plutosillywrites

[plutosillywrites]

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

[plutosillywrites]

Have to get the idea out of my head:

John marries a woman (ace) and they happily live life until one day he brings Nik home and then they have a cute little life where the woman is safe and loved and John doesn't have to hide the fact he loves her but is in love with Nik.

[plutosillywrites]

The cold metal touched you forehead.

"They aren't coming," the words are flavored with an accent and the pleasure of your pain.

The team didn't want you, not like they wanted Maria.

Maria, who served savagely and drank wildly. Maria, who could be called stoic and was everything expected of a member of Task Force 141. Maria, who they wanted, who they would save when presented the choice. Maria... Maria... Maria who was your friend and you hoped to the gods beyond the stars they reached in time.

You were nothing like Maria, bright and full of laughter. You fought with the devil at your back but one mistake (and not meeting the visual standard of a special forces soldier) had damned you to a lonesome death.

"I know," the wretched whisper, acknowledged everything that could no longer be ignored.

When the bang of a gun rang out, you flinched—it wasn't your body that fell.

[plutosillywrites]

They should invent a method of asking for reassurance that nobody secretly hates you that doesn't make people secretly hate you.

[plutosillywrites]

ate this up and left no crumbs

Captain Price doesn’t really discuss his private life, but you’ve decided that he must secretly be married. You have no evidence, except look at him, how could he not have some beautiful wife tucked away in an idyllic, rustic cottage in the countryside.

That’s the image you try to keep in mind when it’s late at night and you’re alone with John in his office. Otherwise, you’ll conjure visions of him spreading you out on top of his desk, and you are no homewrecker.

Admittedly, you haven’t been doing a great job of battling against the various temptations he throws your way. Once John starts leaning in close and casually touching you and speaking directly into your ear, all logic leaves your brain and you just indulge. Lately, he’s been dropping a few “sweetheart”’s into his conversations with you, which has got you spinning. The sanctity of marriage means something to you, though. You resolve to set some professional boundaries and stick to them.

It’s a good thing too because a week later, you finally get your first real confirmation of his secret wife. Your whole body seizes up when you overhear John confiding to his men that the missus seems to be upset with him. Pivoting in place, you scuttle back the way you came from before he realizes you’re there. You’re so embarrassed now that it’s truly been established that you’ve been flirting with a married man. After that, you avoid ever being alone with him and can barely look him in the eye, but it's for the best.

The captain seems to have a different opinion on the way you’ve settled this matter, though.

He’s got you cornered in his office, literally, with an arm pressed against the wall above you. John starts to speak of how he wants to be clear about his intentions, and you’ve got to stop him before you kiss his wonderful face that’s creeping closer and closer to yours.

“Captain Price, what about your wife?!” you blurt out, keeping your hands glued to your sides and to yourself.

John pauses, but he looks more amused than guilty. “Is that what all this has been about?” he asks with a chuckle. You get about five words into your practiced speech on how infidelity is unacceptable to you on any level when he drops a bomb on your whole scenario. “I’m not married.”

You’re floored with this new information, eyes wide and mouth agape. “W-what? But I heard you tell the others about your missus and–”

“I was referring to you, sweetheart,” he declares. Your jaw snaps shut at the interruption, and your face heats up as you start processing what this all means. “Glad we're on the same page when it comes to loyalty, though.”

You’re mortified, of course, but at least you’ve hit rock bottom with your dignity already, so it’s not much more of a stretch to next very timidly and quietly request that he place you on top of his desk. John happily obliges. Anything for his little missus.

He’ll make a Mrs. Price out of you yet.

[plutosillywrites]

[plutosillywrites]

Hunter Simon Riley hunting Witch Reader. CW : Hate sex, biting, tit play, unprotected sex, slightly mean Simon, brief fight but nothing graphic.

He'd been tracking you for months, every time he thought he'd cornered you, you would slip out of his grasp at every turn.

Simon had tracked you down to a small town in Kansas, watching you stalk into the woods, presumably to perform one of your rituals.

He followed you silently, being careful not to tread on anything that would alert you to his presence.

As you knelt down and began pulling out the items for your ritual, you heard a twig snap directly behind you. Before you could even turn to face what was behind you, there was a thick arm around your waist and a blade against your throat.

"Riley" you muttered with an eye roll.

"Couldn't let you slip away this time, baby" Simon growled against your ear.

Immediately you threw your head back, grinning in satisfaction as you heard Simon hiss in pain from your head meeting his nose.

He stumbled back and you turned around, only for Simon to lunge at you.

The scuffle was intense. There were a few moments you believed you may lose, but you always managed to pull through.

You pant heavily as Simon pinned you to a tree with the blade against your throat once more. Simon also out of breath but refusing to seem vulnerable.

Your eyes met Simons. The same eyes that multiple supernatural beings saw before meeting their ends. And yet strangely, you didn't feel fear. You just felt desire.

You acted fast. Grabbing Simons hair and tugging him to meet your lips.

You were surprised that Simon didn't immediately try and push you away, or hurt you. But instead bit your bottom lip and kissed you deeply. Groaning into your mouth.

Simons hands went under your thighs, lifting you up against the tree, growling as he bit down on your neck.

You scrambled to pull at the string of your bust, the fabric falling away and Simon leaned down, lifting you slightly higher so he could latch his mouth to your left breast at a comfortable angle.

You moaned as Simons tongue flicked against your hardened nipple, gripping his hair tight when he bit down, soothing the pleasurable sting with his tongue.

Eventually, Simon got impatient. He shoved your skirt up and ripped your panties, pulling your legs slightly tighter around his hips so he could unbuckle his belt without the worry of you falling.

You whined as Simon ran the fat tip of his cock through your folds. Your head tipping back against the tree as a drawled out moan fell from your lips, Simon finally sliding into you.

He barely gave you time to adjust. His thrusts angry and hard. Each one making you moan louder than the last.

