#alex is down bad for farah

[thepixelagora]

Heya, if any of my cod followers are interested, I wrote a little fic about these goobers. Enjoy if you so wish!

Bottom Line

Summary:

Alex had no way of knowing that Farah's cause would be the thing to give his life meaning.

—

Aka, a journey through Alex's thoughts and feelings on duty and purpose throughout his life.

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[madammidnightsblog]

More Call Of Duty and how they’re in bed Brainrot🤩

Alejandro Vargas: he in my mind is wholeheartedly a passionate and sweet lover, maybe because he’s a sweet talker and flirty? Dunno. But, he definitely goes nice and slow, it will have you gasping and shaking from how deep he is. He’s another man that’s been around for a while and definitely knows the body very well and is very observant so he knows where to touch, kiss, and caress that will leave you clenching around him. He has a papi/daddy kink?? Something about being in charge- whether is be in the field or in the bedroom, it makes him feel so good. This colonel is also very jealous and possessive, no one is allowed to see those faces, or hear those nosies, or see that beautiful body for yours- that’s his. Alejandro is also comfortable in his masculinity and skin that if you ever wanted to be in charge, he will allow you to but, he will take charge once you’re tired.

Kate Laswell: She seems like a switch to me, someone that is willing to switch between submissive and dominant but very dominant leaning. She will be a very sweet lover in bed but don’t let that fool you, she deals with dumbasses on a daily basis from Shepherd to the stubborn Price, she is very pent up and needs to let it out at some point. Has a mommy kink and will only be called it, if submissive that night she will call you baby and that’s it. But, she’s an expert with her hands and will be more than happy to spend her time fucking your holes or giving a handjob, she’s not picky, just spread those pretty legs and let mommy get to work, okay?

Phillip Graves: A hard dom all the way. He is rough and hard when he fucks, he’s cocky and smug so, of course he is going to fuck you like the little plaything you are. That doesn’t mean he’s mean all the time, he does have his soft moments and will touch you like you’re the most fragile creature on earth and kiss you until you’re breathless. But, he’s not going to let you think you can get away with your bratty behavior so think again. A certified brat tamer and daddy kink lover and he will make sure you remember who’s in charge. He will give you safe words and aftercare- don’t worry but he will make sure that pretty dumb head of yours is dumber by the end of the night :). Oh, he also loves the free use card and will be sure to use it once given the green light! All you need to do is be a good girl/boy and keep those holes nice and ready for him, rub that little clit or put in that buttplug- with daddy’s permission of course. What daddy wants, he will most definitely get- he is daddy after all and all you need to do, is be a good and dumb little thing for him :).

Nikolai: Nikolai is a crazy bastard- you have no clue what he is about to do and he thrives off that! He is a gentle and slow man but he is also rough and ruthless, he’s a mercenary after all, so he is definitely going to go at it without mercy. There isn’t much that turns him on more than domestic things like you cooking, cleaning, and just tending to him because you want to. He finds the fact you want to be with him and do such domestic things for or with him so sexy because he doesn’t have many people that care about him so it’s nice. But, he is a nasty man, one that will fuck you in the garage at the base and make you keep quiet with your pretty face buried in seat of a chair. You will be quiet, right? You don’t want the whole squad to hear how much of a pervert you are, do you?

Alex Keller: He is a rough man in the bedroom, not afraid to leave marks and make your cry because he loves how pretty you look with tears streaming down your face. To him, it makes you look prettier. But, don’t worry about anything, he will always treat any bruise, cut, and rug burn. He wants his baby to be healthy at all times, just a little roughed up but not too much. He is very adventurous and experimental so he is always up to try new positions and new kinks, he wants it to be a fun experience for you both. Nothing is off the table if you want to try it because he is a strong believer that if both parties aren’t satisfied, then it’s not over and will make sure you’re both happy. Exhibition is one of his personal favorites, the thought is doing something so dirty and deprived in an open space where anyone could see you two is just so hot to him, he gets so excited when he gets the chance.

König: he in my eyes is a switch- now hear me out! He was bullied most of his life and had some challenges in the beginning of his career in the military due to his social anxiety and his massive height so he is always wanting to be pampered by the right person. He isn’t the type to really do flings or hook ups so he doesn’t have much experience in the bedroom and had a massive cock but no idea how to really use it :(. But, once he’s comfortable with you and truly loves you, he will submit and allow you to baby him but he will be more than ready to dominate you. Because he needs to prove himself- not to just to you but to him that he’s able to do this. He is a big giver than a receiver because seeing you in a blissful state makes him feel so good, he can come untouched just seeing your pretty face. He will be scared to be pegged or ride a dildo so you’ll have to coax him through it and praise him for being such a good boy :( .

Farah Karim: I believe she doesn’t care who’s in charge because to her, both parties are feeling good in the end. But, she will end up being more dominant because she just gets driven to make sure you’re getting your fill and won’t stop until you’re squirting all over her! The best with a strapon and you can argue with the wall if you disagree! She knows how to use it as if it was part of her, fucking that sopping hole of yours and having you mewling out her name like a good girl/boy does for her. She doesn’t really care for titles but being called by her rank, Commander, in bed, she will go crazy. Something about being given the power and control like a commander in the bedroom makes her feel so powerful and she just wants to demonstrate it for you. Is big on receiving so you will find yourself many times on your knees between her beautiful thighs and eating her out, her taste will become your favorite in the end and you will crave it. After all, a good subordinate craves the attention from their commander, right?

Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra: His love language is biting- no, I will not elaborate :). He loves to bite you and he bites hard, so you will have many bite marks all over you and will have to treat them afterwards. The cute and quiet ones are the ones you have to worry about, he isn’t as nice as he seems. He is a dom all the way in my eyes, he loves the idea of being the one in control and having you all spread out for him and fuck you until you’re drooling. He loves being the one to make you cum over and over until you’re shaking and crying, he just has to make sure you’re feeling good! He is in between being gentle and rough. He doesn’t mean to be rough, he promises but he can’t help it, you just sound so cute when he’s bullying his thick cock into your hole :(. You understand, right? He wants to treat you nicely and show you how much he loves you, with praises and kisses but they always turn into dirty whispering about how slutty you are and bites that make you bleed.

Kim ‘Horangi’ Hongjin: he’s a bully in the sheets, mean and cruel once he gets you in the bed. He’s a mean dom that will make fun of you for crying from how overstimulated you are and will just tell you that you can take it. After all, if you couldn’t, your hole wouldn’t be swallowing him so easily. He is definitely a brat tamer and loves to ‘break you’ because you’re just so cute when you’re drooling and taking him so nicely after being such a brat. Nothing drives him crazier than lingerie, he loves seeing you dressed all pretty in silk or lace, your pretty body all dressed like a present for him to tear them off and use your holes :). But, don’t worry, he will be nice if needed because he does love you and want you to know that he cherish you so he will treat you nice and fuck you nice and slow when needed while he tells you how beautiful you are and how he needs you in his life because he lost a lot and feels lonely at times so having you with him makes him feel better.

