charlesleclerc2003

[charlesleclerc2003]

[charlesleclerc2003]

The Contract

Warnings: Lots of smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), BDSM!, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Angst, Alcohol mentions, Dominant and submissive plot, Drug Mentions, Virgin user, mentions of drugs.

Chapter 1

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x inexperienced! User

Summary: When her roommate and work partner gets sick, she is in charge of interviewing famous billionaire businessman Dean Winchester for his new bar's grand opening which leads to a passionate and tumultuous affair where she discovers his dark sexual desires, marked by control and dominance. The one catch? He doesn't do romance.

Based on the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.

(3473 Words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

 “Please!” her roommate Jessica repeated yelling at her. (y/n) poured hot water into a coffee mug, placed a tea bag in the water, and began mixing with a spoon. “What did I tell you about yelling? Your throat is already damaged from the yelling at this point.” she scolded. Jessica sighed as (y/n) passed her the mug filled with tea. Jessica pouted as she poured in some honey. “I just need you to do this one thing. One thing.” (y/n) and Jessica are partners for a famous magazine ‘Runway’, Jessica and (y/n) were going to interview famous billionaire Dean Winchester who had just opened a new bar in their city. Dean was a longtime famous topic in Runway cause of the girls who swooned over him since he was single, so Runway only thought of the dynamic duo to interview him the next day. If only Jessica hadn’t become a walking disease. 

“It’s just one interview without me you can do this. Besides I’ve already got some questions written down, just press play on the tape recorder and ask away,” she said. (y/n) rolled her eyes as she drank her tea, “I’m only doing this cause Castiel is going to beat us up if we don’t get this article in.” she agreed. Jessica smiled as she lifted her arms. “Yes! (y/n) saves the day again!” she said before coughing up a storm, “ow.” Jessica thought for a moment and grabbed the laptop sitting across from her on the coffee table, just as she was about to reach out (y/n) grabbed it before she did, “Not a chance. You need to stay and rest, that means no working until you feel better.” Although Jessica groaned she agreed. “Night roomie,” she rasped getting up from the couch and to her room. 

The next day (y/n) got up early and did extra research since she was doing this alone. She quickly called Castiel to inform him that she would be able to do this alone and quickly for the article to get posted and submitted by next week. She dressed up professionally yet comfortably since this was a grand opening at almost 9 in the morning. She dressed up in black dress pants and boots, pairing it with a basic black shirt and sweater. She grabbed what she needed and met Jessica in their living room who was blowing her nose into her tissue. “You're so lucky you get to meet the Dean Winchester,” Jessica complained. (y/n)’s lips curled into a smile as she heated a bagel. “You’re a dork, Jess,’’ she laughed. Before she left (y/n) packed her bag with her media pass, notebook, and tape recorder. As she was putting on her boots Jessica immediately got up. 

“I almost forgot” she rasped. Jessica dug through her work bag and gave (y/n) a piece of paper with questions to ask Dean. “Ask him these would ya.” (y/n) looked up to Jessica while she offered a sheepish grin. “Good luck.” (y/n) thanked her before starting her car. As she headed to the bar nerves were kicking in. She’s always had Jessica by her side so this was strange going to interview someone famous without her. When she pulled up into a parking garage she put on her media pass around her neck and grabbed her bag. As she began getting closer to the bar she saw a crowd of people, especially paparazzi and girls screaming his name. She took a deep breath in and began squeezing her way to the front. “Excuse me!” she called out to the event worker. She flashed her media pass. “I’m here with Runway magazine I think I’m supposed to be-” 

“Media cannot pass this barrier.” The man said. (y/n) puffed her cheeks in frustration. “Yeah, I know I work for Castiel Novak, the editor-in-chief. I know he’s a good friend of Mr. Winches-” 

“Don’t care stay behind the line.” (y/n) groaned out anger and clenched her teeth in annoyance. When Dean Winchester came by the Paparazzi began crowding amongst each other. Everyone shoulder-to-shoulder. She tried to get past through but there was no way around it. As Dean cut the ribbon he saw the commotion going on beyond the bright flashes of the camera pointing at him a woman with a large camera pushed (y/n) to the ground. Dean whispered to his assistant Benny, As (y/n) got up she looked over to the entrance where a man in a suit was looking straight at her. Benny went up to the barrier of media, “Hey, girl in the sweater.” (y/n) looked up and pointed to herself, Benny nodded his head as he made a signal with his hand for the reporters and paparazzi to move, (y/n) now had a clear path and was invited inside by Benny through the back. As she was invited inside she was told to stay there until Dean was available to talk to her. When Benny left she took in her surroundings. It was dark, the light sources only being from the warm lights of the fake candles and rustic chandeliers. She saw many pool tables as well as booths next to it. A bar in almost every corner of each room she was surrounded by. She began walking around slowly clenching her bag, everything was quiet besides the commotion of screaming girls and paparazzi, and the slow clacking of her boots. She approached the pool room where there was a row of 5 pool tables and a bar. Her fingers ran through the smooth green velvet and smooth brown wood. 

“Do you play?” said a deep rusty voice. (y/n) jumped and turned around only to be face-to-face with Dean Winchester. He was tall and intimidating from his broad shoulders down to his dress shoes, His emerald eyes gazed upon her as he asked the question, and she quickly took her hand away from the table. “I’m so sorry, they just told me to wait here.” she smiled awkwardly. Dean could only keep a stern look with a slight smirk while (y/n)’s smile went down as she cleared her throat, “If it’s ok with you, Runway would like to interview you about the grand opening.” she said quietly. 

“I asked if you play,” He said. (y/n) glanced at the pool table, “sometimes, I’m not very good at it.” she uttered. “Let’s take a seat,” he said before leading her to the bar near the pool tables. She sat on the stool, put her hands on her lap, and looked down nervously. ‘Damn he is hot’ she thought. As he came around the bar he said “Cas told me there were supposed to be two of you.” (y/n) almost forgot. “Oh yes, well Jessica came down with the flu and it’s pretty bad so I’m alone for a moment.” she smiled. “Want anything?” he asked as he began grabbing glass cups with the bar logo on them. (y/n) was taken aback, “drinks this early?” she asked him. Dean looked at her while he poured whiskey for himself. “Doesn’t hurt to drink early once in a while,” he said looking up at her with his offer still standing. “Sure, I’ll take red wine if you have it please, and thank you,” she said.

“We can begin with that interview if you want,” Dean said as he poured her wine and slid the cup toward her. (y/n) nodded once more as she began taking out the voice recorder and notes to write along with Jessica’s questions. She began digging through her bag in search of a pencil or pen she had forgotten to pack. “Fuck” she muttered to herself. Dean dug through the inside pocket of his suit and handed her a pen with his company name on it. ‘Winchester Elixirs’. She saw the pen handed to her and gently took it. “Thanks” she mumbled. She pressed record on the voice recorder and set it down between them. She cleared her throat “Um, so, this is for the special article for Runway Magazine, You are young at the age of 26 to have made a popular chain of bars, to what do you owe your s-” “To what do I owe my success?” he interrupted and scoffed. She looked at him awkwardly and nodded “Yep…” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yep…” 

“Okay um… We know that you are a business man but do you enjoy doing things outside of work?” She asked pressing the pen to her bottom lip and looking up at him to answer the question. 

Dean had his hands on the edge of the counter, his grip tensed with his knuckles going white. “I enjoy many physical pursuits as well as managing cars.” (y/n) nodded as she went through Jessica’s questions “You're unmarried- wait no. um… you had a mother that died- oh my god, I’m sorry I didn-” 

“Do you have an actual question Ms…?” 

“(l/n), but you can me (y/n)” she said. 

“Give me an actual question,” he said. She rapidly nodded and brought it down to look at Jessica’s notes. Her head came back up to look at him, and her eyes dropped with sadness. "Um, what is it like being a successful businessman and having to be a family man with your younger brother?"

Dean smirked thinking of his younger brother Sam, "To answer your first question, yes, my mother did die when I was very young. and my brother was only 6 months old. It's hard but. this is our harsh reality, what better way to just drink through it, why else do you think this empire is up and up, causing people to need to drink their thoughts away. Life, death, lousy interviews." he mumbled. (y/n) looked at him with sadness on her face. "Mr. Winchester, I'm so sorry it wasn't my place to ask that," she said. Dean could only look at her, he could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek and gripping her notebook from embarrassment, "Ask another question, go ahead I'm not gonna kill you." he scoffed, (y/n) smiled softly at him as she looked through Jessica's notes once more.

Are you gay?” she asked him with direct eye contact, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes widened, she just asked a personal question which he answered and now it's led to this ridiculous answer. As she looked back at her notes, she chuckled awkwardly “It’s written here I’m so-’’

“No, (y/n). I’m not gay,” he said with a small smirk and chuckle. She smiled “I’m sorry Jessica can be a little.”

“Intrusive?” 

“More like curious.” 

He saw her, the way her lips were in contact with his pen. He looked up and down at her taking in her curves, her hair, her eyes. “Mr. Winchester, you’re meeting is about to begin in an hour.” Benny interrupted. “Cancel it, I’m a little busy here,” he said to him before he left. “No, it’s ok I can leave if you want me to,” she said softly. 

His emerald eyes looked into hers, “I want to know more about you.” his voice rumbled. She drank a bit of her wine slowly, “There’s not much to know besides this.” she said glancing at the recorder and notes. “What do you like?” Dean asked. (y/n) was thinking for a second before saying “I like music. Especially old 70s Rock, my dad used to play a lot on his record player all the time when I was a girl.”

“Let me take a good guess, You look like a Led Zeppelin gal to me…” he said observing more of her features as he thought. (y/n) looked down for a minute before she laughed softly. “Well I like Fleetwood Mac mostly, and Derek & The Dominos. Those are what I’m listening to the most right now,” she said. Dean hummed. 

“Let’s continue,” he said. (y/n) nodded once more and began asking more questions Jessica had written down even though she was skipping most of them. By the time they were done (y/n) cussed at herself for not asking many questions and even the ones she did ask were dumb and stupid almost everybody knew the answer to them before they even saw his response. “Thanks for the drink,” she said smiling. “I hope you got everything you needed sweetheart.” He said to her. Though she knew he said that to other girls it made her stomach flutter. “Thanks, I think you only answered about five questions,” she said before leaving. “Thank you for your time.” she smiled before leaving the bar. Dean looked down at her bag to see the slip of paper halfway out, so when she turned her head he quickly grabbed the piece of paper from her bag and pocketed the questions, it was then he realized she accidentally took his pen with her. 

When she got in her car she sighed to herself and let out a deep breath. “Holy shit,” she muttered in her head all she could think of was how hot Dean was. The pictures the press took of him were no match for how he looked in person.

When she got home she saw Jessica on her computer with tissues surrounding her. “Jess, what did I tell you about worki-” 

“I fucking love you so much (y/n),” Jessica shouted as the sounds of clicking surrounded the living room. “What?” (y/n) asked in confusion. Jessica looked up at her and smiled big “Dean just emailed me and he answered every question, this is perfect.” She exclaimed. “So…” She said with mischief. (y/n) took off her sweater and threw it on the couch, she looked at Jessica with confusion, “So what?” she asked. 

“What was he like?” Jessica asked with her whole body moving toward her as (y/n) sat down on the coffee table. “Well…he was fine I guess,” she said. Jessica looked at her skeptically, “Fine? Just fine?” she said in confusion. (y/n) scoffed as she began taking off her boots. “Well, he was nice he gave me some free wine. He was very formal…and clean,” she said. Jessica laughed “Clean?” she asked. (y/n) thought about him more oblivious to Jessica laughing. “He was nice, Intimidating…very intimidating. I mean I can understand the hype around him,” she said looking up at Jessica who was grinning at her. “Jess… Why are you looking at me like that?” (y/n) smiled. 

“Like what?” (y/n) rolled her eyes before going to the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. “Whatever Jessica.” she sighed. Jessica was curious one last time and looked him up online. She clicked on images and began scrolling, “But (y/n) you’ve got to admit he is so hot.” (y/n) scoffed “Well, he could be when you're into that…kind of…human.” she said finishing making her sandwich. “By the way, I asked if he was gay. That was so embarrassing. He looked at me like I was a freak.” (y/n) laughed. Jessica apologized. “I'm sorry but hey, whenever we see photos of him he has never been photographed with a woman before so I just thought-”

“Jessica have you ever thought that maybe this guy wants to keep his life private I mean he’s already in the media so much.” (y/n) said. Jessica smirked “Awwe look at you defending him.” she teased.

“I’m going to my room.” (y/n) said with a mouthful of her sandwich. Jessica immediately got up and coughed a bit before jumping in front of her. “Wait, (y/n) I'm sorry. Can you make me some of those too?” she asked politely. (y/n) rolled her eyes before going back to the kitchen to make her a sandwich. “Thanks (y/n). I’ll be right back Mother Nature calls,” she said. (y/n) looked over at Jessica’s computer and saw the images of Dean and his dark blonde hair and emerald eyes, She closed Jessica’s laptop before making the sandwich to try and get her mind off him. 

