moosereblogsfics - Tumblr blog

[moosereblogsfics]

this is delicious omg hush is one of my favorite ever horror movies and their weird little dynamic is erotic to me so this feeds me in a way I cannot phrase

YOURE MIND IS TALENDTED, BRILLIANT, AMAZING, SHOWSTOPPING, PUSSY-CLENCHING. also please elaborate more about hush!ghost if you are okay with it!

hush!Ghost stands outside the glass patio doors and stares at you lying down on the couch scrolling on your phone. doesn't bother knocking or trying to get your attention because he doesn't need to - he knows you'll notice him at some point. plus, he enjoys the quiet observing - getting to know you without you being aware that he's around.

the worst part is he could come in whenever he felt like it. it wouldn't take much for him to kick in the door or break the glass on one of your windows before reaching in to unlatch it. but he gets a thrill out of watching you panic and run around the house trying to make sure all the doors are locked. he loves seeing the way your breath gets all panicky when you notice that the wifi is down and your phone isn't working.

you gotta feel bad for the poor pizza delivery boy that Ghost guts on your doorstep when you're just about to answer the door. he slams his limp body up against the door like he's a cat bringing home a dead mouse :(( it's pretty gruesome.

[moosereblogsfics]

read this again sobbing crying throwing up

Chapter 11 up! 🐶❤️‍🔥

[moosereblogsfics]

AHHHH THIS HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD

No bc they invited her they protected her and the second the truth comes out they’re ready to do her so dirty I HATE THEM (I’m obsessed with this) I wonder if they’d regret it at all?? Since they’ve already taken to her and care about her will they feel bad for breaking her spirit ? Many questions.. but regardless this was so so gooood

istg, this just spawned out of nowhere...

idk why but my mind just said f!reader disguised as a frail man, weak enough that when viking!141 pillages the village, they take pity on "him" and spare him a bit of mercy and take him in instead.

you'd shaved your head, binded your breasts, wore your brother's clothes, which were baggy enough to hide your figure and have been silent the entire time, never uttering a word because you know your voice will give you away, so they just assumed that you can't talk.

cut to maybe a week later and they're trying to teach you how to use a blade but you're so bad at it. you land hard on your back with a groan with viking!Soap standing over you and says "come rain or shine, lad, i'll make a man out of ye." and you've never been more afraid of the glint in his eye.

and he keeps you close. tells the other vikings to fuck off when they pick on you for barely being able to pick up Ghost's hammer. puts a cup of ale in your hands, even though you didn't ask for it, but you drink it anyway.

Gaz often let's you sit by the fire when the nights get too cold. he spares you his blanket and tells you stories sometimes. his voice is soothing, makes your stomach twist when you hear him laugh. he doesn't mind your silence. only asking yes or no questions to communicate and you answer with a nod or the shake of your head and sighing in relief when you tell a few white lies.

you tend to stay away from Ghost and the leader of the vikings, chief Price, mostly because you're sure that if they look too closely, they might suss out your rouse but occasionally, you do run into them sometimes.

Ghost saw you fishing one day and silently often traded stuff for fish with you. you don't know why he does it, seeing as you know that he's capable of hunting a whole deer by himself. but you don't question it. you needed things; new clothes, a knife, a book he got from the local traders.

you never look Price in the eye. or try not to. he's not sure what to make of you. the weak little man whom his two Sergeants took pity on to keep around like a little pet. he merely hums as he watches you around his men. watches the way you flinch when Soap smacks your back when he laughs all too loudly. watches the way your brows furrow when you listen to Gaz telling you something silly or something important. watches the way you keep a healthy distance away from Ghost, even when the giant of a man seems just as drawn to you as everyone else.

he watches with an eye that sometimes makes you think he knows.

they don't let you cook, thankfully, something about not trusting you enough not to poison them because they did essentially kill your entire village. smart. and here you were planning to put poisonous mushrooms in their soup. you just stick to fishing and foraging for plants your mother taught you about for food because you can't constantly rely on the vikings to feed you.

you're on your own. trying to find a solid way out of this alive and unharmed. you know your disguise won't hold up forever, sooner or later, you're going to get caught. there's hardly any time to mourn all you've lost because you have to keep up the facade. it takes every ounce of your strength to not bathe every day and to avoid smelling like a woman. it takes everything in you not to let your hair grow back and you hate nicking your skin every time you shave it off. the only time you feel like you can lower your guard is when you're alone in the forest when you're picking wild berries.

you saw Gaz carrying a few maps and you thought of stealing one for when you escape so you at least know where you were going when you do. but for now, you keep your head down and lay low. you've made it this far. a good few months with them being non the wiser.

you've been luckier than most, having the gods give you the strength to keep going and to have been spared the fate of what vikings do to the women they steal from villages. you've seen it. one had been thrown on the mud while Soap tore her clothes off and laughed maniacally when she squealed and tried to shove him off.

the others watched and they revelled in taking turns. that night had reminded you that Gaz might have a pretty face but his teeth are still sharp, even when he smiles and they're stained with blood. it took every ounce of you not to do something, not to step in and keep it stepping for your own survival.

the months were getting colder. winter was coming and you can barely survive on your own. you made it another month before they started hanging around you. Ghost shadowed your morning walks. Gaz kept you company as you went fishing. Soap brought you to see more friendly duels. Price made you sit next to him during feasts. the closer they were, the more you felt like time was running out.

things took a turn when Soap decided to accompany you through the forest for foraging. he didn't have a clue about which plants to pick and which ones not to touch, so you just point to the ones you needed since he insistent upon helping you.

except, you turned around for five minutes to grab a few mushrooms. and when you turned around, Soap was nearing a bush, picking a few dark berries. knowing him, he was going to eat a few.

but you know that bush. you avoid it for a good reason. eat just one berry and you'll be dead in minutes.

so the terror gripped you when Soap slowly brings a handful to his mouth and you. just. panic.

"stop!"

your scream tore through the forest, frightening the birds as they took off from the trees. you stare at him in horror. he stares at you, equally as wide eyed while the berries were mere inches from his mouth.

his death wouldn't bode well for you. the others would blame you for it. they'd hunt you down and make your end slow and painful. you can't have that.

but you've just exposed yourself to the enemy.

"i fucking knew it." he smirks, dropping them to the ground. he takes a step towards you, you take one back. "i knew it— i knew ye were a bonnie lass—"

you turn and run as fast as you can. you forget about all of your stuff and you run as far as your legs can carry you.

you somehow run past Gaz, who'd been carrying a bundle of wood and he wonders for a second why you were in a hurry before he hears, "don't let her get away!"

and him being closer, he drops the wood, breaks into a sprint and manages you tackle you to the ground. he grunts as you struggle under him, pinning you down when you try to escape his grasp. but he hadn't been sure if he heard Soap correctly, his gaze veering to him. "her?"

your hands are tied behind your back and you're made to sit on your knees. Gaz looks at you with confusion, trying to make sense of Soap's words.

"got nothin' tae say now, bonnie lass?" the man grins, leaning closer to your face. you clench your jaw shut. "no?"

"have you lost your mind?" Gaz shoves at him. "that's not a woman."

"wanna check just tae be sure?"

Soap's grin is directed at Gaz, and the latter catches the horror seeping into your eyes. Gaz drops on his knees beside you and you try to worm out of his grasp as he tries to reach under the layers of your fur coat and shirt.

your face burning hotly as you move away from him, but he brings you back. you couldn't take it anymore when he reaches your binded chest. "no, no, alright! stop!"

his cold hand had been splayed on your belly as he stopped. he's shocked. you can see it on his face before you look down. he peels his hand out from under your clothes.

it's a brief moment before he yelled, "hang on, you can talk?!"

you can't tell if his teeth are chattering if he's seething as you all make your way back to the chief's tent. Soap had thrown you over his shoulder whilst Gaz walked behind, glaring at you the whole way there.

Price raised his eyebrow when Soap bounded in with a boisterous voice and explained everything that had happened.

"can't believe she went on for months and we didn't even realize it." Gaz muttered, sat in a corner and crossed his arms.

"hiding in plain sight." Ghost replies beside him, his eyes have been fixed on you ever since you were carried all the way back to Price's tent. "smart girl."

Price tells Soap to untie you. it's not like you'd get away from them. so you stay put when the rope is cut loose and the room falls into a quiet hush as they watch you rub your sore wrists. you flinch when the chief reaches for your hands to get a closer look at them.

he studies your palms in a long silence. there's not a hint of his thoughts, not bad or good. you're unsure of what to say when his eyes find yours. it's the first time you've held his gaze for this long. the first time you've truly taken the time to see the hardened wall in his blue eyes.

"what's your name?" he asks, letting your hands fall back on your knees.

you don't want to accept defeat yet. but hopelessness seeps in your veins as you look down and offer a quiet utter of your name.

he hummed, leaning back. "pretty name."

Soap leaned closer to you, his hand jerking at the collar of your shirt. "mind if i take a peek—"

you reacted violently, swinging your elbow as hard as you could. you heard a sickening crunch and a yelp when you took off but you were yanked by the back of your coat and held down. Ghost looks down at you in slight amusement as he pinned your wrist down.

"fuck." Soap groaned, holding his bleeding nose. still, he laughed, blood dripping into his mouth, surprised by your sheer act of defiance. "good one, lass. we taught ye well."

"smart girl." Ghost added, his head tilting. "very smart girl, having us all fooled."

you say nothing. keeping your mouth shut was your best option for survival. no, mercy, at the very least. the slightest bit they can spare now is all you can hope for.

"quiet as a mouse, eh?"

Price, Gaz and Soap stand over you. you feel the tears welling like a dam of boiling hot water in your eyes.

"that's alright." he smiles darkly. "we have all night to make you scream."

banners by @cafekitsune and @vase-of-lilies

do not like, comment, reblog or follow— in fact, do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked.

offer a note in the picklejar

[moosereblogsfics]

If you include König in your 141 head cannons but not Gaz, you're extremely weird and I'm just gonna assume you're probably racist

[moosereblogsfics]

rb and tell me what’s your most re watched movie.. and be honest

[moosereblogsfics]

1.8k / 22 / soap soulmate au, part 3

…

Oh, shit, Ghost thinks. What the hell did you just do?

Ghost stumbles out in the road, looking after you in shock. You just... jumped out. In handcuffs. There's no way you think you can make it anywhere like--

Oh, double shit. You're running right for the cliffs in the distance. Looks like you might make it, too. That ain't good. Morally justified or not, he's still the criminal here. If you get to rough terrain and he loses you by car and on foot, you’ll go for help, and his squad won’t stand a chance.

He swears, grabs his pistol, and points it at your back.

He has a clear shot. He's sniped easier targets.

… He sighs and lowers his gun. Johnny, you owe me one.

…

You've got a good head start on him, but when he eventually catches up, he's going to be pissed.

Your ankle and hand sting from your rough landing. Adrenaline pumping, heart racing--you've got to get to those cliffs, and fast.

Behind you, the engine roars closer. Wheels crunch over gravel. He’s catching up. But the cliffs are right there. A river snakes through the rocky terrain. If you can just throw yourself across the water, you can make it. You can lose him on foot.

You pump your legs as fast as you can. The wind burns in your lungs. Keep moving. Just a few more seconds before you reach the water.

You’re so focused on the water that your foot lands wrong between river rocks and your ankle twists. You keep going, gait lopsided. You can’t stop. Once he catches up, you’re either a hostage again or you’re dead. But first, he's gotta catch up, get out of the car, open the door, grab his gun, sprint after you--

Then his car swings around you, pulling what should be an impossible drift over the rocks, one tire scattering river water into the air. You skid to a stop, making a break for the cliffs instead. There's a waterfall. You might make it if you jump--

Then Ghost is on you, a blur from the open car door to the edge of the rocks. He grabs you almost out of the air. You land stomach-first on the ground. You grunt, windless, gasping for air. Pain surges through your body. Fuck, that hurt. The rocks are harder than the grass was. You see stars.

Then you start to realize the position you're in. Your hands are still cuffed in front of you--over your head, now--and he's got his knee on your back. He's holding you down with all his weight, the barrel of his pistol pressed between your shoulders as he grits his teeth.

"Stay. Down," he growls.

He's not gentle. It'd be inconvenient to kill you, but you're really testing his sense of pragmatism. You're making him expend a hell of a lot of effort to keep you alive--jumping off a cliff, fucking seriously?--so he doesn't owe you any extra effort toward keeping you comfortable. Quite the opposite.

You shift your pained body under his knee, groaning into the sharp river rocks cradling your face.

"I said stay down," he growls, grinding his knee down against your back. You feel every individual sharp rock pressing into your skin. "I will hurt you.”

Normally he doesn’t give warnings like this, but he figures he owes it to Johnny to keep your stupid pretty face intact. As much as he wants to put a dent in it right now. And if you keep acting all resourceful…

You keep still, trying to catch your breath. Your hands curl around the river rocks and feel around for something loose and sharp. No such luck.