"Fucking shut up, witch. Don't need the town knowing I'm fucking you" Simon growled against your neck.

"Thought you'd want everyone to know that you fuck good" you pout mockingly between moans. Making Simon snap his hips at just the right angle.

Simons rough fingers came down to rub at your clit. The combined stimulation making you gasp and grab at his hair.

Your mouth fell into a silent scream as you came on his cock. Simon thrusting a few more times before spilling into you. A small groan of satisfaction coming from him.

Once you had recovered from your powerful orgasm, you assumed that Simon would just drop you and leave. But he didn't. He merely made sure you were decent before throwing you over his shoulder and stalking back to his truck.

"Not letting go of this pussy, now, swee'eart. Even if you're a witch"

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[plutosillywrites]

Dead Disco / Chapter 1

I looked away from my other WIPs for only a second and vomited this up. Thanks.

Simon Riley/John MacTavish/female reader 1.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, M/M/F, angst, explicit sex, DP, everyone is bad at feelings (or are they), men are gross and touch you without consent, protectiveness, bar fights, mentions of injury and violence, polyamory, probably could be considered toxic. You should have gotten out.

It was always them, and then you. You, on the outside looking in. Them, on the inside looking at each other. It felt like you lived somewhere different, a place that you weren’t even sure existed. You were a body in the middle of a big bed, empty for weeks and months at a time during assignments, phone silent, dinner table set for one.

It had been your mistake, of course. Because how could it not? They existed, before you, and they would still exist after you, this you were sure of. And of course, you should have known that it would be a problem. That this snarling, festering, rot of feelings would take shape into something that was bad for all three of you. Still, you tried to scratch and claw it away because you didn’t want to accept the truth.

You should have gotten out, long before it had changed from middle of the night entanglements to phone calls and text messages, dinner plans and grocery shopping, mild pillow talk about the future.

You should have gotten out the morning you made pancakes for breakfast, when you and Johnny sat in the window and tried to keep your voices from waking Simon. You had been on your third cup of coffee by the time you noticed his shadow, standing in the dark of the hall, the small smile tugging at his lips just barely illuminated by the kitchen light.

“Did we wake you?” They only just got in yesterday, their sleep schedules still askew and their eyes still heavy. Your fingers tapped anxiously against the mug as he sat between the two of you, large hand pulling the hot liquid from your grip. 

“No, love.” He sipped your coffee, face twisting into regret before setting it aside and pulling you by your ankle towards him. “But no more coffee. Makes you all jittery, yeah?” Johnny chuckled, folding Simon into his arms easily, and rested his face across the dirty blonde mop of hair under his chin. His eyes said something to you that you couldn’t understand.

You should have gotten out the first time they called you Darling. When Johnny had his face in between your legs, lazily lapping at your cunt and Simon fucked him open.

“Darling.” He hissed, the vowels long on his tongue, fingers intertwined with yours. The cramp of muscles in your lower belly tensing with each stroke of his tongue, your body moving in time with his, his moving in time with Simon’s. The dip of his spine arching like a bridge between the three of you, connecting you, pulling you into the water with them, deeper and deeper until you couldn’t swim anymore, until you had no choice but to rely on them to keep you afloat. 

 You should have gotten out the night you and Johnny went to the bar. The night you wore that dress, dark but dotted with little flowers, small ties looped in a knot across your chest. It swung at your hips, easy in the breeze, the hot summer wind snaking across the skin of your legs, cooling the sweat that collected on the back of your neck. Johnny liked it, he had told you once, and you never forgot. It was nice, and felt good, and hid the raw edges of your open nerves. You had felt like a predator. You looked like prey.

The pool stick was slick in your hand, the buzz of the vodka in your system cocooning you in fuzzy softness, your body lax against Johnny’s so he could position you correctly. 

“Now, hit it here…” 

“Like this?” 

“Aye, that’s it.” You struck the ball with the cue, knocking another into a pocket, Johnny’s thrilled whoop lighting you up with heat and butterflies. “Well done love.” He pressed the palm of his hand against your back, teasing his lips across your cheek. 

“Give me a real one.” You whispered next to his ear, and he obliged you easily, the two of you pliant and undemanding against one another. 

“Go for another round?” he shook his empty beer bottle with the question. 

“Sure.” You placed yourself on a stool while you waited, but the line at the bar was too long, and it wasn’t a minute before there were two others, standing at your side, asking you questions and tracing their foul fingers across your exposed knee. 

“I’m with someone.” 

“Who, don’t see nobody.” Johnny’s back was to you, head bobbing as he spoke with the bartender. 

“He’s over there.” You pointed, but it didn’t matter. The finger moved higher. Your own curled into a fist and slammed into skin and bone. A jaw, maybe. Or a nose. You weren’t sure. But your shout was loud enough, and you could see the turn of Johnny’s body, felt the relief of knowing he saw you. Your victim yelled, and in a second later and a flurry of appendages, Johnny smashed a bottle over his head.

When the two of you got home, Simon was irate. But it wasn’t the kind of red vision rage that you had heard whispers of, but something darker, something more distraught. His eyes were tight when he pressed an ice pack to your knuckles, visible discomfort shifting into sympathy when you hissed in pain. 

“Poor darling.” He murmured, lips on your forehead. He was silent for the rest of the night, fingers constantly feeling for you, for Johnny, until the three of you fell into bed together, your back pressed to his chest, Johnny’s arms around you both.

You should have gotten out the first time Simon said the words our girl, the first time you took them both, with your chest pressed to his, his cock sunk to the hilt in your cunt and his fingers spreading your ass open, the cool kiss of lube making you shudder.

You drew a breath, and the bed sunk beneath the weight of Johnny’s knees when he positioned himself behind you. 

“Take it easy.” Simon murmured, hand reaching somewhere you couldn't see, little grunts falling from Johnny's lips until you felt him pressing the head of his cock to your ass, and pushing inside.  It was so much, the pressure making your head spin, the feeling of taking them both forcing gasps of air from your lungs, your face cradled between two giant palms, thumbs stroking your cheeks. 