“(y/n)!” (y/n) turned around to see one of her friends, she smiled as he continued walking next to her. “Hey, James.” she smiled. “So, a couple of friends are going to this photography exhibition and going to dinner afterward. Wanna come?” he asked hopeful she would say yes. He has liked her since she got promoted to their floor with Jessica. “Well that sounds fun but I can’t I’ve got a lot of writing to do for the new Winchester article. So I’ll be in my office all day.” she sighed as she stopped dead in her tracks. James’s face went down slightly “No, it’s fine we can hang out some other time.” he said bringing his arm behind his neck and rubbing it awkwardly. (y/n) smiled “I promise I’ll make it up to you guys, we can hang when Jessica feels better so the whole group can hang. Ok?” she said oblivious to what he was trying to do. James nodded before she walked off to her office. She closed the door and sat down on her desk. She opened her laptop and began writing away. 

It had been a few hours until one of her secretaries called “Hi (y/n), Dean Winchester is asking to see you. Do I send him to your office?” she asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach fluttered once more. (y/n) picked up the phone “Yeah, Jenna send him in, thank you.” she said. She heard the door knock. “Come in!” she said. Dean Winchester came into her office and looked around. He was dressed in a casual red flannel and jeans rather than his usual tux. “Hey, Please have a seat if you want.” (y/n) said, smiling at him. He continued looking more and saw autographs from celebrities and pictures of her and friends. "Did you want a drink? I have some water and apple juice?" She asked politely, Dean pulled out a chair and sat down "No thanks, sweetheart." He said casually

“What can I help you with?” she asked. Dean looked at her like he was observing her. She was worried if she had something on her face or her teeth. 

“Just wondering if you got the email I sent to your partner?” He asked. (y/n) glanced at him from her laptop “Um. Yes she did thank you for that by the way I know her questions were a bit invasive.” she said with her eyebrows up in sympathy. “No, it’s fine I was more than happy to answer them,” he said to her. “Is that it?” she asked politely. ��Did you grow up in this town?” he asked her. (y/n) nodded “Yep born and raised.” she said smiling. Dean smirked “I need to pick up a few things, do you know a grocery store near here that sells whipped cream and zip ties?” (y/n) looked at him curiously “Well there’s a grocery store nearby that sells most of those things, it’s actually around the corner of Rose Street,” she smiled “What on earth are you planning? sounds like a torture device” she joked. “Are you baking something?" she asked curious and oblivious.

Dean smirked at her and tilted his head. “Yeah, what would you recommend I get?” he asked. (y/n) thought for a moment leaning back on her chair. “Well, maybe an apron to cover yourself to protect your clothes.” She said gesturing to his flannel. His smirk grew bigger “I’ll just take off all my clothes.” he said in a low rough voice. (y/n) could almost choke from his statement. “Ok…no clothes– I mean no apron…” She smiled and cleared her throat and began taking a sip of her water. “Thanks, how is your roommate feeling by the way?” 

“She’s a little better, right now she's working a little from home but she's having trouble finding a good photo especially the permissions and stuff so-” 

“If she’d want an original I can swing by here tomorrow,” he suggested (y/n) was taken aback. “You would do that?” she asked softly. “Yeah.” It was as simple as that. He agreed and (y/n) was feeling ecstatic inside. Dean took out his wallet to pull out his business card with his number “I’m staying at the Pacifica Lux Hotel call me anytime.” he said before walking out. “Ok bye…” she waved awkwardly. She leaned back against her chair, she mentally smacked her head from how embarrassing that whole conversation was. She took a deep breath before continuing with her work. She decided to wait until she was home to surprise Jessica.

A/N: Hello! I'm already having fun planning this. Fifty Shades is honestly so bad it's good. Trust me, besides the sex scenes, the plot is kind of good, lmao. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for liking and reposting the announcement, especially to my followers! Again, my suggestion box is open for writing new stories between this book's waiting chapters. Thanks for reading. I'll see you all next Friday!

[charlesleclerc2003]

༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

[charlesleclerc2003]

Silver Tongues, like Bullets

Werewolf!141 x female reader

Trusting four men in the forest when you were lost was possibly the stupidest thing you could have ever done. Now you find yourself scrambling to escape their clutches.

Warnings: MDNI, Dark themes, implied kidnapping, manipulation, hunting, mild injuries, manhandling, non-sexual touching, non-con touching.

The lovely @vampire-matcha came up with the name for this. (I love you xoxo 💋)

Silver Tongues like Bullets Masterlist

Words: 3.7k

-27/11/2023 present time

Your feet race through the jagged terrain trying to find any hint of a trail to lead you back into town. Though it was near impossible to see. Your only friend was the crescent moon creating a gentle stream of light to guide your steps as you hurried across, dodging trees and bushes. The air sliced against your skin like icicles but you know you couldn't stop. They might be hot on your trail. You could almost envision their hot breaths coming out in pants as their morphed forms chased after you. Large bodies on all fours tearing up the forest in pursuit of your scent. But they weren't behind you, they couldn't be you haven't heard them in a short while. It was a miracle you even managed to evade their claws this long. God knows how you managed to get this far.

Had someone warned you that you'd be chased by four beasts who you had sought help from at one point you'd think they've gone completely mad. Maybe you've gone completely mad. Maybe this was all a dream and your brain is just trying to wake you up. Your legs were numb from the cold but you continued running, you couldn't stop, not now. You prayed that you'd just wake up in your warm bed. To your cozy home and familiar town. You ran through a particularly thorny bush, creating small cuts all over your arms. But you still continued even though all you wanted to do was lay down and hide somewhere until morning. Until you could see clearly and find a way back. You crane your neck trying to make out sounds over your laboured breathing and pounding heart. The blood rushing into your ears was making it difficult to hear anything noteworthy. Maybe you had lost them or maybe they thought you were too much trouble and had gone back but you were thankful nonetheless.

The trees start to thin and your heart feels like it'll force its way out of your chest. Were you approaching a road? A trail? It didn't matter your force to your legs to run faster. When you finally break through the treeline and onto the dark road you look around frantically. Cars!? Were there any cars nearby? You try to listen to the best of your ability as you calm down your breathing. Hot breaths condensing into the cold night. Your legs felt like jelly and standing up straight was proving to be a problem. You crouched down slightly, giving yourself a moment when you finally hear the smooth rumble of an engine. The light blinded you for a second when you saw the vehicle turn from the bend. You cover your eyes but stand off to the side so you don't get hit, waving your other hand like a mad woman hoping to get noticed. The lights get dipped and you get a better look as the truck slows to a stop.

The familiar black truck has your mind reeling. Your blood runs cold much colder than the air that was cutting blood circulation in your toes and fingers. You recognise the truck of your kidnappers. Fate seemed to be enjoying your torment. She wouldn't be putting you in such a predicament if she didn't. The car lights shine on you comically as if you're a criminal that just escaped prison. Before anyone could hop out you turn to run into the forest. It didn't matter how much your limbs hurt, you were going to escape!

You only get two steps in before you're grabbed by the back of your shirt. But you hadn't heard the doors open. Were they out in the forest waiting for you to slip up? Another pair of hands restrains your arms behind your back. You scream and claw trying to weaken their hold. Fighting tooth and nail trying to escape but you just weren't strong enough to rival the two holding you. Your hands were numb, much like the rest of you. You couldn't really feel if your blows were creating any impact.

You only see who grabbed you when you were pushed cheek down on the hood of the car. Soap had your arms twisted behind your back sporting a very deep scratch to his left cheek and many more on his arms that you had left before escaping. Ghost held your neck fully covered in his usual getup. It was firm but alot gentler than Soap. His gloves felt warm against the back of your neck. But you didn't let it placate you. You let out a huff of curse words and try kicking your legs backwards as the truck doors slam shut.

“Aye will ye give it a rest!”, Soap hold you tighter making you wince from the pain. He was clearly angry at you but was holding back for your sake. Wouldn't want to hurt their mate too badly now. You already didn't like them.

“Hands off”, you hear the clear rumble of the Captain's rugged drawl. Suddenly all the warm from your body disappeared, the two men had stepped back giving room to their Captain. Gently a hand ran down your back and spine causing you to shiver. You whine and place your face into your hands knowing you weren't going to escape tonight. You didn't want to look at them and you didn't want them looking at you. The fear and shame of failing was eating away at your insides. Not to mention the punishment that was coming when they finally bring you back to the cabin.

“It's ok luv, we've got you now”, it's Gaz's sweet voice that breaks the tension in the air as Price continues to rub your back gently trying to ground you. You wanted to collapse in on yourself to get as far away as possible as you could from these men. Gaz being the most deceptive of the four. He lured you in with sweet words and promises only to lock you up. You had trusted him when he said he'll get you home. That promise never came to be. How many days has it been now? Maybe weeks have gone by. You couldn't tell anymore the days have started bleeding in together. You wondered if anyone was looking for you.

“Let's get you back now shall we? We can figure out an appropriate punishment when you're safe and sound”, Price's voice vibrated through the silent forest where even the owls gave him authority over the night. You don't know why he was posing it as a question, it wasn't like they were going to listen to you.

Your tears obscure your view as you're led to the back seats with Gaz and Soap. Soap stays silent tightly holding one arm while Gaz coos and shushes you. He gently wipes away your tears holding you close, warming your shivering body from being ill dressed in the elements. The truck starts, the sound of the engine being the final nail in the coffin on your attempted escape.

- 23/11/2023

The leaves under your feet give a loud *crunch* as you stomp your feet through the familiar hiking trail. You come to a halt when the road breaks up into four different directions. You pick a path and start walking without much of a care. Your latest arguments with your parents had you fleeing to the comfort of the forest. You didn't understand why they wouldn't let you leave, you wanted more from life, more to experience, just more than this tiny town could offer you. You had finally gotten your dream job in the city after working tirelessly to improve your photography portfolio. You did all you could do to make sure you were always the best behaved child. You made it a point to do well in your studies and do your best to make your parents proud. You made sure to get a job a soon as it was legally allowed. You supported yourself throughout college even going as far as giving your parents money when you could spare it. Yet they still denied you their love and support when it came to things you wanted.

Your parents wanted you to stay close for their own convenience. They wanted you to stay to help them rather than pursue your dreams. They've been guilt tripping you since you graduated from college to not to leave town. That they needed your help with your younger siblings. That it was unfair and selfish of you after all they did to raise you into adulthood. That you would never make it in the city. That you wouldn't amount to anything without their help.

Leaves and twigs snap under your feet as you trudge through the rough terrain of the forest. Your anger and frustration carry you onwards despite your fatigue. Your camera in hand as you stop from time to time to take scenic photographs.

Time passes and the sun begins to dip in the sky, you suddenly come to a halt realizing that path you thought you were on now had turned into mud and grass. You quickly glance around trying to figure out what part of the forest you found yourself in. There was no trail in sight. Maybe you had steered off course when you were following that white rabbit. How long had you been walking for? You crane your neck to listen to try to hear some sounds of civilisation, cars, voices, dogs, anything to give you an indication that you haven't gone too far. But you were greeted with the wind rustling through the trees and some small birds chirping. You were too far in. The heavy feeling of dread settled in the pit of your stomach but you refused to let it consume you.

You glance at the sky. It was late afternoon, you knew the sun would be setting in a couple of hours. You wrack your head on what to do.

“Think! Think! What did I learn in scouts? Resources! What resources do i have?”

You pat your pockets to find anything useful. You grab your phone to turn it on again. You didn't have anything else on you except a warm jacket, your wallet and your camera. Regret was simmering in the back of your mind as to why you stormed out like you did. Your breathing becomes labored as you try to prevent a panic attack. The screen loads up to show you you've missed several calls from your parents and a few from your siblings. Your bars are low so try to get to some higher ground to get a signal to call them back. You climb a tree leaving your camera on the ground nearby to get better reception but you could only manage one bar. You try calling a couple times before the call finally connects.

“Mom? Mom!, I'm in the forest. I think I'm lost. Mom?”, you try to speak but your mother's voice comes back broken and in a static state. She couldn't hear you. You try your best to communicate with the signal you had hoping she could piece together enough broken words to send help. You strain your arm up trying to get a better signal when your foot slips on a branch and you come tumbling down. The call cuts and you groan out in pain.

Your hands scrabble for your phone looking to see if it was damaged. The phone to your utter disbelief had landed on the boulder nearby and had shattered the screen to the point of it being unusable. You curse and shout in anger and frustration at your horrible luck.

-

You had stayed put after letting out your anger. Hoping that maybe your mom had understood enough to send help. The sun was getting low in the sky, you didn't have anything on you to build a fire or some sort of shelter so your best option was to conserve energy and wait to be rescued or try finding a trail in the morning. Not to mention the nasty bruises you were nursing now. You had tried looking around the vicinity to try to find a trail to follow after your phone broke but it just felt like you were going deeper as the fog got thicker the more you walked. So in the end you had to turn back. Not that it made much of a difference the fog was settling where you sat on a pile of leaves to protect yourself from the cold ground. It was doing very little from starving the cold from your ass though. The warm jacket you wore wasn't feeling so warm anymore as the heat of early autumn was disappearing with the setting sun.

You prayed someone would find you soon or pray that you lived to get back home on your own tomorrow. But with the way the icy wind was chilling you to your bones, you growing weary. Sitting in one place wasn't keeping you warm, you needed to keep moving to create some friction and get blood flowing again. So that's what you did. For the next 20 to 30 mins you jogged on the spot and did some jumping jacks to starve of the cold. And it worked until you tired yourself out and sat down again.

