gloomwitchwrites

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 with an artist SO?

Gaz who finds little pieces and smudges of clay all over the house. Your pottery studio might be a room in your home, but you have a knack for bringing it into the rest of the house. Gaz will touch a door handle or go to open the fridge and find smudges of wet clay on his hand. He never disturbs you while you’re working, but you also tend to get lost in your work, staying in your studio for hours without a break. He might bring you food or a refill on your tea, but he makes sure you find some time for yourself.

Soap who adores your paintings so much he tells everyone he meets how amazing you are. Does some random stranger want to view your entire collection on his phone? Probably not. But Soap is going to show them anyway! He’s always buying you supplies off your wishlist and then getting extra of stuff you don’t need just because he can. He loves sitting in your studio with you, watching you work, admiring how your brushes move across the canvas.

Price who has a studio built for your art. You don’t work with watercolors or oils. You work with glass, creating everything from small pieces you sell to average people to massive sculptures that sit in galleries and hotel lobbies. Glass is delicate and needs plenty of space. Price knows how badly you’ve needed your own studio instead of renting space to complete your work. It’s a gift as much as an investment.

Ghost who brings back little trinkets for you to use in your art. You’re a multimedia and sculpture artist, building art from whatever you can find. You spend a lot of time foraging and salvaging things that other people might discard. Ghost, who supports you in everything, always brings things back to you. Most of it isn’t very useful, but you appreciate it anyway. In every art piece, there is something of him in it.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

141 with a reader that’s a party girl/goes clubbing often🙏🙏🙏 I love your writing

Gaz isn’t the type to stay home while you’re out. He’s just as much the partier as you are. These weekend rituals are his favorite, spending time together selecting coordinating outfits, taking the time to make sure you both are the best dressed at the club. You want to dance all night, and Gaz wants to be right there with you, swaying to the music, holding you close, buzzing on alcohol. Then after it’s all done, and the two of you go home, working out all that lingering euphoria in bed is the perfect ending to a long night out.

Soap is like a sad puppy when you go out to the clubs. It’s not that he hates your lifestyle, he only hates being left behind. While Soap enjoys getting absolutely pissed at the pub, clubbing isn’t his thing. Doesn’t mean he won’t trail behind. Soap may trust you, but he doesn’t trust anyone else. He won’t go alone though. He’s calling Ghost, and then Gaz if Ghost isn’t available. You won’t have a clue that Soap is in the club with you, silently telling himself he’s simply being protective.

Price rarely stays up when you go out with your friends. He knows the routine, and he prefers to rest when he’s on leave. You’re responsible, and he can trust that you’ll make it home okay, but he also knows when you come home. You attempt to be sneaky, but you’re louder than you think, and you always crawl into bed to snuggle up to him, making Price the little spoon. He always verbally complains that you’re disturbing his beauty sleep, but he actually loves it.

Ghost never puts up a fuss about your clubbing habits. He relishes the time you take picking out an outfit, styling your hair, and doing your makeup. Some days, when you select a particularly short dress, Ghost can’t help but take advantage to satiate the constant hunger he has for you. He’s confident in your loyalty and love for him. Ghost isn’t worried about you, but of others trying to move in on what belongs to him. Think he isn’t watching? Guess again. Ghost knows your haunts—where you frequent the most. He has direct access to those cameras, love.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

I swear not a naughty one but I love your writing and takes so

Part one, demanding the boys lay on your that extra warm weighted blanket squish

Part two, same shit but demanding to lay on the boys because you can be a good weighted blanket to!!

I could make this naughty (but I was good and controlled myself)

Gaz eases onto his knees before stretching out over you, tucking his arms at your sides to do more of a cuddle/squish. Always gentle and careful with you. When you demand to be the weighted blanket, Gaz immediately has his arms outstretched and wiggling with eagerness.

Soap takes a running leap before throwing himself at you. He won’t flop onto you (because he doesn’t want to hurt you) but next to you before snatching you up. When you demand to be the weighted blanket, Soap scoops you up, and while you’re in his arms, falls onto his back with you atop him.

Ghost will absolutely become a dead weight and fall on you. When you demand to be the weighted blanket he accepts, tolerates it for about five minutes, and then promptly flips your over to make himself the weighted blanket.

Price becomes the weighted blanket with a groan and a mumble about his “bad back.” When you demand to be the weighted blanket, Price accepts with a groan and a mumble about his “bad back.” (He’s an old man, okay!)

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Another delicious update (dwnt) 🤩🤩 the territorial behaviour??? 💯 in love. and i’m so glad we finally got to hit a nerve.

Careful, anon. Not everyone is up-to-date on Dog with No Teeth.

Chapter Eight is now live on AO3

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello Poppy!!! I have a request please if thats okay!

The other night my sister was telling me a story, the details of which are not important; but the jist of it is that someone was being disrespectful to her and she shut it down. But while she was telling the story, she looked at me and said "im glad you werent there because you would have been making that face the whole time" 🤣🤣🤣 the face in question was one of absolute puzzlement and disgust (a la Zendaya in that one scene of Challengers)

Anyway, it got me thinking (as i so often do) about the 141 with a partner who CAN NOT keep a poker face. Somebody says some fuckshit, everyone knows they fucked up just by the facial expression. The epitome of "if looks could kill"

I'm absolutely the same way. I cannot keep a neutral expression to save my life lmao

Gaz loves that you cannot keep a straight face around anything or anyone. Nothing makes him smile more than seeing your passive expression become one of utter bafflement. It’s why he loves going to events and functions with you or spilling the social work tea over dinner. The two of you can sit in the back, listening and watching other people acting like todgers, sharing in the mutual bafflement.