He grabs your shoulder with one hand to keep you still. His knee moves off your back for a second. You realize he’s trying to get a better look at the soulmate mark on your neck.

"Got to be another John MacTavish somewhere in the world," he mutters. "Bloody common name."

He grips the back of your vest and hauls you to your feet, practically scruffing you as he drags you back to the car. He growls something under his breath along the lines of irritating little shits finding each other.

Back in the car, Ghost’s phone rings again. This time, he glances back at you and switches his phone to his non-dominant hand. He picks up his pistol with his other hand and steers with his knee.

“Ghost,” he answers. This time, the reply has him shifting in his seat. “Negative. Didn’t see her.” Another long pause. The voice on the other end is louder and more animated than the one before. “I told you I’d look, and I did. Wherever she is, she’s fine.” The reply is clipped. “The captain told you not to go looking. Chrissake, Johnny, you’re not hanging out at base looking for a date. You’re a wanted criminal. Have a crumb of self-preservation.” Another long reply, this one rising in volume. “I know. Yes. I hear you. I know— Johnny—”

He goes quiet for a long while, uttering single-syllable responses occasionally. You can’t hear Johnny’s words, but you do hear his tone of voice. He doesn't sound happy.

“If the captain tells you to stay put, you stay put. End of story.”

You glance at the rear-view mirror again. Ghost is looking back like this is somehow on you. The sour face of a man getting chewed out.

Ghost and Johnny go back and forth until Ghost finally seems to tire of it. "No, not right now," he says. "I told you what I know. I’ll call you back."

Johnny curses from the other line right as Ghost hangs up.

Your fingertips are still tingling from the sound of Johnny’s voice, even at a distance, even over the phone. Maybe from the cuffs, too.

You don’t miss the irritated look on Ghost's face. "You in trouble?" you ask.

Ghost doesn’t hold your gaze. "He's a little pissed off, yeah."

After that, you don't speak for a long time. Your whole body hurts, and the adrenaline and sheer length of this day are taking a toll. Your eyelids sag. But every time you drift into sleep, you see Johnny's face again and jerk awake. It's torture. You don't have the mental fortitude to block him out anymore. You’re terrified that wherever Ghost is taking you, Johnny will be there.

You lean your forehead on the window, squeezing your eyes shut. "So..."

"What." There's no venom behind the response this time. He doesn't bother looking at you. But he's listening.

It takes longer than you'd like to work the words you're trying to form out of your throat. "John is still in one piece?”

He keeps driving in silence for a moment. You can almost hear his brain ticking as he considers. There's a tenseness behind him, a tension that's wound up and ready to snap.

"Yeah. Got a few holes in him, but it takes more than that to keep him down. Stubborn bastard." Another long, heavy silence. His hands grip the wheel, and he glares ahead. "Got a problem with that?"

"I'm not sure."

"You got issues with Johnny, you tell me. Got enough problems without you being all coy."

“Do you, uh, have a soulmate?”

Christ, he hopes you're kidding. He can only take so much of this from Johnny, and now you? Obviously Johnny hasn’t stoppedtalking about you. Can’t stop talking about what a pretty thing you are. Face like a muse, he keeps saying. Bastard described you in so much detail that, when Ghost was surveying the Las Almas base, you popped out like a neon sign the moment his sniper scope swept over you. He could've grabbed any damn Shadow, but no, he decided to do Johnny a favor and grab you. Now he can't bloody shoot you no matter how much you deserve it. Lucky Johnny’s not here to see what a bloody mess you’ve made of yourself under his watch. Not that he tells you any of that. Best to keep Johnny in the dark until they get the information they need out of you.

"You're a hostage," he says. "Act like it. And Johnny's off the table."

That’s a relief. You dread the thought of looking Johnny in the eye and trying to figure out how to make excuses for almost killing him. You can only hope to delay it as long as possible.

…

It turns out the "base" Ghost spoke of is a shed in the middle of nowhere. A barn at best—from the outside, but from the inside, it’s huge. You recognize a few members of the Mexican Special Forces, also your former allies before your company betrayed them on Shepherd’s orders. Rodolfo in particular gives you a hard stare as Ghost drags you past him and into a much smaller room. It's a weapons closet converted into a makeshift interrogation room. He pushes you down into the chair hard by the shoulder. You lean on the table, flexing your sore wrists behind you and wishing you could just put your head down and sleep.

He keeps a close eye on you once you're down. You show no clear desire to run again and no more than a passing interest in the impressive spread of rifles and launchers on the walls. You’re in the heart of an enemy safehouse. Even if you managed to grab a gun and escape this room, every other person outside wants you dead. You’re almost glad Ghost locks the door. At least there’s a barrier between you and them.

In the dim light, Ghost notes the bruise on your cheek and the scabbed-over cuts and gashes littered over your exposed skin. Your forehead sports a nasty, wet-looking burgundy splotch where your head hit the ground after he tackled you. You look about as defenseless as a wounded rabbit. If he weren’t busy trying to keep you from escaping as a hostage, he’d probably feel bad about hurting a friend's soulmate.

He's not his most charming self here.

"Stay awake, now," he warns you.

The overhead light clicks on. Ghost stands across from you, but the person standing by the light switch is Captain fucking Price. He stares at you, his hard gaze boring into the soulmate mark on your neck.

Then he smiles. "Good find, Ghost," he says. "This is the one. Guess Soap wasn't lying."

…

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

[moosereblogsfics]

Wild & Free: Chapter 2

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4,343 Summary: You reunite with your only friend. Warnings: Explicit language. Reference to: drinking, drug use, self-destructive behavior, rehab, shitty family, captivity and abuse, and bad parenting/grandparenting. Angst. Innocent, kind of raised in the wild vibes!Reader. Cranky, self-loathing!Ransom. 

A/N: These two live rent free in my hoe brain tbh. If you’re new to this story, be sure to check out the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this installment, and I encourage you to please take a moment to leave a reblog or comment once you finish reading! Thank you so much! ❤️

Your eyes were as wide as dinner plates as you stepped into the kitchen, your mouth dropping open as you glanced around. 

It was so big! So nice and so warm and so clean. 

And it hit you quite suddenly, how filthy you were. 

You frowned as you glanced down at yourself. Your old, worn dress was still wet and caked in dirt, and your bare, muddy feet were leaving dirty footprints all over the otherwise pristine floor. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your eyes welling with tears of shame as you hugged yourself tightly, your shoulders hunching as you curled in on yourself.

"It's fine," Ransom said, watching you for a moment before he continued, "You can use one of the guest bathrooms to shower. Come on."

You peeked up at him as he gestured for you to follow him before he turned and led you through the large, dimly lit manor. Your eyes stayed big and curious as you tried to take in every detail of the space around you, marveling at how gigantic it was–overwhelmingly so–as well as all the different items, portraits, and decorations that filled the manor.

Soon you were following Ransom into a large guest bedroom on the second floor, careful to walk on the hardwood instead of the immaculate white throw rug taking up much of the space. 

"Bathroom's through there," he waved a hand toward the door that was ajar and the dark room beyond. "There should be soap and towels and everything you need to get cleaned up."

You blinked at him, overwhelmed, not knowing what any of those things were, but the tense lines in Ransom's handsome face had you suppressing your questions, worried that you would make him mad. So you just nodded and scurried into the bathroom before just standing there in the dark. 

After a long, awkward beat, you heard Ransom sigh behind you before he joined you in the small space, reaching for a switch on the wall and flipping on the lights. 

You winced at the sudden brightness, blinking owlishly as you glanced around the room that was done up in all bright whites and grays and that looked just as sparkling and beautiful as the rest of the house that you had seen so far.

"Here's a spare toothbrush and toothpaste," Ransom said, rifling around in one of the drawers before setting said items out for you beside the sink. 

Those things you were familiar with, as grammy had brought them to you every so often so you could keep your teeth strong and clean and they didn't need to hear you whine about any pain or issues over the years.

Next, Ransom pulled a fluffy, folded bundle from the cabinet beside the sink and set it on the edge of the counter for you. 

He waved you toward the large glass encased shower, "It's all yours."

But when you just glanced between him and the shower, your brows furrowing in confusion as you swallowed nervously and didn't move an inch–clearly unsure of what to do next–Ransom huffed, hands dropping to his hips as he cocked his head and gave you an annoyed look.

“You’re acting like you’ve never showered before," he snapped in frustration.

You winced at his tone, blinking back tears as you admitted, “I haven’t.”

Ransom's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he just stared at you for a moment before his features softened as he asked, “They never let you out of the shed? Not once? In all those years?”

You shook your head. “Grammy would bring a bucket of water and a cloth so I could clean, but this is the first time I’ve been…" you struggled for the words before finally settling on, "Not there.”

“And you immediately came here?” Ransom gaped at you.

“Just like you told me to," your lips curled into a small, proud smile. "I remembered this whole time, what you said."

Ransom swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, glancing away for a long moment–like he needed a beat to comprehend what you were telling him–before his gaze returned to you. “How did you get out?”

“Poppy, he was so mad and he…” your voice quavered, your vision blurring with tears as you whispered, “He died. And grammy’s gone, too. Just me now.”

"Jesus," Ransom muttered, just watching you and observing how you were starting to fidget and curl in on yourself again. "Okay, let's just get you cleaned up, alright?"

When you nodded quickly–grateful to move on from that line of questioning–Ransom turned to the shower and showed you the different nozzles.

"This one's hot water, this one's cold, you can adjust them however you like." He turned the water on, glancing over at you as you jumped and squeaked in surprise as the showerhead burst to life and rained down clean water in a loud rush.

"Oh!" You scurried closer, peeking around him in wonder and hesitantly sticking your hand beneath the stream of water. "It's so hot!"

"Too hot?" he asked, noting how your hand quickly recoiled. He adjusted the temperature until it was slightly cooler, his gaze dipping to your dress. "You can just leave your dress on the floor. I'll have the housekeeper trash it tomorrow and we can get you some new clothes. In the meantime, I'll find you something to sleep in, okay?"

"Okay!" you answered quickly, not really paying attention to what he was saying as you hesitantly stuck your hand back into the stream of water, making a noise of wonder. 

"Okay," Ransom chuckled, earning your attention then–and an abashed smile–as he moved past you. 

You watched as he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Your smile faded as you realized you were all by yourself now–again–and in an unfamiliar space no less. Desperate to rejoin Ransom–to not be alone–you hurried to undress and stepped into the shower, gasping in delight at the warm spray of water and how good it felt on your cold, achy body.

You read the bottles of the products lining the in-shower shelves, using a few of them and in awe at how nice they smelled and how soft they made your skin feel. 

After a while, you were fumbling with the shower nozzles, clean as a whistle as you turned off the water and just stood there dripping for a moment. 

You stopped at the sink long enough to use the toothbrush and toothpaste, then once you figured out how to use the faucet and nozzles, you drank some cold water before returning to the bedroom. 

It wasn't as big as some of the other rooms in the manor, but it was so nice! The bed was huge and piled high with soft, luxurious linens and pillows that you couldn't help but touch. 

At the foot of the bed was a small pile of clothes, and you touched those too as you walked by before leaving the room and retracing the route Ransom had taken earlier so you could go and find him. 

Ransom wiped up the last of your muddy footprints from the kitchen floor before throwing away the dirty paper towels, and then he just stared down at the closed silver trash can, unseeing as he tried to remember the last time he actually cleaned up anything himself. 

He literally couldn't recall. His entire life, his family had employed help to clean up and cook and take care of them and their various homes.

Meanwhile you had been locked in that shed like an animal for your entire life.

Ransom planted his big hands on the edge of the marble countertop, sagging against it as he closed his eyes and tried not to drown in the guilt and shame that was eating him alive.

How could he forget about you?

How could he have done nothing and just left you to that awful fate?

It didn't matter that he had tried to tell his parents about you and they had done nothing, at the end of the day, he had failed in his measly attempt to help you.

And then he had been whisked away by his parents, back home to the city, leaving you behind and stuffing the memories of you–and the distress that came with them–down so deep he didn't even know they were there.

It was finally starting to make sense, why he endlessly sought escape through drugs and alcohol. He had always thought it was to escape his family–drown out their constant noise and disappointment–and some of it was because of that.

But Ransom was starting to think that maybe, on some level, he had been punishing himself. 

He just didn't know why until now.

Ransom was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of quiet shuffling behind him, and when he straightened and turned around, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock.

Because you were standing in the kitchen doorway, shivering, dripping wet, and completely naked.

Ransom just gaped at you a moment, his mouth hanging open as his dark blue eyes trailed over the length of you from head to toe. 

It was obvious that you were malnourished, but despite that–despite the life you had lived, if it could even be called that–you were beautiful, and your eyes were still so bright and kind as your lips tilted into a smile as you met his gaze.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, something in his chest clenching at the soft, happy way you were looking at him–a way he didn't deserve, not after what he did to you–but he quickly shook it off. 