You kept your ears open to in hopeful delusion that you'd hear footsteps or maybe a group of campers in the distance that could help you. You waited and waited craning your neck when you heard the slightest snap of a twig or a whistle that sounded human. But maybe you were going crazy. Or maybe you were actually right and someone else was in the forest. You keep hearing distant whistling but it stops just as quickly as it starts, making you second guess yourself....

You hear the whistle again! And again this time closer! You get up slowly, your legs numb from sitting. You steady your feet the best you can gathering your belongings as you follow the sound of the gentle tune. The sun was setting and you needed to hurry before it got dark.

You weren't paying attention to your surroundings even though you know you should. This was how you got lost in the first place. But in your cold and desperate mind you needed to find the source of the whistling before the night forest claimed you as its own. You stumble and trip as you make your way to the gentle humming that was resonating through the trees now. The fog got thicker and got harder to see but you continued on especially with the blanket of darkness looming closer. The trees seemed to be growing hands the longer you stayed in one spot so you had no choice but to keep moving. The whistling had stopped suddenly, making you panic as you stood still. Thinking your mind was playing tricks on you but then the humming started and you continued to follow the comforting sound. You couldn't find a direction to follow without it. It was difficult to see more than a couple feet from where you were standing with the fog so thick. You had tripped and fallen many times scraping and bruising yourself further. You probably looked a sight. At least your camera was ok. It was probably running low on charge though.

In the distance you saw the soft glow of fire? Or some sort of lamp, you didn't know and you didn't care. You continue to approach it. Light meant civilisation right? Someone lived here, you could ask them for help. With the distance you had trekked today you hadn't realised how sore you were especially now that the adrenaline had worn off and your tender muscles were screaming from the falls you endured. The ground underneath you evened out a little as you got closer and it became much easier to walk.

Finally you reached the clearing. And look up towards the large cabin in front of you. The fog surrounded it ominously but you didn't seem to care. Your mind wasn't functioning properly due to the cold. You beeline for the open fire once you see it. You glance around quickly to see if anyone was around but there wasn't. But meat was roasting on the fire as you fell to your knees trying to get blood flowing to your fingertips. You glance at the cabin when you warmed up enough, there was a single oil lantern on the entrance but the cabin itself was dark. As if no one was inside. But there was a truck parked up on the side. You've never seen this cabin before, was it always here? Or perhaps you've never come close to this section of the forest to really notice. The best option was to wait for whoever was cooking this meat you think to yourself. Guessing from the size of the freshly cut meat it might be for a small group. You hoped as much anyway; a group of friends enjoying a trip to a cabin. You sat near the fire staying warm salivating from the smell, you hadn't eaten anything since early morning today. It was beginning to take a toll on you.

The soft whistling started again from the edge of the forest where the trees dwarfed the cabin. You hastily get up to get away from the fire not wanting to come across as rude to your potential saviors. You stand there awkwardly waiting for someone to emerge from the tree line, rubbing your hands together while blowing on them.

The heat in your lungs condenses into steam as you let out huffs of air. A figure emerges from the fog, someone tall wearing a red flannel shirt carrying wood and an ax. It's only when he gets closer do you notice does he sniff the air and stop dead in his tracks to look up. His coal eyes pierce you with great intensity. You stare back not really comprehending the situation. You wanted to say something, to let him know you weren't a threat, just someone who was lost and needed a little help.

But your throat seized up and the chilly air freezing up in your lungs preventing you from speaking. The temperature took a dip despite you being near the fire. He took long measured steps towards you as you stood frozen and unable to look away or speak.

Your mouth hung open trying to get words out but it felt like your muscles had stopped working. His eyes glowed orange from the fire as he got closer, his muscular body standing taller as he approached shoulders drawn back in a defensive stance. His dark skin looked radiant under the glow of the embers, his sweat shining on his exposed chest where two buttons were undone. You look down at your feet when your eyes locked with him for the briefest second. You don't think he appreciated you ogling his toned body.

He crouches down, adding a few logs to the dwindling flames and tossed the rest and the ax to the side like it weighed nothing. He got up again and fixed you with a stare, posture still defensive. Waiting for you to say something.

“I'm lost”, the words finally left your mouth in a hurry not wanting to anger this man when you were hoping to receive his help. “I-I didn't m-mean to intrude, I-I just heard some whistling. And I t-thought maybe you c-could help me find my way back”, you stuttered a response even through your nerves as the man continued to stare for a bit, his eyes dissolving of hostility.

“What town are you from?”, he asks gently while rotating the meat.

“Milster”, you say softly hoping he'd know the way back.

“Night has fallen and the forest is covered in a thick fog. We won't be able to show you the road back until morning”, he explains while proding the meat.

“We?”

As if on cue you see two more well built men appear from the three lines just like the man in front had a few minutes ago. They were all 6 feet or taller by reference to your own height. The blond one, a head taller than his friend.

It felt kinda intimidating that all of them were so fit. One had a knit mask over his face while the other was rocking a very questionable mohawk. Another man appears behind them with a very old fashioned beard but it suited him. He had a rugged charm about him and a friendly face to compliment it. They were all conversing while bringing in their hunt, not particularly paying attention to what was in front of them. The man roasting the meat goes over to where they were.

They came to a halt a few meters away from you. They all turn their head to bore their eyes into yours. You swear they glowed an amber hue for a second. You awkwardly shift your feet from side to side not knowing what to do. After they shared a couple hushed words they all came over towards the fire. The one with the mohawk came towards you while the others stayed on the other side of the burning wood, analyzing you but not in a hostile way. Almost as if they were viewing a small animal in the wild. Except for the mohawk, his eyes told another story.

He circled you like he was sizing up prey. A cold shiver made its way down your spine despite the heat from the rekindled fire. Your nerve endings were screaming at you to run or hide, muscles twitching in your legs trying to get you to move. He finally came in front of you again making direct eye contact. His ocean eyes transfixing you in your place. His boyish smirk exposed his overly sharp canines. It unnerves you completely.

You shouldn't be here! You shouldn't have asked for help! But before you can backtrack and leave the area his deep Scottish accent rings out.

“Aw ah poor little bunny, lost are ye? Dinnae worry we'll help ye find yer way home."

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2023. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[charlesleclerc2003]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ synopsis; you thought your bond with the pack was unshakable—until an unexpected stranger arrives in town. suddenly, you find yourself pushed out of their hearts. now you must uncover the truth before it’s too late, or risk losing everything.

chapter one;

chapter two;

chapter three;

chapter four;

chapter five;

chapter six;

chapter seven;

chapter eight;

chapter nine;

chapter ten;

chapter eleven;

chapter twelve;

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[charlesleclerc2003]

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 2: Captain’s Dinner

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Warning/Notes: Captain Price x Reader (on this chapter only, the poly 141 is still building), Oral sex (F receiver), a bit nasty

The rest of the drive goes by in a breath, suspiciously, Simon didn't step on any more bumps, and it felt like being rocking a baby. Kyle got his hand inside your shirt, but as nasty as your acts before, now his hand was just innocently caressing your back, keeping you calm and pliant against him.

At some point, the car stops and you hear Simon talk with someone outside of the car.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

The car moves again but for short this time. And just after a minute or two, the car stops and Simon turns off the engine. Everyone begins to exit the car, Kyle included with you in his arms. You notice people walking around, not too close but enough to see you, and you start to feel self-aware of the fact that you are being carried like a baby by the Sergeant.

“Can you put me down? I want to walk.” You say squirming a bit in the Sergeant’s arms.

“It's faster this way actually, doll.” He responds giving you a quick smile.

“At least put me on your back, it feels weird not seeing where we going.” You say turning your head around as much as you can.

Kyle snickers, making you turn to him with your eyebrows furrowed. “Doll, I actually would be really glad if you let me carry you like this the rest of the way because like this I can hide the fact that I came on my pants like a teenager.”

“Oh.” That's all you managed to say as you feel your cheek blushing. You can definitely feel your panties sticking to your pussy, but he must definitely feel his underwear hardening.

“Soap, Ghost, we will tomorrow at 0700 for a debriefing of today's events. Go rest now. Kyle, come into my office so we can find the key and free our little birdie.” Price orders behind you, relief flowing through your veins at the thought of being free.

Kyle enters the room, Price’s office by logic, and sits you on a desk. And once you are seated, he raises his arm and crouches down getting out of the weird knot of limbs.

He stands before you, free, as you look at him dumbfounded, still cuffed.

“H-how… You could do that?!” You ask looking at him. “I thought you didn't fit, that's why you haven't got out! You could do that?!”

Kyle simply chuckles at you while he adjusts his pants quickly and drops a peck on your forehead whispering against your skin. “Sorry, luv. But it was just too comfortable.” He turns to Price, announcing he is going to take a shower and leaves the room sending you a wink right before closing the door.

You turn to Price, looking a bit shocked still and he picks the key from the drawer at his desk. “Sorry about him, he is a good lad. Hope you were not uncomfortable, right?” He asks as he walks up to you, you put your hands together expecting him to unlock the cuffs, but instead, his hands travel to the back of your tights and he picks you up forcing you to put your hands around his shoulder (almost strangling him for a second before you remember to move your hands above his head)

You let him be, too tired already to fight anymore, and he sits you on the other side of the desk. In front of his chair, once you are seated, he sits on his chair and gets between your legs.

The sight in front of you shouldn't be allowed, broad shoulders making you physically spread your legs to accommodate him, blue eyes looking up at you and warm hands picking yours. “Let's take these off, yeah?”

“Yes, please.” You whisper back, not even sure what you are begging for.

Price takes the cuffs back, furrowing when he sees the red mark where the metal dented into your soft skin. He caresses both wrists drawing circles and then one of them goes higher on your arm up to the bandages. “How's the pain?” He asks looking at your arm.

“Hm? Oh, that… honestly, I always thought bullet wounds would hurt a lot more. It's not too bad, I almost had forgotten about it.” You say smiling back at him.

He chuckles back shaking his head. “I'm definitely having you give a pep talk to the rookies. Sorry about your blouse, as well. I'll pay for a new one.” He says caressing your arm.

“Oh, there is no need, really. This is an old one, I should have thrown it out a bit ago anyway.” You admit shaking your hands to let him know there is no need.

“I insist. And if you get any medical bills, or need any physiotherapy sessions or anything. We will pay for them, we'll take care of you, doll.” He says standing up to his full height still between your legs.

“You keep saying that…”

“What do you mean?”

“That you will take care of me.”

“Yes. We will if you allow us.”

You look at his face, trying to decipher what he means. But the intensity of his gaze pulls the air out of your lungs leaving you breathless, the heat from his body is scorching against you and the ground seems so far away you feel like you falling off a cliff.

“Are you okay, doll?” He asks softly looking to meet your gaze again cupping your face.

“Yeah.” You say softly pulling his hand away and you put a hand on his chest pushing him back. “I-I should get going, I have work in the morning it's better if I get back home.”

“You can stay the night if you want, I'll drive you to work tomorrow.” He quickly responds like he doesn't want you to go.

“Capt- John.” You correct yourself earning a smile from him. “John, I need to shower, and I don't have any clean clothes, really you have done more than enough for me, I will just go home.”

You stay looking at him, waiting for him to move back so you can hop off the desk and get out. But he doesn't, instead, he gets closer and moves both hands to cup your face making you look at him. “You are thinking too hard, doll.”

And then, as natural as it is to blink, he kisses you.

A soft peck right on the corner of your mouth to test the waters, a soft peck on the other side, and then, softly, almost like melting at the touch, a kiss right to the centre of your lips.

He moves slightly back, enough to be able to speak and ask. “You solid?”

And you nod.

You are not even a hundred per cent sure you know what he means, but you know that whatever the man in front of you would ask, you would say yes.

You shouldn't, you don't know him. You only know his name and his position as Captain. You know your mind is not clear, right now he is your saviour, he is been taking care of you since you met, and he is so strong, so gentle with you, so handsome.

You shouldn't be leaning in for another kiss, but you are.

There is always tomorrow for regrets.

But tonight, all your senses scream John Price.

Never did you though a kiss could get you so hot and bothered, he only has his hands on your face and his lips on yours and you are already panting.

He moves forward, hips crashing onto yours making you gasp and he uses the opportunity to get his tongue on your mouth.

You can taste the tobacco on his tongue, swimming down your body. His hands move, taking your hair back into a ponytail and he pulls back. It stings and you groan softly, shifting to a moan when you feel his lips down your throat.

His moustache tickles the soft skin of your neck in contrast with the scorching feeling of his breath. “Who beat me to it?” He asks, chuckling drily looking at something on your neck.

Fucking Kyle.

“Better to erase it, doll.” He says, possessiveness taking over him. And there are no more soft kisses, now he makes out, no, he devours your neck like a madman. Sucking and biting, feeling the mark erupt and your panties to grow wetter.

You bite your lip to try and not make an embarrassment of yourself from how badly you want to moan, and you take his shirt out of his pants. Running your hands under the shirt, needing to feel him.

“I hope you don't mind, sweetheart. Since it is already ruined…” He trails off as he grabs your shirt over your chest and pulls, hard, pulling the buttons of the fabric and ripping it where it didn't give in.

He almost growls when he sees the skin giggle and he dives right into your chest. His hands rest on your waist pulling you forward him, pulling your shirt out of your pants.