Sebastian Josef Krueger: Krueger is another cruel and mean bastard that loves to degrade and bully you in bed, he cannot help it. You’re just so sweet and pretty, it’s like you’re begging to be roughed up by your boyfriend. He will be nice to you in the beginning, he will kiss you from head to toe while telling you just how beautiful you are before he throws your legs over his shoulders and rut into you like a dog in heat. Of course, he will make you feel better, just open your pretty little mouth and let him put his fingers in there, okay? Nothing is better than having you choke on his fingers while he bullies his cock into you. But, his biggest turn on has to be, somnophilla, that is if you’re okay with it. Something about fucking you in your sleep while he cuddles you just feels so right to him, and when you wake up due to an intense orgasm, he’ll make it feel so good that you’ll feel more than relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

Valeria Garza: She is a hard dom and a mommy kink fan, you cannot convince me otherwise. She will dominate you and make you feel all dumb when she calls you all types of names while you fuck yourself on her thigh. She is someone who thrives off control, she needs it in order to feel something as she usually feels nothing without control. She likes to make you do things to humiliate you and she loves seeing the guilt in your eyes when you misbehave because it makes her feel so powerful but don’t worry, she’s a good mommy and makes sure to give you lots of kisses once you take your punishment. Her biggest turn on outside the power dynamic, is something most wouldn’t expect- it’s reassurance. She gets all hot and bothered whenever you tell her that the iron grip on your hair is fine, or that those slap to your sex makes you feel so good, or even when you just tell her that she is the only one for you. She is so used to manipulating and using people for her own benefit that she often feels like she is taking you for granted and using you when she does love and care for you, so just hearing you reassure her that you don’t feel any of that makes her happy. She may be mean and cold, but she does love you and worry about if she is doing the right thing when it comes to you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[s0fter-sin]

metalhead ghost who’s been in moshpits since he was a kid and is now a veteran of the scene and the self appointed look out. he keeps an eye out for anyone falling or passing out, kicks the shit out of anyone crowd killing or putting their hands where they shouldn’t

and he’s been keeping an eye on the punk in the kilt since he saw him throw himself headfirst into the wall of death

he looks like the type to start shit - loud and aggressive as anyone else here but a punk doesn't end up at a metal show for no reason - but there's also something niggling at him that he's gonna end up getting himself hurt. and ghost can’t tell if he’s going to do it on purpose

if he does, ghost needs to know. he uses these places as an escape - the music, the violence, the community - always has and he knows all to well how easily an escape can curdle and become destructive. he’s seen too many people lost to the darker parts of the scene, almost lost himself to it; he doesn’t want it to happen to anyone else if he can help it

so when he sees the punk sweating his mohawk off, his movements becoming looser and uncoordinated, he has no issues with yanking him out of the pit and pulling him away from the crowd; pushing him up against the venue wall and ordering him to open his mouth

the glaze that falls over his eyes concerns him even as he obediently lets his mouth fall open. he was right; the punk’s severely dehydrated, tongue and gums far to pale and along with the look in his eyes, he half-thinks he’s about to drop

he reflexively tightens his hold on his jaw to keep him up and the punk shivers, a flush creeping up his neck. an almost confused arousal joins the haze in his eyes and ghost smirks beneath his mask

looks like metal shows aren’t the only thing the punk is new to

[silverspleen]

Glad you're more of a dog person Farah because uh. You're never getting rid of this guy he is going to follow you to the ends of the fucking earth.

Werewolf!Alex Keller, loosely inspired by bluegiragi's Monster 141 AU

[charliemwrites]

(Re)organized Crime, Part 8!

I was going to wait a little longer to post this (I say, looking guiltily at the queue) but I felt bad leaving it on a cliff hanger!

Content: Attempted Breaking and Entering, Fear for Safety, Hurt/Comfort

Four months ago, Simon drove you home for the first time.

It was a bad week all around. On Monday, Soap broke his arm. Gaz left with Farah and Alex on Tuesday for a business trip on the other side of the country. Wednesday brought about two dozen emails from Philip Graves’ wretched assistant, ugly pastel green borders framing each one. By Thursday, you almost weren’t surprised by the call about a lost shipment.

You were surprised when Price raised his voice at you, though.

“The fuck do you mean it’s missing?” he snarled.

You stood across from him with your tablet in hand, grossly unorganized logs open onscreen.

“I don’t think there are other ways I could mean it,” you answered lightly. “The crates left port and didn’t show up at the next one.”

You were scribbling on the screen, compiling the log into something more comprehensive. Purposefully not making eye contact because you could feel the angry heat radiating off him. It was making your hands tremble, but you’d be damned if you let it show.

“Well then where the fuck are they?” he demanded.

“If I knew that, sir, they wouldn’t be missing.”

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

At that, you let out a heavy breath and looked up, expression flat. Price’s expression was dark, mouth tight. One hand gripped the arm of his office chair while the index finger of the other tap, tap, tapped his desk. You stared him down for a moment, reminding yourself to breathe with each uneven beat of your heart. Waited through a count of 20 before he huffed.

“Just find the damn thing,” he growled.

“Shall I use my crystal ball?”

You nearly jumped a mile when he barked your name in reprimand. And that was about the time you had enough.

“John.”

He froze. Across the room, so did Simon and Soap. You were so shocked by your own outburst that you came up a bit short as well. Didn’t even have a chance to gather more words when Price’s shoulders dropped. The anger melted away, replaced with apology and self-deprecation.

“Christ, luv, I’m sorry. Where have my manners gone?”

He ran a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose where you were sure a headache was brewing.

“Thank you for the apology. I know this is important,” you soothed, softening your voice. “Give me 30 minutes and I’ll have a list of people you should yell at.”

He grimaced, “Take 45 for the trouble, darling.”

You used the extra fifteen minutes to brew him a fresh cup of tea and served it with a couple pain meds. When you’d delivered the analysis, he told you to head home early, that it would be a late night regardless and there was no need for you to do more than you already had. (It hadn’t helped the way that he’d ducked his head, still sheepish. You’d squeezed his wrist as you’d dropped off a list of damned names.)

With your usual drivers gone, Soap’s arm broken, and Price out to rip several people a new one, Simon drove you home.

He scowled in the vestibule while you fumbled for your keys. Then glared at the entryway as you trudged to the elevator. He grumbled as he accepted the invitation into your apartment, only to sneer (yes, you knew he was sneering even with the mask) at the doorknob and deadbolt.

“This place is a bloody deathtrap,” he finally declared, crossing his arms.

“It’s not that bad,” you replied, shaking your head.

“One solid kick and this door is coming down.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Then don’t kick it.”

“I’m sure a robber will be polite enough to knock,” he scoffed.

“The crime rate is good in this area,” you argued. Not great, but decent enough…

“Bloody hell. Did you even – are your fucking windows unlocked?”

You blinked. “We’re on the third floor, Simon.”

“I don’t give a rats arse—”

“And stop swearing at me.”

“—that you’re on the third floor. Lock your windows.”

You rolled your eyes but faltered when he narrowed his eyes, looming in the doorway like a fussy boogeyman. A clear indication that he did not plan to leave until you complied.

“You can’t be serious!” You were not whining.

“As the fu— as the damn plague.”

You snorted. “I think ‘damn’ is still swearing.”