Soap is perfectly fucking giddy to let you off your leash. At the pub, the alcohol always gives the tension a little boost, but when someone bumps into Soap, and instead of apologizing, wants to start a fight, the look on your face is priceless. Soap will stay silent and smiling, allowing you to use that facial expression and gorgeous mouth to come to his defense. If they decide to turn their entitlement on you, it’ll be the all clear he needs to throw a fist.

Ghost sees you over the wanker’s shoulder that’s talking his ear off. The bloke is red in the face—seething over something Ghost did or said. You have that look of disgust and puzzlement you always get when someone’s being an arsehole. Ghost grins at the man—devilish and knowing. “Best move on before I set my wife on you.”

Price notices the shift on your face like it’s second nature. Doesn’t matter when or where, you’re completely unable to keep a stoic or passive expression when someone is acting like a bloody idiot. The other thing you can’t control is your mouth. So, when someone decides to make Price their verbal target, he’s quick to put his arm out to act as a barrier between you and your target.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

obsessed with dog with no teeth omg

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Seven

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, angst

Word Count: 4.5k

You meet with Commander Graves. Ghost becomes your guardian. The reality of your situation comes down on your head.

Chapter Six // Chapter Eight

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

“Have a seat.”

Commander Graves gives you a warm smile but there’s something off about it, like milk that’s about to go sour.

“Thank you,” you reply stiffly, staring just past him so you don’t have to look him in the face.

On the wall behind Commander Graves is a massive map of the world framed by file cabinets, shelving, and informational posters about “staying vigilant to suspicious activity.” On the map, there are no labeled countries. Only the continents and bodies of water are named. Amongst the land masses are different colored stars, roughly eight variations in total. There’s a singular gold one on the map where you currently are. The rest might be other safe zones.

Placing a hand on the back of his chair, Graves waits until you’re completely seated before sitting down himself. A plain file folder sits on Commander Graves’ desk. On the tab is your name. You feign indifference, retaining a neutral expression as Graves settles and opens the folder.

Commander Graves runs his tongue over his teeth, lips pursing slightly as he reads whatever is on the page in front of him. Another stranger—one that Ghost expressed disdain for last night yet refused to elaborate on.

“Medical came back clear,” he states, breaking the silence. “No parasites or diseases. Blood work is normal.”

No small talk then. Right to business.

Graves glances up from the file folder. “Won’t have to deworm you,” he chuckles.

Fucking gross.

Only a few words and you already dislike him.

The paper is turned, and Graves continues to read aloud. “Administered vaccines. Good.” He flips another page. “Psych eval came back not crazy.”

Arrogance. It’s weaved through Commander Graves’ tone, dampened only by his southern drawl. If this were Ghost, you’d have a snarky remark ready to fire off. But you know better than to set a man like Commander Graves off. This is someone with authority—much more than Lieutenant Riley.

Flipping through the remaining pages, Graves returns to a previous one, his gaze narrowing slightly as he takes a closer look. “Mild dehydration. Malnutrition. That’s common.” He pauses. “Have all your teeth. Not as common.”

It’s a checklist.

You might not be a science experiment but you’re not a human being either. More like cattle. A farm animal. A number on a sheet. Results on a page.

Flipping the paper over, Graves scans the page. He whistles, lips twitching with a hint of an amused smirk. “And fertile. The family planner will love you.”

Like a car without oil, your thoughts grind to a halt. Neurons tumble over themselves—stuttering for purchase as they try to process his words.

You voice goes high, cracking at the end. “I’m sorry? The family planner?”

Graves leans back in his chair, taking the results with him. “You’re of childbearing age. Healthy.” He shrugs. “One of the pillars of the mandate is repopulation.” The words fall from his lips casually, almost without motive and simply a statement of fact.

Your mouth hangs open, and you’re unable to formulate anything coherent. It is a waterfall inside your head or a tumultuous river that breaks its banks. Flooding. You are flooding. Drowning. Sinking below where there is no hope of oxygen.

Lieutenant Riley must have known. How could he not? Just a few days ago he pulled you from the Humvee and told Captain Price you were there because of the mandate. Did he bring you here knowing this? Was this his intent all along?

You’d look so pretty full of me.

Fucking breed you until you’re dripping.

Put a baby in you. Then you’d truly belong to me.

A growing sickness blooms in your gut, twisting and coiling until you’re numb everywhere.

Graves is still talking, moving along as if you’re not ramrod straight and silent, likely staring off into space.

“Too fast and we’ll run out of resources,” he drones. “Things become…unstable. Too slow and we don’t keep up.” Commander Graves waves his hand dismissively. “We have doctors and scientists who handle that.”

There is only one thing on your mind. “And the family planner?”

Graves answers with an assertiveness that’s almost insidious. “You’ll talk with them.”

No maybe. No choice. A simple statement but it is entombment. Nothing to him but a cage to you. That’s how all men are because they don’t have to care. They sow their seed wherever they want and don’t think about what happens after.