You try to take off your jacket, but the sudden movement causes a sharp pain in your arm making you groan in pain. Price quickly detaches himself from your skin to look at your face, alarmed he hurted you. “Sorry, you alright love?” He asks feeling guilty. You shake your head, only worrying him more and then you add. “It's not you, the jacket. Got stuck on the bandages or something; can you help me, please?” He smirks mischievously at you. “Help you to undress? Oh, darling, that's my pleasure.”

He kisses you on your lips again, taking off your jacket carefully and then your shirt. He pulls your bra strap down your shoulder, leaving your bra downside, your boobs out and pushes up. He cups one of your boobs groaning on your mouth when you moan softly and then bends down to get the other one inside his mouth.

He twirls his tongue around your nipple, savouring the taste of your skin. You move your hand to the back of his head, and when he gets lower, right under your boob over your ribs, and he bites you as you pull his hair moaning his name. “John…”

“Yeah, darling, moan my name like that.” He mumbles against your skin before he goes back to your mouth. “You taste like fucking candy, sweetheart. Can't fucking wait to taste all of your.”

“Do it. Do it, please.” You say against his mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Aw, darling, what a fucking sight. Asking so nicely, how can I say no?” He says between kisses as he undoes your pants.

He lifts your ass from the desk with an arm as he pulls down your pants and your underwear all together. He leaves you again on the desk and undoes the clasp of your bra taking it off. Leaving you completely bare on his desk, while he remains completely dressed. The vest is even still on.

“Fuck… I must have been a fucking saint on my last life to be worth it of this sight, angel.” He says looking up and down your body as he moves his hands from your waist up to your face to give you a kiss. “I'm gonna make you feel good, love. So, so good…” he trails off as he begins to give kisses down your jaw, neck, collarbones, sternum, tummy, and just when he is about to reach your mount. He pulls back making you whine. “Shh, pretty, just getting comfy.”

He grabs the chair from before sitting down, gets closer between your legs and pulls them over his shoulder forcing you to lean on your back using the elbow that is not hurt to prop yourself up enough to see him.

He kisses the inside of your tights, from your knee and higher, higher, higher… you can feel his beard on that soaking part of you where you need him the most. But he doesn't indulge you, instead, he goes back to your knee and high again. Teasing you, leaving you panting, aching, clenching around anything, needy, desperate.

“John… please… no more teasing…” you beg, feeling desperate for him.

“Poor baby, already soaking.” He says looking directly at your cunt, and you feel as he presses a thumb on your clit making you shudder at the feeling and he slowly moves it down your slit, reaching your dripping hole and pressing it, but without getting it inside. Just collecting your juices and driving you mad.

He takes the thumb up to his lips licking it while he looks at your eyes. “Just as I thought, fucking candy, love.” You want to complain, to grab his hair and shove his face against your cunt but the only thing that leaves your lips is a bratty whine, too horny to think straight.

You feel Price chuckle against your skin, and when you finally feel ready to tell him off, he presses his tongue flat against your clit turning your brain to absolute mush as you let go of a moan worth of a porn video as you let your head fall back.

He moves his head up and down, letting his tongue move between your folds; collecting your arousal mixing it with his spit making a mess on his beard.

His index finger moves to your entrance, slowly getting it inside stretching you slightly because of the size of his hands. He sucks at your clit, almost making out with it. And once he feels satisfied with it, he gets a second finger inside.

You keep moaning his name, like a mantra almost, not being able to remain quiet when he begins to thrust his finger in and out of your wet cunt. The sounds, the squelch, the sight, delightful.

You have been given head before, but never like this. It never had you begin for them to keep going, to not let you hanging, never this desperate. But John Price, it has you wishing you could kiss the terrorist of your neighbour just for putting you in his line of vision.

He curls his fingers inside of you pressing a point that has you falling on your back hitting your head load enough for him to chuckle against your cunt, but before he can lift his head to check on you, you just get your hand on his head keeping him in place.

Caressing his hair, spreading your legs even wider, he eats you out like a man starved. Like he hasn't eaten in days like he just found a water fountain in the middle of the desert.

You realise then, that the reason why you have never felt like this before with any ex-lover, is because you have never felt this desired. You can feel Price moaning against your cunt, and it makes you wonder who is enjoying it more.

Not for long though, because you begin to feel the knot on your stomach get tighter. More and more tight, you feel your toes curl and you close your eyes letting your mouth open as you feel the knot coming undone like an elevator free-falling. A high-pitched moan leaves your lips that in any other situation would make you feel embarrassed and your tights clasp around Price’s head when he doesn't relent on his attack.

He helps you ride out your orgasm as you cover your face with your hands, the light in the room is suddenly too bright, and after a couple of seconds, you look up at him.

And the sight…

He is sitting, leaning back against the chair, manspreading wide, an elbow resting on the armrest as he lazily licks clean the fingers that were just inside of you. Absolutely content with himself and his accomplishments, a sight absolutely devilishly delicious.

You notice the tent on his pants, and you try to touch him with your feet. But he grabs your ankle, and you don't have enough energy on you to push it.

“As much as I would like to keep going, doll.” He says letting your leg down and coming up closer to your face. “You can barely keep your eyes open, so I think it's time to rest.”

He stands up, goes somewhere behind you that you guess is the bathroom because of the sound of water and a bit later, he is back. He picks you up, and lays down on a sofa, with you on top.

A bathroom and a sofa inside of his personal office, he really is a military captain. He covers the both of you with a blanket, he gives you a kiss to the forehead and before you know it, you are out.

Post-nut clarity doesn't hit until a couple of hours later.

You are naked, in an unknown man's office, far away from home, with no phone, no keys, no money, no clothes, ashamed.

So you do the only thing you can do, you slip away from the sleeping handsome man, get dressed as fast as you can without making any noise and leave the room. You don't even bother to put on your blouse, choosing to just close your jacket.

Once outside, you let a sigh escape your lips. You know the military base, it is actually not that far away from your home, less than an hour walking back.

Are you excited about walking back home at the break of dawn alone? No. Do you have another choice? Not really, not any that would help reduce the walk of shame you found yourself doing.

So you get your hands on your pockets and start doing your half a marathon back home.

And just as the sun is beginning to pick over the horizon, you reach your home.

Just last night there were dozens of police cars, military workers, everything, the whole paraphernalia. But now? It is just dead silence, no a soul in sight, as if nothing has ever happened.

The janitor calls your name when he sees you, he gives you your keys and tells you that the police dropped them by when they cleaned everything.

You wait for the elevator and make your way up to your floor. On apartment 608, there is a police notice, banning everyone from getting close to the crime scene. There are bullet holes and some bloody handprints on the walls, a blood splutters a bit too close to the height your arm is.

You shake your head trying to forget about it, and open your door. Once inside, you lock the door and look for your phone. Only to remember that it must be in your bag, in your car, where you dropped it when you tried to run.

You look at the clock on the wall that you always forget about, and realise you have 20 minutes to get ready if you want to make it time to work. So get at it.

Most of those 20 minutes, go into taking a shower. You feel dirty, mainly because you are, but also because you feel used. You think about Price and Kyle, handsome military men, they have probably visited countries you don't even know exist and they probably have a lover in each of them.

You are probably just another one, and you let them in so easily. They must have barely felt any satisfaction from such an easy catch.

You feel like crying for being so silly, but a voice in your head stops you. The voice in your head that picks you up whenever you fuck something up. Don't cry! Why would you cry?! They used you just as much as you used them! And they are not crying! So neither are you! You made a grown man cum on his pants by rubbing yourself a bit and an even grown-er man basically get on his knees to eat you out! So don't cry!

So you get out of the shower with another attitude, you are going to get a hold of the situation, you are going to get space between these men and yourself, and you are going to be just fine!

“Son of a bitch!” You exclaim when you see yourself in the mirror, if you had thrown yourself down the stairs there would be fewer bruises on your body. Well, not bruises, hickeys.

You huff getting out of the bathroom to get dressed, and then back to the bathroom to cover all the hickeys.

By divine grace, you make on time for work. You are exhausted, starving and if any of your coworkers spoke to you today just a bit out of tone, you would chew their arms off. But luckily, everything goes right.

At least, until you get back home, and the first thing you see when you get off the elevator, is a masked man standing in front of your door.

I guess it is a series now, I don't know where I'm going with it but there is still a couple of things I have thoughts about.

If you guys have any ideas or scenarios please, tell me hehe

And if you want me to tag you on the next part drop a coment 💗

[charlesleclerc2003]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Nine

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Attempted suicide, unknown watching as someone gets changed, SIMON BEING THE CUTEST MAN ALIVE, kissing and bum spanking

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

The summer air was a broil of wet leaves and burnt tar, roads simmering with clouded fogs of steam that snipped at the exposed flesh of your leg. Your bike was worn, tyres nearly flat from the consistent rummaging of scarred rocks tearing the innocent rubber into a battered mess.

Your legs were inflamed from the constant use, thighs straining against bones and weathered skin. Sweat stuck to you in a damp layer, the occasional fly suckling at the salty residue. There was a gentle strum of moans, ripped jaws sloshing against rotten teeth, skin a ghastly contrast against the greenery. They didn’t care for you, walking past you like you were one of them.

It was a sick punishment.

You thought back to the first couple of days after. After Vienna. Steel supported rough fingers, muzzle pointed under your chin, the chill of cold tickling down your throat, trapping your oesophagus with an arrogant choke. Nimble fingers unclicked the safety, a line of tears streaming down your face pathetically.

You didn’t do it. You weren’t sure which was weaker, staying or leaving.

Blood ran through your chest, beating down to the tips of your wrists, eyes gauging through the flesh as if you had x-ray vision. You would no doubt be scorned with blisters later, the sun kissing you with fat welts filled with liquid medicine as you rolled in used sheets, unable to sleep.

You stared down the winding road, a companion of butchered shops lined up by the corner, untouched. It wasn’t rare for you to venture far, always taking a main road that would eventually lead you home.

You pushed through glass doors, majority of the crystal shattered across the concrete. There was a gentle ding of a bell as you entered, a lone zombie trailing towards the noise, disappointed at the sudden disappearance of its senses as you smashed a blade into the centre of its head, the stench of death filling the shop as you gagged. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the smell.

The store was disappointing at the front, but you knew the stock room held liquid gold. Your knees skidded over the counter, a till smashed across the floor as you laughed. You wriggled the STAFF ONLY door, your shoulders working to barge it open. There were unopened boxes of candy that caught your attention, sticky tape quickly stuck to the wall as you delved through, a child-like innocence adorning your face as you tore apart a chocolate wrapper.

A sick moan of satisfaction ran through you as you stuffed more bars in your bag, teeth rotting with gooey caramel. Your feet padded against the floor, achy limbs begging for a rest as you sat down on a bench, uncomfortable wood barely supporting you. You scoffed back an apple, a small container full of buttered bread soon resting in your stomach.

You groaned as you chugged the majority of your water, the liquid quenching the Sahara in your throat as it stained your chest, a light dribble working down your chin as you sighed. Eyes stared at the bike resting against a brick wall as you looked up, noticing the flock of birds make their way through the sky, gradual darkness soon blending into the baby blue.

Dirtied nails scraped against the glass of your final destination, a small boutique with a flickering sign greeting you with the smell of dust as you pushed the door open. Nimble fingers worked your sweaty top off as you tried clothes on, wiping the grotty mirror down with an ugly rag of a shirt.

Dark eyes watched you from a rooftop, covered face twisting into a scowl as he watched you prod at yourself in the mirror. Your flesh was greasy, a sweet shine covering your muscles as he fixated on the way you moved. He stared at you through the lens of a sniper before placing it next to him as you walked out, bag round with clothes and the minimal amount of food you could find.

You didn’t notice him, his body stealthy as he adjusted, eyes immersed in you as you rode off. They would head your way tomorrow, he decided.

Thick hands ploughed at the wood; an axe gripped between his fingers as you watched him intensely. Your eyes gawked at his biceps, chiselled muscles bulging under the sun, a glisten against his skin from his work.

“That enough?” His voice was thick, a mixture of molten and sweet honey lacing him. His aura was earthy and masculine, his need to prove himself to you evident as he looked to you for approval.

“Good enough for me,” you replied, attempting to grab a log of wood before he barked that he would do it, snatching it from your grip.

Your eyebrows twisted up in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not useless, I was the one doing this before you all came along.”

“Didn’t mean to offend you, sweet’art, just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

It was impressive watching him work; his forearms stuffed full of wood as he placed it in the small collector next to the fireplace. This was your first time being alone with him, his large frame was intimidating at first, but his shitty dad jokes couldn’t help but pull a smile from you.

You pulled him into the barn, introducing him to your cows, Daisy and Ted. He wasn’t fond of the names, but he felt himself nodding, watching the way you greeted them like they could speak, eyes full of admiration at the way you handled yourself.

“I’m hoping she gets pregnant, she’s my lifesaver,” you cooed, swatting the cow gently against her rump as she huffed out a breath. Simon raised a brow at you, a cocky smirk against his face.

“Don’t think about it,” you scowled as he turned around. Quick hands swatted at his ass as he grunted. Ghost was trained for anything, his hands at your waist as you squealed, quickly thrown over his shoulder with a huff before you were dropped in a bale of hay, endless giggles wracking through your chest as he peered down at you with a grumpy look.

