141. SERIES. ONGOING. DARKFIC.

“ you always have a place with us. ” or: the four farmers have a house. A big house. And that house, needs a housekeeper.

the bird that got away. GHOAP. SHORT SERIES. UPCOMING. DARKFIC.

“ shoulda known you’d run, bird. ” or: you think you learned your lesson

the riley’s. GHOAP. ANTHOLOGY. MILD ANGST. TEACHER!READER.

“ we want ye, bonnie lass. no one else. ” or: you fall in love with your neighbor and their daughter who’s also your student. what can go wrong?

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

51 notes · View notes

chaosandmarigolds · 1 month

Text

“No, no no, baby-baby let mama talk-“ much to your dismay your toddler already took off with the tablet down the hall with your husband on face time. With a disgruntled huff you walk down the hall and move to open the door only to falter for a moment as you hear your husbands voice.

“Takin’ care of your mum, bubs?”

“Des sir.”

“Why you runnin’ from her then?”

“Caasaaus I wanna talk to you and when mummy starts to talk to you she doesn’t share.”

A gruff laugh, “Alright alright, well what do you wanna talk about then, lad?”

You stand outside the door for a solid ten minutes before you knocked on the door and moved your son to your lap to smile down at your husband.

“Hey, honey.”

“Hey, hot stuff.”

You see him roll his eyes and you bite back a smile.

“Lad told me you’re not sharin enough.”

You playfully gasp, which triggered your sons giddy laughter, “No! Really??”

“Really!”

4K notes · View notes

criminalamnesia · 3 months

Note

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

7K notes · View notes