You shake your head as if that is enough of a protest—as if that will change anything about your situation. “And if I don’t want kids?” you ask. “What happens then?” Panic creeps in, whispering about how you’ll be nothing more than a brood mare.

Graves appears unperturbed by your question, like he’s heard it all before. Many times. “They’ll be pushy,” he confirms. There is no elaboration, and that only stokes the panic to an inferno.

“But will I have to?”

This is what you need answered. Not that someone will suggest you do or that someone may or may not talk to you about potentially having a baby for the sake of humanity’s survival.

Not only that, but who will be the father? Is that a choice? Or will they make that decision for you?

Commander Graves snorts like the idea is absurd. “We’re not animals. You have rights.”

The panic does not extinguish. You had rights before the world went to shit, and yet some women didn’t have the option to choose whether they wanted to start a family. Having rights means nothing if personal autonomy has restrictions.

You recede slightly as the hope you still held melts away. “Will you go over those rights?” you ask, sinking into the chair, attempting to make yourself appear small.

It’s the first time you’ve been bold enough to ask a question without being startled into it. Anxiety is biting at your heels, but your anger and frustration are quickly rising. What you want is to lash out at Lieutenant Riley, to berate him for putting you in this situation. But you’re also upset with yourself for not trying harder, for not drawing more blood and seeking freedom.

This is his fault.

It is yours.

With a heavy sigh, Commander Graves leans toward the bottom of the desk, opening the lower drawer. Rummaging around for a bit, he eventually withdraws a slim brochure. Straightening, he holds it out to you. You tentatively take it, placing it in your lap.

The cover is light blue with white font. In the middle is the emblem of the United Nations. You open it. Promptly shut it. Mandate information. The “pillars.” It’s too much to process and you won’t lose your composure while you’re here with Commander Graves.

You glance up at the small American flag hanging near the ceiling. It’s on Commander Graves’ uniform too just below the flag of the United Nations. All black. No color whatsoever. It’s the one true consistency across all the soldiers’ uniforms.

“So, it didn’t collapse?” you ask, shifting your focus back to the man behind the desk.

Commander Graves pauses and looks up from the open file folder. “What didn’t collapse?”

You hold up the pamphlet. “The United Nations.”

Graves snorts. “Lots of things collapsed, sweetheart.” He nods toward the pamphlet. “Even that.”

“I don’t understand.”

Graves adjusts in his chair. “Whenever there’s a power struggle, something always gives. Creates a vacuum. Sometimes the structures in place can’t sustain themselves when that happens. They collapse. Fracture. They might rebuild or…” He snaps his fingers. “Cease to exist.”

Boldness fuels your next words, the need for answers driving you forward even as another urge tells you to hush. “Are there still countries?”

Graves demeanor changes, his mouth turning toward into a frown. “When people outside the safe zones are brought in, they usually know the answer to that question.”

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I was isolated for many years. I don’t recall much of what happened.”

Commander Graves inclines his head, appeased. “I’ll inform your advisor. Maybe we can get you up to date,” he smiles, offering pleasantness.

“And the advisor is different from the family planner?”

Graves clears his throat. Sniffs. “They’ll handle your transition.”

“Is that not what this is?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Think of me as…crowd control.” Commander Graves rests his elbows on the desk, hands spread as he talks. “I make sure the right people enter.”

You don’t like his implication.

“And I’m the right sort of people?”

“When Bravo team found you, they were on the hunt, tracking down a group that needed to be brought to justice.”

“That’s the sort you don’t want?”

“Exactly,” he grins, and there is nothing sweet in that smile. There is venom in it—a bit of bloodlust.

Closing the file, Commander Graves retrieves a yellow notepad and a ball-point pen from the top drawer of his desk. Placing it on top of the file folder, he flips to a fresh page, uncapping the pen lid.

“We need to discuss where you’ll fit,” says Graves, reclining in his chair, poised to begin filling in the lined paper. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

There is no reason to give him any extra effort. You remain quiet for the sole purpose of Graves to lead this conversation. If he wants anything from you, he’ll have to ask. To dig.

“Let’s talk about what you did before the world went to shit.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Was it my language?” he laughs as if you’ll somehow find that funny. When you remain aloof, he coughs. “What did you do for a living?” he responds dryly.

As little as possible. Minimal effort. That’s all. You can do this.

“I was a library assistant at a school,” you reply, adjusting in your seat. “Spent a lot of time around books.”

Commander Graves’ pen moves across the yellow notepad. “And after?”

A flicker of melancholy blooms in your chest. Thinking about the community you’ve known for nearly five years is a dark spot—a hole in which you won’t crawl out of. To mention them might bring potential harm to the people you care about most. You need to tread carefully.

“I was taken in by a small community. Built up their library. Restored and transcribed books. Worked with the children on their letters.”

There’s the briefest rise of his eyebrows before he quickly extinguished his surprise. “You were a teacher?”

“Sometimes,” you admit but not elaborating further.

“This is good,” nods Commander Graves. “We can use this.”

Not a person. An animal. A machine. They’re expecting contribution in womb and intellect. Your tolerance is quickly slipping, melting away like ice cubes in the sun.

Begging Lieutenant Riley to return you to your home proved fruitless, and you haven’t attempted to ask anyone else. Commander Graves isn’t a pleasant individual, but he has authority, and might agree to release you if you can convince him.