He didn’t deign to respond to that, just arched his eyebrows. You mirror him right back, preparing to make a snippy comment about wasting company time.

“I’m sure Price would agree,” he said as you opened your mouth. You shut it with a snap.

Smug bastard.

You groaned but made a show of padding to all the windows and clicking the latches shut. Even when into the bedroom to secure those too. When you were done, he grunted in satisfaction and turned for the door.

“Lock this too.”

“I will, I will, I’m not dumb.”

You scrunched your nose at the skeptical grunt you received that time.

Before leaving, he pointed at you again, eyes narrowed. “Lock. Them. All.”

“They are!”

“From now on.”

“Yes, Simon.”

If you survive this episode of Dateline you’ve found yourself in, you owe him a scone and those nice cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t smoke.

“Open th’ fuckin’ door, Bunny!”

Your fingers twitch around the hilt of the knife. It’s not a big one, but it is serrated. That’s not going in or out without some serious damage. If not the fatal kind, at least the messy kind. Brandon’s not doing anything to you without leaving a crime scene investigator’s wet dream behind.

“Bunnyyyyyyyy!”

The banging starts again, nearly as fast as your heart. You could swear it gets louder every time. Maybe it’s just getting closer, layers of wood chipping away, closing the already too-small distance between you.

You glance desperately at your phone, but the screen remains damningly dark. Price promised he’d be here soon, but it feels like hours since you hung up to preserve what little battery life you had left. Your stomach churns as the pounding turns to thicker, harder thumps. Throwing his body into the door again, trying to force entry. Simon’s mutterings about kicking the door echo in your head.

You should have listened.

“Bun—fuck!”

You jolt as something slams into the door, nearly taking it (and the entry table you braced against it) down. There’s scuffling and scraping, muffled shouting, rapid footsteps— then silence. You hold your breath, every muscle in your body wound tight enough to snap.

“It’s alright now.”

You lurch from your protective crouch in the hallway, shove clumsily at the table. The mangled front door swings in crooked on one hinge, cracked and splintered from top to bottom.

And John is there on the other side.

You’re not sure if he reaches for you or if you throw yourself into his arms. All that matters is that he’s clutching you tight to his broad chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. Safe, protected. Your head spins as you lean into him, knowing that he’ll support you. His heart is beating hard against your cheek.

“John,” you breathe, now that fear isn’t squeezing your lungs in a vice.

“I’m here, luv,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re shaking. Adrenaline seeps from your bones, takes all their heat and steel with it. You’re left cold and feeble in the aftermath, fingertips numb as they curl tight into his shirt. You don’t know where the knife is; you don’t care. You don’t need it now.

“H-He… He…” you start.

John shushes you, squeezes a bit tighter in reassurance. He knows; you don’t need to tell him, don’t have to remind yourself of what could have happened.

“Where…?” you try instead, but words are so hard. All the trembling must have knocked your voice loose, lost somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

“Soap and Gaz are taking care of it,” John says.

The last of the tension drains away. Your boys will scare Brandon off, maybe enough that he won’t ever bother you again. (The thought alone makes your eyes burn.) John is here now, and – when you peek out from around his bicep – so is Simon.

“You were right,” you mumble, “a-about the door.”

Simon winces. “I’m sorry that I was.”

Somehow, that’s what finally bursts the bubble of your restraint. You sob. It’s loud and sniffly and ugly. In the back of your mind, the part that can never just let you rest, you’re mortified to be doing this in front of your coworker. And on your boss’s nice shirt too. You have an image to maintain—

Except John’s broad hand is rubbing soothing circles into your lower back. He’s gathering you even closer, letting you shelter in his warmth and strength. Easing you through hiccups with quiet murmurs, telling you he’s proud and that you did so well to call him.

Through tears, you see Simon reach out. Scarred knuckles run gently down your wet cheek.

“We take care of our own, little miss.”

You warble out a broken little “Simoooon” that seems to break the solemn atmosphere, John sighing against your temple and Simon’s shoulders slumping in what might be fondness.

It’s not long before Soap and Gaz return, looking no worse for wear, thankfully. (Not that you think they can’t handle themselves – but Brandon was drunk and who knows if he had a weapon or not. Accidents happen.)

“Aw, lass,” Soap coos when he sees you. Calmer now, but still sniffling and wiping at stray tears. “He’s gone now. Won’ be botherin’ you again.”

You blink at the fresh blood on his knuckles and don’t ask. You believe him.

“Thank you.”

“Nothin’ to thank us for, doll. Should have taken care of ‘im earlier,” Gaz replies.

“Earlier?” John asks. He’s trying for your sake, you can tell, but you know him too well to miss the sharp note in his voice.

“Hadn’t had a chance to debrief, sir,” Gaz explains regretfully.

You untuck your face from John’s chest to be better heard, clearing your throat. “Still, for all four of you to come here…”

“What else would we do, sit with our thumbs up our bums?” Soap teases.

“That’ll do,” Simon snips, but you giggle anyway.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to leave your apartment – it takes a bit more to convince you to go to John’s. Unfortunately, you’re outnumbered, and while that normally wouldn’t be a problem, you’re not in a headspace to be stubborn, argumentative, or superficially brave.

All the boys have bachelor pads ill-suited to guests, especially on short notice. Maybe on some other night, under different circumstances, you would have insisted on a hotel.

But the idea of being alone in an unfamiliar place makes your skin crawl. You don’t want to be alone. You want to be near John.

“We take care of our own,” Simon said – so you let them.

Gaz, Soap, and Simon help to pack you an overnight bag, scattering to different corners of your apartment to collect items. In the meantime, you keep clinging to John because he keeps letting you. Exhaustion creeps at the edges of your mind, doubling gravity on your slumping shoulders.

“Did I interrupt something important?” you ask finally, voice hoarse.

“No, luv. Just a card game with some old friends. Soap was losing anyway.”

You sigh, relieved. At least you don’t have the loss of some important business deal weighing on your conscience.

“Poker again?”

“Kid can’t keep a straight face for the life of him.”

You hide your smile against his shoulder and appreciate the chuckle you feel more than hear in his chest.

Simon takes the lead out of the building while Gaz and Soap bring up the rear. You’re a bit self-conscious of any neighbors seeing you in this state, but thankfully none make an appearance. It’s too late in the evening for anyone to be coming in or leaving, and if there were any witnesses to Brandon’s bullshit, you never saw (or heard) them.

(“The hell is their problem, actin’ like they didnae hear that bawbag?” Soap grumbles. “Bystander effect,” you answer, shrugging. He grimaces in understanding, but still looks pissed.)

The car is warm when John bundles you into the back seat. Soap takes the wheel, Simon the passenger side. Gaz sits on your other side and leans his knee gently into yours.

“It’s over now, doll, you can rest. We won’t let anythin’ happen t’you,” he promises.

You smile wearily, lean in to drop a grateful kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you four,” you sigh as you snuggle into John’s side again.

“Don’t need to,” Simon answers gruffly, “we’re not goin’ anywhere.”

John hums in agreement, low and pleasant by your ear.

“You always take such good care of us,” he murmurs. Quiet, just for the two of you. “Let us return the favor for once, won’t you, darling?”