“Jus’ relax. That’s our girl.” Simon soothed, eyes flicking up to Johnny’s face, heavy conversation transpiring without words, just over your head. 

“F-fuck.” You hissed, the burn and stretch and sting crushing together until you were babbling nonsense, while Johnny fucked you deep and Simon lazily jerked his hips up into you, over and over. When you fell into your orgasm, you dragged them down with you, and your bodies were limp against one another for hours afterwards.

You should have gotten out, the day you fell asleep on the couch with Simon, curled against his body like you fit there, hand stroking patterns into his forearm. You slept for hours, and when you woke up, the sun had set, apartment dark and quiet.

“What time is it?” you blinked blearily and sat up, groping into the dim light for your phone.

“Just past seven.” He’s still in the same position from three hours ago. 

“Oh my god. Why didn’t you wake me? We’re going to miss the-“ he pulled you back into his chest without a word, thumb pressing to your bottom lip to silence you. 

“Didn’t want to. Rather just lay here with you.” Something broke after that, some part of the protection you had built inside yourself crumbled, and you rolled into him, content to be there until Johnny got home and forced the two of you up for pad thai, his lips ghosting along yours and then Simon’s until you were both fully awake.

You should have got out, but you didn’t. You held onto the hot pan too long, let it sear your skin, let it mark you deep and leave a nasty scar. You let yourself sleep in the big empty bed, worry gnawing you alive on the inside, phone silent as you waited for the ‘touched down’ texts or calls, too eager, too invested. You let yourself think, believe, want, something that wasn’t real. It was always them, and then you, after all.

So, this is how you found yourself with two bags by the front door, key sitting alone on the kitchen island, a four-sentence email sitting in your drafts. Waiting to be sent.

Hey,

I’m sorry. I left. The key is on the island. I locked the front door.

-Darling.

[plutosillywrites]

just read most gut wrenching fic ever and i loved every beautiful second of it and IF YOU want to read it too (which you should, it’s beautiful.)

it’s called Dead Disco on ao3, it ripped my heart out and slammed it on the floor that’s for damn sure and cradled the pieces again

[plutosillywrites]

Stupid British Man (John Price x f!Reader)

This is fairly unfinished and an unedited product of my fixation on these stupid military man and every hurt/comfort scenario you can think of but nonetheless enjoy!

PS:- I would really really REALLY love some COD requests since thats where the inspiration for writing is flourishing soooooo yeah please send stuff in thank you<3

Summary: John's a great captain but like all men in love he is also a stupid british man!

Warnings: Talk and direct mentions of smexy times, no aftercare (but not intentional and will come in part 2)

Jonathan Price is a military man...

More than that, he is a captain and a military man...

A captain in the military needs to embody many qualities, one of the most important being the ability to remain strong and stable in the face of adversity, anchored and calm in uncertainty, and always aware of their surroundings, especially when confronted with unprecedented situations that demand logic and rationality.

It's a trait John was not only confident he possessed but one he prided himself on (considering he was the captain of three complete muppets at times). Yet, as he stands there in his flannel pajamas, his member still damp and somewhat aroused from the recent pounding he gave you not five minutes ago, a warm washcloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, John has never been more flabbergasted in his life as he watches you cutely jump to pull your leggings up over your waist.

You had already fastened your bra and were now pulling your old university shirt over your head, a shirt John had previously loved. However, given that he had finally slept with you after a two-month deployment, he would prefer to see you in his clothing or nothing at all. Therefore, the sight of the worn-out piece of cloth offended him, to say the least. Even more so, because neither of you had received a lick of aftercare and the lack of it was making him antsy. Instead of waiting for him in bed like you should have, you were rummaging through your duffel bag for something John couldn't be bothered to inquire about. He was certain that nothing was important enough for you to leave the sheets before he had a chance to clean you up properly. So, with as much calm as he could muster, he said,

"What on fuckin' earth are you doing?

The heavy, accented voice of the captain makes you jump as you straighten up, not having heard him come in. You whirl around to face the man you have been infatuated with since your first meeting, the same man who fulfilled so many of your fantasies over the last few hours and is now standing in the doorway of his room with a flabbergasted look about his rugged face. The tears you had been doing a good job of suppressing so far immediately reappear, though you were adamant about not letting them fall… God forbid you be known on base as the girl who cries after sex. Instead, you give him a smile before turning away as you begin to wrangle your hair into a ponytail and reply,

"What do you mean, what am I doing, John?"

John can only splutter at your nonchalant response, his brain having completely short-circuited… Clearly, something is lost in translation.

You only shrug at his shock before continuing to gather your spread-out things into your small bag, trying your best to curb the small, pathetic whimper that is bound to leave your lips if you spend any more time in this man's room surrounded by so much of him. Instead, in the heavy silence of the room, you mull over the events of what got you in his bed in the first place…

You and John met 8 months ago when you were brought onto his military base as a licensed psychologist specialising in psychotherapy for young adults. Your main job was to work with the younger recruits, which included the ones trained by John's own men. John can still recall the first time he saw you as you came barreling in through his door, your angry voice bouncing off the walls of his office. You were a small thing, barely reaching the bottom of the man's chest, with long hair and high cheekbones. You were dressed in leggings that flared at the bottom and drove John insane, with a striped sweater on top, your soft curves visible through the knitted material.

You were the most tender thing he had seen on base, and despite all this softness, you squared off against the military captain, demanding to speak to his lieutenant and give the man a piece of your mind for traumatizing your recruits more than any battlefield could. John had never been rash a day in his life, and yet he had promised himself he would make everything and anything to do with you a personal matter.

You, on the other hand, had not perceived the butterflies the older Brit gave you until the next day when he had come knocking on your door. Dressed in a tight shirt and his camo pants, he was every girl's dream. It didn't help the butterflies in your stomach when he looked down at you with soft eyes while properly introducing himself. He then led you to the rec room of his task force where his lieutenant was sitting and brooding.