You noticed his eyes crinkle as your laughter slowly subsided, both of you staring at each other with an amused look. His hands stilled at your waist, gripping them slightly with a warming touch.

“What’s your real name?”

He paused for a moment, thumb rubbing at your rising tummy, a pool of butterflies sinking into every crevice of the muscle. “Simon.”

You repeated it several times back to him, enjoying the way it fell from your lips as battered eyes focused on them, watching the way your tongue wriggled in the heat of your mouth as you spoke.

“You like it?” He asked, voice lower with nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. But he was.

You nodded at him, glancing from his eyes down to his mouth. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, bringing his hand to your cheek as your mouth opened slightly, eyes never leaving his. He paused, ready to turn away from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, pushing the mask down his chin in a rough manner before he kissed you, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before easing it into your throat. He was strangely gentle, almost like he was scared to hurt you. The Lieutenant’s hands gripped your face as you pulled him in by the scruff of his neck, deepening the motion. 

His eyes were voids of burnt sugar, a hinge of toffee speckling through as they merged into his iris. He was warm and inviting, the slight tang of his saliva running through your taste buds as he welcomed the sensation of you, a hand dropping to your throat with a delicate squeeze. 

Simon pulled away with a slight gasp, catching the breath he wasn’t sure he was holding.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

You only smiled and brought him back in.

[charlesleclerc2003]

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 3: Poltergeist

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

3.8k Words

Warning/Notes: Ghost x Reader, a little of ass eating from Ghost, fingering, a bit mean Ghost, hair pulling, angst.

“Hey, Birdie.”

“Hey, Ghost.”

The two of you look at each other, each expecting the other to make a move. But since he doesn't seem bothered by the silence, you break it.

“Here for work or pleasure?” You ask opening the door as he chuckles.

“Well, that's not my choice.” He answers looking at you. “Half and half, I suppose.”

“Why is that?” You ask as you enter your flat, leaving the door open for him to enter. But when you notice he is not moving you turn to him. “Are you gonna come in or do I need to invite you like a vampire?”

You see the smile on his eyes (mainly because that's the only thing you can see of his face), and he impulses himself off the wall as he walks closer to your door. 

“And what would your neighbours think? A girl like you letting a man like me inside her house?” He asks cocking his head.

“Well, actually, I don't know if you have heard. But just last night my neighbour was taken by the police because turns out he was a terrorist or something like that, I'm not sure. So I think I am out of the competition for worst neighbour of the year, so, yeah, please c’mon in.” 

You hear him chuckle behind your back as you walk into your room, and a little later you hear the door close. Maybe calling it a room is a big stretch, your whole flat is a room. A small hall that goes from the door to where your bed is, a door on the hall to your bathroom and another one to your kitchen. 

Having breakfast in bed sounds great, but having lunch and dinner sounds a bit sad. But that's the flat you could get, and honestly, thanks to your neighbour's hobbies, at least you know the rent is not going to go higher.

“You know, jumping the wall on your balcony was ridiculously easy, you should probably get a lock for that window.” He comments looking at your window as he enters your line of vision.

“Then I would lose my deposit.” You answer sitting down on your bed to take off your shoes. You take off your jacket next and hang it in your closet. “Are you hungry?”

“Hmm, depends on what's the offer.” He says leaning against the wall again. He follows you with his gaze as you walk to your kitchen and open the fridge with a face. He chuckles when you close the door back and look at him. “Takeout?”

“Takeout it is.” You answer taking your phone out. “What do you fancy, Ghost?” 

“You know? Most people freak out when I get inside their house, don't ask me what I want for dinner.” He says crossing his arms.

“Should I freak out?” You ask looking at him with an eyebrow raised as you lend him your phone with the delivery app open. “Order whatever you want, I'm no picky. I'm gonna take a shower, if the food gets here there is money behind that frame.”

You point out the only frame on your whole house and walk into the bathroom. You try to walk with confidence, but once inside the room, you let a sight escape your lips.

When you said yesterday you were going to push Price and Kyle away, you didn't mean it as in pulling the rest of the team closer. 

This is bad, is mean and honestly, you must be on some weird week of your cycle where you are producing more pheromones than usual because you were chronically single for years and now can't seem to catch a break. 

You open the tap to wait for the water to warm up as you undress. Just as you take your shirt off your pants you notice you didn't pick your pyjamas, so you walk back out.

You see Ghost seated on your bed, back leaning against the headboard, feet dangling off the bedside and scrolling through your phone.

“You can take off your shoes, you know.” You comment as you pick up the plaid pants and massive sweatshirt you wear to sleep as well as your underwear.

“You are a sneaky one, you know.” He responds looking at you almost offended he didn't hear you exit the bathroom.

You chuckle at him and walk back inside the bathroom. The shower helps you calm your nerves, the man is in your bed, and he hasn't made any moves yet; probably because he is not into you, you need to humble yourself a bit. 

At some point you hear the doorbell and your stomach grumbles almost as a reaction. You quickly finish your shower, put on your clothes and walk back to the room. 

“Chinese?” You ask when you see the containers as he stays looking around. “Let me get the table out.”

You say winking at him when he looks at you confused and he gets even more confused when you kneel before him. You look up at him, laughing internally at what he must be thinking and then you get your nice arm under the bed and pull the foldable table under it. You take it out and with a shake, you unfold it, take your seat on the bed in front of the table and tap the bed next to you. “Have a seat.”

He sits next to you, his thigh pressed against yours and he takes the container out of the bags opening them. 

After a little, you decide to finally talk about the elephant and the room and ask: “So, did you just drop by in hopes I would invite you to dinner or do you actually have a mission today, Ghost?”

“Oh, yeah, about that. I actually had two missions today.” He says pulling his mask up so he can eat. You try not to stare at the little skin showing, but you quickly notice the stubble on his jaw. Blonde. “First one, finding out we're the girl from the captain's office was. That one was easy, thankfully cause the captain was freaking out. And the second one, figuring out why she left. That one is still ongoing.”

“And if the captain was freaking out why is it you the one that's on my house?” You ask looking at your plate, curious enough to ask but not brave enough to look.

“Cause he was scared the reason you ran away, was because of him or something he did. So he didn't want to make it worse.” He answers simply, you can feel his eyes on you. He bends down a bit to be able to see your face and ask. “Is that why you ran?” You shake your head. “Then why? It looks like you had fun.” 

You turn to him with furrowed eyebrows and notice that he is looking at your neck, you remember the lovebites and quickly try to cover them with your hand. 

“It was just…” you sigh. “I know when I am no longer wanted, and rather than make it awkward by making him drive me back or having to say bye I just… got out before he woke up.” 

“Hm, I still think you should talk to him. I’m pretty sure he wouldn't agree with you with the ‘not being wanted’ thing” He says doing quotation marks with a hand and taking his phone out to send a message with the other.

“He doesn't even know my name. Neither do you.” You almost mumble. I’m just another one on the list, you think. “I think he will be just fine.”

He winces as if he was in pain and says. “You a tough one, birdie.” He cleans off the rest of his plate and stands up. “You don't know my name either and you don't see me throwing a hissy fit.”

“I'm not throwing a hissy fit.” You say rolling your eyes.

“Did you… Did you just roll your eyes at me, birdie?” He says moving the table and standing between your legs. “Now that” He says pointing at your face. “That's a brat move.”

“I'm not a brat!” You try to defend yourself standing up, but as quickly as you get on your feet, Ghost manhandles you to be laying down on your stomach. He sits on top of your ass immobilising your hips and grabs your arm putting them behind your back leaving you unable to move. “Ghost, what the fuck?!”

“Language.” He says and you feel a hard slap land on your ass cheek making you yelp. “Are you going to behave or should I teach you a lesson, birdie?”

“What? What are you talking about? Get off me.” You mumble squirming under him.

“No, I don't think I will until you learn.” He chuckles as he begins to grind against your ass. He bends down to talk to up to your ears. “You should be grateful, that I found you and not Price. Do you know what he would have done if he found out you got back, walking, alone, in the middle of the night?” Three more hard smacks land on the same cheek when he sits up. “And that alone, without talking about the fact you were missing a shirt. And didn't even say goodbye. Not a phone number, not a name, nothing.” He lands two more on the same cheek and an even harder one on the other cheek. Leaving your arse burning and you wouldn't be surprised if it bruised, but still, the most surprising thing about the situation is that you can feel your underwear sticking to your cunt.

You truly are learning about yourself these days. 

He grabs two handfuls of the meat of your arse, pushing your cheeks together as he grinds with a grunt. Then he lets go, you hear the unmistakable sound of his belt being undone and it sends anxiety up your column. He must sense it because he says: “Calm down, birdie. I'm not giving you my cock until you beg for it, and only if you deserve it. And trust me, you don't.” 

He takes his belt off, aligns your forearms and ties them together behind your back. 

“Are you going to talk to Price? You can still leave unscattered.” He asks, putting his hands beside your head and leaning in to be closer to your face.

You look back at him from over your shoulder, face still push against your mattress, and try to look offended by how easily he got you tied, immobilised and horny. “I don't know.”

He makes the sound of a buzzer, like in the contest when they answer wrong. “Not what I want to hear, birdie.”

His index finger hooks the waistband of your pyjama pants as well as your panties, right above your ass and he pulls them down slowly. You hear him whistle as he pulls them down, feeling the cold hair of the room against your skin and against your glistering cunt. “I think I'm going to start by the desert tonight.”

He lands a loud smack on your naked arse, and when you try to complain, the sound gets strangled into a moan when you feel his tongue against your puckering hole. Getting your ass eaten by the mysterious masked man was not on your plans for tonight, but you are not complaining. 

You moan against the mattress, biting the sheets to try and conceal the sounds leaving your mouth. Your consolation, is the fact that you can feel Ghost moan against your skin, the vibrations travelling up to your nape giving you goosebumps. 

He gets his hands under your hips pulling them up, leaving you completely exposed. Ass up, face down, arms tied and knees together by your pants. He pulls back for a second to admire his job, you look already ruined and it's been less than a couple of minutes. 

You await, expectant, his next move, every single thought that was on your mind about how you should push him away and stand your ground, is silenced by the feral voices of your mind scratching the walls with the need for his mouth to be back on you.

“Look at you, birdie. Such a good girl all of a sudden. You are not a brat, you just need that attitude fuck out of you, right, doll?” He asks massaging your waist with both hands. 

“Fuck you.” You mumble, and Ghost lands a slap right to your cunt making you scream and arch your back to find distance from him.

“Language, birdie!” He says chuckling, amused with the situation. “C’mon, play nice, love. Are you going to talk to Price?”

His finger starts to travel up and down your slit, collecting the juices flooding from your cunt. He teases your entrance without getting inside.

“No.” You declared, tired of being played with.

“No?” He ask genuinely surprised. “Oh, I think you will.” He lands another hard slap on your pussy, right on your clit, and position his fingers so that when you arch your back again, you fuck yourself right into his finger. A loud moan escaped your lips at the sudden intrusion.

He raises his hand up to your nape, grabs your hair in a handful and pulls lifting your head off the bed. “I wanna hear you sing, birdie.” His fingers begin to move inside and out of your cunt making you groan softly, raising in volume as his tongue finds her way back to your ass.

You can feel his drool drip down your ass to where his finger is fucking your pussy, only adding to the mess. He uses the knuckle of his middle fingers to brush against your clit making you mewl and causing him to chuckle again. He can feel you clenching around his finger, and he pulls back to ask again. “Are you going to talk to Price?”

“No, fuck, no I won't.” You scream back. And immediately you wish you didn't. Ghost draws his finger back, and remains holding your head but otherwise untouched.

“Wrong answer again, doll. C’mon, tell me what I want to hear and I'll give you what want to get. Are you going to talk to Price?” He asks. “No!” You answer, and the hardest slap to date lands on your ass making you cry out in pain. “Last chance, birdie. Are you going to talk to Price?” He asks again.

You bite your lip, an inner battle going inside your mind. The stubbornness in you taking the lead, not even being reasonable, just stubborn. Another hit snaps you out of it. “Shit! Fine! Whatever, I'll talk to him.” 

“Good girl, birdie.” He grumbles against your ear as his fingers start to piston in and out of your cunt, the sting of the stretch by the second finger completely buried under the waves of pleasure. He keeps whispering pure filth onto your ears, unable to hear him over the ring of your ears caused by the stimulus on your weak point.

You feel drool drip down your chin into the sheets, but you can only focus on the tight knot inside your body. It's unfair how easy it seems to be for these men to make you come undone with barely touching you, it makes you think about those mediocre ex-lovers who would put the blame on you for taking so long to cum. Fuck them, these men, Kyle, Price and Ghost had you coming in minutes without even taking off their clothes.

Ghost brushed his knuckles against your clit again, and you can only moan his name before you are gushing over his hand. He helps you ride out your orgasm and slowly draws back his fingers. 

He stands up chuckling softly, you hear him walk into the bathroom, you hear the faucet open and close and then hear him walk back.

You feel the cold wet towel between your legs and it makes you jump off the surprise. “Sorry, you spend all the warm water, doll.” He says still snickering. He drops the towel on the table, pulls your underwear and pants up, takes his belt back and lies next to you caressing your hair. “Solid, birdie?”