Before he could rein himself in, his discomfort got the best of him, and Ransom was snapping at you with a narrowed gaze. "Jesus, what the fuck are you doing?"

You cowered at his harsh tone, your smile falling away as you hugged yourself tightly and whispered, "Sorry?"

"Why aren't you wearing the clothes I left out for you?" Ransom huffed as he rounded the kitchen isle and moved toward you.

Your look was part puzzled, part surprised as you gaped at him. "For me?"

He blinked at your confusion, suddenly realizing that you probably weren't used to receiving things. Averting his wandering gaze from your body–and feeling pissed at himself for even looking–Ransom stormed past you and back upstairs to the guest bedroom.

He was confident that you would follow him, and you did, trotting after him as he swept into the room, then the bathroom, grabbing the towel from the counter before returning and holding it out to you. "Dry off."

You were like a deer in headlights, and Ransom could see it written all over your face, that you were perplexed by what he was asking of you. Still, you tentatively took the towel and just held it against your chest, unsure of what to do next but too afraid to ask as you stared at him. 

And then suddenly, you were chirping softly, your eyes going big as you realized the towel was so soft and fluffy. You hugged it against you, rubbing your cheek along the material, and you looked so fucking sweet and amazed that Ransom felt all of his frustration instantly melt away.

How could he be annoyed with you? 

It truly seemed an impossible feat, especially as he watched you bury your face in the towel and cling to it like it was some kind of cherished stuffed animal or pet or something.

Heaving another sigh, Ransom patiently explained how to dry off, his gaze pointedly focused elsewhere as you did what he instructed.

"Put these on," he said next, scooping up the spare clothes from the foot of the bed and handing them off to you. Again, he kept his eyes averted before you were breathing a quiet, awe-filled "Thank you." that had him finally looking back your way. 

You were swimming in the sweatshirt and joggers he had lent you, and Ransom tried his best to squash the primal kind of awareness that was rising up in him at seeing you dressed in his clothes.

It helped that you beamed up at him, so sweet and innocent as you spoke another grateful little, "Thank you!" And how you kept smoothing your hands down the front of the sweatshirt, murmuring to yourself, "So soft and clean!"

When your stomach growled loud enough to startle you, making you squeak and jump as you shot him a wide-eyed look before dropping your gaze to the floor in embarrassment, Ransom chuckled, so fucking charmed by you.

"You hungry?" he asked, waiting until you peeked up at him and nodded shyly before moving past you. "Come on, I'm no chef–and she comes tomorrow–but I'm sure we can find something to tide you over."

And back down to the kitchen you both went. 

You stood awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of what to do with yourself as Ransom rooted around in the cabinets before moving to a huge, silver box at the end of the counter, opening its doors, and doing the same. 

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help but ask, "What's that?" as you gazed at the silver box, trying to see around Ransom to its brightly lit contents.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, lips twitching at your inquisitive look as you stared at the fridge, explaining, "It's a refrigerator. It's a kitchen appliance that keeps food cold and fresh." He pulled a few things free, gently tapping the bottom drawer of the fridge with his foot since his hands were full as he told you, "And that's the freezer. Freezes things, makes them cold as ice so they last longer."

"Oh."

Closing the fridge, Ransom turned toward the isle and placed down a small haul of items, his eyes flickering to you as he frowned at the way you were just standing in the doorway, fidgeting nervously.

"Have a seat," he gestured to one of the stools on the other side of the isle counter, waiting until you tentatively made your way closer before turning away to pull a plate from the cabinets and a knife from a drawer. 

Your throat jumped on an apprehensive swallow as you stood beside the stool across from Ransom, your brows furrowed in trepidation as you asked, "I can sit here? On the nice chair?"

You smoothed your hand over the soft microfiber material of the seat, humming a little at how nice it felt as you glanced up at Ransom.

He blinked at you, processing your question–your hesitancy to use the furniture–before his features softened. "Yes, you can sit there."

"Thank you," you grinned, carefully climbing onto the stool and folding your hands in your lap as you sat still and watched him.

Ransom nodded, quickly making some sort of sandwich as you observed, and then he set the plate in front of you. 

You perked up in your seat, your stomach growling non stop now and your mouth watering, because it had been days since you last ate anything, and you were starving.

But still, you waited for Ransom's permission to dig in, watching in amazement as he used a device on the front of the refrigerator to fill a tall glass with water before placing it in front of you.

He just watched expectantly as your gaze flickered between him and the sandwich, his brows furrowing in confusion before he realized what was going on. 

"Go on, eat," he encouraged, his eyes sad as he watched you nod eagerly before picking up half of the sandwich.

Your gaze flickered to Ransom's before you took a bite, and you chewed slowly, humming your delight as the salty-sweet flavors burst all along your tastebuds. The flavor was so familiar, and it took you a moment to realize that Ransom had made you a PB&J sandwich, just like he had when you were children and he came to visit you all those years ago.

Something about that realization, and those memories, and the fact that you were now here–free and with him–hit you hard, and you burst into tears as so many mixed emotions rose within you at once. 

Sadness and relief, gratitude and disbelief all warring within you–consuming you–as you set down your sandwich and covered your mouth with your hand as you sobbed. 

There was a long, awkward moment where you just sat there, shaking as you cried, lost to the maelstrom of your feelings–beside yourself and so overwhelmed–and then Ransom's warm, musky scent filled your nose before he hesitantly touched your shoulder and began rubbing your arm to console you.

Another sob hitched in your chest, and it was instinctual, the way you turned and sank against his chest, seeking comfort from the one and only person who had ever been kind to you.

Ransom was rigid against you at first, but his stance softened the longer he held you, his chin knocking against the crown of your head as he murmured, "It's okay." His big hand pressed between your shoulder blades, a soothing weight, as he shushed you. "You're okay now, I promise."

Your unexpected watery giggle had him stilling, and he stayed close, holding you loosely as you pulled away, sniffling and wiping away your tears. 

"Pinky promise?" you quavered, holding up your pinky.

The smile that broke out across Ransom's face at the familiar exchange from a lifetime ago was beautiful–and it instantly quelled the turmoil within you–his eyes warming as his cheeks glowed with a rosy flush and he nodded. 

"Yeah, pinky promise," he chuckled, curling his pinky around yours and giving it a shake. After a long moment of watching you gather yourself, he stepped away, nudging your plate closer to you as he said, "Come on, finish eating, I'm sure you're starving."

You nodded, devouring your sandwich in record time, humming and wiggling in your seat, thoroughly enjoying the yummy taste the entire time as Ransom watched you in amusement. 

Just as you finished your first sandwich, he placed another on your plate, smiling as you chirped your gratitude before scarfing down that one, too. 

When you finished, you drank down half your glass of water in one go, feeling exhaustion start to lap at you as you blinked over at Ransom, who was watching you with warm, twinkling eyes.

"You're kind of a disaster, you know?" he teased, reaching for a nearby napkin and stepping up beside you to wipe stray jelly from your cheek.

Despite his words, his tone was fond, and you leaned into Ransom's soft touch. You were desperate for it, having gone so long without such a gentle kindness or physical contact that wasn't a violent punishment.

Once he set the napkin aside, Ransom remained close, watching as your small hands smoothed over the front of his sweater then up along his broad shoulders. Your touch was innocent–inquisitive–your eyes, although drooping with fatigue sparkling with wonder and appreciation as you pet along the soft material of his shirt.

Soon your admiration for his sweater shifted to admiration of him, your gaze lifting to Ransom's, unwavering as you said, “You got so big and strong!" Your lips twisted into a slight frown as you watched him, raising your hand to cradle the side of his face as you whispered, "Your eyes are the same though, so pretty, but so sad now, too."

A slight grimace flickered over Ransom's features, but then his lips were curling into a small smile as he looked you over in return. “You’ve grown up quite a bit yourself.”

You returned his smile with one of your own, blinking at him sleepily before you reached for him. Your fingers curled into the front of his sweater and you tugged him closer, whispering, "I missed you."

Ransom swayed near–against you–not resisting as you pressed your face against his chest and just took a moment to breathe him in. There was an unfamiliar feeling rising up within you the longer you remained in Ransom's loose embrace, and it was something so foreign to you that it took you a moment to place what exactly it was.

Safety.

Ransom made you feel safe.

You sank against him even more at the realization–trying to soak it all in, and desperately so–gripping his sweater tighter as you blinked back a fresh wave of tears, because you never thought you'd feel this way, not in your wildest dreams. 

Ransom's amused voice and gentle touch as he rubbed your back snapped you back into the present moment as he asked, "Did you fall asleep on me?"

His amusement lingered as you gave him an abashed smile. Your eyes drooped with exhaustion as you whispered, "Sleepy."

"Yeah, it's been a long, crazy day, huh?"

You nodded. 

"Okay, let's get you to bed then."

Ransom stepped back, waiting for you to slip from your seat. You followed him back upstairs, yawning as you padded behind him, trying to cover it with your hand as he stood at the doorway of the guest room and ushered you inside. 

"My room's all the way at the other end of the hall, past the staircase, if you need me," He gestured behind him. "The staff should arrive first thing in the morning, so if you wake up before me and want some food or coffee or something, just ask the chef."

You were too tired to ask what coffee was, but you were suddenly more alert when Ransom took a step back to retreat. You darted toward him, your eyes going big and scared as you asked, "You're leaving?"

"Not leaving," he told you, "Just going to my bedroom to sleep."

You swallowed, looking distraught as you wrung your hands before you. "Not leaving? Like before?"

Ransom's features softened as he stepped into your room and closed the distance between you. His hands cupped your upper arms as he ducked his face close, his expression–and eyes–so earnest as he said, "I'm not leaving, I promise."

You automatically held up your pinky in expectation at his words, and Ransom huffed a laugh.

"Pinky promise," he told you as he curled his pinky around yours.

"Okay," you still looked worried as you stepped away, frowning a little before another yawn broke free and your tiredness won out over your apprehension.

You sank to the floor, your hand running over the soft texture of the rug beneath you before you went to curl up on your side, but Ransom's voice stopped you. 

"What are you doing?"

You glanced up at him, lips pursing in confusion. "Sleeping."

"That's what the bed is for," he said, moving around you and pulling some of the decorative pillows from the bed and tossing them aside. He pulled back the thick comforter before stepping back and gesturing for you to climb in. 

You felt another lump rising in your throat as you stared at the bed. 

You'd never slept in a bed before. You'd spent your entire life sleeping on the floor of the shed, considering yourself lucky when you had a spare, worn blanket to help shield you from the cold elements during the winter months. 

"For me?" you trembled, pulling your tearful gaze from the bed to glance at Ransom. "I can sleep there?"

"Of course you can, it's a guest bedroom and you're my guest."

"I am?"

"Yeah," Ransom laughed, "Now tuck in, it's late and we're both exhausted."

You scrambled into the bed, quietly squealing at how soft it was. You tugged the comforter up to your chin and sank back against the luxurious pillows, wriggling around, your eyes big and brimming with happy tears as you breathed, "It's so soft! And warm!"

"That's kind of the point," Ransom grinned.

“Thank you, thank you!” you told him, dipping your nose to the comforter and inhaling the soft clean scent. "Such a good friend!"

"Eh, these days, I'm not really the friend type," Ransom replied before he could think better of it.

Your face fell, your lower lip wobbling as you whispered, "Oh."

A look of panic flickered over Ransom's face, and then he was clearing his throat, glancing away as he replied, "But I suppose, I can make an exception for you."

Your dejected look instantly melted away as you perked up, giving him the sweetest look of hope ever as you asked, "So…friends?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "Friends."

You were launching yourself from the bed before you realized it, overcome with joy and hugging Ransom tight as you thanked him over and over again. 

"Okay, you're welcome, Jesus, calm down, you little ball of gratitude," he muttered, giving you a squeeze before corralling you back into bed. "Sweet dreams or whatever."

He turned to leave but paused in the doorway when you called his name. 

"Ransom?"

He glanced back at you. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for protecting me," you smiled. 

He just watched you for a beat, looking strangely sad before he mustered a smile and murmured, "You're welcome. Good night."

"Good night!" you echoed back at him, watching as Ransom stepped from your room and switched off the light before pulling the door shut. 

Still smiling, you settled back against the perfectly fluffy pillows, hugging the thick comforter around you and feeling like you were living an actual dream, one of the many fantasies you had conjured up over the years to help you escape your harsh reality.

When you finally fell asleep just a few moments later, safe and cozy in bed for the first time in your life, your dreams were so much better than your fantasies had ever been.

You dreamed of a new reality, of a life where you were free and happy and loved, and Ransom was there with you the entire time, his big hand holding yours tight as he kept you close–right beside him–where you belonged.