Thus began eight long months… Months of teasing glances exchanged across busy meeting rooms that made him grin and you blush. Soft touches shared either against the back of your hand when you stood side by side or across your cheek as he tucked your hair back. Eight long months of late-night talks where he would seek you out, wherever you were, with a drink of your choice in his hand and an endearing look about him as he let you jabber about how you miss baking and he told you about his parents. Eight months spent with your heart in your mouth as you watched him leave with his team, a desperate prayer for his safety on your lips as he held you against him the night before, limbs tangled together innocently yet intimately. Eight months of yearning that would only grow stronger every time he came back, his eyes finding you in a sea of military personnel and lighting you on fire each time.

And despite all this wanting, two months ago, the night before he was sent out for the longest mission yet, you overheard him with Ghost in the rec room. The box of cupcakes you smuggled into the base held tightly as the tall, rough captain unknowingly broke your heart.

"You say professional sir but everyon' sees the way you look at 'er... the little medic..." "Don't know what you're talkin' about Simon..." Price chuckles and you assume Ghost gives him a look as John continues, "Hell even if I wanted to and I am no' saying I do, I cant do anything about it can I?... she's a kid AND she's military personnel" "Then the late nights in your office are what... just meetings to go over paperwork yeah? Just a little overtime is that it?" "Come on gotta pass the time between deployments somehow" "Is that so then mind if I tell Soap–"

Thats all you had the stomach to hear, although had you stuck around you would have heard the captain confess his love. Instead you made your way to his office where you left the box of baked goods on his table and fled to your room. You spent the night muffling your tears as you came to terms with what you were to John versus what John is to you... The following morning, as you waved some of your recruits bye, your eyes met John's hurt ones, his gaze heavy with questions about where you were last night but you looked away.

Unbeknownst to John his worst worry was coming true when the two months of his deployment gave you enough time to misunderstand your importance to him. That while John was the sun to you, you were a small star in a distant galaxy that had no hope of being anything more than that... And yet you knew you would take anything he gave you, no matter how much it would hurt.

Which is why when he knocked on your room door in the middle of the night, his hair still wet from the shower he had barely managed to squeeze in, eyes tired, lost, and desperate you didn't hesitate. You didn't hesitate when his arms went around your waist drawing you into his chest, head pressed into the crook of your neck as you pressed him into you. You didn't resist or clue him on the turbulence in your head when he pulled away although barely. His hands moving from gripping the back of your shirt to your waist, grip tight as he hefted you into the air forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. Any shock on your part absorbed by his mouth as his lips found yours, your hands coming to hold his face. The kiss was desperate, it was messy. A clash of tongue and teeth as he quickly took control. You hadn't stopped to think or really breath, instead letting John fill the crevices of your mind as he carried you through the empty hallways of the barracks. Somewhere in the back of your head you wondered how no one spotted you but you were quickly distracted by his hand on your ass which kept you pressed up against him. The other on the back of your neck never letting you pulling away long enough and following your mouth as you did so. You never stopped to spill the pent up hurt that had festered unknown to the man as you whimpered into his mouth when his fingers found just the right spot, his muttered praises only getting you to your finish faster...

Your little trip down memory lane as you stuffed another shirt into your bag gave John time to get over his shock, taking a deep breath as he placed the washcloth and bottle on his nightstand. His surprise was now replaced by a desire to fix the situation.

Another aspect of being a captain was observing people, learning to read the little things about how people behaved, and now that the shock had worn off, that's what John set about doing. He watched the tension in your back gather as you stuffed your things into your bag… mementos left over from other nights that John treasured. Things that he would be pulling out of the bag as soon as he had things sorted. He watched with narrowed eyes as your face got redder, the desperation with which you were trying to hold yourself together scaring him…

Something was wrong, and he had been so consumed by his need to see you, to feel you, to know that you were alright, that he didn't stop to consider how things had been left off… To remember that you never came to his room the night before he left and that you didn't look at him at the drop zone. John realized then that whatever had upset you that night had two months to fester in your mind and that he couldn't let you leave in any capacity before everything was laid out.

He shuffled his way over to your figure as you rummaged for your ID card in your bag, needing it to get back to your room. His large hands slid into place on either side of your waist. You jolted at the sensation, registering that his hands were warm while straightening up. John didn't let your tensing stop him as he gently turned you around, his grip turning a little forceful when you tried to resist, but eventually you gave in. Your splotchy cheeks and bitten lips greeted him, and he couldn't help himself when he pressed his lips against your forehead, muttering into your skin as he did so,

"Sweetheart... whats going on?" "What do you mean John?" "I mean whats going on... whats got you packin' up your bag hmmm? Can't imagine you've got an important meetin' this time of the night have you? We also hadn't really finished had we?"

Johns doing his best to catch your eye as he talks but its futile when you keep your gaze steady on anything but his face.

"You wanted to go again?"

John balks at that response. Is that really why you think he wants you to stay? Is that really what you think of him?

"What? No no darlin' I mean you were up before I gotta chance to clean you up... I don't know about the men you've been with before sweet girl but a gentleman cleans up his lady... and of course a cuddle after..."

He pouts through the last part though you don't look up to see it. Your eyes remain trained on his muscular neck and John does his best to remain patient. He knows you, no matter how foreign your apprehension of him may feel right now. He knows you and he knows you're hurting which is why you're avoiding his eyes because the minute he gets you to see him you break,

"Oh... oh you don't have to John... I'm alright I can just go, I'm sure you're tired and want to rest and i don't want to keep you..."

John groans lowly in frustration at you not getting his point, his grip subconsciously tightening as if you would run off the minute he lets go and to his credit thats not a difficult situation to imagine,

"Fuckin' hell, okay sweetheart lets try this another way. Why do you think you have to go anywhere huh? I though' we could lay down and have a cuddle... even took the day off tomorrow to spen' it with you yeah? Want to know what you've been up to? Maybe step off the base and take you out for a proper meal?"