You shake your head. “Pretty sure I'm liquid now, Ghost” You say absent-mindedly and rub your eyes as you yawn. He may have fingered the attitude out of you, but he also fuck the energy out.

“I think it's time for me to leave, thank you for the dinner, birdie. And for the desert.” He says, smiling at you. He lands a peck on your temple and stands up. “Lock your door when I leave. And talk to Price.”

When he turns his back at you, you roll your eyes standing up as well to close the door. He turns on his heels and looks down on you. “And don't roll your eyes at me, birdie. Don't give me an attitude. Lock the door.” He says and lights a cigarette as he makes his way out of the building. 

While you're are cleaning everything, tidying your room, getting ready to get into your bed when you get a message from a contact that is just a skull emoji. 

💀: Lock the door, birdie.

That's what you get for trusting him with you phone to order food.

“So she didn't say why?” Price asks Simon as he sits in the booth at the pub.

The both of them met there, a pub close to your house, Price too anxious to wait to get back to base to find out about Ghost’s discoveries.

“Negative.” Ghost answers setting the pints down. “She did make a great point, Captain.”

“Which is?” Price ask expecting

“We don't even know her name. Well, we do because of the background check we did to find her, but any of us have asked her.” Ghost responds. “And I thought you were the less hotheaded of the team, Captain.”

Ghost shakes his head as he laughs.

“Maybe try to talk to her when you are not saving her life? Maybe she will feel less overwhelmed then.” Ghost says taking his phone out to check his messages when he notices the vibrations. “Talking about the little bird.”

🐦: I told you I locked the dor

🐦: door*

💀: Awesome

🐦: ?

🐦: Go away, Ghost

💀: What are you talking about, birdie?

🐦: Stop messing with my door, I'm trying to sleep, you weirdo.

💀: It's not me.

💀: Are you sure it's your door and not your neighbours?

🐦: what neighbour?

💀: You and the terrorist are the only tenants on the building?

🐦: STOP MESSING WITH THE DOOR 

🐦: You are giving me the deposit money if you break it.

💀: I'm not at the door.

💀: Birdie?

💀: Don't ghost me now.

💀: Not on purpose.

💀: Birdie?

Ghost knit his brows at the lack of messages and look up to Price who seems lost in thought. “Maybe we need to save her again, Price. Your heart to heart talk will have to wait.”

7 minutes.

That's all it takes for Ghost and Price to reach your building. Guns in hands as soon as they saw your apartment door busted open.

Price felt his heart sink at the possibility of your being hurt, because of him and his inability to treat you the way he should. Waking up alone didn't hurt as much, he hadn't slept that good in who knows how long, and it was all thanks to the warmth of your body pressed against his.

So now, that only now has he found this comfort, the thought of it being ripped away from him before he could mend his error, was truly heartbreaking.

The nice thing about your house being this small, is that there is not a corner that remains unchecked. And still, you are nowhere to be seen.

But your flat is a mess. The dishes are broken all over the hall and kitchen floor, the fridge is leaning against the wall obviously having been pushed, your clothes are thrown all over the place, your mattress is cut out it's inside thrown around, your clothes mixing with the rest of the mess on the floor, and your wall…

“You will pay for your actions, whore.”

Can be read on the wall, big letters occupying the whole wall.

Your TV is missing, only the metal skeleton that holds it to the wall it's on is place. And your window is busted, that's when he sees it, a chair. On your balcony, as if it was used by somebody to jump.

Price walks up to the balcony so fast, Ghost grabs his shirt unsure of the Captain's plan. “She probably jumped to the apartment next door, Captain. Let's check it.” The younger says to try and calm the Captain. He nods and they both make their way to the apartment next door.

It is just as destroyed as yours, but still, no sign of you. They make their way back to your apartment and Price sits down burying his face on his hands.

Ghost takes out his phone again and he calls you, anxious waiting for you to pick up. But you don't, instead, a silly music begins to sound from under your bed. Tranquillity floods their senses, only for it to be destroyed when the only thing they find is your phone under your bed.

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Where are you?” Ghost asks out loud.

THUMD

Both men whip their to the sound, and come face to face with your closet. Now, one of the things you like about your flat, is the closet. Built into the wall. With a ridiculously small space on top of it.

Both men look astonished, as a hand starts to crawl his way out of the false ceiling of the closet. You pop your head next, and when you confirm is the two men and not whoever entered your house just a couple of minutes ago, you start to bawl your eyes out.

When you heard the people force their way into your house, you automatically got yourself into the space on the false ceiling in your closet. You stayed there, contorted into yourself and used every ounce on yourself to not make a noise. 

You heard how they rampaged your little home, how they screamed, how they destroyed everything.

It was merely a couple of seconds, but it felt like hours. And when you heard them come back for a second time, you were certain they would hear the beat of your heart. Until you hear what sounded like the sweetest desert on the universe, Ghost's voice, asking where you were.

The sheer fear that just saved your life, now turned you into a sobbing mess of tears and drool as you melt onto Ghost's arms once he holds you.

You feel Price's hand rubbing your back as he kisses your shoulder shushing you.

“It's all right, darling. We are here now. You are safe. No one is going to get to you now.”

Hii! 💗

Hoped you liked the new chapter, reader collecting these men like they are pokemon hehe wish that was me

Taglist: @pagesfalling @thevoidwriting @darkangel4121 @tf141glory @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @ghostlythots @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @xinyiline

[charlesleclerc2003]

More love than one person can give

Pair: John Price + poly!141 x f!reader

CW: established relationships (with John), angst (at the begining), oral (f!recieving), fingering, group sex, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, cum play, soft and tender, unedited.

Summary: You always thought you were hard to love because you needed too much attention. Your relationship with John was the best thing that ever happened to you, but he, too, noticed that you needed more. You were terrified that he would leave you like everyone else, unable to satisfy your insatiable hunger for love, but he had a better solution.

Word count: 2,535.

A/n: Hi there! Last night I couldn’t sleep, I was overwhelmed by bad thoughts and loneliness. My hands reached for the phone, and I wrote this, falling asleep in the process. Written in the moment, unedited (read as is at your own risk). Please, enjoy!

“It’s okay, birdie,” he purrs in your ear, cradling you in his arms. “You just need a lot of love. More than one person can give.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Here we go again. You need too much. You’re too clingy. You demand too much attention. You’re too much. You don’t let him breathe. He’s tired of you. He wants to leave you.

You start to cry, your shoulders shaking slightly. You wanted to take this hit like a strong girl. But this isn’t the first time.

How many were there? You’d like to say that you don’t remember, but that’s not true. You remember them all. You remember every one of them. 

You remember the euphoria of the beginning of the relationship. When everything was good and your clinginess still seemed as cute, not suffocating. Remember how they gradually began to distance themselves from you, because you became too much. How anxiety covered you, how you suppressed the urge to text, to call, to meet. How you smiled and said you understood when they rescheduled or cancelled dates. When they turned their backs on you right after sex. When they sent you home without even letting you shower. When they suddenly blocked you on all social media, changed their phone numbers, one even moved.

Because you need more love than one person can give.

You loved John. You loved everyone you'd ever dated, deeply and sincerely, but John was special. You'd been together for 8 months, the longest relationship you’ve ever had. And you still hadn't felt that creeping sense of anxiety.

He was perfect. So patient with you, so gentle. He couldn't stop smiling the moment he saw you. He couldn't keep his hands off of you when you were around, he had to touch you all the time.

You were walking down the street? His hand is on the small of your back. You were sitting at a bar? His hand is on your shoulder. You were sitting on the couch at home watching TV? His hand is squeezing your thigh.

It was hard when he was away on duty. Usually you couldn't keep in touch at all. Oh, how he comforted you for hours before leaving. Wiped your tears away with his big, calloused fingers while you sat in his lap. Words of love, though not very elegant, but simple and sincere, fell from his lips in a gentle whisper, and you only sobbed softly, trying to absorb his scent and his warmth.

He showed you what it meant to be loved. Made you believe that you deserved it. And now he was going to leave you.

Because you need more love than one person can give.

His words still ring in your ears and you do not hear another word that he says.

You return to reality only when he picks you up in his arms and carries you into the living room, where, as you knew, his teammates were still watching TV. Three strong, good guys whom John invited to stay at your house for a few days, immediately after returning from deployment.

You reflexively grab the blanket off the bed, covering your nakedness, as Price stands up with you in his arms; you’ve just finished your first round of passionate lovemaking. You’re his birdie, and you’ve missed each other.

Ignoring your feeble attempts to resist, he carries you into the living room. Your guests are lounging on the couch in front of the TV. Three heads turn in your direction, and the conversation stops. Embarrassed, you hide your face in the crook of John’s neck, pulling the blanket up higher.

John sits down in the chair opposite the couch and strokes your back, saying,

“Yes, birdie, you need more love than one person can give. And I know what we can do about it. We just need more people, right? So you can get all the attention, love, and care you need.”

You can't believe your ears, your heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes wide with surprise. Is he telling you to..? With his teammates..?

“Don't be afraid, birdie. I'd trust these guys with my own life. They'll take good care of you. Johnny?”

You're still hiding your face, but you hear the sofa creak as MacTavish stands up. You hear the hollow thud of his footsteps on the floor. He stops right next to you: you can feel the heat radiating of his body.

John turns your lower half so that it's facing forward as much as possible, with your face pressed against his neck. The blanket you were covering yourself with flies off to the floor, and you're sitting completely naked in front of three men you're not in a relationship with. He runs his big, hot hands up your thighs, pressing gently, spreading your legs.

“Come on, birdie, don’t be shy.”

But you can’t! You squeeze your thighs together, squeezing his palm.

Oh, what a storm of emotions is happening in your head right now. Shock, fear, horror, anger! But the only voice in your mind that really hits you is the voice of hope. What if John is right? What if one person, even someone like John Price, is never gonna be enough for you? What if you just need more? Like not one, but four people? Four big, muscular men with the most dangerous job in the world that have probably broken each of them in their own way? What if you are the glue that puts them back together? The glue that will forge their bonds on a new level? What if they can pour enough love into the bottomless vessel of your heart to keep it constantly filled?

“Birdy, I can make that decision for you if you want,” John whispers in your ear. “One nod from you and we’ll make it look like I made you do it and forced you. Like you didn’t want it. So you could shift all the responsibility onto me. Do you want it? Nod. And I’ll do it.”

You hesitate for only ten seconds, and then nod a few times.

John smirks, and his palm immediately presses on your thighs, spreading your legs wide. He holds your hips so that you can’t bring them together, and you’re grateful to him for that. It wasn’t you who seriously wanted other men to see your most intimate parts. It wasn’t you who wanted them all to take you. To love you all together… You’re not some kind of slut. No. It was John who made you do it all, your boyfriend. He’s the villain in this story, not you.

You shudder when Johnny’s hot breath touches your pussy, still sensitive and wet from your round with John. Now you understand why Price decided to use a condom, even though you said you were on the pill.

You feel John nod as if giving permission, and the next second you can't think about anything else except the fireworks of sensations between your legs. Johnny eats you out like a man starved man. Sloppily he's making out with your cunt, gives her some chaste kisses, passionate licks and devastatingly strong sucks. His fingers find a way into your hole and you clench desperately around them, getting closer and closer to your peak embarrassingly fast.

You can't help but moan, forgetting that four pairs of eyes are watching you right now.

John massages your breasts, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers, and whispers dirty little things in your ear.

“Come on, honey, look at him. Johnny is trying so hard for you. Won't you at least give him a look?” John whispers. “He has such beautiful eyes, come on, look.”

And you obediently peel yourself off his neck and cast a bashful glance between your legs. The sight that opens up takes your breath away, and a shiver runs through your body.

Johnny really does have very beautiful eyes. Especially when they’re clouded with desire and pleasure. His head as a whole looks amazing, clamped between your lush thighs.

You glance at the couch, where Simon and Kyle sit not taking their eyes off you, squeezing themselves through their pants.

You cannot sit still and fidget, trying to either get away from the touches, or take control into your own hands and grind on Johnny's face yourself. Price has to hold you tight, pressing his palm on your tummy.

You moan loudly and awkwardly wave your hands, not knowing where to put them. With his free hand, John takes your palm in his and places it on Johnny's head.

“Don't be shy, birdie. Show him how good you feel. Johnny is a very strong boy, he won't break if you grab him by the hair and press him to your pussy while you cum. He'll even like it. He'll like it a lot.”

In response, Johnny only purrs contentedly, as if confirming the captain's words, increasing the pressure of his touch.

Not even a minute passes before the first wave of orgasm crushes you. You tremble and rest your palm on Johnny's forehead, who has not reduced the intensity of his caresses one bit. And only when the overstimulation is about to turn into pure pain, he finally lets you go.

You squeeze your thighs tightly and clasp Price around the neck, trying to come to your senses. He strokes your back and whispers all sorts of tenderness to you.

He whispers what a good girl you are. How smart you are for listening to him. How nicely you cumed. How proud he is of you.

“Birdy, give Johnny a kiss. He deserves a good kiss for his efforts.”

Without fully realizing who or where you are, you turn to Johnny, who, licking his lips, wet with your juices, moves closer to your face and kisses you passionately, shamelessly attacking your mouth with his tongue, leaving your own taste on your tongue. The kiss intoxicates you and you respond with fervor. When the kiss finally breaks, you go limp in John’s arms, your eyes tiredly closed.