EEEEEEP!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, THESE SWEET, TRAUMATIZED BABIES 🥺😭 ALSO! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT - TWO CHAPTERS AND STILL NO FILTH?! HAHAHAHA. PLEASE OH PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO DROP A REBLOG OR COMMENT! I TRULY APPRECIATE IT! 🙏🏻❤️

—

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or my personal author website. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️

[moosereblogsfics]

marriage of convenience but only because johnny's family would never accept simon as his boyfriend due to archaic beliefs so johnny finds you on like OF or something.

he's got an incredibly healthy bank account too, so he asks(begs) you to take his last name and in turn he pays you for it. monthly pension, he's got you covered for school too-- whatever you want, just be his wife so he can finally fuck simon in peace.

except his family wants to meet you and now he's obligated to take you over. and then his mom starts hounding about grandchildren.

we just got married, ma.

ah expect at least 6 bairns, ye hear?

and then his intrusive sister suddenly brings up why the both of y'all aren't have any sex.

the walls are thin, lad. we'd hear ye whether we want to or nae.

he gets tense, stuffs his clammy hands in his pockets as he warbles that you're on your menses, it's improper.

fer two weeks?

now he's got you under him fully clothed that same night with your legs cradling his trim hips wondering why his cock is half-mast even though he only likes men and loves simon.

or maybe he is fully into men, but simon (apparently) isn't and his eyes keep straying to you, his loyal, dutiful wife, as you paint your toes a pretty color in the sunroom.

[moosereblogsfics]

now im thinking about how you're technically johnny's wife of convenience but now also simon's girlfriend.

like maybe you're crazy but you do remember johnny telling you that you can see other people, just don't bring them home. but every time you try to, simon is there.

something always suspiciously happens when you're out, conveniently forcing you to cut the date short, and the one that picks you up is simon. he doesn't even let you walk yourself out either. he'll already be at your table, putting your phone and wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. and what's worse, with the one guy who didn't mind, the one who had asked for a raincheck, simon told him that you have a husband at home waiting for them with a warm dinner.

he chuckles under his breath at the guy's reaction— ashen face, wide eyes, and gaping mouth. "don't know what ya saw in tha' bloke anyway. he didn't even cover the bill." because simon stared at him until he skittered out the front door without a backward glance.

and then their dates. they're supposed to be a couple; you're just a front, so why do they keep taking you with them as a third wheel. is it an exhibitionist kink? because that's what it feels like every time they're together. it's all sloppy kisses, grabby hands and you swear that if you hadn't spun around and briskly walked away that one lazy saturday simon was home, they would've probably let you watch them fuck each other stupid on the living room carpet.

it's also hard to bring it up to johnny because either simon's there, leaning on the kitchen island with his arms crossed as he watches you exist, or is taking up far too much space on the couch so that if you want to sit there and watch the telly, you're obligated to press up against his massive thigh. (manspreading, simon? really? truly?) or you can't look him in the eye after listening to the headboard repeatedly slam against the wall all night. you can still hear johnny's moans curling around the edges of your very conscious.

then, you meet the rest of the 141: a tall, broad bear of a man with the ocean in his eyes and an iconic mutton chop beard. john price, he'd rumbled as he shook your hand. and then the other one, a devastatingly pretty man with chocolate-brown eyes, a small scar on his cheek, and perfect, white teeth. kyle, the boys call me gaz. a pleasure. he'd grabbed your hand with both of his as he also shook it.

johnny doesn't stick around, excusing himself quickly as he takes a phone call but simon does. he stands directly behind you— a suffocating presence a silent guardian— so close you can feel his body warmth on the expanse of your back.

little close there, eh simon?

no' at all, boss.

once he starts showing up at your college with lunch, you feel like your patience is dangling by a fragile, whisper-thin thread so you confront him directly.

only to have him shut you down in seconds.

what's johnny's is mine. now sit, i know ya didn't eat breakfast this mornin'.

at least he brought you your favorite meal:}

[moosereblogsfics]

OH ?!OH ?!?!

OH ?! I DONT EVEN HAVE WORDS

something something fight club au where gaz is the main character and price is his tyler durden, who corrupts teaches him all about escaping the mundanity of life and eliminating rules that don't suit his objectives

[moosereblogsfics]

GAZ NATION RISE UUUP

.... i think you know what im here for....

hand over the "under your skin" wip stuff please <3

*sharp inhale* BABY😍😍😍 so glad you could make it into my inbox, hope you enjoy this little treat🍡

Under Your Spell: Pretty Little Liar

Pairing: Gaz x f!reader

Warnings: dark fic!!! stalking, 3/4s of 141 being good wingmen, Gaz lying through his pretty perfect teeth, +18 smut, p in v, slight breeding kink.

[Interlude - Before Chapter 1]

[Under Your Spell]

If Kyle is being honest with himself, he’s fairly certain that he’s gotten this far in life with a shit ton of luck.

His Captain tips his hat up to get a closer look at the scene. One unconscious man in a suit, bloodied and bruised from the beating he got from the other man standing over him. Price had gotten there as soon as Gaz gave him the clear. Soap is standing at the entrance of the ally and Ghost is in the car with a fresh change of clothes, since Gaz got some blood on his shirt.

Price gives a curt hum, eyes giving Kyle a once over. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Sergeant. Good work.” The Captain pats him on the shoulder and jerks his head to the car, where Ghost taps his fingers against the staring wheel, eyes checking every corner of the street for any threats. “Now go get your girl. We’ll take care of the mess.”

Gaz doesn’t think he could’ve smiled any brighter. “Thanks, Captain.”

Getting rid of your date was one thing. Convincing you to go on a date with him as a replacement without really saying it was another.

He watched and waited. God, you looked so dolled up and pretty. It made his hands shake, made him nearly hyperventilate at the thought of trying to gain your favour after basically derailing your night. But he silently promises that you’ll thank him later.

Right now, he grits through the guilt of seeing your frown deepen as the minutes ticked by. You checked your phone for the time, for any texts or calls, but received nothing to alleviate the embarrassment of getting stood up by your date.

Twenty-eight minutes and he stands up when you do and heads to the door just as you reach it, his entire nervous system jolting when your hands touch. He’s trying not to make it known that he inhaled your sweet perfume when you’re standing so close to him and already uttering apologies to him.

“Oh, sorry!”

“No, that one’s on me–”

A beat passes as your gaze meets his. He feels a stab of joy when your tearful eyes light up at the sight of him. “Kyle?”

He smiles. “Nice seeing you here.”

“Well, likewise, but what are you doing here?”

You take a step back and it takes everything in him not to follow like the fucking predator that he is. Sweet thing, your skirt flows freely around your thighs, tempting him to get on his knees right then and there. He’d do it if you asked. He wouldn’t even care about who’s watching as he pulls your panties down your legs with his teeth.

“Same as you, I reckon.” he smoothly replies, sliding a hand into his pocket.

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “What? You’re telling me that you got stood up by your date too?”

“You say that like it’s an unlikely scenario, love.” he says, pausing. “Are you implying that I’m not worthy of getting stood up? Is that it?”

A laugh is pulled from your lungs. Kyle takes that as a small win, a small step towards total victory. “No, that is not what I meant and you know it.”

It doesn’t take you very long to convince you to go back to your table under the pretext of “since we’re here, might as well enjoy a good meal” and you welcome the idea without any restraints.

He dials his charm up to a hundred. Goes all in for this one mission with the singular objective of making you like him. And for the most part it works. So far, he hadn’t caught as single frown or a hint of anything vaguely negative in your expression and that’s more than enough of a good sign.

But fuck, did he under estimate the power your presence holds over him.

He finds himself getting lost in your eyes. The sparkle, an unadulterated happiness that rarely makes its way to the surface as you relax and enjoy the moment and the presence of those around you. He swallows thickly as you rub your neck, the straps of your pink top straining against your bare shoulders.

He wants to plant kisses right there. On your bare skin, right on your shoulders, your collarbones, your pulse. He wants to feel your heart beating against his tongue. He wants his hand splayed across your back, holding you close while the other grips your ass and grinds you on his clothed cock. He wants to hear your gasps, your moans, the desperate call of his name.

He wants and he wants and he wants. His wants make him weak. And he can’t find it in himself to care.

For now, your voice lulls him, rendering practically defenceless as you unwind and speak to him about your life. He’s been dazed the whole time until– “Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be here. I mean, I was kind of pressured to come on this date, but I’m glad it worked in my favour.”

You’re giggling as you confess this little detail, nearly tipsy because of the red wine he ordered for you. The sound of it alone could get him drunk if he wasn’t so honed in on what you’d just told him.

The hearts in his eyes pop when he registered the words. He shakes his head. “Wait a minute– Pressured?”

Something in him stiffens when your shoulders draw in. Your deer-in-the-headlights expression draws the string tight, his thoughts running a million per second as he tries to find the meaning.

You lean back on your chair, swirling the glass of wine in your hand. “Well, uh… It’s no big deal–”

The words tumble out anyway without him having to slowly pull them out of you. Your date, a colleague of yours. A bit pushy, a bit… scary, sometimes, according to you. Though in Kyle’s opinion, the man didn’t look remotely frightening while he was getting his teeth knocked in.

Mason, you explained, took an interest in you. And you’d said no the first couple of times but he got increasingly insistent with his advances. It made your life a bit of a nightmare, made you dread coming to work any more than you usually did.

Kyle’s fists clench under the table. You’re glancing away, too distracted to notice the nearly imperceptible twitch in his eye.

“Not sure what he’s going to say when I face him at work on Monday, but at least I have the excuse of being mad at him now.” Your heavy sigh makes him wonder how long you’ve been dealing with this. “Hopefully, then he’ll take the hint and leave me be.”

Well, you’re in luck. Because you won’t get to see him on Monday. Or ever. You won’t find out till then, though. But it will be a nice surprise for you.

Kyle pays for the meal and insists on taking you home.

“Is this a date?” you jokingly ask as you hold onto his arm, the warmth of your body seeping through the fabric of his crisp black shirt.

He smiles at you. “Do you want it to be?”

Much to his disappointment, you fumble and glance away from him. Your confidence melting away into a coy reply. “uh– it– could be a friend date or whatever…”

Most likely to preserve the friendship that means to much to you. And it means a lot to him too, don’t get him wrong. But that friendship was already ruined from the moment Kyle set his eyes on you.

But fuck, he’ll take it. As fortunate as he’s been up until this very moment, he can’t risk pushing his luck with you.

“Then a friend date it is.” He presses a soft kiss on your temple and sighs in content. This’ll do for now. There’s no rush. Thing will be just fine if he plays his cards right.

Walking side by side with him down the street to where Ghost left the car for him. The man himself is standing outside, right on the pavement, having a smoke. Or pretending to, anyway. Kyle pops an innocent question about your childhood, something that makes you break into the story of how you fell out of a treehouse and broke a few ribs.

It distracts you long enough to not notice Ghost slipping the car keys into the hand Kyle opened behind his back. After that, Ghost makes himself scarce.

Your gasp draws his attention away from the road. “Kyle, your hands–”

Suddenly, he’s reminded of the wounds on his knuckles. His hands are on the steering wheel, the car stopped at a red light. He’s surprised you can see this well in the dark with being lightly buzzed from the alcohol but he plays it off with a tight smile and a cool reply. “S’alright, love. Occupational hazard.”

“That looks recent, though…” your small voice trails off, gaze shifting to his face.

Part of him hates himself for worrying you, but he’s not going to lie and say that he doesn’t like the way you’re fretting over him. It puts his mind at ease, knowing that if his luck runs out before he retires, you’ll be there to grieve him.

“Had to get Soap out of a bind.” he says. “Trouble follows him everywhere.”

“So I’ve been told.” you respond dryly. “But I have a first aid kit…”

“Is this your way of inviting your friend date in?” Kyle’s little tease isn’t met with a stammering reply like last time, but with silence.

His smirk nearly falters when he notices that you’re not even looking at him. Instead, your gaze set outside the window. He catches the slight clench of your fingers and by extension, thighs pressing together.

“Maybe…” It’s quiet. Yet it’s the loudest confession he’s ever gotten out of you.

By some miracle, one maybe turned into into a trail of soft yesyesyes’s echoing into the walls of your small bathroom. What was supposed to be you treating his hands turned into his nose touching yours with hooded eyes finding yours and then– then you pecked his lips.

Then. All hell broke loose.

“Kyle–” A hand closed over your mouth. You're rocked back and forth against the sink, thighs spread open for his cock to sink inside your slick cunt.

He quietly shushes you between soft coos, dragging his cock a little deeper. “The walls are thin, love.”

Normally, he wouldn't mind letting you be as loud as you need. But this is your first time together. Those sounds are his for tonight.

He kisses you as the tide rises, swallowing your moans as you wrap your legs around him, despite the fact that he's damn sure you're not on birth control and he's not wearing any protection. he thrusts harder and rolls your swollen clit under his thumb until you're gasping for air and running your nails down his clothed back while your pussy tightens around him. You bite his neck when you cum and that's enough to trigger his orgasm, causing him to flood your cunt with a heavy groan.