With each word out his mouth your confusion and hurt climb reaching a crescendo until your ears are ringing and you need to get away from this sweet talking brit before you crumble. However, Johns a stubborn man particularly when he sets his mind to something so no amount of squirming on your end makes him let you go as you begin to blabber each source of pain out in the open,

"Let me go, let me go, let me go John... You're so mean you know that? So so so mean... You come into my life all soft and sweet and gentle with me calling me pretty things that I've only imagined being called and you came in and made me care about you when I was so happy in my own bubble but still I started to care and then I find out its only for me to be something you pass time with nothing more and then you come back and I love you so much that ill take anything I can get from you even if its one night and then you have the audacity to stand there and be all sweet and caring when you and I both know that this will never be anything more and you know what maybe I am a child because this is too much–"

Your ranting is cut off by John whose own pulse has become frantic at all that you've laid out before him. You love him! Wait why do you think this is a one night thing? what do you means passing the time? One hands grips your upper arm, the other forcing your face up to look at him as your fists continue to push but to no avail,

"Whoa whoa okay look at me... look at me sweet girl... not letting you go until I ge' your eyes on me yeah? You can fight all you wan' but 'm not letting go until you get you damn eyes on me yeah? Come on... there you go good girl now what do you mean something to pass time with huh? What got that daft idea into that pretty head or that this would be a one night thing? Talk to me yeah "

John's barely finished before the words escape you in a breathless sob

“You, you stupid British man!”

Okay I was too excited to post it so here but if the reception to it is you know good ill post the second bit which is already written 👀

As always please reblog yes? yes okaieee byee

[plutosillywrites]

stop what you're doing and imagine cannibal! Simon for a moment. he's like Hannibal, he's got class, and he's respected in society.

he meets you, sweet and kind but very unhinged you. you're obsessed w him bc you think you know what he's doing, and it's impossible for anyone to be so clean so you follow him, until you realize he's eating people.

bad people, dirty idiots and ridiculous dickheads. you're glad someone like him exists, really.

and when you realize Simon knows you're on his trail, you gift him little things you know he could be interested in for his cooking. illegal items? no prob, you find them. spices that are only sold in another country? easy. you were following him and see he couldn't find his favorite milk? on his door by tomorrow.

Simon? he's intrigued, amused. he makes sure to leave tiny presents for you in places he knows only you will find. little treats, really. he watches you from afar as you eat them, as you wear them, as you grin to yourself

and when he finds out ur boss was mean to you, yelled at you? that's the little treat you have the next day!

and your abusive ex bf? he throws a buffet! pig for everyone!!

you haven't talked, not really, but he knows you're watching, and you know he's out there, leaving little things for you

[plutosillywrites]

I see a lot of posts saying "teach boys about consent".

While that is true, a lot of parents will do that and fail to see how their own actions are the problem.

If you've spanked him, he's less likely to understand consent.

If you've forced him to sit on Santa's lap, he's less likely to understand consent.

If you've forced him to give hugs and kisses to family members, he's less likely to understand consent.

If you've grabbed him in order to force him to sit still, he's less likely to understand consent.

If you've labeled him as "too sensitive" for not wanting to be touched, he's less likely to understand consent.

If you've assumed he's okay with something because he technically allowed it even though he felt pressured, he's less likely to understand consent.

If you're only going to criticize his actions but not your own, it won't work.

[plutosillywrites]

i ate this up and licked the crumbs this was so good

Lesson Learnt | John Price x Reader

Summary: Your good-for-nothing boyfriend won’t help you change out your flat tire in the cold, soaking rain, but luckily someone else comes along to assist, and teaches your boyfriend a lesson while he’s at it.

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Warnings: annoying boyfriend, toxic relationship, platonic!gaz being a cutiepie, price being the greenest flag known to mankind, fem!reader, I’ve never changed a tire before in my life and it’s glaringly obvious…

A/N: been in a major writing slump lately+school kicking my butt+I think I’m getting sick, but full credit to @ceilidho for this idea, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

Your day hadn’t been the shittiest so far, but it certainly hadn’t been great.

You’d been off that day, but your boyfriend had called, needing you to pick him up early from his job for whatever reason. He only worked at some little restaurant in town with a decent salary, enough to get food and rent paid for combined with your money anyway. Something about his shifts being moved or the schedule being off, but whatever it had been had been enough for you to hop into his truck, drive over to him, and pick him up.

“Did you cook for dinner tonight?”

He asked from the passenger seat, the seatbelt not even on, despite it already being dark because of the early winter months, and the rain coming down against the windshield. Your lights were on, but still.

“No, wasn’t thinkin’ about it.”

You replied with a small mumble, and he sighed. You were the one who cooked and kept the housework up, and he earned most of the money. It would be balanced, except for the fact that you earned almost the same amount of money as him, and also worked full-time. It barely left any time for meals, most just being pre-prepped on weekends, or thrown together.

“Guess we can just get takeout then.”

He said, tone holding a bit of disappointment. You sighed inwardly, turning your turn signal on as you went down the road to one of the nearest places there. It was a run-down chicken joint that you were pretty sure was a front for some sort of illegal activities, but they had delicious chicken at cheap prices, so you weren’t complaining.

Your mind began to wander when you thought about the restaurant, and what you’d order. You hoped your boyfriend had brought his card because you’d left your wallet at home, ID and license long forgotten. Well, I guess you were just hoping to not get pulled over tonight, or come in contact with any cops.

As if whatever gods there were had heard your thought process, a small ‘thump’ caught your attention, and then a light squeaking sound as the air pressure in your front right tire began rapidly decreasing. With a sigh, you pulled over onto the side of the not-too-busy road. Your boyfriend gave an exasperated exhale.

“We’re gonna have to change the tire.”

You said, and he gave you a withering glance, jerking his chin towards the back of the truck.