“Simon, come here, please.”

“Yes, sir,” comes from the couch.

Simon, the behemoth of a man, scoops you up in his arms, and you reflexively wrap your legs around him, hanging on him, like koala hang on the trunk of a eucalyptus tree.

He holds you surprisingly careful, as if by accident touching your temple, wet with sweat, with his lips.

He carries you into the bedroom and lays you down on the bed, when everyone else enters the room after him.

Simon lies down next to you on the right, and Kyle lies down on the left. Together they kiss you in turns, their hands sliding over your body, exploring it, looking for your most sensitive spots. And all this, while Johnny climbs onto the bed after you, settling between your legs, and Price sitting comfortably in the chair in the corner, lighting a cigar.

Johnny was first. He mercilessly pounded into your body, constantly losing the rhythm. He was so vocal too. He puffed, whined, moaned, purred, almost howled with pleasure. He came quickly. Before he could pull out, you could already feel his hot seed leaking out of you and soaking the sheets under your ass.

Then he and Kyle switched places.

Oh, Kyle… He was in no hurry, enjoying your body as if it were an exquisite dish, served and presented exclusively for him. From your neck to your heels, he covered your body with kisses and every third one left a hickey on your skin. His hands slid after his lips, squeezing softly, stroking tenderly. You even thought that Kyle probably knew better than anyone how to give a real massage.

First, he made you cum on his fingers. And only then did he finally take you. He didn’t take a high tempo and didn’t try to forcefully fuck the soul out of you. He moved smoothly, as if even slowly, gracefully. He kept you on the edge, skillfully controlling the angle, depth and speed of his thrusts. And only when you started begging, only when tears started streaming down your cheeks - only then did he take pity on you and let you cum.

Simon was last. And you realized pretty quickly why he was last. He was the biggest. Even in your already fucked, wet from lube and cum hole, he squeezed in with difficulty. His cock stretched you to the limit. Just one more millimeter in diameter, you thought, and he would tear you in half.

“Shhh, birdie, I know, I know,” he murmured soothingly in your ear, when all you could do was whine pitifully:

“It's too big, it won't fit.”

He made it fit though. He sculpted your insides in the shape of his cock. And when he was done with you, it seemed to you that your soul left your body.

You were a mess. And a mess there was between your thighs. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembled, your cunt throbbed in agony of mixed pain and pleasure. You were barely conscious at this point, a complete blabbering mess.

Two strong bodies on either side, one at your feet, three pairs of hands caressing your exhausted form, holding your legs wide apart so that John could clearly see how the mix of theirs spent flows out of your reddened swollen hole.

Price admires the view for a couple of minutes until you come to your senses, and when your breathing evens out a little, he gets up from the chair and climbs onto the bed too, moving on top of you like a predator on its prey. He catches your bitten lips with his own and drinks you greedily through a kiss.

You whine pitifully as, without breaking the kiss, he dips his hand between your legs, catching the seed that flows out of you and pushing it back inside. Sticky drops still seeping out and running down his fingers onto the sheets. Price clicks his tongue in displeasure and lowers his pants.

“Guess I have to plug you up myself.”

You whine loudly as he penetrates your body, entering you all the way to the base in one smooth motion. He sinks his full weight onto you, and you gasp softly at the force with which he presses you into the mattress.

“Atta girl,” he says, covering your shoulders and neck with kisses, his voice full of rapture. “So good for me. So good for us. So precious. You can take our love all at once, birdie. Bask in it. Take it all and be greedy for more. You will never feel lonely ever again. You have us all. We are all here just for you, you hear me? You are not too much to love, birdie. You just need more love than one person can give. And now you have four.” 

You sob at his words, your weak arms wrapping around his neck as all four of them kiss you, stroke you, caress you, and hug you from all sides. In this living cocoon, tired but full, you finally fall asleep.

Call of Duty Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Don't forget to leave a comment, if you enjoyed the work! Feedback keeps your fav writers alive and motivates to write more! (´• ω •`) ♡

[charlesleclerc2003]

Guardian Bot (8)

WC: 1k words Warnings: Future AU. Robot Cas. Unhealthy relationships. Vaginal fingering. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasms. Possessive sex. Degrading kink. Fluff.

You opened your eyes in a bit of a rush.

Oh, you were late. Fuck, you were so late.

"It's six in the morning, miss," Castiel held your middle.

"It's Monday," you huffed.

"And you are on vacation," he hummed, nosing your neck, hand caressing your middle.

Oh. You were, weren't you?

"But now that you're awake," he pushed his thigh between yours. "Good to start early, uh?"

You felt a buzz between your legs and gasped.

Oh, God. That too.

You closed your eyes, feeling them still heavy now that the panic of being late left you, and squirmed. The toy wasn't in a high setting, but your body still squirmed in pleasure, sensitive.

Fuck, Castiel had fucked you the whole night.

"Already?" you yawned.

"Is my sweet slut tired?" he caressed your cheek.

You nodded.

"Sorry..."

Castiel cooed, kissing your cheek.

"My sweet miss," he hummed. "So sleepy. Do you want me to take care of you?"

You felt your cheeks hot, blushing at the thought, and Castiel moved his hand between your legs as the vibrator got a little faster inside you.

“I’ll touch this pretty clit,” he hummed, tapping on it. “Get this vibrator a little faster in your sloppy cunt…”

You closed your eyes, squirming and fighting sleep.

“Don’t even need to keep your eyes open,” he kissed your neck. “I’ll take care of you, it’s I’m I’m made for…”

You blushed more.

Oh, it was so embarrassing.

“Cas,” you whined.

He rubbed your clit, rolling it and making you whimper.

“My poor little slut,” he cooed. “So needy and so shy… you need me so much, don’t you, baby?”

You let the movement rock you softly into a dazed state, not too sleepy but not awaken either.

“Yes,” you sighed.

“There you go, sweet slut,” he hummed. “Just let me make you feel good. I do that perfectly, don’t I? I know everything about you, I know what’s good for you.”

He kissed down your neck, sucking a mark on your skin.

Not that you cared.

“You’ve been in control for too long,” he rocked your hips slowly. “Let me guide you, pamper you and love you. Let me do everything, you just take it, baby.”

You couldn’t answer, pleasure and exhaustion just making you feel a little bit hypnotised.

“Gonna give you everything you need,” he nosed your neck. “You’re just going to be my pet slut, and I’ll take care of your needs,”

You moaned softly at the promise.

Your trance was almost stunted when a loud ring came from your phone.

Castiel growled.

“Your brother.”

“Which one?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he rubbed your clit harder., voice cold. “They so the same thing. Whine and complain, all for your attention, always taking and taking, never being nice  with you.”

You squirmed.

“Cas,” you yawned, pushing yourself to wake up.

The phone stopped ringing and held pined you down a little bit.

“They just want to use you,” he kissed your cheek. “Never caring about you, never caring about your feelings.”

His kisses were so soft, and even though he was holding you down, it felt more like a weight blanket, just comfortable and warm, and your energy was quite to deplete.

“Just ignore them,” Castiel hummed, rocking you softly. “Stay here. Stay with me. It’s safer and nicer.”

The knot in your belly tightener as you felt yourself once again rocked closer to the edge.

It was much nicer to be with him, wasn’t it? To be with him, to let him care for you.

“I’ll be your career, your lover and your family,” he promised. “You can work for home, you don’t need anything else.”

You hesitated.

“Cas,” you squirmed.

“Shh,” he cooed you, finger merciless. “Don’t you want to be my good little slut?”

“Yes,” you whined.

“We can do this every day,” he hummed. “Take little breaks, and I’ll be with you the whole day. Don’t you want it?”

You squirmed.

“Yes.”

“Then no more thoughts, okay?” he whispered into your ear. “Trust In me.”

Castiel’s other hand found your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, puling and pinching.

“You don’t need to think,” he cooed. “No brain, baby, you don’t need it anymore. I’ll do the thinking.”

You nodded, whimpering a little.

“Please,”

“You wanna cum?” he cooed. “Wanna give up on your little brain, just be my little pet?”

Yes, you would love that. To not worry or stress or think anymore.

Just be his, his little pet.

“Cas,” you whimpered.

“There you go,” he cooed. “Good girl, cum for me.”

You bit your lower lip, moaning as you went over the edge and came.

“So good,” he kissed your neck. “Good pet, good pet.”

You panted riding his thigh, and it was ever harder to keep yourself awaken as your body relaxed.

He didn’t stop, though, still moving and rubbing, and the vibrator buzzed more.

“More,” Castiel whispered. “Give me one more, little pet.”

You squirmed, overwhelmed.

“Shh, no need to shake yourself awaken,” he rocked your body slowly. “Just cum, my pet. You always cum so quickly, you can do it for me.”

He brushed your hair back, softly, and you could see stars behind your closed eyes.

“You don’t need to think, your body knows what it must do,” he assured you, soft and gentle, as if he wasn’t torturing you. “Just let that pretty brain leak down your cunt, you don’t need it. You just need me.”

You came again too soon, and Castiel kissed and rubbed you through it, slowing down when you leaned into his embrace, exhausted.

“Please,” you whined.

No more.

“Good pet,” he purred. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

He petted you a little more, but it was more soothing than teasing, until the vibrator stopped and his finger was just glazing your wet folds.

“Such a tired little pet,” he pulled his hand up, resting it on your belly. “Don’t worry you can sleep.”

You started drifting off almost immediately, as if he had some special power you didn’t know.

“There you go,” he spoke softly, almost to himself, as if he didn’t want you to hear it. “We have all week to train.”

But you didn’t care.

To be fully honest, you didn’t give a damn.

“Guardian Bot” is fully posted on my Patreon since 2022. To have early access to it now, along with other stories, consider subscribing to my page! It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it.

. . .

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Supernatural Kinky Fics (+18): @stoneyggirl2 @phoenixblack89 @that-dark-girl

[charlesleclerc2003]

Play Nice

Summary: The reader knows she’s in it when Michael grabs her off the street. What she doesn’t understand though is what he’s up to and why he’s so unusually kind at times…

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language, Michael being his usual creepy self

____

Keep reading

[charlesleclerc2003]

𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ saw this tt about how these two toddlers shared their dad's notoriously rough bed head and this post when i opened tumblr last night and had to write smth for it! sorry, for the baby content 💀 i'll get back to writing y'alls requests now xxx

the careful messiness of brunette curls has been charles’s signature hairstyle for ages. it suits him, and when paired with his dimples and green eyes—it’s no wonder why every italian and monegasque prays for his success on sundays. well, maybe bleeding rosso corsa and winning two championships driving the famed red car are the proper reasons.

if only they knew that the artful styling of his curls is nowhere to be found after he sleeps. when he wakes, his hair is in absolute disarray—the deep brown ringlets are clumped together as they stick straight upwards and yet they manage to point in every direction possible.

when you first moved in with charles, you convinced him to buy a satin pillowcase to combat the bed head. it didn’t help, and neither did the bonnets you tried to have him wear. no matter if the ties were knotted, buttoned, or even velcro-strapped tightly, the bonnet would end up by the foot of the bed and his hair was in it’s usual disordered state by the early morning hours.

so, your morning routine begins with taming charles’s severe case of bed head. he awakens slowly as your fingertips gently untangle the deep brown ringlets, moaning lowly and nudging his head into your hand like a large cat when your nails glide along his scalp. you carefully guide each curl back into their assigned positions, tutting disapprovingly at the one strand that never seems to stay in it’s place.

charles’s chest shakes with a chuckle at your slight irritation and he shifts to meet your eyes, tenderly directing your hands away from his now orderly hair to his lips, pressing kisses to your fingertips before pulling you forward to cuddle into his chest.

you didn’t expect to have to deal with more than one head of messy hair. unfortunately, it seems like your daughter inherited her father’s bed head.

your mornings now consist of charles climbing out of bed at the first crackle of noise through the baby monitor, rushing to scoop the 9-month-old from her nursery and have her join the two of you in bed. he crosses the doorway with your daughter cradled to his bare chest and leo yipping at his feet—she stares up at at him, a perfect reflection of the sea green pools of his eyes, the absence of a bonnet, and the chaotic sprawl of his brunette curls. you’ve never been bothered with the fact that she’s an exact replica of her father, as some tried to tease that your genes didn’t do more than deepen her complexion. however, you always joke back that it means that she’s been blessed to be as beautiful as charles is.

she coos and babbles up at her father and he dutifully responds in french as if he understands her baby gibberish. he sits in bed with her on his lap and she beams, her little arms and grabby hands reaching towards you. you smile back widely, stealing her from his lap and greeting your babygirl with a flurry of kisses pressed all over her cute little face. her giggles ring through the air as you pull backwards to watch her laugh and, there’s another trait she shares with her father; deep dimples decorate her chubby cheeks and you can’t help but press your thumb into them with adoration.

charles picks up his first baby, plopping the mini dachshund in bed, and leo bounds forward to press his own kisses to your daughter’s socked feet.

addressing charles’s wild bed head will have to wait as you settle her back in his lap. you rest your head on his shoulder, apologizing for interrupting the clearly important conversation the two were having. you start fixing the jumbled ringlets on her scalp with the softest touch of your digits and she nuzzles up into your hand the same way her father does. he continues from were he left off, asking your daughter if she thinks a one-stop strategy is too ambitious for the next race and she babbles back to him in reply.

charles nods in agreement, promising her that regardless of a one-stop or two-stop, he’ll bring back his third championship trophy for her.