It's the first time he leaves you with a drooling cunt and trembling limbs but it most certainly won't be the last.

Under Your Spell Masterlist

banners by @cafekitsune and @vase-of-lilies

do not like, comment, reblog or follow— in fact, do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked.

[moosereblogsfics]

Oh this was a really interesting read!! I did enjoy Andre’s perspective of “i don’t know why I’m doing it but i am” and that leading him to get so much worse.

Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Smashing the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

Masterlist

[moosereblogsfics]

Would anyone be interested in some emergency commissions? (I need money 😓) (I’m imagining cricket noises in the bg)

Would probably be 10 gbp per 1000 words (idk how to price this stuff)

Should take around a week at most and money will be fully refunded if I am unable to write your request

I can write anything other than smut 🙏

Only other requirement would be for it to either be a character I’m aware of so I can write them without making them too ooc or one of your ocs with a detailed character description

Implied non con and other serious topics are fine with me 👍

Pls dm me if u are interested 🥺🥺👉👈

I should probably make this more professional 😭

I can do drawing commissions as well but idk if I’m good enough to be charging for that rn and idk how much I would price my art at 😓

[moosereblogsfics]

reread this fic bc i felt like crying and wow surprise! guess who cried! this was so well written and i swear i get so emotionally involved and sucked into ur writing .. ur so talented kelsi thank u so much for writing this 😭 i swear i experienced so much catharsis reading this Jesus

Okay so I just read your losing interest chapter and as I am STILL SOBBING I offer you this blurb (not a request, just word vomiting my tears( and WARNING: As a medical student, I recommend breathing un-polluted air, NOT H2O

Now that the reader realizes she is surrounded by basically 4 Blairs in different skins, she weighs her options. These are men about 3 times her size and each built like a brick shithouse. Even if she successfully escapes she will always be dragged back. She begins to believe that there is no truly free future for her besides. She sits in the bath contemplating her fate and looks down to see that the water is overflowing a bit and oh shit, that bathwater is beginning to look mighty breathe-able.

the wonderful people of tumblr and ao3 giving me ample ammunition to unload all of my angst on y'all🥲 i actually received a lot of asks in the last few days and i thought why not combine them into the next part of this series😈 takes place after [escape route] part of mafia!141 series

warnings: dark themes? yeah i think this counts as dark themes. very brief suicidal thoughts, emotional manipulation, very brief smut and mentions of smut, excessive alcohol intake (hinging on alcoholism), emotional outburst.

surprisingly, in the following days, you were compliant of their wishes to keep you inside. you didn't put up much of a fuss besides that one time at supper and made no attempts to escape. mostly because you knew you wouldn't be able to get past the electric fence and you wouldn't get far when they have eyes and ears everywhere so there was really no point.

that would've brought a huge relief if—

"i hate you..." you mumbled quietly as Soap set you down on the bed, your eyes shut and body pliant.

he frowned, feeling the words cut him deep. you dozed off after he tucks you in and presses the barest kiss on your forehead. you had drowned your last bottle of whiskey, the one Price had left here months ago for when he came to see you in your apartment.

you put on more fake smiles in the last week than you ever did in the last year you've ever spent with Blair. letting Price steer you through gatherings and functions, his hand staying firmly on your waist, never letting you go far.

he hardly ever lets you out of sight. after that attempted escape, he closed off every possibility of you running away from them if ever you got the chance.

right now, Ghost held onto your passport. you don't know where he put it but you know you're never seeing it ever again. he still looked at you as if you were the bane of his existence. fine. whatever. he's hostile towards everyone anyway, so it's not that big of a deal to you.

Soap froze all of your bank accounts. you can't touch a single penny of your own money because in his words "can't have ye buying the first bus ticket out of here again, bonnie." your eye twitches when you think about it and you're surprised you kept your cool that day.

Gaz had your employment contract terminated. that one might have stung the most because you actually liked that job. you blankly stared at the email before going to cry yourself to sleep once Gaz left.

essentially, with no money, no passport, no resources, no friends... you were trapped. more than you ever were with Blair.

you find yourself taking more baths than showers. too drained to stand up for more than five minutes in one place. you stare at the foam floating in the water, wishing it would give you a better solution than wanting to drown.

though that would be easy, wouldn't it? escaping to the afterlife since you can't escape this prison.

the only reason you don't do it is for your mother. you know Price is going to have to lie to her about how you died. and you know her, she's going to smell right through his bullshit and she's going to want to find answers.

you don't want to cause her demise because she went looking for truths that put her in an early grave.

Price's "punishment" never came in the last few weeks, but you never put it out of your mind. you were certain he was going to demand something unreasonable and completely out of your reach.

you've stayed out of trouble ever since. kept your head low, your voice even lower and avoided them whenever it was possible.

"babe, what do you want to eat?" Gaz asks you as he tries to pull your feet onto his legs. you curl them underneath you on the couch, hoping to get some peace and quiet.

you don't look up from your book. "whatever you want."

you don't see the way his face falls. he knows you love food and you're usually spouting out suggestions whenever prompted. he was hoping to use that to weasel his way into a normal conversation with you, but you immediately slammed the door on that.

Soap had a harder time at that task.

even putting on your favourite shows won't get you to comment on their stupid characters making the dumbest mistakes in film history. you just quietly stare at the tv with a blank expression while he does all the talking. your eyes don't even light up when you see your favourite fictional crushes.

as much as that makes him jealous, that alone crushed his soul.

Price didn't have it any easier than the Sergeants. no, in fact, he thinks he might have it worse.

first off, you stay as far away from his meetings as possible. you plaster a fake smile around him at all times and you don't disagree with him, even when he knows he's wrong (purposefully trying to break your feigned calm demeanour and instigate your need to argue over the silliest things). he gets nothing but smiles and nods and glazed eyes and unfocused gazes into blank walls.

you hide your true nature and leave a docile shell, a doll for him, for all of them to dress up and play with. you just seem to 'exist' around their vicinity, rather than live as one of them.

as for Ghost? you don't bother him. ever. you haven't stepped into his room since you came back to get your sweater and anything else that belongs to you. it's better to just not be in his presence since he views you as just a 'brat' to 'babysit' after all.

you do enjoy the sex though. with the other three, because again, having sex with Ghost would just defeat the whole point of staying out of his way. if he has a problem with that, he hasn't voiced it and if he sought comfort in another woman's bed then all the better.

so far, you've been doing fine. you were sure. or so you thought.

"less... agreeable..." you slowly repeat the words as you place the wine glass on the counter, staring down Gaz's nervous expression.

he hasn't bothered to put his shirt back on. had followed you out of the shower when he realized that you weren't going back to sleep.

Gaz hadn't meant to say what he said. he was just trying to establish some peace, to lessen the rift between you and all of them.

"baby, he didn't mean it like that." he reasons, but you scoff and open the bottle of wine.

"then please explain what exactly it is he meant." you said, putting the bottle down and swirling the half-full glass. "because i've done all you guys have asked without one complaint."

he doesn't like the way you phrase that. it implies you've been forced to do things you don't want to do and that's not... true... is it? Gaz tries not to think about that for a minute. tries not to think about what that could imply.

"he just means that you're less..." he's unnerved by the way your brow raises. even more by how your eyes have dulled. "friendly."

"friendly." you blankly repeat. he fidgets under your gaze, his eyes darting away.

he's nothing like the wolf that he is. for now, he hides under the skin of a nervous boy, a sweet thing who often brings flowers for you. sweet, sweet Gaz who makes you feel safe when you stumble and fall. sweet, dependable Kyle...

who doesn't see that he's just as selfish as your dead husband.

as you're looking at him now, you almost forget the way he looked at you the day you decided to try to leave. how disappointed he was that you tried to step out of your cage. how eager he was to leave you alone with the leader of his pack to pick at your bones.

your smile is wry as you tilt your head. "so... what? he wants me to smile more? is that it?"

"dollface." he pleads softly as you take a sip. "please..."

why are you even drinking? it's not even ten in the morning yet. the misery in his eyes did nothing to phase you.

"if he wants me to be friendly, fine." you grabbed the bottle and rounded the kitchen counter, smiling pleasantly in a way that made him restrain a wince. "i'll be friendly."

as friendly as you can be to your captor, that is.

Kyle was weary around you from there on. observing your every move. everything you did made him uneasy.

more often than not, he finds you tipsy or hungover. different glasses aren't too far. wine, bourbon, scotch, whiskey. always rotating between the four when you get the chance.

he's carried you to bed because you were too drunk to walk. he doesn't even want to think about the time you fell down the last few stairs and started giggling to yourself.

you were the same with Soap.

opening your legs without a word if he feels up for a shag, going along with the motions. for the first few days, Soap actually thought he was forgiven until one time, you immediately got up after riding him.

you had left him dumbfounded as he was still panting harshly on the couch and gone to the bathroom to clean up. it took him a few moments to compose himself, tuck his cock inside his pants and follow you.

"i can do it for ye, bonnie." he tries to take the cloth away from you, but you shift away.

"no, it's fine."

"hen." he reaches your arm. just then, his phone buzzes in his pocket. "shite."

he checks his phone. an emergency at headquarters. Soap frowns deeply, wanting more than anything to stay here and talk things out with you.

"i know." you dryly remarked. "duty calls."

"i'll be back soon." at the very least, you allow him to press a kiss on your forehead.

"it's okay." he heard as he was about to leave the bathroom. "take your time."

the knife in his heart twists as he leaves. he can't think clearly because of it, can't help but feel like your despondency was triggered by him.

it's worse with Price.

you're already getting out of bed and getting dressed the moment his phone rings.

"where are you going?"

"back to my place." you were going to ask Kyle to drive you back to your apartment but John grasps your wrist and pulls you back to his side.

"work can wait." he asserted, pulling you onto his lap. "come here."

as soon as you're back in the comfort of your own home, you're relieved to find that you're still left with one last bottle of vodka. at the very least, it'll drown your demons long enough to sleep peacefully.

getting dressed and dolled up doesn't fill you with as much joy anymore. it's a chore. a task you must fulfil to appease them when it's time to go out.

you've never felt more like a piece of meat slathered in glitter and gold.

"you look spectacular, bunny." Gaz kisses your cheek.

good to know your make-up skills were more than enough to hide the bags under your eyes. if only they could fix you on the inside too because you feel like absolute shit.

you plastered a smile and fluttered your lashes. "thank you."

truthfully, you feel dead inside.

Price steers you around the room full of people, rich folk, mayors, senators, businessmen and women and everything in between. all gathered to show off their wealth for this charity event, rather than actually participate for a good cause. his hand tightens when you try to pull away, his lips at your ear, a mere whisper draining your resistance as he tells you to behave.

you grit your teeth and keep moving in step with him, your eyes trailing to the bar. the sight of a shot glass shouldn't look nearly as appealing as it should right now.

the routine of doing nothing but reading and staring into the wall and getting fucked and repeating the cycle left your brain in a constant state of static. the more you keep being ran through the cycle, the more you can feel the hairline fractures in your sanity spread. you needed to numb your brain. fast.

by the time you're done socializing with Price's associates, you're ready to repeatedly hit your head against the wall because it's fucking ridiculous how he can stand to listen to all of these dull voices talking about 'business' all night long.

you're starting to see why Blair preferred to keep you out of it. why he didn't want you to get involved. not only was it dangerous, it was surprisingly boring as fuck. that, or he didn't want you getting the upper hand on him on his own turf, but either way, you agree with his decision now.

and that should say a lot about how 141 treats you. making you wish you were dealing with the devil you knew.

he's worried when he finds the empty bottle of bourbon and its glass cup at your bedside dresser. this is the third one and the week isn't even halfway through.

John hates how your eyes are devoid of light these days. shutting yourself off in every way he didn't think was possible. he hates himself for how you've wilted like a neglected flower in the last few weeks, though you've been anything but neglected.

your room is dark. curtains drawn, books and papers sprawled all over the small desk in the corner. he spots your diary face down open on the floor, abandoned and forgotten. you hardly ever get up, hardly find the energy to even go outside your room unless you're coaxed out by the him and the boys.

"darling, please look at me." he sits by your bed, a hand on your back.

you're curled in on yourself under the covers, groaning softly. your arm pokes out from the comforter and you're trying to reach for something. it's not the phone he gave you, or the lipgloss next to it. no, your fingers touch the half empty glass and start pulling it.

he sighs and take the glass out of your reach. "alright, that's enough alcohol for the day."

he drinks what is left of the contents of the glass while you sluggishly push the covers so only your grumpy face is visible.

"are you going to ta—" your slurred words cut off into into a hiccup. "take tha' away too?"

the utter resignation in your voice broke something in him.

footsteps file in. the Sergeants give him a worried look. Ghost is most likely still in the living room, probably to avoid you. he hasn't spoken to you since the day you tried to leave and he couldn't bring himself to face you since then.

especially with how you actively stay out of his path. you must hate him now. or you're afraid of getting yelled at again. either way, Simon needs to swallow his pride if he wants you to feel safe around him again.