You want to resist. You should. You drop your head to his shoulder and sigh, “Okay.”

Between the gentle motion of the car and the pattering of a fresh rainstorm, you don’t stay awake for long. You nod off within four blocks of your apartment, peacefully unaware of the dazed and bloody body in the trunk.

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141 x wedding

People said I write to much angst so here tooth rotting fluff for you.

Legally, you were already married to John for a few months. Unfortunately, it wasn’t allowed to marry multiple people. You understood where that rule came from, but it still hurt knowing you could only be legally John's spouse and not marry all four of your breathtaking men. So, when each of them proposed to you in their own unique way, how could you say no? Maybe you wouldn’t be legally married, but at least at heart, and that’s all that counts.

They organized most of the wedding themselves with the help of your Pinterest board. You were glad you didn’t need to plan all of this yourself, unlike your less fortunate friends whose husbands couldn’t even tell them what they wanted for dinner.

And now you were here, fiddling with your wedding dress in front of the big mirror. Your dad stayed by your side, holding back his tears. He didn’t understand at first—his kid in a relationship with four scary men (he couldn’t even threaten them properly, though he still tried; Simon and Price even had the decency to act scared, even though they knew your dad couldn’t do a thing). But he came to terms with it fast. He loved you, after all, and saw how well they treated you.

The wedding wasn’t too crowded. Johnny’s family took up the most space, surprisingly accepting the relationship of their son despite their strong Catholic beliefs. Kyle’s moms sat in the crowd, John’s sister with her husband and your now nephews, and Simon’s neighbor who always gave him something proper to eat when his dad starved him again. Nik, Kate and her wife, Alex, Farah, Alejandro, and Rudy were all there, and of course, all your loved ones.

Your dad walked you down the aisle, and it didn’t surprise you to see Simon and John shedding tears. Everyone thought it would be Johnny and Kyle, but you knew your boys too well. They all looked so breathtaking: Johnny with his kilt, Kyle with his tuxedo and the small peony in the pocket (of course he was the best dressed), John with his suit and vest, and Simon’s cream suit fitting perfectly with his blonde hair.

The vows were absolutely beautiful. Each of them wrote some personal words for you, and you couldn’t hold back your tears. You gave each of them their kiss, and now you weren’t married by law, but in front of all your loved ones, and that was more than enough.

You fought for dominance against John while cutting the cake, and to no one’s surprise, your hands were on top of his, making your family laugh.

Kyle got the privilege of having the first dance with you, spinning you around like no one was watching.

Johnny was delighted that he had the tradition of removing your garter. Oh, how proud he was, moving his head between your dress and coming back with it between his lips (he definitely didn’t say hi to his favorite place under your dress). You were blushing like hell while everyone was just laughing—typical Johnny.

You tossed the bouquet and Alex caught it, smiling cheekily towards Farah.

You talked with Simon about which tradition he felt comfortable with, and he thought carrying you over the threshold to keep bad ghosts away was fitting.

You always thought it was a lie what everyone said, but this really was the most beautiful day of your life.

A/N: Im sorry if some tradition confuse you I only know German, Turkish and Russian weddings, tried my best tho.

If I could draw I would include better inspiration so you get Pinterest pictures for their fits.

[cod-dump]

Trouble (teen!Ghost au)

___

They weren't bad kids but they were easily influenced.

"Don't your dads drink?" Alejandro pressed, Rudy rolling his eyes when he continued on the matter.

"Ale, don't be a bad influence."

"I'm not a bad influence! But come on- No parents in the house and we're just to behave?"

Simon never felt the need to impress Alejandro. They became friends a few weeks after Alejandro first moved here and went to their school. How? He's not sure but he considers himself stuck with the boy. It didn't matter if he wasn't 'cool' like Alejandro.

But Kyle? He was confident, but he was a bit shy around Rudy. Alex being there in the mix didn't help.

"I mean- Dad has a bottle of whisky downstairs in the basement. For when work gets a bit difficult."

"Oh, whisky?"

Alejandro perked up and Rudy showed interest, it was too late for Simon to stop Kyle.

"No- That's Dad's. He'll know if we go down there! Besides, I'm not drinking with Gary in the house!"

Gary was currently downstairs in the living room with Farah, both deciding to binge watch a bunch of Disney movies until bedtime. Alejandro just snorted.

"We'll be up here, away from the bichito."

Alex decided to join in, not helping the situation despite clearly trying to, "Doesn't Nik drink? Could grab from his stash since he's much more laid back."

This encouraged Kyle who silenced Simon before he could speak, "He has this special vodka he gets imported from Russia! But we don't know where he hides it, he doesn't even like sharing it with Dad."

Alejandro sighs, "Special vodka sounds killer..."

Rudy wasn't much involved in the conversation, just silently judging his boyfriend. Simon was mostly stunned by this rebellious nature Kyle was showing. Drinking? He was sixteen!

"Bro-"

Kyle stood up just then, "Then I'll go grab the whisky."

Simon immediately grabbed Kyle's sleeve and dragged him back to the floor.

"No! Are you crazy!?"

"C'mon, Si. Just a sip."

"No no-"

Simon couldn't stop Kyle. He was already out the room, jumping over Riley and narrowly dodging a very confused Smokey. Alejandro was laughing, mostly from disbelief. Kyle Price was a good child, where was this coming from?

Simon was going to kill him if their father didn't.

"Wow-"

"Ale I'm killing you later."

"Not my fault! You know I tease!"

Simon groans and gets off the floor. He had to get Kyle before he broke something or successfully stole their dad's whisky. He couldn't even imagine the old man's heartbreak at the discovery of not just his baby boy growing up but also adopting a rebellious phase. It would certainly kill him.

Simon was in the hall when Riley started barking excitedly. He ran past him whining and went straight down the stairs. Then Alex called out worriedly.

"There's a car in the driveway- I THINK IT'S YOUR DAD OH GOD-"

Alejandro cusses and jumps up, "Oh Kyle is so dead."

Simon, without thinking, grabs his phone and goes to call Kyle, Thankfully the nerd was never without his phone.

"Si, I'm already down here you can't stop me-"

"Dad's home early!"

Kyle was quiet before he spoke in a hushed tone, "Can you distract him?"

"Kyle-"

"Simon I am rethinking every decision I ever made right now please distract him."

Simon cusses, "Fine! I mean, you're only in trouble if you get caught."

Simon rushes downstairs while Alex, Alejandro, and Rudy stay where they are, probably waiting to see how this ends without getting caught in the crossfire. Right there in the living room was John, petting Riley while Farah and Gary sat on the couch, curled up in blankets with pillows and snacks.

"Back already?"

"For a moment, date night is still on just need to drop this file off."

In his office. Downstairs. Where Kyle is.

Simon ran into the living room and jumped at his father, the man wheezing at the sudden embrace from his son.

"What's with the hug? And when did you get so big?" John said with a light chuckle in his voice, arm around Simon's shoulders and a hand in his hair.

Simon didn't respond to the question, just squeezed onto John's middle, Riley whining at their feet. Farah immediately caught on that something was going on. John also caught on but immediately leaning into something had upset Simon and the teen didn't want to talk about it.

"Si... is everything okay?"