“I’m so sorry to ask this, Commander,” you begin, forcing yourself to appear small and vulnerable. Men like Graves like to feel the hero. “Lieutenant Riley didn’t give me the option to come to the safe zone. When I asked to be taken home, he ignored me.”

Not entirely a lie, but also not the truth. Ghost did answer you, many times, and it was always no.

Commander Graves’ nose crinkles in disgust. “You want to leave? Why would you want to do that?”

Shit. That is not the reaction you were after.

“It’s all I know,” you admit demurely. You even add a fluttering of your eyelashes.

It appears to work.

Commander Graves’ demeaner softens, that southern drawl of his thickening as he talks. “You have nothing to worry over. It’s clean here. Safe. Much better than where you came from.”

How the fuck would you know?

“But if there’s any way—”

The shift is instant. From pleasant southern gentleman to dangerous villain, Commander Graves loses all patience. “I think it’s best you forget about that place. This is your home now.”

Lieutenant Riley’s rejection was firm but gentle. He even showed you pity, surrendered to you when you were most vulnerable and offered his body. This is different. There is violence in it. Graves’ delivery is a promise that any continuation of this conversation will only result in harm coming to you.

You give a quick nod, drawing your gaze downward to avoid that menace. “Of course, Commander.”

Graves presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. The silence stretches, and you dare a quick glance. The intent of violence is fading from his face, replaced with a sternness of a parent ready to chastise their child.

“Education and literacy are important to those in charge,” he says slowly. “That includes the preservation of human history.”

“There’s an archive here?” you ask, some hope and lightness returning to your voice. This is what you know—what you understand.

Commander Graves nods. “All the safe zones do to some degree. Ours is one of the largest, but it’s understaffed. A bit messy.”

“And you think that would be a good fit for me?”

Graves only shrugs. “I’ll make a note in your file.”

You watch as he scribbles something out on the notepad. Tearing it from its home, he tucks it into the file, scratching at his neck as he sets it aside.

“Just because I’ve cleared doesn’t mean you’re free to roam.” Graves relaxes into a more casual recline. “There is a thirty-day probationary period once you leave my office. During that time someone will be assigned to you. Escorting you around.”

Think it’s more like keeping tabs.

“To keep me out of trouble?” you ask.

“Look at it however you want, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You want to smack that condescending smile off his fucking face.

“But they’re here to help you learn your way around. Ask them questions. The transition from the outside into society is difficult for some. We want to make sure it goes smoothly. That you have everything you need.”

“That someone isn’t you?”

Please say no.

“No,” he chuckles. “I’m just here to give the final stamp of approval before you go past the wall.”

Thank fuck. Commander Graves is only a hurdle. There are people higher than him that he answers to. If you meet the right one, you might be able to leave this nightmare.

Graves leans forward and picks out a toothpick from a little holder on his desk, popping it into his mouth. “Lieutenant Riley is the one that claimed you at processing. You’re his responsibility during the probationary period.”

A familiar face. An anchor.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

The end of the toothpick rocks back and forth as Graves reaches for a handheld walkie. “Send in Lieutenant Riley,” he says into it before promptly placing it back on his desk.

Commander Graves is suddenly uninterested in you, grabbing another file from a nearby stack and opening it up to look inside. You are nothing more than decoration. It’s all awkward silence as Graves continues to ignore you. When someone knocks on the door, you nearly jump out of the chair and make a run for it.

“Come in,” calls out Graves.

The door opens wide. You sigh with relief.

Lieutenant Riley steps through, a looming but welcome presence. When his gaze lands on you, his brow softens, that familiar affection seeping in. But it is a fleeting moment. Maybe he senses your distress, or perhaps you appear frazzled because Ghost’s softness hardens. That stare is cold. Bitter. Yet it’s not for you. It slides to Commander Graves.

“She’s ready to go,” says Graves, not even looking up from his paperwork.

You’re being dismissed. Pushed aside.

You bolt up from your chair so fast you nearly knock it over. Ghost takes a step forward, extending his arm, and you go right to him. Stepping into him, he drapes his arm across your shoulders, ushering you from the room. Leaning into him is comforting—soothing. Yet it is also sharped and laced with stipulations you don’t entirely understand.

“Lieutenant,” you sigh as the door shuts.

“Hush,” murmurs Ghost. “Not here.” Behind the balaclava, his gaze sweeps up and down the hall. “Follow me. Quietly.”

It is pure instinct that tells you to hold on to his hand, fingers intertwining as you cling to him. Lieutenant Riley draws you close, keeping you tucked into his side. There is a dangerous bite in his eye, as if he’s daring the world to come and snatch you from him.

Possessiveness. Repeating.

Two more hallways. A stairwell. All of it in silence. If someone crosses your path, they quickly turn around upon seeing Ghost. When the two of you finally make it outside, it’s a breath of fresh air.

You close your eyelids and turn your face toward the sun. “Oh, I missed you.”

A shadow blocks your sunlight.

“Did you?” croons Ghost.

You open one eyelid. “I was talking about the sun.”

“Course you were, love.”

With a groan, you turn away from him. You make it about ninety degrees before Lieutenant Riley’s hand grasps your throat, forcing you back in his direction.

“I’m not in the mood to fight with you,” you murmur.

That whiskey-brown gaze glows with flirty intent. “But you love to hate me.”

“You think too highly of yourself,” you retort.