"Soap, draw her a bath." Price orders as he drags the blankets further down so he can see you.

"aye, sir."

you're still in your glittery dress, the shoes haphazardly thrown elsewhere and forgotten too. just like you forgot to wipe off the makeup on your face. that can't be good for your skin, so he'll have to do it for you. "Gaz, where are the wipes?"

it's not long after he asks before Kyle holds out the package with the top open.

"come here." John pulls you onto his lap and cradles your head in his hands, trying to force you to look at him as he begins to wipe off the shiny colours on your eyelid. "what can i do to fix this?"

"there's nothing to fix." you squirm and try to twist away from his gaze, but he won't let go.

he keeps wiping off your makeup as gently as he can, even as you resist. you hardly take care of yourself anymore. it's becoming a cause for concern, especially because they hardly ever see you eat without them putting the plate in front of you. now you don't even to wipe off your makeup, when in the past, you would complain about your skin breaking out if you forgot to do that and take a short nap.

they've done their best to keep your head above water. to look after you when it seems like you've lost your will to keep marching forward with your head held high.

"baby..." Gaz sits behind John with a heavy sigh, frowning deeply. "please don't be like that."

you lean forward instead, kissing Price on the mouth. he's unsettled by the taste of alcohol on your tongue, having used to not seeing you this inebriated. it occurs to him that lately, you've been in this state more often than not and that might be their fault.

"everything's fine." you murmur, throwing your hands around his neck to pull him closer. "i'm not—" and speak through kisses, one hand slipping under his jacket. "not being a brat, am i? have i not been your good girl?" he doesn't like the tone of your voice. the sarcasm seeping through the sickly sweet smile. "your perfect little doll? hmm?"

he looks into your eyes. the dullness in your once bright soul. where did the glint go? the light in your eyes is missing and he fears they might have snuffed it out.

John tries to pull your head away as you trail drunken kisses down his neck, but you tighten your grip on him, refusing to let him move. Gaz leaves the bed, heading out of the room to join Ghost.

"i've been following your rules, haven't i?" John feels your teeth nip his skin. "i've done all you wanted." his chest tightens with the more words that spill out. "i've been your pretty little sex toy. just another hole for you to stick your cock in—"

his eyes widen. he grabs your hand when you try to unbuckle his belt, his expression grim. "darling, stop."

something in him cracks when he comes to the horrifying realization. how could you even think you were anything less than treasure to them?

to his surprise, you push him away while he's still in shock and sluggishly get off the bed. you would nearly fall off if he hadn't caught your hand and helped you keep your balance. "where are you going?"

you ignore him and head out of the room, he follows, calling out your name. he grabs your hand to stop you from going any further, but you whirl on him, spewing fire at the top of your voice, "what is it you want, Blair?! what?! is this not why i'm here?"

he reared back as if he'd been slapped, ears ringing loudly.

you... you called him—

"what more do you want?! have you not taken enough from me?!" you screamed, loud enough for the Sergeants to come out from your bathroom to see what was going on and for Ghost to stand at the end of the hallway to watch. "you've put me in a cage and made me dance your little tune! what? am i not doing it right? is that— is that it?"

you were tearing apart at the seams. the floodgates breaking down and letting drown all of them. the silence you hid behind wasn't just to shield yourself from whatever prodding and poking from them, it was to stop yourself from pouring all of your flames on them.

you pushed past Ghost, jerking away when he tries to touch you. John and the Sergeants followed, all of them trying to calm you down, trying to soothe you but you weren't having any of it.

you threw the vase at one of them, probably Soap, which he quickly dodged. it shattered on the floor, spilling water and the flowers Kyle got for you earlier in the day. you tried not to stumble as you walked away from them, tears blinding your vision.

you trip on the rug and fall on your knee, a small cry spilling from your lips. Gaz was immediately right by your side, hands on your back and arm, trying to make you sit back down as you attempted to stand.

"love, calm down before you hurt yourself." you're struggling in his arms, tiredly trying to push him off as you get on your feet again. "you can barely walk—"

Gaz follows you to where you're going. the kitchen. what you could possibly want there is beyond him, but he's scared you might fall again so he just goes wherever you go. and true to his fears, you stumble again and he's quick to catch you once again.

you feel his hand on your leg. panic strikes your veins. you shove him harder this time, grabbing one of the steak knives from the block and pointing it at him, yelling at the top of your voice, "don't touch me!"

three words. three little words paralyzing all four of them for a second. in all your days since they've known you, not once have you said that to them.

Gaz fixed his eyes on the sharp end of the knife, hands paused in front of him, half surrendering. the other half felt like a threat as he took a step forward. you take a step back.

"love." he sternly says. "put down the knife."

you don't listen to him. backing away when he tries to come closer, frightened even beneath your mask of rage. you're surrounded, backed into a corner.

all four of them. all four wolves trapping you once again, staring you down like the cornered little mouse that you are.

"we're not going to hurt you, love. just—" Gaz tries to placate, his voice softening. "just give it here, alright? we can talk about this."

"what would be the point in talking?" you countered sharply, eyes blazing with hot tears. "none of you listen to me!" each of them flinching more at your words than you brandishing the sharp blade. "god, i should've drowned myself in the fucking bathtub when i had the chance..."

the four of them are jolted by your lament, eyes widening in horror as the ice cracks and each one of them plunged into a living nightmare. they hadn't realized it was this bad. they were too blinded by their own selfish needs, their own complacency to see you deteriorating and falling into pieces right in front of them.

"sweetheart..." Kyle's voice shakes, he takes another step. he's close. too fucking close. "hey—"

you swipe at him with the knife. but it's too sluggish, too slow for his reflexes not to avoid. your wrist is caught and you're brought against his chest fast there you could blink.

the knife, your only defence, your only salvation, is taken away. you're held against someone, legs kicking out as you screech and yell and kick out your legs in an attempt to escape. demanding, pleading, "let me go!"

Ghost holds your legs as you thrash around, grunting when your knee knocks his chin as he's limiting your movement. Soap holds your hands when you try to claw at Gaz's arms, trying to talk you down, trying to soothe the broken little bird. you cry out when you feel a prickle on your neck and Price telling the boys to hold you steady when you struggle even more.

but just as quickly, your rage fizzles out and your shoulders slump. you find yourself on the floor, between Soap's legs and you lay against his chest as he rubs your back, the embers finally dying down, "just let me go. please let me go..."

"shh..." he cooed, caressing you, lulling you as whatever you've been injected with takes effect. "it's okay, bonnie. it's okay." your limbs weigh down on you, too boneless for you to keep attempting to break free from them, your eyes too heavy. "ye're safe here, love. it's okay."

his voice grows tight as he glances at Gaz, at Ghost and finally, Price. they know what he knows. they saw it as he did. they broke you. held you too tightly in their grasp and snapped you in half.

Price watches you sleep that night. pondering where he went wrong, how this could've happened. you didn't even realize what you'd just called him.

Blair. you called him Blair.

a dead man. someone long forgotten and buried. you spared no more tears for that man after the funeral. swore that you'd never let his memory taint your newfound freedom.

the freedom that Price now plucked and pocketed away. it all makes sense now. how you've been behaving all this time.

you were reliving that loveless marriage all over again. settling back into old ways, long practised rules and motions to help you survive. this was how you'd been living before you met them. this was what kept you alive. easy submission. quiet resignation.

the perfect little slave wife for Blair. now he haunts you every time you look at the four of them.

Price has ever felt more like a failure that night.

this was so rushed💔 i just didn't want to give up on it but it was starting to weigh down on me.

i swear y'all be sending me the most angsty of angst into my inbox than i know what to do with🥲 anyway, happy new year💫 banners by @cafekitsune mafia!141 masterlist offer a note in the picklejar

[moosereblogsfics]

no interest.. ceilidh pls understand everything you write I’m positively foaming at the mouth for and this especially is so YUMMY

i would never write it bc no interest but.....olympic village au - intense figure skater reader who's having panic attacks over her routine and subsisting on a diet of espresso and vicodin, and hockey players ghost and soap who are geeked out as shit about this uppity figure skater that looks like she might slit someone's throat if they breathe wrong

[moosereblogsfics]

Ugh this tore my heart into pieces. Amazing, as always, of course.. but damn. Damn!! I just wanted to say I think you do such an incredible job of making it so that JJ does seem to genuinely care about the reader, as a person, and is still very much actively doing things that hurt her. You show it in such an incredibly nuanced way but it’s so very realistic and demonstrates cycles of abuse and such, in a very clear and empathetic way.

Teenage Dirtbag XIII

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, mentions of DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

“Okay,” the woman before you exhaled, looking at your paper work. “While broken, your nose should be much better in about three weeks.”

Rafe’s hand gently massaged your shoulders at that, standing at your side as the doctor gave you her final prognoses on your situation. Her dark eyes scanned the paper, humming to herself as she glanced at you. That particular action made your heart skip a beat, and you tried to ignore how nervous you felt. Rafe had done most of the talking—for obvious reasons—but you couldn’t forget how almost disbelieving she’d sounded when he told her what happened.

“I’d recommend icing it for about twenty minutes every 1-2 hours while awake, and I highly suggest taking some Ibuprofen while pain persists…”

Her words died in the air as she trailed off, a small sigh escaping as she flipped the paper.

“You’re going to experience some swelling and bruising for sure, but it’s that knee of yours I’m most concerned about.”

At that, she looked at you head on.

“You said you landed right on it?”

At your nod, she continued.

“I can’t imagine how fast you were falling to do this much damage. It’s definitely fractured,” she commented.

Your heart sank at that, and even though you’d long suspected this was more than just a bruised knee, you didn’t relish hearing it. You felt Rafe lean down, and you slowly blinked when he pressed his face into your hair, rubbing your arms in what you were sure was meant to be a soothing manner.

“What do we need to do?”

She lifted her gaze again at the sound of his voice, and you didn’t think you liked the way she looked at him.

“Rafe…right? You’re the boyfriend?” he nodded, and she spoke again. “We’ll be getting her a splint to hold her leg in place while the bone heals, and I’m making physical therapy mandatory.”

“Of course,” he said.

She looked at him for what felt like a long time before her eyes met yours again, much softer now.

“You’re going to need to stay off of it a lot, okay? We need to keep as much weight off of it as possible, and I’ll just go ahead and write you a prescription for Ibuprofen seeing as you’ll need it for both your nose and your knee.”

Just then Rafe’s phone vibrated, and you turned to look at him. He gently squeezed your arm as he looked at it, throwing you a small smile.

“Your parents are downstairs. I’m going to go get them,” he said, giving you a brief kiss on the lips. “Let me know what else she says.”

With one last final squeeze, he left you, and you weren’t stupid.

You knew it was a warning rather than comfort.

“It’s going to take about six weeks to heal. I’d personally even give it a week or two more just to be sure,” she continued once he was gone.

At your nod, she studied you, and with a sigh, she pressed her clipboard against her leg. You didn’t miss the way she glanced at the door, and you reached up before thinking better of it, tempted to touch your nose. You dropped your hand back into your lap.

“Your boyfriend said you fell…”

You nodded, swallowing.

“Yeah, I… I wasn’t paying attention,” you gave a bitter chuckle. “The stairs in his house are insane.”

She gave a slow nod.

“So, this happened at his house?”

“Yes.”

Her face was unreadable, and you watched the way she pursed her lips.

“…and where was he when this happened?”

You didn’t like her questions, nor the tone in her voice, and considering you were already on medication, the last thing you needed was to let something slip. You recalled Rafe’s harsh grip on your face just before answering the door for the EMTs, the way he’d sneered at you to behave. After all, this was your fault somehow, a mess you’d gotten yourself into, and he was going to be the one to clean it up.

“The bathroom. I thought he told you that…”

Her smile was slow.

“He did,” she confirmed. “I just wanted to rehash things, understand exactly what happened.”

At your slight frown, she continued, albeit reluctantly.

“We just don’t normally see these kinds of injuries with someone who fell down the stairs,” she admitted to you, and your heart sank. “The knee…sure…I suppose, but the broken nose…”

She hummed to herself.

“It’s a head on injury. Like something came straight at it.”

The silence between you was thick, and you forced yourself to speak.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but…that’s what happened,” you assured her.

You didn’t miss the slight way in which her face fell, and she glanced at the door again.

“Rafe Cameron… Is it safe to assume he’s Ward Cameron’s son?”

Your silence was answer enough, and before she could say anything else, you heard the man in question’s voice coming down the hall, your parents’ mixed within.

Your mother was ever dramatic, rushing to your side and almost touching your face before thinking better of it. You assured her you were fine, hating the tears in her eyes. Your father seemed just as worried, but he handled it better, only turning to the doctor to ask her everything he wanted an answer to. Your mother pressed her lips to your forehead, sniffling.

“Sweetheart, just what were you looking at to pay so little attention to where you were going, huh?”