Simon wasn't sure if playing into him being upset was even safe. Running to his father the moment he walked in the door when his friends were staying over? Simon didn't want to risk John assuming they did something.

"Just... missed my old man. You could die any minute so I need to appreciate you whenever I can."

Farah's jaw dropped, dumbfounded, while Gary was absorbed in Finding Nemo and couldn't care less. John cared, the statement of course was alarming.

"Uh, do we need to talk? Nik will survive if we cancel date night."

Simon remained still, eyes wide. Was stirring the pot that was Simon's mental state worth preventing his father from catching his brother trying to steal a bottle of whisky?

I fucking suck at distracting people.

"I... Just love my dad."

Oh that didn't help.

"That settles it. I'm putting this paperwork away and you and me are gonna have a little talk."

FUCK FUCK FUCK-

"I can put it away," enter Nik. Simon certainly didn't have enough arm strength to hold bother men.

"UH- THE BASEMENT IS HAUNTED."

Farah blinked before she made a conclusion in her head. She calmly stood up, taking her blanket and tucking Gary in to the couch before she fast walked into the hall, out of sight but certainly not out of mind.

"... what are you kids up to?"

"Not even going to entertain the haunted bit?" honestly Simon was disappointed by that. Not even Nik took a bite at that.

"I'm not scared of ghosts, малыш."

Nik walked past them, taking the paperwork that laid on the end table as he went. Simon tried to pull away from John with the intention of jumping Nik, but his father kept a firm hold on him.

Gary was no longer watching the TV and instead was staring at Simon and John. Great, now he was more entertaining than Finding Nemo. This was a shit distraction.

"Simon. What's going on? Be honest."

Simon didn't get a chance to get a word out before Nik returned. With Kyle. Kyle was staring at the floor in shame when Nik held up John's whisky. As predicted, John was heartbroken.

"Kyle? No-"

"I... was curious..."

"You-"

John squeezed Simon and Simon feared his father's sanity.

"You were helping him?" Oh he sounded truly betrayed.

"I tried stopping him!"

"Oh you did an excellent job," Nik said with a laugh. He shut up when John looked at him with fire in his eyes.

"... I said I would buy you a nice liquor cabinet but no, you didn't want to be perceived as that kind of father."

"You-"

"-could've avoided this."

John scoffed and Simon clocked Nik trying to defuse the situation by turning the attention onto him. He had released Kyle who backed behind him.

"Simon. Go take Gary and Kyle to your room. I need to have a word with Nikolai.

Nik, for his credit, didn't flinch at the use of his full name. Simon parted from his father and grabbed Gary, who thankfully didn't fight him and just went along with him. He slipped past Nik and Kyle followed without word.

They darted upstairs and after a minute Riley followed. They didn't hear yelling, John and Nik weren't the types to yell. Simon predicted they would focus on the liquor cabinet comment before actually talking about what Kyle did or attempted to do. Either way things would be fine in the morning just awkward.

When they slipped into Simon's room Alex and Farah were there, Farah sitting on the bed while Alex was still on the beanbag.

"Uh, where is Ale and Rudy?"

"Oh they climbed out your window not long after you ran downstairs. They didn't want to be involved in Kyle's punishment."

Oh those assholes.

"Smart for Ale. His dad would murder him if Dad called him about picking him up."

"Didn't he drive here?"

"Ale's dad has towed his car before to ground him."

Alex thought Simon was joking and laughed. Simon wasn't joking.

Kyle couldn't find any humor in the situation and walked over to Alex, slumping onto the beanbag and shoving Alex to the floor.

"Oh why did I do that..."

Farah, having been filled in by Alex, rolls her eyes, "You're a boy, a natural idiot. Seriously, if you guys wanted a drink you should've had Ale go buy you something."

Silence.

Then Kyle sat up, "I'm going to kill Alejandro."

___

Why Johnny or Hong-Jin weren't there? Johnny went to Scotland to his material grandmother and Hong-Jin? Hong-Jin has a gaming tournament. Couldn't figure out how to fit these facts into the drabble but didn't want them to remain unknown lol

[the-californicationist]

Hello hello! I got super happy once i saw your requests open again <3 i love your writing and i would love to see Price and a reader who is too recluse and uptight, cold and distanced. He somehow noticed she likes him and stuff and it turns into what you write best, something hot and more. Basically Price shaking some sense into her, breaking her down? I don’t know if this is too much detail and I don’t know if it gives any ideas. Feel free to ignore. Love you, have a best day 🧡

Thanks so much for the ask! This is really unique, and I like the concept. I'll do my best! <3 <3

TW: female reader, afab, cunnilingus

Price scanned the meeting room as his teams filed in. The 141's operations had grown, now that Shepherd was out of the way, and new recruits with a lot of promise had come in to aid in the operations. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap sat up front, reports prepped and ready to be handed out, the logistics team sat around Alex and Farah, and sometimes, when she wasn't out doing the dirty work, Laswell would hang around the back corner, arms crossed, watching the meeting unfold. But, he was waiting for you.

You were the newest addition. Your specialty with data analysis and reporting had meant a stream of fresh, sparkling intel that was immediately actionable and nearly allowed him to predict the enemy's movements. You were a magician, and you never talked over anyone's head. Very professional, but kind. Beautiful, even though you were not a fresh-faced youth.

You also had a body that would not let him rest. He'd taken more cold showers in the past two weeks than he ever took as a teenager, and his cock was in his hand, hard and drooling, hungry to bury itself between your thick thighs.

He tried not to stare, really, he did. But, you would wear those cargo pants, belted to your waist, and he could see where your generous ass stretched the tight canvas. The way your hips swayed when you walked across the base with your data-tablet made him want to fight someone for you, even though, as far as he could tell, there was no competition in sight.

That was part of the problem. You kept everyone at arm's reach. Well, that was about to change.

Price started the meeting and tried not to keep glancing back to you in your seat. You were listening diligently, doing your job, and he felt downright lecherous at what he was about to do...

"...and so we'll be pairing off for a full facility inventory."

Groans resonated throughout the team. Complaints flooded in.

"Check the board for your partner and meet in Hanger 3. We'll start in the back storage."

"Back storage! Cap'n, unless you're lookin' for flip phones and manuals from 2007, there's nothin' we need in there," Soap protested.

"Well, Sergeant," Price grinned, "We're about to find out. Spring cleaning!"

He felt someone's presence behind him, and when he turned, he was delighted to find you there, shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be heard.

"Yes, Corporal? Do you need something? Going to whinge about the inventory as well?" He joked with you.

"N-no. No, sir. I just... I checked the board, and you are my partner, sir."

Your eyes were wide and bright. You were staring up at him and clutching that data-tablet to your chest like a shield.

He threw an arm around your shoulder and walked with you side-by-side,

"I'm just pullin' your leg, Corporal. Let's get to it."

As you worked together, the ever-observant John Price noticed a few things. First, you would stare at him when you thought he wasn't looking. Second, you would move to the opposite side of the room to work if he decided to relocate. And third, you had a bad habit of chewing on your bottom lip when you got nervous.

"You'd be no good at poker, Corporal," he commented, stacking a set of boxes near you.