Lieutenant Riley’s gaze drops to your lips, lingering like he’s considering your mouth. It stirs a heat low in your belly. You’re forced back to that morning when you were beneath him and he stared at your body with adoration.

Ghost’s thumb brushes along your jaw. “Was he a bit of a wanker?”

“Graves?” you ask, and Lieutenant Riley hums in answer. “That’s an understatement. Can see why you hate him.”

“I’m sorry it was him.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “I’m a big girl. Can handle myself.”

Ghost’s grip eases, dropping away. “He’s a todger. Only cares about himself.”

Aren’t you the very same, Lieutenant?

You glance over Ghost’s shoulder at the looming wall. “He said you’re my minder.”

He shrugs. “For a bit.”

“Am I—” You pause, steadying your racing thoughts. “Am I staying with you?”

That flirty gleam returns. “You can.”

“No,” you say firmly, holding up a hand. “Just—just take me…” You trail off, unable to call this place home.

“Take you where you’re staying?” finishes Ghost.

“Yes,” you sigh, your relief palpable. “Please.”

The two of you weave between buildings and rows of frame tents that soldiers pop in and out off. Some glance your way, but no one approaches. It’s like before when you were taken to base. So many eyes on you but they all keep their distance. You stare ahead, not daring to make eye contact. Ghost remains at your side, the silent sentinel and guide.

Each step brings you closer and closer to the wall. Ghost navigates around a cluster of shipping containers, only for the two of you to step out into open ground. Between you and the wall is an electrified fence with barbed wire at the top. He comes to a stop at a set of heavy gates. You’re buzzed through, then escorted down a narrow opening before approaching another gate. You remain utterly silent as Ghost interacts with the guards. While they appear stern, they greet Lieutenant Riley with respect, not questioning why you’re with him.

An exchanging of words. Flashes of credentials.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant.”

You pass through the gate and beneath the wall. There’s daylight from the other opening, illuminating the short tunnel. Your heartbeat becomes thunderous, pounding so loudly it’s all you can hear. If Ghost is talking to you, you wouldn’t be able to tell. You’re on the verge of fainting—or fucking vomiting.

A few steps.

A few more.

Sunlight emerges, and you exit, finding—a city. At least, part of a city. It’s clear that the street you’re on was once a downtown area based on the building sizes alone. They’re all multi-level, jutting toward the sky. But they are only that: buildings. Plain. Simple. The architecture boring and modern.

Several military jeeps roll by, but there are no other vehicles.

Is this the safe zone? Is this all there is?

“Where are we going?” you ask tentatively.

“That building,” points Ghost, indicating a gray multistoried building with windows at even intervals. “Not far.”

“I don’t get a tour?”

“Not today, dove,” replies Ghost, moving ahead.

The only other people on the street are those in uniform. Some are by themselves. Others in pairs or groups. At street level, all the buildings have store fronts. There are bars, a couple of dining establishments, several barber shops, and what might be a pharmacy.

“Where are we?” you inquire, looking around at all the men in uniforms.

“Military housing,” answers Ghost.

“So I am staying with you?”

“No. You’re not staying with me.”

You increase your pace in order to keep up with his long strides. “Then why are we here? I’m not military.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re a civilian.”

“Then why am I not staying with the civilians?”

Lieutenant Riley glances at you. “Probation.”

“You have to be fucking joking,” you mutter.

“I’m not.”

“That was rhetorical,” you snap sharply as you approach the building you’re staying in.

Ghost punches a code into the keypad of the exterior door. It buzzes loudly, the handle giving easily under Ghost’s touch. He steps to the side to allow you to pass through.

You peer up at the winding stairwell. “No elevator?”

“If there was do you think we’d be taking the stairs?” he replies dryly.

“Asshole,” you whisper, following behind him.

It’s only six flights before Ghost yanks open the landing door, revealing a warmly lit hallway with carpeted floors. The doors are numbered but they don’t mean anything to you. You simply echo Lieutenant Riley’s footsteps. At the end of the hall, he takes a left, only to stop at a door that says “317.”

Withdrawing a key, he slides it into the deadbolt lock. A turn. A click. The door gives. Ghost pushes it wide and backs up, extending his arm in invitation. You lean forward, peering in.

“Go on,” he urges.

You take a step inside onto wood floors. A few more and Ghost enters, the door shutting behind him. It’s an apartment. And it’s barren. Plain. In the living room is a worn sofa and brown side table underneath a set of windows. There is nothing in the kitchen expect a white fridge and a stove that looks like it’s from the eighties. Nothing hangs on the walls. No art. No pictures. No character. You don’t dare go into the bedroom.

“There’s nothing here,” you state.

“Course not. You don’t own anything.”

A suppressing stuffiness settles in, forcing the air from your lungs until you feel lightheaded.

“There aren’t any books. Not even paper. What am I supposed to do in here?”

“Like I said, you don’t own anything.”

“And I just…stay here?” you ask, some of the shock leaking into your tone.

“Yes.”

You turn on Lieutenant Riley. “I’m a prisoner.”

“That’s not true.”

“But I can’t fucking leave.”

Ghost’s tone is neutral. “Not without me.”

You extend your arms outward. “But you won’t always be here. With me.”

“I can be,” he purrs.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Ghost shrugs. “It’s temporary. When the thirty days are over, you’ll move to the civilian area.”

“This isn’t my home.”

“It’s temporary,” repeats Ghost.

“This isn’t my home!”