It seemed more of a rhetorical question as she kissed your forehead again, going on about getting you home as soon as possible. You heard your father talking to the doctor about a wheelchair, and you glanced over just as Rafe came to stand by your bed again. His hand was gentle on your back.

“I’ll come over as soon as everything is finished up here. She doesn’t need to be on her feet, at all,” he said to her. “I already feel bad enough that I wasn’t around when it happened.”

“Oh hush, Rafe,” she told him, briefly pulling him into a hug. “You’re always looking after her, such a knight in shining armor, but you couldn’t have prevented this. Let’s just be glad it’s not much worse.”

She smiled at you, touching your chin, and you gave her a small one back.

When she looked away to join in on the conversation with your father and the doctor, Rafe’s hand slid up towards your neck. His fingers pressed into the skin, and a shudder crawled down your spine just as you heard him softly exhale. When you glanced up at him, those baby blues of his were already focused on you, and you blinked as he leaned in.

Mindful of your nose, he pressed a gentle kiss against your lips.

“Oh, God.”

That was the first thing Sarah said as Rafe rolled you into the hallway.

You were wide-eyed at the sight before you, lips parting in both shock and apprehension. You weren’t surprised to see Ward waiting, even if the sight of him did make your stomach twist. Rafe—and his home—were involved, after all, so you expected the oldest Cameron to show up at the hospital too. You hadn’t expected, however, Sarah and her friends to be waiting with him. Even the sight of Kie stumped you, but not as much as the sight of JJ.

You hadn’t seen him—talked to him—since that night.

…and your heart both sank and soared.

You were too preoccupied with the sight of his troubled eyes to pay attention to the noise going on around you. Ward and Sarah were asking Rafe all kinds of questions while John B., Pope, Kie, and Cleo were fussing over you. You absentmindedly answered their questions, telling them you were fine, but the entire time you couldn’t look away from the blond.

You didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched as he ran his gaze over you, eyes hardening as he took in your bruised face and the splint on your leg. JJ, so unlike himself, was deathly silent, and no one seemed to notice but you. When his eyes met yours again, they softened a tad, his face falling, and you forced yourself to look away when you felt Rafe’s hands come down on your wheelchair again.

“I know, dad, but her parents are downstairs pulling the car around, and then I’m heading over there,” you heard him say from above you.

When you glanced over your shoulder, you noted the stony look on Ward’s face as he and Rafe stared each other down. You didn’t need to be a genius to guess what the tension was about, and you wondered why Ward ever thought that Rafe would care about treating you better. Especially when he knew you’d never leave him, and his daddy would be there to cover his ass every time.

Just then the older man fixed his gaze on you, face not so taught now.

“How are you feeling?”

You didn’t answer him right away, and at your silence, he at least had the gall to look sheepish.

“Fine,” you eventually said, just loud enough for him to hear, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the guilt that passed through his eyes.

You looked away from him before he could respond, and you only smiled at Sarah when she told you she’d drop by later to check on you. The tension between Rafe and the rest of her friends was palpable, and you recalled the last time he’d even been almost this close to any of them—the night you’d fallen asleep at John B.’s place. It was an awkward situation seeing as they didn’t like him, and he definitely didn’t like any of them.

Just as Rafe pushed you past them, you heard the last voice you expected.

“Did you do this?”

Your heart dropped at those words, and both you and Rafe turned around in shock. Well, you did as best as you could in a wheelchair, anyway. You struggled to look around Rafe, but even if you couldn’t manage to, JJ’s voice was as clear as day. Your eyes were wide and disbelieving as you stared at JJ, but he wasn’t looking at you, at all.

His eyes were colder than you’d ever seen them—so unlike his normal easygoing self—and the short-sleeved shirt he wore showed the tightening of his arms at his side. You were sure you’d never seen JJ this angry, not even after the night Rafe had raped you for lying about going to John B.’s. The younger blonde’s lip was curled over his teeth as he stared your boyfriend down, and you reached out to touch Rafe’s arm just as he stepped away from you.

That didn’t go unnoticed by JJ.

“Are you asking me did I do this to my girlfriend?” your boyfriend slowly wondered, an edge in his voice.

“JJ, what the hell?” Sarah wondered, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

JJ shook her hand off as she reached for him, moving towards Rafe.

Your attempt to stand only resulted in pain shooting through your leg.

“Yeah, I am…because I’m looking at her nose, and I’m thinking to myself ‘she got that from falling down the stairs’?” he scoffed. “You’re a piece of shit!”

You gripped the back of your chair as JJ shoved Rafe, forcing everyone else to jump into action as the severity of JJ’s anger became clear. Pope wasn’t enough to stop his friend from hitting Rafe, and you felt frozen as Ward hurried to hold Rafe back as he started to do the same.

“Hey, hey,” Ward screamed, grabbing the attention of other hospital personnel. “Get yourself together!”

Rafe struggled to listen to him, his angry gaze focused on JJ as Pope and John B. pulled the other blond back.

“I know you did this,” he spat, his voice echoing in the hall. “You’re such an asshole to her, and we’re just supposed to believe this bullshit?”

You felt helpless as you looked between them, feeling at fault. JJ only suspected the truth because he knew the true nature of your relationship with Rafe. If you’d never told him, he wouldn’t be so invested and bold in his accusations, and they wouldn’t be currently yelling at each other in the hospital. You swallowed, hating how upset JJ was.

By now, hospital staff as well as a security guard had joined you, and Ward was angrily conversing with them as he pushed Rafe to take you and go. JJ was still trying to get to him even as the security guard was threatening to arrest him, and as much as you didn’t want to, you reluctantly forced yourself to turn away.

However, that wasn’t before you noted the way Sarah looked between JJ and Rafe…and then finally you.

Your gaze was focused on your lap as Rafe angrily pushed you down the hall and farther from JJ. You could still hear the commotion from the other blond, and you fiddled with your fingers. Your heart felt like it was in your throat as Rafe pushed you along, a loud rush in your ears that was replaced by Rafe’s voice the moment you were truly alone.

“Why the fuck would he say that?”

Rafe had stopped pushing you, and when you looked up at him, he was already looking down at you. The look on his face was thunderous, and you leaned back some just as he started to lean in. His arm twitched, like he was seconds away from grabbing you, but he clearly decided against it, and you suspected it had something to do with the cameras.

“Why the fuck would he say that?” he quietly repeated, slower this time, and you swallowed.

“I don’t… Rafe, I don’t know.”

Your heart was threatening to leap from your chest, and your boyfriend sneered at you.

“You and JJ aren’t even friends…and all of a sudden he’s accusing me of hurting you?” Rafe tilted his head to the side with a scoff. “You see how strange that looks to me, right?”

“Rafe, I don’t talk to JJ. I don’t know why he would say that, I mean…”

You scrambled for something to tell him.

“You know how much he hates you,” you lazily threw your hand up. “You’re surprised that he would accuse you of hurting me?”

Rafe’s nostrils flared as he stared at you, looking between your eyes. You could tell that he was seriously considering that possibility, their rivalry and animosity towards each other no secret. When he reached up to touch your chin, you flinched, slowly blinking as he brushed his thumb along your skin.

“JJ’s always trying to start something with you, isn’t he?” you quietly wondered, and Rafe eventually hummed in agreement. “It’s not like anyone will believe him, anyway.”

You tried to ignore the memory of Sarah looking between you three in that hallway as Rafe finally nodded. His expression was unreadable, but he seemed convinced enough, and you didn’t allow yourself to relax until he was meeting your parents at their car.

Rafe had pulled out of the driveway all of five minutes ago when a figure at your window was pulling it open.

Even if he hadn’t been texting you nonstop since you left the hospital, you expected it. The scene JJ had caused was on repeat in your mind, and it was hard to make sense of all the emotions you felt. On the one hand, it warmed your heart that he cared so much, but his boldness to stand up to Rafe—especially so publicly—worried you. It was like JJ hadn’t considered the ramifications of his actions and how they could possibly come back on you.

Not to mention, you still hadn’t quite sorted out how you felt about the last time you were alone with him.

With that being said though, in the wake of recent events, you found yourself pushing that to the back of your mind for the time being. You felt that was something you could figure out later because with one look at the blond as he slipped through your window frame, you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. JJ was now the one person you could be completely vulnerable with. You didn’t have anyone else, and the day’s events came crashing down on you.

You smiled in the face of that doctor—even your own parents—and lied about what happened to you. You’d had to welcome Rafe’s touch, accept comfort from the same hands that had done this to you. Recalling the way your mother had expressed appreciation for your boyfriend made your stomach turn, and when JJ quickly approached you, you let him take your face into his hands.

“I fucking knew it,” he murmured, pressing his face into your hair. “I knew it.”

You wanted to tell him what an idiot he was to make a scene like that, but you couldn’t manage to stop crying. You reached up to rest your hands on his forearms, sobbing against him as you pressed your forehead to his chest. Your entire frame shook, and you fought to get yourself together, knowing that Rafe wouldn’t be gone that long.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you managed to say, pulling away and looking at him.

JJ at least looked sheepish, and if you knew him as well as you liked to think you did, then you knew he regretted it almost as soon as you’d left. His own blue eyes shined as he looked at you, and you watched him struggle to swallow.

“I know,” he quietly admitted. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He gently grazed your cheek, looking over your face.

“I just… When I saw you? I wanted to be sick,” he told you. “I wanted to bash his face in…because I knew he did it.”

You looked down at that.

“I was really scared, JJ,” you confessed, voice almost inaudible. “He threw me, and…and I couldn’t stop falling.”

More tears fell.

“I was really scared,” you tearfully choked out.

He pulled you into his arms again, cheek resting against his shoulder, and your lashes fluttered at the way his hands fell from around you in search of your own. His fingers intertwined with yours, and your conflicting emotions about JJ reared their ugly heads again.

He was kind to you and fiercely protective, and he wasn’t afraid to stand up to Rafe, but the night in which you’d slept with him was so confusing. You’d been drunk and upset—because of Rafe—and JJ hadn’t exactly listened to any of your protests…but he was so kind to you. You could’ve tried harder to make him see you hadn’t been quite ready for that, this was true, but was that supposed to be on you? He hadn’t listened…

…but he was so kind to you.

It was the first time you’d had sex with anyone without being afraid, and surely that had to count for something. The whole thing could’ve used better communication, but you certainly didn’t feel the same by the end of the night. In fact, you’d happily pulled him closer and was eager to feel him inside of you again. By the end of that night, you’d wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

It’d started off weird…but JJ was no Rafe.

Your first time with Rafe wasn’t even comparable to your first time with the blond that was currently holding you. JJ made you feel safe, and maybe it was like he’d said before. Maybe your relationship with Rafe just made you scared to do anything for yourself, scared to let yourself be loved properly.

“Where did he go?” he wondered after some time.

“Home,” you whispered. “Ward’s mad at him.”

When you pulled away to look at JJ, there was a slight frown on his face at that.

“Ward knows Rafe did this, and���he’d promised to be better. He-.”

“…is an idiot for thinking Rafe would actually treat you right. He’s just as bad as his psycho son,” JJ scoffed.

You didn’t argue with JJ on that, and when you looked at him again, he was running his eyes along your nose and the surrounding area. You couldn’t decipher all of the emotions on his face, but you could tell that he was sad, and he closed his eyes before turning away.

“I hate him.”

Sometimes you hated him too.

Mostly, you were just scared of him.

“They gave you some medication for it, right?” he wondered, looking at your nose again before briefly glancing at your knee.

“Yeah,” you told him. “They said my nose will take three weeks and my knee will take at least six.”

“Jesus,” you heard him murmur as he glanced away, jaw tight. “I don’t get how he can do that to you.”

His hand tightened on yours when he met your gaze again. His fair hair was going every which way, some hanging onto his forehead, and his blue eyes sparkled in the light of your bedroom. JJ looked so sad and beautiful as he gazed at you.

“You’re…you’re probably the sweetest girl I’ve ever met,” he quietly admitted. “…and I don’t get how he can look at you and want to hit you and shove you and make you bleed.”

One of his hands was resting on your cheek, now, mindful of the bruising.

“I don’t understand how he can know you and be so mean to you.”

You looked down at that.

“I wish I could lock you away and protect you from the world,” JJ said, more to himself than you, and when you looked up, your gaze fell to his lips as he leaned in.

The kiss could barely be called that, and when he pulled away, guilt settled in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you eventually said, continuing at his look of confusion. “…for…ignoring you after that night.”

Understanding settled over his features.

“I was really confused,” you shakily breathed. “About…well…everything.”

“It’s okay-.”

“I’m still confused,” you hurried to add. “I don’t know what I genuinely don’t want or what I’m just afraid to want.”

Your words came out slow, fighting to understand your own mind.

“…and part of me feels like I’m doing something horrible to Rafe even though I know that isn’t true,” you tearfully continued. “I know that nothing I do will ever compare to what he’s done to me, but I feel so horrible.”