“Spare’s in the back. Got a few tools back there to get ‘er done.”

A small pause for a moment as your hand reached for the handle of the door, and he didn’t move at all. You just stared in pure shock.

“You aren’t going to help?”

He gave you a look as if to say you were being ridiculous and illogical right now. You hated that look.

“I just got off work. I’m tired and hungry, and your poor driving skills aren’t my problem.”

He said with a shrug like it was obvious. Your mind still reeling, you searched for the little umbrella you kept near the console, only to find it missing. Great, just great, you thought.

With no other option, you stepped outside, immediately being pelted by the cold raindrops, and skin being lashed at by the harsh wind. You walked around to the trunk, opening the back, and finding the spare tire there, and a toolbox as well. Your shivering hands sorted through the cold metal tools, eventually finding a lug wrench, and a screwdriver, and behind the toolbox you found a jack.

You advanced towards the flat tire, rolling the spare behind you, and you knelt, skirt already soaking wet, your white shirt soaked through and not leaving much to the imagination as it was practically see-through and sticking to your form. The lug nuts didn’t come off easily, but somehow, your fingers got them.

Right when you began using the screwdriver to try and get the hubcap off, something else caught your attention.

Another car, beat up, but well-loved on and taken care of pulled up behind you on the side of the road. It stopped, and two men stepped out. One was taller, with a beard, a thick cigar in his mouth, and a hat on. He might’ve been one of the owners of that chicken restaurant. Whatever it was, he looked familiar. The other man had pretty brown skin, was less tall but still had some muscle in him like the other man, and wore his hat.

The taller one strode up to you just as you managed to pry the hubcap off. His brows furrowed as he looked at your boyfriend sitting in the car, and you, drenched in rain, changing the flat tire of the truck he assumed probably wasn’t even yours.

“Gaz, come help ‘er out wit’ this.”

He said, his voice brusque but also warm at the same time. Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself yet, he gave a nod of his head to you.

“John Price, that there is Kyle, but we call ‘im Gaz.”

You blinked, and Kyle walked over, crouching down next to you and offering a polite smile. One that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but it wasn’t rude. Price must’ve noticed your shivering form or the sheer white shirt that was clear because of the rain because he took his brown jacket off and put it around your shoulders. The insides were fuzzy and warm, and it was oversized, but enough to keep the heat insulated and the wet cold out. A bit surprised, you simply said your name.

“Oh..thanks. Y/N.”

You offered, for some reason trusting these strangers enough to give them your real name. Something about them felt right. Price nodded, then raised a brow at your boyfriend in the car, who still hadn’t noticed them, too preoccupied with his phone.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doin’ changin’ wheels out here?”

John asked, and you weren’t sure what overcame you, but you cast a glance up at the boy in the car.

“He wasn’t going to help.”

Gaz and Price both looked slightly taken aback by that, exchanging glances, as Price opened up the door where your boyfriend was (avoiding hitting you or his sergeant's heads with it, of course) and pulled him out by the collar.

“Hey—what-“

Price shut him up real quick, then moved to hold him by the scruff of his neck.

“Now you listen here, why’ve you got your girl ou’ here doing all this work in the soakin’ rain, when you should be the one doing this, yeah?”

He asked, and your boyfriend turned a light shade of pink that wasn’t fully visible in the dark of the night.

“Well, I..”

“I’ll show you how a real man provides for his partner. Garrick, move over.”

He shoved your boyfriend back into the grass, and Gaz scooted more to the right, letting Price take the left side. Price carefully grabbed you by the hips and moved you back, out of the way, but to where you could still watch and hear him talk.

“Can’t believe it, ‘at’s ridiculous.”

He muttered, and Kyle shook his head.

“Can’t help but agree, sir.”

They used the jack to jack the car up, strong arms easily placing the spare tire in place, Gaz holding it up while Price screwed the lugnuts back on. While putting the hubcap back on, John began talking to you.

“You oughta find you a man, someone that would provide for you, that lil’ boy you got isn’t it. We’d never treat a woman like that, now would we, Gaz?”

“Never, sir.”

“Look at ‘im, two complete strangers are here, changing out his tire, and he ain’t offered a lick o’ help.”

He said, shaking his head, not even glancing back at your boyfriend who still was sitting in the grass behind you all. The hubcap was put back into place, and they both stood, lowering the jack before removing it. Price offered you a hand up, and you took it, surprisingly enjoying how his burly callouses felt against your soft skin. Kyle put the tools and jack back in the trunk, before again being at Price’s side.

His eyes met Kyle’s, and Kyle took out a small notepad and pen, scribbling something down, before passing it to John who did the same. They tore the paper off, handing it to you. It was their numbers, Gas’s having a little smiley face next to it, and Price’s having a simple ‘Call me’.

“If you’re ever in trouble, give us a ring.”

Price said, and Gaz nodded as if to confirm this. You took the piece of paper and folded it in half, putting it in your pocket to protect it from the rain. Price gave you a little pat on the back, and Gaz brushed his hand ever so slightly against yours, before they both walked back to their car, getting in, and driving off with nothing more than a wave.

With a judgemental look down at your boyfriend, you got into the car, throwing his things that were still inside out at him where he was still sitting in the grass.

“We’re done.”

And with that, you drove off before his angry cussing started.

It was only when you got home that night (to the shared apartment, which you would very soon be leaving) that you noticed something. Price hadn’t ever taken his jacket back.

[plutosillywrites]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

part I: first impressions

tw: mentions of crappy parents, angst, and reader being absolutely terrible at socializing. that’s all babes - xoxo

you really weren’t sure why you were so.. anxious.

ever since encountering your (undeniably ethereal) neighbors arrive, you became a little more self-conscious when getting out of the house. that same day, you had carefully and quietly made your way towards auntie lotties house once you were in the clear that the men would not be coming outside any time soon.