Lieutenant Riley stares at you, unmoving. Fuck, you want to punch him, or maybe scream if that’ll make him understand. You think you’ll break—look away. But he does, walking away from you and into the kitchen.

“Probably didn’t stalk the pantry,” he grumbles as he starts opening cabinets.

You’re not thinking about food. You’re not thinking about anything except the fact that this barren fucking apartment isn’t yours.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” you ask, voice breaking as your eyes begin to water. “Do you know what you’ve taken from me?”

Lieutenant Riley ignores you. “There’s nothing in the bloody fridge either.”

“Are you listening to me?” Ghost shuts the refrigerator door but his hand remains on the handle. “Look at me, Lieutenant.”

It’s a slow shift. A slight turn.

“I had a home.” You gesture to the empty space around you. “This isn’t a home.”

“I told you it’s temporary.”

You step forward, a twisting fire growing in your chest. “I had a home,” you repeat. “A house. Not…this.”

Ghost remains silent.

“It had a porch with a hammock. The walls were covered in floral peel-and-stick wallpaper that Zac scavenged from a hardware store on one of his many runs. My bedroom window looked out over our community garden.” Grief comes rushing back, slamming into you. “I spent my days surrounded by books. Surrounded by people that love me.”

Ghost’s is still. Unmoving.

“This isn’t a home, Lieutenant.”

He finally drops his hand—finally moves. “I told you I couldn’t take you back.”

“You didn’t even try!”

Ghost strides forward, each step purposeful and slow like a predator approaching prey. “You don’t understand yet. But you will.”

You shake your head, the tears becoming real, stinging your cheeks.

“Get out,” you whisper.

“Dove—”

“Get the fuck out!”

When Ghost remains where he is, you cry out in frustration. If he won’t leave, you’ll separate yourself from him. Every pounding step is cathartic. Slamming the bedroom door feels even better. And there’s a goddamn lock.

Ghost does not come to the bedroom door. He does not attempt to open it. There is only silence on the other side, and your violent sobs.

You don’t remember when you drift off. You only remember waking and that the sun has dipped below the wall, darkening the room. Hesitation clings to your muscles, keeping you in bed a bit longer until you find the courage to peel yourself off the duvet. With shaking breath, you disengage the lock, opening the door just enough to peek out.

Lieutenant Riley is gone. The apartment is empty.

And yet that only worsens your mood.

Your feet drag as you emerge from the bedroom, unsure of what you’re supposed to do now. Sit around? Sulk? It’s not like you can distract yourself. For all you know there isn’t even cleaning supplies, and Ghost insinuated that there isn’t any food. You literally have nothing.

The decision to return to bed is instant.

Rubbing at your eyes, you turn back toward the bedroom door. A glint catches your eye from over by the window. Frowning, you move forward, and then come to a dead stop.

The previously empty side table is no longer empty.

There are books. An entire series if you’re reading the spines correctly. Beside it is a small handheld radio with a slot for a cassette tape along with a few musical options from the late eighties and early nineties. Next to that are two gently worn wordsearch workbooks and a couple of sharpened pencils, tiny sharpener included.

Tears come yet again, and you hate that they do. You hate that you wipe at your eyes, knowing that you’re not angry at all in this moment even though you wish that you were.

You asked Ghost to listen.

And he did.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi, love your work. Can we get one with the 141 where the reader calls them another mans name like the tik tok prank… these make me laugh so hard. If someone hasn’t asked already . Thank you so much for even reading ☺️

They'll hate it.

mdni

Gaz loves that you want to push his buttons by calling him by someone else’s name. Think you want to run that mouth and make him squirm? Think again. If you’re going to use that mouth to attempt to annoy him, then you can put it to better uses, specifically with you on your knees.

Price doesn’t need you to repeat yourself when you call him by another name. There’s no verbal reprimand. It’s a simple “you know what you’re asking for, love?” from his lips. A tease of a smirk and then you’re over his knee, skin smarting under his flat palm. “What’s my name?” he asks. “John” you say, but he still brings his hand down. Over and over until you’re whimpering and wanton.

Soap finds it hilarious that you think you can get one over on him. Only he’s allowed to take the piss and have a go at you. You can’t do it back without getting something in return. And what it is you receive for this behavior? It’s denied orgasm after denied orgasm. Soap will have you begging for it until you’re nearly crying. And he won’t give you what you want until you say his name enough times to his satisfaction.

Ghost asks you to repeat yourself. Not because he didn’t hear you, but because he wants to make sure you clearly repeat the name, so you understand what comes next. There’s no reward for bad behavior, only punishment. It’s face down, ass up, arms and legs restrained. You are nothing more than Ghost’s toy, and he’s going to breed your holes until he’s satisfied that you’ve been rightfully reprimanded for your transgression.

main masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

girl i love dog with no teeth so much you have no idea

i have major trust issues when it comes to a series with a ton of planned parts and I don’t car if it takes 50 years can you promise me it will get done 😫

people always abandon the best fics and give me insane trauma

like I cried for days

also im not hating or saying i dont think you’ll finish it im just so used to some random wattpad story being like cut off 😭 i love it and its like Shakespeare for me 😆

You're good, anon. I know you're not. I promise that I intend to finish it. I have several long-fics that I need to finish, and they're all planned out already (in terms of plot points that need to be hit.) Dog with No Teeth will be finished. I see it as my replacement for Ink & Needle.