© httpsserene - do not repost. photos in header from pinterest.

[charlesleclerc2003]

[charlesleclerc2003]

when i saw that drumeo interview thumbnail pic my brain immediately went 'birb' so here i am with a humble offering

[charlesleclerc2003]

Ahhhhhh it's better than I imagined well worth the wait 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨

Disease : paranoid ✦ cl16

summary: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

pairing: charles leclerc x assistant!reader

tags: fluff + angst?, caring charles (tiny bit) + comfort, bad thoughts.

# part one - next part [ series masterlist ]

Everything feels unreal. You're watching the mechanics work in the garage, and the only thing you can think is: has red always been such a pretty color?

It was the first race of the season, and you didn't have much to do yet, they told you that you just needed to make sure that Charles did everything that they asked him to do, and that was easy, thanks to him.

“Have you seen my notebook?" Charles asks as he looks around to see if he can catch a glimpse of the tiny notebook somewhere, you let out a chuckle, grab your purse from the floor and give him what he needs. 

“How is it that you always have everything I need?” he took the notebook from your hands and opened it “I try my best” he gave you a knowing look.

Charles still remembers the first time he saw you at the Ferrari headquarters in Maranello, you had just signed your contract with them and he had just been told that he had a new assistant. 

You were quite awkward and a bit clumsy when he first struck up a conversation with you. He learned that this was your first job, and he made a mental note to make you feel welcome, and also he didn't want you to leave him like the others. 

He tried his best to make you feel as comfortable as possible before the season started, he was patient and generally nice, which was what you really needed at that moment. 

When you made your first mistake and didn't tell Charles that he was supposed to be in a meeting, he took the blame and told Fred that it was his fault. 

You thought he would be angry, but he just said "It's okay, everyone makes mistakes" and in that moment you thank the angels for making him such a nice person. 

"Thank you, Mr. Leclerc" 

"None of that, we are a team you and I, if you ever need help just come to me." 

That was a month ago when you were still new and walking on eggshells trying not to make any mistakes, luckily you got better after all your final grade depended on it. 

"Have you eaten today?" Charles asks, handing his notebook back to you, just needed to check something he thought he should comment on the car in the next meeting they will have. 

"I haven't, but I was about to do so," you told him as you walked out of the garage with him beside you, trying your best not to look at him to see his face, which probably had a disappointed look on it. 

"I thought you said you already ate." 

"I did." 

"What did you have?" 

"Coffee," you mumble softly as you enter the Ferrari hospitality, "that's not food y/n," he scolds you again, you already lose count of how many times he does this.

Charles grabs a plate and starts to put different kinds of fruit on it, "you already ate," he nods, "This is for you," you try to grab the plate out of his hands, but he stretches his arm as high as he can to make sure you don't have a chance to grab it. 

"It's my food, let me grab what I want," he ignores you, grabs your wrist, and walks over to one of the tables. 

He pulls out a chair for you and you sit down, he puts the plate in front of you and sits across from you, motioning for you to start eating, which you do, but not before giving him the meanest look you can.

You take out your phone and play a YouTube video while you eat, it is a bad habit and Charles has told you several times but he still watches with you. 

When you put the phone at the right angle so that you and Charles can see the video without any problems, you notice that he is not watching.

“Mr. Leclerc" you called him but he didn't answer, you sighed softly, you know he heard you. 

"Charlie?" 

"Yes?"

"You have to stop doing that," he tilted his head as if he didn't know what you were saying, "I shouldn't call you that," "Why not?" "Because you're my boss.”

"There's nothing wrong with calling me that, besides it makes me feel old when you call me Mr. Leclerc."

"You are old" 

"I'm twenty-six." 

The look you gave him was enough to make a dramatic gasp come out of his mouth, you were already used to his tactics so you didn't apologize for calling him old. 

When the alarm on your phone went off, you grabbed it and stopped it before it could keep ringing, "Time to go, you have a meeting," you said as you handed him his notebook that he needed for to take notes. 

He gave you a quick thanks, but you grabbed him and raised your hand, he gave you a pout, but you shook your head at that, he took his phone out of his pocket and placed it in your hand, "it was worth the try," he muttered to himself. 

✦ ✦ ✦

While you were waiting for Charles' meeting to end, you took out your laptop and started to finish the assignment you were supposed to send for this month. 

You were quite happy when your professor told you that all you had to do was to send in a report on what you had done, the experience you had gained, and what you had become better at, for your monthly assignment. 

It was a pretty easy assignment since you were traveling around the world and learning things that you didn't even know existed, and since this was your first job, it was easier for you because you were learning a lot of new things. 

“Y/n?" You took your eyes off the computer and looked at the person calling your name, you tilted your head as if to ask if they needed anything but they shook their head and motioned with their hand towards the hospitality door. 

You quickly grab your things and walk to the door to greet your friend, "Did you see what Professor Brown posted in the announcements?" You shake your head and ask, "Is it something important?" "Depends, he wants us to take pictures of what we have been doing lately." 

It didn't sound too bad, if the assignments continued to be like this, you were pretty sure you'd get an easy A. 

"Did you do it?" You ask her, "I did," she nods, "but I came here to tell you because I know sometimes you don't check the announcements," you give her an embarrassed smile, "I'm not that bad," you mutter softly, and she gives you a look, which you shrug off. 

"Well, I'm going back, I'm pretty sure Lando is already out of control again, see you, take care," she gave you a quick hug before walking quickly towards the McLaren hospitality. 

You watched her go and sighed, taking your phone out of your pocket, ready to take some pictures to send with the assignment, "Hey, have you seen Andrea?" You jump a little at the voice next to you, "Don't do that, and yes he’s in your driver's room, are you okay? You've been acting weird since yesterday" you ask him with concern evident in your voice, but he quickly shrugs it off and tells you that he is fine. 

You make a mental note to ask him later. "I'm going to exercise, go to my driver's room if you need anything, okay?" You nod, take his phone out of your purse and hand it to him. 

He quickly says goodbye and walks away before you can say anything else to him, you have noticed that Charles has been acting strange since you arrived in Bahrain. 

You have been meaning to ask him about it, but every time you get the chance he seems to run away, which is so unlike him. 

You snap out of your thoughts and head back into the hospitality area, ready to take some pictures and send off the assignment. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Practice one is about to start and everyone is running around making sure everything is perfect. The only thing that seems not to be here is the driver. 

"Y/n, where is Charles?" Fred asks, you want to shrug your shoulders but then you remember that this is your job, and you should know where he is, you look at him and tell him you're going to get Charles, and he gives you a thumbs up.

You look for Charles everywhere, including his driver's room and the hospitality area. Has he left? You were pretty sure you saw him a few minutes ago.  

How can a person disappear so quickly? you even ask people from other garages and they haven't seen him. 

You tried to call him, but his phone was dead, it didn't even send you to voicemail. 

"Y/n!" You hear someone yell your name and quickly turn your head towards Carlos, he seems out of breath, and you can see his chest rising and falling faster than normal.

"Charles is in my driver's room, I don't know what happened," he said, but that was enough for you to start running towards the Ferrari driver's room. You still shouted a thank you to Carlos and that seemed to have caught the attention of other people who looked at you strangely.

But you did not care about that, you needed it to find Charles and to make sure that he was ready to get into the car. 

You reach the driver's room trying to catch your breath as much as you can, you probably look terrible with hair sticking in your face from how much you've been sweating, you want to kill him for making you suffer like this.

You were now outside Carlos' driver's door and you could hear soft mumbling, was he talking to himself?

You knocked softly on the door and waited for an answer, when you got none you decided to open the door. 

"Charles how can-" you couldn't continue as Charles was lying on the floor with his hands on his head rocking back and forth as if trying to calm himself down, your thoughts of scolding him left you just by seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

You walked as slowly as you could and bent down to his level. You grabbed one of his hands, and that was enough for him to look at you quickly. 

"I'm sorry - I can't, it's going to be like last year," he said quickly, you know from what you heard that last year was not a good one for Charles, the car didn't seem to work for him at all, you didn't know he was that affected by it, and now looking at him you didn't want him to feel that way. 

He's such an amazing person and always so happy and joking with you, but he was hiding a lot of things that had hurt him and you couldn't let that happen.

"Hey, you can do this, okay?" both your hands grab his face and you give him a tiny smile, "I can't..." you shush him and try to get as close to him as you can, were you allowed to hug him? You did not know, but at that moment he probably needed it. 

"Hey, those bad days don't define you, you're amazing and such a talented driver, last year the car wasn't good, let's leave that in the past, okay? This is a new opportunity and you're going to show everyone who Charles is, you're going to make them eat their words, so go and destroy them, champ". 

That seems to make Charles' worries melt away a bit, you told him to take a deep breath with you, and when you felt that he was better you slowly let him go. But that seems to be a wrong move, because when you do, Charles seems to look at you as if you took something away from him, but you ignored it. 

"Okay champ get up, time to make jaws drop with your amazing driving" you joked and you were quite happy because you could see the corner of his mouth move up a bit. 

"Thank you, Mon ange" 

"None of that, we are a team, you and I, remember?" 

He nodded and in that moment he let himself look at you while you smiled at him, he felt as if your smile had the power to melt away his worries leaving behind a feeling of peace, in that moment he was grateful for you, he took a deep breath and let it out, there was nothing to worry about.

He's pretty sure this season will go well with you by his side because you wouldn't leave him, would you?

Scuderia :: @evie-119 @tempo-rary-fix @spookystitchery @boiohboii @halleest @itsjustkhaos @aphroditeisamilf @vicurious28 @lozzamez3 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @heyheyheyggg @teamnovalak @fakeplastiqtree @michelleyw81 @lillyssh-tposts @these-books-are-ruining-my-life @kqliie @deliciousfestsalad @biitch-with-wifi @xohollie01 @charlesleclerc2003 @loloekie @elliegrey2803 @steamy-smoker @doesnt-care @delululeclerc @vip-access @theseerbetweenus @haikyuen @arian-directioner @marvelfangirl04 @melagem02 @rach3164 @zucchinimalfoy @scopeiguess @landoslutmeout @reiofsuns2001 @badussybumper @nixily @forevercaffeinated-lee @i-wish-this-was-me @gabys-gabs @entr4p3 @trouble-sistar @thef1diary @puttyly @solo2leo @f1and1d4eva @liliummz

Team radio: I hope you like! it I feel I could have done better but English is not my first language but I will do my best to improve, I will keep practicing and improving my writing every day.

[charlesleclerc2003]

Ahhhhhh this is soooo sweet I love it 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

a quick mafia!ghost x shy!reader drabble | fluff/comfort

It's two in the morning and your hands won't stop shaking.

White hot anxiety courses through your veins where it tingles across your skin and fingertips, making it impossible to hold the crayola markers well enough to do Simon's tattoos justice. Some old history documentary drones on the TV as you carefully color in the intricate designs that stain the expanse of his arms. Countless late nights at work have Simon well trained for staying up late, but you can tell by the bouncing of his leg that he's getting restless. His fingers itch for a late night smoke.

But this tension in your body is insatiable. It ruins your heart with voracious hunger that demands that you keep moving, keep moving, keep moving, because if you sit still, something might break. Something might shatter and tear you apart; laying you out for easy pickings.

Simon's hand reaches out to grab yours, ceasing your repetitive coloring. "Gonna run outta canvas soon, sweetheart."

"You've got another arm," you quip.

And he does. Two, professionally done sleeves make for quite the large showpiece, especially with arms as large as Simon's. But that's not what he's saying. Sizable fingers pry the marker out of your hand, something that you give into quite easily, and you eventually force your gaze to meet his. Fatigue mixes with concern in the deep brown of his eyes, and he discards the marker somewhere on the couch next to him before settling into the cushions and patting his lap.

"C'mere."

Ivory teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sheepishly straddle Simon's hips at his request. There is nothing but respect for you as his hands settle on your waist, bringing you closer to him.

"It's okay to stop," he tells you with a deep, velvet voice.

Your head shakes with a tremor. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, I just- it'll eat me if I don't feed it. I have to... focus on something. Anything else."

Simon pauses, eyelids fluttering in thought. He seems to decide on something as his hands quickly find yours and place them on his sternum, just above his heart. It dances underneath your palms, reverberating through your hands and along your arms, up until it makes way to your own heart. Your breath hitches at the strength of it.

"Focus on this," he urges.

So you do. Soft cheek presses into the fabric of his shirt as you re-situate yourself in his lap, hands feeling for his pulse and aching ears drowning in the sound. Strong, and now colorful, arms wrap around your waist as your eyes flutter shut. On the TV, a lioness feeds her cubs and grooms them with her spiky tongue with a purr. Two dangerous creatures, showing devotion to fragile creatures.

You count 43 heartbeats before you mess up and have to start over. Then 52. Then 15. Then, it's Simon's turn to count. Your breaths come further and further apart before they settle into a gentle snore. A kiss graces the top of your head before he leans back against the couch.

His fingers don't itch for a cigarette anymore. They never do when he's holding you.

[charlesleclerc2003]

Mr. Worldwide