JJ wiped your face as best as he could, shushing you, but you shook your head.

“…and I know…”

A feeling of dread weighed you down, a chill gliding down your spine as your next words settled on your tongue.

“I know that if he ever found out about us…he’d kill me,” JJ shook his head at your words, wanting you to stop talking. “It’s true, I know it’s true…”

“Don’t say that,” he said, taking your face into his hands.

“He would, JJ,” you dazedly whispered, recalling that day in his truck and the night of his birthday and the day you called the cops. “Rafe would strangle me without even thinking about it-.”

“Y/N, stop. Don’t think like that,” JJ gently shook you.

“…but you make me really happy,” you tearfully told him, looking into his eyes. “I’m happy when I’m with you and…”

You looked between his eyes.

“…and sometimes…sometimes I think it’d be worth it,” you murmured.

JJ was standing, now, making you keep your eyes on him.

“That’s not happening. Do you understand me?” he continued at your silence. “I won’t let him do that to you. He’s not taking you away from me.”

More tears spilled over because there was no way to guarantee that. Even if you and JJ stopped this, right now, there was still a chance Rafe could go too far one day and just…kill you. It was something that was always in the back of your mind, even when you tried your best to keep him happy with you.

JJ pressed his forehead to yours, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Don’t you wanna be with me? Huh?” he breathed. “Don’t you want to go on dates with me and hang out with my friends and hold my hand out in the open?”

You gave a trembling nod.

“Okay,” he shakily exhaled. “Okay, so don’t…don’t say things like that.”

JJ knelt before you, looking up at you and wiping your tears.

“You’re going to be fine,” he assured you. “I’d kill him before he ever killed you. Do you understand me?”

Again, you nodded.

Standing, he pulled you against him, burying his face into your hair and running his hand along your back.

“He’s not taking you away from me. That I can promise you…”

Your lashes fluttered as JJ massaged your scalp, and the conviction in his voice made you want to believe him.

[moosereblogsfics]

Mean Simon Part 4

CW: non-descriptive panic attack, followed by comfort and gaslighting; please be safe and careful 💕

Simon’s got a bit of a puzzle on his hands. More accurately, you’re a puzzle that’s not in his hands. And getting you there, of your own free will, is only part of it.

Sure, he could just grab you or order you. You would be helpless to his will either way. It would be simple and easy, but it wouldn’t be satisfying. Not as much as coaxing you into the trap by your own volition, anyway.

Once you were just a shy thing, now you’re downright skittish. Quick to bend the knee and bow your head, but you don’t relish in doing so. Johnny has been nothing but adoring and sweet to you, yet Simon notices you still resist flinching and tensing on contact. Never mind if Simon himself were to attempt the same, you’d work yourself into hysteria over a pat to the shoulder. Seducing you would be its own challenge - but that leaves the contradictory matter of training you.

You would be so good. He knows it.

You’re quick to learn, eager to please. But it comes from a place of fear and distrust. The former has its place, the latter its natural offspring - but neither suits Simon’s purpose in this instance. Punishment and discipline would only serve to reinforce the trenches in your mind. To stay quiet and unseen, to avoid Simon at all costs and tolerate Johnny out of self-preservation. That neither of them can be trusted, are not objects for your affection or desire. Only a facsimile with a pretty face, that makes pretty noises, and soothes Johnny with pretty touches. Nothing real; nothing either of them can actually sink their teeth into.

And so there lies the puzzle. He needs (wants) to train you into the sweet doll he knows you can be, but he has to do it in a way fundamentally different to his instinct - or he risks breaking you entirely.

Luckily, he’s a patient man. Your behavior has been acceptable so far with the barest monitoring. He has time to develop a strategy.

“Um… excuse me, Mister?” you soft voice calls.

He grunts, turning his eyes to you. You shift, fingers twisting together tightly.

“I can’t, um… so there’s a light out? In the kitchen?”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“And I don’t know where the bulbs are,” you finish.

He tilts his head. “You didn’t go looking?”

You shake out your hands a bit, shifting. “I didn’t know if I, um, if I should? Snooping, and all…”

Simon tries to recall if he’s ever implied that you shouldn’t go through the house. He knows he explicitly warned you not to go in his bedroom and the garage. But you’ve inferred it somehow, likely from those first few months after he got you for Johnny - when he would have had some objection to you treating the house as if it were your own.

You’re well past that by now, though. Spend more time here than either of them, cleaning and cooking and sleeping. In fact, he’s surprised you haven’t stumbled across the bulbs sooner.

“Hall closet by my room.”

You hesitate for another moment. “And is there, um… a step stool anywhere…?”

He blinks. “No.”

“Oh. Uhh…” you jolt a bit. “Oh! I’ll just use a dining chair. Thank you! Um, sir.”

You dart away before he can reply. That’s going to be the first bad habit he breaks, he decides.

For lack of sating himself with you, Johnny’s been especially needy. Simon accounted for this, of course, and despite it being a punishment, he’s not so cruel as to leave Johnny hanging. It’s meant to be a learning experience too.

So Johnny is still allowed to cuddle with you (to some extent) and exchange kisses (in moderation) while Simon takes the edge off the ever-burning inferno that is his libido. Sniper he may be, Simon might have miscalculated regardless. He’s already touched-out for the day.

You’re in the kitchen, prepping for a nicer dinner at Simon’s request before their next deployment. It’ll take a couple hours to cook, so you’re assembling everything early. Or at least trying to - because Johnny will not leave you the fuck alone.

He’s underfoot, making a nuisance of himself. Kissing at your neck and face, wrapping himself around you while you bustle about, stealing ingredients off of cutting boards, talking in your ear nonstop. Most days you wouldn’t mind - or would appear that way, at least. But today is not most days.

Simon is sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter when you reach capacity.

With Johnny still plastered to your back, you try to reach for something (for the umpteenth time) and trip over his feet. You knock over an open carton of stock, splattering translucent brown all over the floors, counters, cabinets, and yourselves.

“Fuck,” you cry, “Johnny.”

Your voice breaks on his name. Johnny freezes. Simon can see fault lines in every inch of your stiff body. How carefully you manage each movement as you disentangle yourself from Johnny and usher him away from the worst of the mess. You’re about to fall apart.

“Och, I’m sorry, hen. Lemme help—“

“It’s alright,” you interrupt, chin low as you pivot, snagging the paper towels off the counter. “I’ve got it. Just… stay there.”

Johnny opens his mouth to protest, about to help anyway, but Simon tuts in disapproval.

The kitchen is smothered in an awful silence as you clean, Johnny growing more shame-faced with each rip of the towel roll.

Unobstructed, you manage to clean up in only a couple of minutes, making an extra pass with a damp towel to wipe up any residue. When you’re finished, you wet another and offer it to Johnny to wipe off. Then do the same for yourself. Always, you keep your face obscured or hidden, body oriented away, tight and rigid.

When you spin to gather up the dirty towels, Simon sees how your eyes glimmer. You remember he’s there too at the same time.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I d-don’t, um…” you have to take a breath to gather your voice. “There’s not enough for dinner now.”

Simon considers that for a beat.

“Johnny’ll run out ‘n get more.”

You swallow thickly. “Okay. I’m sorry, sir.”

“‘S not your fault. Kitchen only needed one cook, yeah?”

You make a noise that, if he was hard of hearing and listening through earmuffs, could almost be agreement.

“I-I’m gonna go wash off…” you rub your hands together nervously. “If that’s alright.”

“G’on.”

You’re gone in an instant. Simon can already hear you sniffling. He stands.

Johnny turns huge, pathetic eyes on him.

“‘M sorry, Si. Really, I didn’t mean to—“

“But you did,” Simon interrupts sharply. “Because you were being a rude little shit and playing too rough.”

Johnny gulps, looks a bit misty-eyed himself. Simon sighs and scrubs an exasperated hand through his mohawk.

“Go get the stock,” he orders, milder. “And an extra treat for the sweetie. Something actually for her. Understood?”

Johnny always does better with clear instructions. He perks up at being given a mission - and an avenue for making things up to you. He hurries off with a pep in his step.

Simon waits until the door is shut before seeking you out. You’re in the bathroom, as you said you would be. He can hear you muffling cries behind the door.

He taps his knuckles twice against the wood. It goes dead silent.

“Jus’ me,” he calls.

There’s a quick splash of water, the flutter of fabric, and then you crack the door open. Your face is cry-flushed, eyes red-rimmed and still glossy. You can’t look past his chest, mouth curved down.

“I-I’m really sorry about the-the mess, and dinner, and…”

“Stop apologizing,” he says, gentling his voice to take the edge off the command. “If there was something to be sorry for, you’d know.”

You swipe quickly at a tear that squeezes out. He tsks softly.

“Bit strung out today, eh?”

“Just… didn’t sleep well, is all,” you answer. “And I didn’t get a chance to nap.”

Right, he’s noted that, in the back of his mind. That you spend small portions of the day sleeping. Usually an hour or two at a time. But Johnny’s been so high maintenance today that you’ve hardly had a moment of peace.

“Cranky? Is that it?” he asks.

You look more miserable. “Just tired,” you answer.

He hums. Willing to bet it’s more than just a bad night of sleep. Poor thing.

“Sor - I mean… I know I’m not supposed to…” you rub at your eyes, drooping.

He tilts his head. “Not s’posed to what?”

“Cry or-or be annoying or…”

He coos. “You’ve got all these rules for yourself, don’t you?”

You sniffle again, hugging yourself tightly as you shrug.

The hunter in Simon perks. There.

“Look’it.” He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, guiding your gaze up to his.

You blink slowly, heavily, wet lashes sticking together.

“What sort of terrible world have you built up in your mind, hm?” he soothes. “Never told you not to do any of that, did I?”

You blink, confused and upset.

“N-no, I guess… not.”

“No,” he confirms. “You’re spun up so tight you’re starting to fray, little one.”

You shudder, swaying into him a bit. He used the movement to slide his hand to your jaw, massaging his thumb into the tight muscle by your ear.

“From now on, you only follow the rules I give you, yeah?” he says, low and quiet. “Dunno why you think I’m so mean. I won’t punish you if you don’t know better.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if trying to resist the hypnotic lull of letting someone else think for you. But you still lean into his palm.

“How’s this,” he offers, “if you’re ever unsure, you ask me. Wont get mad at you for asking. Yeah?”

And finally, that wire twisted up between your shoulder blades loosens.

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny comes home with a chocolate cupcake. Simon approves it before sending him to you, decompressing on the couch with a cuppa.

You blink as Johnny drops heavily to his knees, placing the packaged cupcake in your hand.

“Lass, I’m sorry for bein’ so rough,” he begins, bowing his forehead to your knees. “Dinnae mean to, but I still upset ye, interrupted dinner when ye were workin’ so hard.” He tilts his face up, hitting you with the full force of his apologetic blue eyes. “Forgive me?”

You mouth parts, genuine shock washing over your features. “Y-yeah, Johnny, of course. I know you didn’t mean to. I was just having a bad day.”

But that doesn’t mollify him.

“I couldnae tell. You were just… goin’ on as usual.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

You set your tea aside to place your hand over his, trying to reassure him. But Simon knows his pup and you’ve just unwittingly put a thorn in his paw.

“I’ll get back to dinner now.” You lean in, drop a kiss to Johnny’s furrowed brow. “Thank you for apologizing. And the cupcake.”

Johnny stands with you. “At least let me help proper this time?”

You smile, though it’s tinged with exhaustion. “Sure. C’mon.”

Simon takes his place at the counter again and keeps a careful eye on you both. Things are a lot smoother this time round. Johnny follows your quiet instructions, happy to be useful. You seem to settle with dinner plans back on track.

Once everything is set to slow cook, Simon herds you and Johnny back to the den.

“Pick a movie, lamb.”

You blink from the corner of the couch you’ve curled up in. “Me?”

“You.”

You seem so surprised that you just blurt out a title. Simon hums and queues it up while Johnny all but interrogates you for the plot. As the opening scenes flicker across the screen, you snuggle in further, even tugging a blanket off the back of the couch to bundle up on.

Johnny shoots you a longing look - you’re too engrossed in the movie - so Simon snags him by the back of the neck and tucks him into his side.

You fall asleep two-thirds of the way through, but Simon lets you. Likes watching you breathe, face soft and smooth. Can’t for the life of him even recall what’s on the telly.

That night, after a quiet (but peaceful) dinner, and everyone’s showers, Simon ushers Johnny to the room he usually shares with you. Hope flickers across the pup’s face, confusion and trepidation across yours.

“In the middle, Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “The little one by the window.”

You and Johnny comply, cuddling in. Simon takes the side closest to the door, grunting a bit when Johnny instantly clings on.

“Is this the new arrangement?” Johnny asks eagerly.

“Go to sleep,” Simon answers.

He grumbles, but settles in. On the other side of the bed, there’s a bit of shuffling. Then your voice whispering, “Good night.”