~ Poppy

[gloomwitchwrites]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP829jLhP/

Hi there ! I accidentally submitted my request without finishing. I wanted to request something with the 141 guys based of the this TikTok. Their kid makes them a note. Them being innocent don’t know what it actually means. It’s cute and funny at the same time.

Hehe. Oh, I love me some dad!141. The idea of their child making a heartfelt card with a swear word in it (and not knowing that it is) is hilarious to me. I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope y'all get a good laugh out of it. Thanks for sending it in!!!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings: foul language, gn!reader, dad!141

Word Count: 400

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John smiles at the folded pink construction paper in his hands. For Daddy, it reads with lots of hearts. He opens it, expecting to find a cute but poorly written note from his daughter.

He blinks. Bursts out laughing.

In capitalized letters surrounded by hearts is the word cunt.

“Bloody hell,” he chuckles, snapping a photo and sending it to his spouse.

See (c) you next time.

John types out a reply. Did you know?

Tried to suggest something else.

John shakes his head, wheezing with laughter as he clips the cunty card to the side of his file cabinet.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle smiles down at the flip book made of sticky notes on top of his packed lunch.

Settling back in his chair, Kyle starts flipping, watching as a small dot in the middle of the notes widen into a heart. Lines appear, forming words, forming—

“It’s a heart with the word shit in the middle,” he says to you over the phone.

Kyle quickly pulls the phone away from his ear as you fall into a fit of laughter.

You wheeze between giggles. “She asked me to put it in your lunchbox for her.”

“She’s four,” Kyle deadpans.

“I know!”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“What is this?” Simon presents a handmade card. It’s white paper with Daddy on the front in rainbow.

“It’s the note your daughter left in your lunchbox?”

Simon opens it, revealing the message inside.

You burst out laughing. “You’re an ass?” you read out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you choke on your own saliva.

“You find this funny?”

“I do,” you snort. “It’s an acronym. She put periods.”

“Bloody hell,” sighs Simon. “Wonder what it means.”

You slowly slide off the sofa as you cackle. “Get off the floor,” grumbles Simon as you fall onto your back.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you see what this says?” Johnny holds up the hastily folded piece of lined paper.

It’s a card from his youngest daughter. A note she put into his lunchbox. You take it. Open it up. Laugh out loud. You turn it around to show him.

Fuck you, Da! it reads with lots of smiley faces and hearts in pink marker.

“What a bloody scoundrel,” mutters Johnny.

“I think she thinks it means something else,” you reply. Johnny groans as you continue to cackle. “I’m putting this on the fridge in a place of honor!”

“Please don’t, love,” mumbles Johnny.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[gloomwitchwrites]

how would the 141 react to yn asking them to write ‘mine’ on her upper thigh

mdni

Gaz: Slowly traces “mine” with the tip of his finger, ending it with a kiss.

Soap: Jerks himself until he blows his load onto your thigh. Uses his cum to write “mine.”

Ghost: “Let’s make that mine permanent,” he says, getting out a (knife, tattoo gun, or sharpie)

Price: Tuts at you like he’s disappointed in the request. “Think you’d prefer something shiny and on your finger instead.”

main masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello, hope you’re doing well!! I just wanted to check with you before I sent in my request, are you comfortable writing for a trans reader? (Specifically ftm)

I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by sending a request without checking first, and I didn’t see anything about this, also I’m sorry if you already addressed this and I missed it

I completely understand if you aren’t, so please don’t feel guilty or obligated to!! I do apologise if I put you on the spot or made you uncomfortable, that is not at all my intention, you don’t have to answer this if you feel like it would bring you any negativity

At the end of the day, your comfort level and boundaries are what’s important, I hope you take care of and put yourself first always 💕💕

Hey, anon!

Writing requests for trans reader is absolutely fine!

~ Poppy

[gloomwitchwrites]

just read the wedding dress au and I couldn't help but think what if bodyguard simon is actually at mafia price's wedding lol, making price the "groom that doesn't deserve you”

loved the other au’s too! gaz and soap 💜

Oh, you're cooking, anon. referring to this post

Mafia!Price about to enter into an arranged marriage with you, but you've been having a long-standing secret affair with bodyguard!Ghost. You break it off with Ghost to remain loyal to your new husband. While you hate Price, the sex is stunningly angry and indulgent. But Ghost is your personal bodyguard, and he makes it clear that you should belong to him, and your heart yearns for him.

Back-and-forth you go, bouncing between the two men like a pinball. It's a tangled web of love and lust and loathing. Duty tells you Price. Love tells you Ghost. And while both men are aware of the other, threatening each other with promises of violence, they both fear hurting you, and only draw a bit of blood.

But this constant shift of need and want is taking a toll. Price and Ghost see it, how you're wearing thin trying to balance the two of them. They meet in secret, calling a truce. They'll share you, even take you to bed together.

If that makes you happy.

If that is what you want.

main masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Aaaaaaa!! Dog with No Teeth is so freaking GOODDDDD!!!! 💜💜💚💖💖💖💖💚💚💚

Thank you!!!

now tell me I'm pretty

~ Poppy

[gloomwitchwrites]

May I ask pleasepleaseplease for the 141 reacting to seeing you in your wedding dress <3

Oh, this would be so much fun as an AU. Can I do that? Scratch that. I'm doing it. We're going AU, and a bit historical. In fact, I'm just going to run with this and do what I want.