“oh dear! what’s got you in such a hurry, luv?” auntie lottie had said in shock, letting you into the comfort of her home and ushering you to sit down while she got you a glass of water.

“i think I’ve just made a fool of myself,” you said in dejection, telling her of the shit show you just did upon meeting your neighbors. a hearty chuckle making itself known once the older woman came back with the glass of water she had promised.

“don’t be silly, they probably didn’t even see you! besides, you will eventually talk to them sooner or later.”

you didn’t even want to think about the possibility of bumping into them any time soon. what would you even say? ‘hey I’m your neighbor from across the street. sorry you caught me peeping at you all like some fucking creep.”

in hopes of just keeping your mind off of the men that have been haunting your thoughts, you asked auntie lottie if she had any new ideas for her next recipe in which you were grateful for when the woman spent most of your stay ranting about a new sponge cake recipe she had seen.

you spent most of your evening with auntie lottie and the sun had already set down by the time you bid your goodbyes to her. the crisp, fresh air blowing on your skin making you sigh in containment as you make your way back home. the sky was clear today, lifting your head up just enough to see how the stars twinkle against the night sky and how the moon cascaded a small glow over the land with how bright it looked. you don’t realize you’ve already arrived to your destination before another rush of cold air snaps you out of your haze.

living by yourself feels great, there’s no questioning that. but you can’t help at times feel that daunting feeling of loneliness claw its way to your mind and make your heart ache in wanting to at least come back home to someone. that desire to be wanted.

your family was a lost cause. practically forgetting all about you once you turned eighteen and went to college. no text messages or phone calls were ever heard from them throughout all those years. small christmas cards being sent here and there that read, “we hope you’re doing well. - mom and dad. friends? they were all living their own lives. building themselves an actual family with their soon-to-be husbands or wife’s. some of them already having kids of their own. you were too scared, too aware of yourself to taint them with any unwanted things. you were never good with people.

god you sound pathetic.

shaking your head a bit, you make your way up the small steps and take out your keys, daring to take a small glance at the house across from you. your eyes catch a small light coming from one of the windows, the silhouette of people walking by visible even though the curtain.

you wonder what they did for work. lottie hadn’t mentioned anything of what they do. from the looks of it, it’s definitely something that keeps them away from home for long periods of time.

your brainstorming is cut off short, eyes widening a bit when someone from the other side of the window suddenly stops in front of it. without a second to waste, you hurriedly make your way inside. your heart pounding out of your chest as you lean your back against the door.

fucking hell.

you had been avoiding them like the plague. successfully staying away from any unwanted attention even when you sometimes caught glimpses of chocolate eyes and mohawk taking their morning run while getting ready for work. ignoring the way your face burned up in shame.

or even at times when you would see skull face reading a book with mutton chops. tea on their sides as they enjoyed the sound of birds chirping and wind chimes bumping against each other with every gust of wind.

they all looked so.. content. and for some reason you just knew they were a family. one with each other with the way they maneuvered themselves with one another. so natural.

nevertheless, you were doing a great job… until you weren’t.

you had been getting off your shift when you decided it was a good idea to do a small grocery run. with the holidays coming and the weather becoming increasingly colder by the days, you needed to stock up before there was nothing left.

so here you were. a coat over your shoulders, still in your work clothes and heels digging into your feet uncomfortably. pushing a cart and checking off items from your list as you went.

stores were busy during this time of year. christmas songs were played through the speakers along with decorations filling every corner of the store. kids bustling around their parents in excitement with every toy they pointed out to.

by the time you were done checking off the last item from your list, you were exhausted.

“maybe a small treat would be nice..” you mutter to yourself, making your way to the snack aisle and barely making it past the corner before a scottish accent calls out your name.

you pause abruptly, turning your head to the sound as your eyes widened in utter shock when realization dawns at you.

two of your neighbors were standing there, just a few feet from you. mohawk giving you a wolfish grin while waving a teasing hand at you. the other man sending an apologetic smile your way for his friends behavior. god he was so much prettier up close.

“that’s ye right?” only being able to nod as his large body makes its way towards your direction. ocean eyes pinning you down in place with the way they roam around you, analyzing you. he wore a leather jacket, white shirt underneath that did nothing but enhance the way his chest stretched over the material. he wore a nice pair of jeans, topping of his outfit with a pair of black boots. he definitely had that bad-boy style look to him.

“way to make a lady feel comfortable mactavish. I’m sorry about him, luv. auntie lottie had mentioned us having a new neighbor and wanted to put a face to the name. I’m kyle, by the way, and this dog here is johnny.” the pretty man said, earning a small scoff from johnny, grumbling something about kyle not being any better than him. he wore a nice umber coat accompanied by a black turtleneck underneath. black slacks adoring his legs and a nice pair of chelsea boots. you would not even question if he was a model.

shit, you had been staring for too long, barely finding your voice before uttering something that sounded at least somewhat normal.

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, I don’t really get out much.” a nervous chuckle making its way past your lips as you try so hard to not make it so obvious of how you’ve been the one avoiding them this whole time.

“‘na need tae apologize bonnie. jus’ glad we caught ye jus’ in time. a’m sure tha’ other lads would love tae meet ye.” a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that can only be described as up-to-no-good with the way he’s staring at you.

“what he means is if you would like to come over some time, meet the rest of the team.” a charming smile plastered against his perfect lips that you don’t have it in your heart to say no. (not like you were going to in the first place)

you exchange numbers with johnny and kyle not missing the way their lingering gazes stay on you even after they leave.

sweet treat long forgotten.

a/n: we finally meet half of the boys RAAAA. i hope you guys like this chapter and if there’s anything that should be fixed like my god awful interpretation of scottish accent, please let me know! 😭 enjoy mis amores! <3

[plutosillywrites]

RIPPED APART '' driven by hate, consumed by fear ,,

➼ SYNOPSIS : tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

➼ PAIRINGS : john price x falsely accused reader x 141.

➼ WARNINGS : falsely accused reader au , angst , torture , betrayal.