"What, sir?" You looked up at him, biting that poor, innocent lip again.

"That bottom lip gives you away," you fixed it as soon as he said it, but he forced you to sit with him and asked you, "Hey, what's going on? You're doing a great job here, but I can't help but feel like you're not keen on being a part of this team."

You shook your head, sighing,

"No, sir. It's not that. I love this team... I just..."

"Just what, Corporal? We're not leaving this storage crate until you tell me. You have a crush on one of my soldiers, or what?"

Fear, now. He could see it all over your face. He reached out tentatively and put a hand on your knee,

"Hey," he dropped his voice to a dark whisper, "It's alright. I won't tell anyone."

Your voice was so small when you answered him, but gods you were brave for answering him,

"Sir... it's you who I shouldn't tell."

Price's breath caught in his chest. All this nervous energy, all this seriousness... for him? You were nervous to be around him?

"Corporal..." He was stunned.

You stood up, quick as a flash,

"I'm sorry, sir. Please forget I said anything."

You were backing away towards the door, looking like you were ready to bolt, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

"Me?" He stood above you, his body looming, covering you in the small storage room. It felt like it was getting smaller by the second.

You swallowed, nodding,

"Yes, sir..."

Price reached behind you and popped the metal lock into place, sealing you in,

"Mmm... Corporal, if you only knew how long I've been prayin' you'd say that to me."

"Wh-what? Really? Captain, I didn't --"

He put his thumb on your chin, pulling the skin so that your bottom lip would be freed from your teeth, and he bent to suck it into his mouth. He wasn't kissing you so much as he was working your full, lower lip, slowly and gently, taking it between his own lips and tongue, making you catch your breath.

"In here... I'm not your captain," he smiled, kissing you fully now, "And when I'm not your captain... you give the orders. We can stop, if you want to stop."

He let the news register, showing you how true it was, backing away a bit, giving you room to say no. Price watched your face as the information sank in. It was understood, analyzed, and filed appropriately in that beautiful brain of yours, and then, the results.

You set your tablet down on the boxes and took off your shirt. He still hadn't touched you, happy to let you drive. You pulled his face to yours, placing your hands on his furry cheeks, petting his hair and knocking off his hat until it hung around his neck on its string, almost letting him kiss you, but just before he could, you whispered into his open, gaping mouth,

"I don't wanna stop."

He kissed you, then. So softly it was almost chaste. He matched your energy. If you explored him with your tongue, he explored you just as far. If you spent time kissing his jaw and neck, so did he. After a few minutes of such restrained torture, though, he was breathing heavy, and his body was begging for more.

His hands rubbed across the tight muscles of your neck and down your arms before finally discovering your heavy breasts. He let them fill his warm palms, plucking softly at your nipples and making them harden beneath his fingers.

Price spoke to you as he kissed you, as he fondled you into pliant submission,

"Do you wanna stop, love?"

You shook your head, whispering back,

"I don't want to stop..."

He bent himself like the bough of a great tree, leaning to suck your sensitive nipple into his mouth. Price warmed it with his tongue, and put it between his teeth just enough to make you writhe. Then, he slid a huge hand between your legs and felt the heat you were hiding from him there. He sighed raggedly when he found it, like he had just dropped the weight of the world from his arms.

John pressed the canvas of your pants up into the spot where your folds would part, rubbing the seam against your center, making it shove your clit back and forth along its line, making it swell and tingle. You writhed beneath his teasing, moaning from it.

"Mmm. Do'ya wanna stop, love?"

"No, fuck, no. Don't stop."

He forced open your buckle with a swift pull, snapping the metal tines and popping open your button fly. Tucking his fist into the elastic of your panties, his fingers found their soft, wet prize.

The captain sighed again, that same ragged relief, and just before he opened his mouth to speak to you again, you clasped your hand over it furiously, and warned him,

"Don't you dare fucking stop."

He chuckled, but he said nothing as he sank to his knees, looping one of your legs over his shoulder as he began to eat from your body, hungry and thirsty and needy and ready to be full of you, smearing you all over his beard, smiling all the time.

If you liked this story, please consider buying a coffee for your favorite feral cat <3 Comments, reblogs, and kudos are also appreciated!

AO3 Link

[angelcqre]

CoD TMA AU

ARCHIVIST

Statement of [Name Redacted], regarding her camping trip in The Grampian Mountains. Original statement given January Fifteenth, Two Thousand and Fifteen. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Now, before you say anything, I know how I sound. I know that it was stupid to go out into the middle of uncharted wilderness and get piss drunk. Believe me, I'm not interested, the park ranger gave me an earful when he found me and the cops did the same. Especially now. But.. something happened, something bad, and if I don't - if I don't say it, I don't know. I'll explode.

So…

I'm not really an outdoors type. I'm an inside cat, I like to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea and my cat, but Farah insisted for her birthday that we go camping. She's always been like that - hiking, caving, camping, it's her thing, and when Farah wants something, she's set on it. Doesn't let it go, especially because she knows how to cash in favors.

So - we went. I didn't want to go, but we went. Me, Farah, her boyfriend, Alex, and her boyfriend's friend. John. I didn't really know him, but he seemed nice enough. We were supposed to spend a long weekend roughing it, three days and three nights for the holiday. We packed plenty of booze, plenty of food, all the proper first aid crap.. and we spent four hours hiking to what John said was the perfect spot.

He was strange from the get-go. A little too touchy-feely, a little too in your space, but he seemed… enthusiastic, I don't know. Eager. He was obviously passionate about it, kept stopping me to show me edible plants, poisonous mushrooms, whatever caught his eye. If it was notable, you'd best believe he was stopping to point it out. It was almost kind of cute, if it wasn't so.. feverish. [VOICE DROPS, ASSUMING SCOTTISH ACCENT.]

"Look, bonnie, look here," and he kept saying it, over and over. It felt like he was trying to prove something - like that he could take care of me, maybe? I don't know.

He just.. didn't stop. He had so much energy, kept moving, expression bright and eyes wild, kept insisting I call him Johnny. It wasn't.. flirting - I don't know what it was. Too familiar. He was so big, just this huge guy, looming over me, smiling with these insanely white teeth that..

Is it crazy to say they looked sharper than.. normal? I know, cliche, but they looked.. sharp. Like fangs. Whatever.

So we settle down on the first night, and of course we all start drinking, set some sausages over the fire, the whole deal. Farah is a clingy drunk, so she disappears with Alex into the woods as soon as she's got some booze in her, and then it's just me and John - Johnny. He hasn't drank a sip the whole time we've been there, just clutching the same beer bottle, nursing it for hours, just.. watching us, and his gaze is so intense. Like he's sizing us up.

At some point, he gets up. Says something about it being "about time", offers me this wink, and then he's strolling off into the woods, whistling to himself.

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go…

He doesn't come back for naarly an hour. They don't come back for nearly an hour, and I start to get a little worried. I mean, look at me, I would not be able to, like, fight a bear if it came down to it, you know? I just keep feeding the fire, getting jumpier and jumpier, but eventually, he comes back, and..