Content & Warnings (mdni): forced marriage, arranged marriage, mild suggestive themes, mild swearing, mafia au, pirate au, knight au, bodyguard au

Mafia!Price who signed a marriage contract with a rival family before ever laying eyes on his bride. He needs this alliance to work, even if he hates you and your family. There are larger pieces at play, and a strong marriage alliance is exactly what he needs to secure the upper hand. What he doesn’t expect is the gorgeous woman walking down the aisle. Your dress is stunning. You are stunning. His stomach flips, and then he grins—inwardly. You hate him, and he might hate you, but fuck—the two of you are going to have some fun.

Knight!Gaz is loyal and honorable. He might have been the sixth son to a minor lord, but he’s worked hard to climb the ranks, and now he’s being rewarded with the best gift of all. The cathedral is beautiful, if small. Your family and his are gathered, filling the pews, gazing on with bright faces. Now that he’s landed gentry, now that he has a true title, all he needs is a wife. Elegant. Ethereal. You are an angel walking among mortals.

Pirate!Soap is a smug bastard. The Royal Navy’s most accomplished commander has been on his arse for years, but he’s finally getting his revenge. It didn’t take much coordination to sweep you up, the commander’s precious daughter. Your hands might be bound with rope, and you’re scowling at him, but you’re gorgeous in your wedding dress, made from a torn sail. A vengeful sea goddess. He can’t wait to ruin your reputation.

Bodyguard!Ghost who stands guard at the back of the church. Outwardly, he’s stoic and calm—expression neutral. Inside, he’s all gnashing teeth and snarling monster. This wedding shouldn’t be happening. This wedding is a farce. You’re doing it to make your family happy, not yourself. As you enter, Ghost’s heart breaks for how beautiful you are and how tragic it is that you’re walking toward a groom that doesn’t deserve you.

main masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Can you rank them on how much they’d tolerate clingy cuddles? On my period and very clingy and emotional rn

Soap: This man wants to touch you and to be touched constantly. You're feeling clingy? Need lots of cuddles? Soap will flop down on the bed or sofa or floor or wherever you're wanting snuggles, hold out his arms, and accept you into his open arms. No fuss from him. Use him as a body pillow. Chew on his arm. He wants it all.

Gaz: Classic cuddler. He’ll pull you in immediately because he knows you need it before you do. Gaz is not as touch heavy as Soap, but he enjoys touching you whenever it happens. Gaz is more likely to verbalize his need for space in a healthy way. Sometimes, we can’t always be available, and Gaz is able to articulate this to you in a respectful tone, but also reassures you that it’s not you.

Price: Allows you to cling to him but will absolutely vocalize any and all discomfort. Not in a rude way, but in the “I’m old and my back hurts and we need to change position and my muscles need a good stretch because they’re going stiff” sort of way. Price won’t deny you, but he’ll grumble and groan with a smile.

Ghost: If you're feeling clingy, Ghost might lay down with you and allow you to cling to him, but too much touching can overstimulate him sometimes, so he'll be a little back-and-forth. If you're feeling ultra clingy, Ghost might say "come here" and snuggle you. Other times, he might just extend an arm as an invitation because it's what you need. Either way, he won't put up a fuss, and he won't complain even if you hang onto him all day.

main masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hullo! What do you think the 141 would have as pets?

I think Simon would prefer to get a dog just for practical purposes, like a guard dog, something he can train. but tbh I think he'd do really well with cats. I think cats like him even tho he doesn't do anything and he probably attracts all the strays somehow

As much as soap seems to hate dogs in the games he's just so dog coded and I can't think of what else to match him with. I think he'd do well with a pet with a lot of energy, but I also think he'd be really fond of small animals

Gaz, for some reason, strikes me as someone who would have a pet in a cage/tank. Like a lizard or bird. I think he'd be really good at providing it enrichment even tho it's stuck in a relatively small space.

I cant think of anything for price. Maybe a dog? For similar reasons as ghost?

What do you think?

(I made them all dog lovers by accident lmao)

I've always pictured Ghost with a dog. In multiple fics, I've written him with a dog, specifically an all-black German Shepherd. (I always name the dog Bravo. Bravo makes several appearances throughout my Imagines series but comes from Ink & Needle.) But I wholeheartedly agree with you about him also being a cat person. Cats are self-sufficient, and he knows he won't need to worry about leaving a cat alone for long periods of time.

I can't see Soap as anything than a dog person, but only with a certain breed of dog. I have this headcanon that Soap's family has a farm in the Scottish Highlands. They have Highland cows, sheep, chickens, etc. and Soap spends a lot of time at the farm when he's not on deployment. I easily see him walking around with several herding/working dogs.

Gaz is certainly an animal person, but I don't really see him as a pet person. I do see where you're going with the cage/tank route, anon. I vibe with it. Can totally see Gaz having a tank of fish. But even though I don't see him as a pet person, I can also picture Gaz with a Bulldog named Daisy. The two take naps on the sofa together and go on coffee shop dates if the weather is nice.

Price is a lot like Soap to me. He's purely a dog person. I don't think he'd have something overly large like a Great Dane. Price would likely have a sporting dog like English Setter, English Pointer, or even an Irish Setter. He wants a dog that he can take fishing and hunting with him.

main masterlist