➼ STATUS : ongoing.

PART ONE. TORTURE // angst.

PART TWO. TIME TRAVEL // angst.

PART THREE. SHOWER TIME // angst.

PART FOUR. SNAP! // fluff, angst.

PART FIVE. COGNITION // angst.

PART SIX. REUNITE // angst.

PART SEVEN. BLOOD. TEETH. GUTS. // angst.

MOODBOARD

[plutosillywrites]

au where reader, feeling lonely, splurges on a sex android to keep her company in her lonely little home. two weeks later, it arrives at her door in a human-sized box, and she decides to name it johnny.

she's stunned by how lifelike he is—his skin is unexpectedly warm, his cum has an actual taste, and he somehow remembers more about her preferences each time they fuck. and yet, she only bought the cheapest model, not the advanced one.

about a week and a half later, she heads to her building's recycling room, a task she usually assigns to johnny, but he's already out getting groceries. thats when she sees it: an android, mangled and contorted, shoved into the plastics bin. the model looks eerily familiar. like johnny, but not quite. it's not until she takes a close look that she realizes something is horribly wrong

[plutosillywrites]

Fiending for part 2 of shunned 😔

sorry this took so long !!!

shunned (tf141 x fem!reader)

part two | prev part

cw: incorrect military procedure, not proofread

your thick, government-issued, thermals do nothing to protect from the biting cold that seeps through the cracks of the window your shoulder rests against. you're sitting in a kitchen chair. everybody else, asleep. it is your turn to keep watch. the cabin wasn't particularly insulated. years of mold and mildew seeping through the porous floor board can do that.

you can hear the shifting of the men in their sleeping bags. sleepily, moving and chattering to conserve warmth. you had put the fire out before you went to sleep, price had been worried that the smoke would alert people as to your location, but considering how fruitless your watch has been, you highly doubt anybody is looking for you.

your eyes threaten to close, succumbing to the unimaginable exhaustion that plagues you. but- no. you cannot do that because that would mean the team is right. that you, that women, are incapable. you will not be the reason that stereotype is perpetuated so you keep your eyes open. open and alert. scanning for movement. the pillowy white snow upon the ground glimmers in the moonlight. snow that just a couple hours ago was pounding you in the face, causing great pain. it now seems quite harmless. funny how things may change.

the trees are large and imposing, perfect for hiding our "mountain hut" as price aptly named it. you look to the treetops, the sun just barely peeking over the tops. ordinarily, you would all be up, preparing, but today you aren't leaving until you get clearance from base, and you all know how long that takes. the occasional bird sings, coming home to its kin. feeding them chewn and regurgitated worm. gross.

sitting watching a window was not exactly the badass ‘fighter jet top gun’ vision you had of joining the military. but maybe you need to save your home country single-handedly before you are ever taken seriously. how to do that exactly?

it’s nearing six am by this time. the boys are packed up and waiting for the go ahead from base. the green light to move further into the lions den.

this mission was not your first. far from it. whether you were trekking through a jungle or trudging up a mountain, the routine was the same. get the mission, brief it, get deployed, go through hell physically and mentally, come home. repeat.

this time it's recon. reconnaissance. by this time, the country had been strife with war for years. it's a back and forth. they capture hostages, you illegally enter their country and return the hostages to their families. then you capture the hostages. it's exhausting.

"remind me why we don't just call for a ceasefire?" you postulate out loud. no longer turned towards the window, although you may as well be for how often you have to insert yourself into their conversation. never invited on your own.

"too pussy for a little strafing aye?" ghost replied lowly. his voice a deep hum against your ears. he takes a sip from his thermos, presumably filled with tea. you can tell he's got a smug smirk on beneath his signature mask.

"no." you grumble, wishing you hadn't turned away from that window. as much as you would like to claim their comments don't get to you, everybody knows they do. maybe that's why they continue to throw them at you. continue to claw at your brain. attack every insecurity you've had. pretend they don't mean it, butter you up with sexist comments that make your skin crawl.

"ah ken he's messin' wi' ye slug." johnny chimes in as he simultaneously slinks nearer to you. putting his large arm around you and pulling you uncomfortably close to his chest. "'sides. simon leks tae 'ave ye here. we all dey."

“thanks joh-"

"ye a bonnie sight. 'elps me get through ay rough night if ye ken," of course. his obnoxious laugh booms through the cabin. gross.

"men. word from laswell came in. we're being sent back to base." a collective groan escapes the three men that sat at the table. annoyed, although slightly relieved that they finally knew what was going on. all day, with no movement gets a soldier antsy.

"we just spent all of yesterday climbing up that mountain and we're being sent back? why?" kyle finally speaks up. typically quiet. that's something you've observed. well not quiet, just, he doesn't really talk to you. not like he talks to price or simon, even johnny. though you can't help but be slightly grateful. atleast he's not undressing you with his eyes or implying you don't have what it takes.

"our help is no longer required. the hostages were willfully let go. they're going home to their families." and with that price returns to his call.

the men look at eachother, once more leaving you out. this news from price, while seemingly good, it is not. it begs the question, why? unless they're planning something. johnny and gaz break off into their own conversation. and suprisingly, simon turns to you.

" 'appy, slug?" simon spits.

"what? what did i do?"

"i'm sure you're glad. laswell knows well that you weren't ready for a mission like this. this is for real soldiers. not delicate women."

"what the fuck are you even talking about?" what does he mean? is he implying you're at fault for the mission being cancelled.

"price just said the mission was cancelled because they let the hostages go." you add. for some reason you feel the need to justify yourself. you did nothing wrong though. still, you feel attacked. he knows this too. he gets up, doesn't pass you another glance.

this isn't good. just one more night in this cabin hellhole and you can once more request to switch teams.

—-

i think there’s a literal curse around writing fanfiction that causes my body to want to start attacking itself.

it’s finally out, and it’s absolutely terrible. enjoy!! :P