At first, I don't know what it is. He just looks.. dark. His mohawk looks wet, and his clothes are stuck to him, outlining every muscle, but he doesn't step out into the firelight, stays in the shadows, so only his eyes and his teeth are visible, reflecting the light, and it feels wrong, feels sick.

He asks me, point blank, if I'm tired, and angles his head towards one of the two tents, and I tell him no, not yet, I'm waiting for Farah to get back, and he, uh.. he tells me she's not coming back.

When he steps into the firelight, it's like he's prowling, stalking more than walking, you know? He's moving like… like a predator, all smooth and uncanny, and now that I can see him, I can see that the wetness is.. blood, and he's covered in it, like, head to toe. It's worse at his mouth, his teeth are totally stained, like he was just.. ripping into something, I don't know. Biting. And his teeth are too sharp, and with the way he's moving, and the blood, and.. the look on his face, I just.. bolt.

And he laughs.

I can hear it echoing through the woods, bouncing off of every tree, but I don't hear him running after me. No, he just.. starts walking, and that scares me more, because he's so casual about it. Like he knows I won't get away.

But I run, and as I run, I can hear it, bouncing off of every tree, and it's December, right, so there aren't any leaves to block the moon or muffle the sound. I can hear him whistling as he walks, always seeming to be too close to me, no matter how fast I run, just out of sight, and eventually, I get to a clearing.

Everything feels too still. No nightlife - and there hasn't been any wildlife, no birds, no squirrels, nothing, and I'm realizing how bad that is.

And of course, I trip. My foot gets stuck in a gopher hole, of all fucking things, and then I'm dropping down, and he's on me.

His hand on my wrist, leaning down, and he's -

I don't know.

His eyes are blown out, manic, his teeth so large, ears.. pointed? I don't know, but he's drooling as he ruts against me, all but frothing at the mouth, mumbling about mates and calling me his little bunny, telling me that I had my fun, but that he's ready to have his prize, and-

And I have my bear mace still.

Because I can't fight bears.

He starts fidgeting with my clothes, and I just.. I pull it out, spray him, and he's so big, so unnaturally big, his muscles all.. I don't know, tense, wrong, and I spray him until he's howling and then I run.

I don't think the park ranger was happy to see me, but I was sure as shit happy to see her.

The thing is.. and why I came to you guys..

I keep.. getting this feeling.

Like I'm being watched. Hunted.

Like I never really escaped him.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends. We attempted to contact Miss [REDACTED] following a similar statement we'd received months ago, regarding a man fitting the same description, but when Martin spoke to her, she informed him that all was fine, and that she was happy now.

That she was expecting pups.

Knowing Martin, he likely misheard her. I'm likely to dismiss this as a hallucination; with the mushrooms she discussed, perhaps she ingested some. The police seemed to think the same, and administered a drug test upon her statement, which came back... clean.

There isn't much more we can do here. If Miss- er, Mrs. MacTavish, doesn't wish to aid in further investigation, we, unfortunately, are stuck at a standstill.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[auspicioustidings]

Farah doesn't know how to approach Kate about it, but Kate can tell when someone is staring at her and trying to work up some courage so she has some mercy (only some, she lets Karim sweat first) and tells her to come to her office.

Honestly she was sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop, but she's nervous about what Farah is bringing to her. She likes the woman, it would be a shame if she turned out to be a bigot. Imagine Kate's surprise when Farah's issue with Alex isn't that he is trans, but that she is wholly unexperienced with eating out a cunt and would like lessons. Farah has always exceeded at everything, will she fuck be finally getting Alex Keller into bed only to be mediocre and fumbling.

It's funny in a way to watch as she works herself up talking about how much of a disaster it would have been had she not found out completely by accident and thus went into the situation without practicing first. "I would rather die in battle than be bad for him. I wouldn't even have went into it with the right equipment and I would have had to give up my command over the dishonour of it all."

(we are getting NSFW below the cut my cuties and it's been a while since I've written it so if you don't think it's good kindly keep your mouth shut and scroll <3 )

So Kate calls her wife and asks if it would be ok for her to teach the commander of a rebel force to eat pussy and take a strap like a good girl and her wife just whines at the images that has given her and tells her she'd better give a detailed description tomorrow.

Farah is a quick study and is willing to get messy, but oh that rebellious streak. She doesn't take suggestions or requests well, she needs orders and Kate Laswell is willing to give them. She's got this girl pressed between her legs and isn't letting her up for air, instead humping her face until she learns that she only breathes on the good will of the pussy she is pleasuring. "Need to get that clit nice and swollen so you can learn to suck his cock properly, get to it soldier."

Kate laughs when she goes to start stretching her out only to find she is dripping wet. Three fingers sink into her with a squelch with no resistance. "Me or him you're thinking of?" Farah snorts because they both know the answer is Alex, the only person that's seemingly oblivious to how much she wants him is him. Although Farah thinks that she would like both. Maybe once she gets that man in bed, they can go on a double date with the Laswells.

She wants to learn everything about putting the harness on just incase Alex hasn't done it before. Her pussy is swollen with need and throbbing in time to her heartbeat but both her and Kate are professionals, so they take the time to have a discussion on strap styles and common issues even while Farah is panting and drooling all over the thick plastic of the cock Kate is showing her. "Don't worry, still get to put your deepthroating skills to work." She was mostly joking but Kate is delighted to find how good she actually is at it. Farah comes up for air, tears streaming down her face and saliva forming a line between her mouth and the cock and admits without any shame what so ever that she got Ghost to teach her when she still thought Alex was cis.

"He teach you how to take it too?"

"He tried."

The wry look in her eyes makes Kate laugh. She could imagine how difficult Ghost would have found Farah as a student given that he seemed to like obedient and desperate mutts. Farah was neither, she would top from the bottom until she was forced into submission and while Ghost had no doubt tried, he was more inclined to breaking brats than the likes of this woman.

Kate has no such problem. She knows that the trick to someone like Farah is outlasting her. So she flips her over onto her hands and knees, gives her shoulders a firm push to have her arms collapse out under her and pumps the strap into her in one fluid thrust right to the root. The ripple of muscles is gorgeous as she fucks and fucks and fucks and Farah refuses to give in control. Even presenting like a bitch she is strong and ready to seize control back at any moment. But Kate has stamina and just keeps pressing into her in the perfect rhythm to send her into an orgasm that makes her quiver violently.

She can't help to give into temptation. When Farah's body gives away that she is going to have another, Kate slides her fingers around the strap and pushes it in with her fist wrapped around it still. The woman under her absolutely howls at that and Kate feels the orgasm from the inside, feels the warm, wet walls of her cunt squeeze her fingers in waves.

It takes a lot, more than Kate has ever given anyone. Anytime she throws Farah's limbs around to get her into a new position she is still poised and ready to fight. She still holds back on her orgasms instead of fully giving in. She takes the slaps to her clit with hisses through gritted teeth but still refuses to just relax and let go.

She could almost smack herself when she finally figures it out. It's been hours, both of them are exhausted and panting and will no doubt be sore tomorrow. And as a last ditch effort Kate presses Farah's knees about her ears, leans down and looks her in the eye.

"He's going to love it Karim. He's not going to be able to get enough of your tongue and then he's going to find heaven in your pussy."

Finally, fucking finally, Farah Karim melts. Goes boneless and pliant, let's the final orgasm run through her almost languidly. It's fascinating to watch how her body seems to changes, goes from hard and aggressive to soft and willing.

Kate rolls off of her and just lays on her back with her eyes closed panting. She doesn't move when nimble fingers undo the harness and pull it off. She can barely do anything but give hitched little breaths when a warm tongue gently laps her pussy, no longer so worried about doing well and now just enjoying the meal. The orgasm is the last her body can give and she grins when she wakes up with Farah passed out between her legs having been equally as exhausted.

Alex Keller is a very lucky boy.

[syoddeye]

the introductions

ceo!price x reader / ~2.9k words

Next installment in the 141 Group miniverse. Some more familiar faces in this one.

CW: power imbalance, alcohol (mentioned), bad apologies

You wondered if you did or said something wrong. After allowing John to politely bully you into drinks, whatever mild flirtation that sprung up over cocktails seemed to fizzle by the following day. In the two weeks since, you overturned and analyzed every detail you could remember.

Mr. Price, or John, as he insisted then, stubbornly kept the conversation one-sided. It was difficult to pinpoint where things went wrong. You did not think you were a scandalous person, far from it. You supplied answers to your CEO's questions. You divulged the 'correct' amount of information: where you grew up, your parents and family, your education, and your middling career before The 141 Group. Curiously, you don't recall him asking about your personal life.

However, somewhere between describing university life and first jobs, his hand found your knee. The memory's sharp. The candlelight reflected in his eye as his features took on a roguish quality, his confident smile unwavering, even when you stuttered mid-sentence. It simply sat there, palm calloused more than an executive's hand ought to be, a gold ring cool against warming skin, but he escalated no further.

Not for the first time, you wondered if it had been a test, one you failed.

You'd thought to tell Kyle, but as nothing happened and Mr. Price moved on, you decided against it. No need to rock the boat. And Jordan wouldn't hear a whisper of it, either. Her strength was not secret-keeping. So, you moped privately and threw yourself into work as usual. Mid-quarter reviews approached swiftly, with no time for fantasies.

Then, one Friday afternoon, you find someone sitting at your desk after picking up Kyle's lunch from the lobby. No, on your desk. Flipping through last month's Vogue with an amused look is one of Mr. Price's bodyguards. A set of dark eyes flick up when you continue past nonchalantly to drop the bag of Mediterranean on the corner of Kyle's desk. Your mind races as to what's happening, but you remain composed and address the visitor.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to pick you up for Mr. Price's 2:00 PM."

"Pardon me?" 

"He messaged you." 

Brows furrowing, you stoop down to pick up your phone. A notification on the lock screen alerts you to one new DM, sent while you were downstairs.

johnprice - invisible > Borrowing you for an appointment. Bring your things, we won't be returning to the office.

You bristle. It's irritating on multiple fronts. Two weeks of nothing, now Mr. Price comes out of nowhere to claim the rest of the day? Friday afternoons are for teeing up Monday, setting the foundation for the week ahead. Kyle needs you.

"Miss? If you would," The guard gestures to your personal effects.

With a huff, you power down your laptop and quickly tidy. You button your long coat with one hand and scrawl out a note to Kyle with the other.

"That won't be necessary," The guard informs you. "Mr. Garrick is apprised."

Oh goody, you crumple the note, He's going to blow up my texts about this.

You follow the guard to the elevators, ignoring the several heads that turn when you pass. You give Jordan seven minutes before she also floods your inbox.

The ride down is awkward. On multiple floors, the doors open only for the soul on the other side to clock the guard and insist on taking the next car.

"Where are my manners," You murmur after the third stop, look to your intimidating companion, and hold out a hand. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Farah," She answers and clasps your hand in a shake.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

Eventually, the elevator reaches the garage. The doors open and reveal a familiar car, and the taller guard stands at the ready. He smiles boyishly beneath a mustache as you approach.

"Miss."

"Hi…?"

"Alex, ma'am." 

Alex opens the car door, and the low intonations of Mr. Price trickle out. He does not look up from a padfolio on his lap, turning a page with one hand and holding his phone with the other.

You climb in, give Alex a tight smile when he shuts the door, and watch him confer with Farah. She motions with her chin to a sleek, black motorcycle parked in a nearby spot. Alex rubs the back of his neck, Farah pats his shoulder, and you look away as the man turns back to the car. He takes the passenger seat.

The moment the door closes, John presses a button. A glass privacy screen rolls up, gradually darkening until it's opaque, and separates the front and the back of the car. 

You act unbothered. Act.

The car departs the office's garage and joins afternoon traffic. John's volume level rises a fraction. He settles back against his seat, eyes cast out the window. Still not on you.

"If there's anythin' else, I want to know. As thorough as you can be in the next 48 hours."

You scroll socials on your phone, strain to listen, but you cannot hear whoever's on the other end of the call.

"Right, no, she's with me now."

Do not look over.

Mr. Price shifts in his seat. "Black skirt, off white blouse, green coat."

Wait. Is he–?

In your periphery, Mr. Price leans over the empty seat, and you flinch when a hand appears beside your head. It stops short, and you turn to meet eyes. His hand gestures to your hair, and you guess after a second he wants you to hold it back from your ear.

"Gold."

He is. 

As if discussing the weather, Price is describing the details of your outfit to some unknown person. Evidently finished, he leans back.

The low simmer rises to a boil.

"Anythin' that happens in the next twenty, text it. I've got to run. Mhm. Tomorrow." Finally, the call ends. 

Rationally, Mr. Price is not someone you should not get snippy with, so you try to sound more curious than angry. "Sir, may I ask what I'm doing here?"

He withdraws a pen from a pocket, and scratches something out on the top page. "Extra set of hands," The phrase seems to trigger another thought, and he looks at your hands clutching your phone. He indicates with the pen to extend one.

You do, despite your annoyance.

"When did you get those done last?"

You glance at the simple sage-colored manicure. It's accumulated only one chip. "Two weeks ago?"

"Hmm." He hums. "Try not to draw attention to your hands, and see to those this weekend."

Maybe the chip on the nail is noticeable, but Mr. Price is about to notice the chip on your shoulder. "Mr. Price. Please," You grit your teeth. "What am I doing here?"

"I require an assistant today, and Kyle graciously loaned you to me."

'Loaned', you do not like the sound of that. "Respectfully, that is how I ended up in this car, sir. If I'm to help you, I need to know what you need from me and how it's connected to my…appearance."

"Notes," He says too quickly. "Your notes from the proposal meeting were impressive. The conversation I'm about to have will require my full participation, so you are here, in this car, to accompany me and record what I might miss."

You fume silently. He could have said that from the start. Suddenly, it feels silly to be upset over two weeks of silence. Mr. Price is clearly a man whose attentions only come when he needs a person for something, like a tool. Why you fooled yourself into thinking otherwise, you don't know.

The car eventually stops in front of a building of Portland stone and judging by the foot traffic, it's drinks all over again: more rubbing elbows with people whose net worth could eat yours several times over while you're woefully underdressed.

The restaurant is one that's on every 'best in the city' list, with multiple stars and dollar signs. Tufted, emerald green banquettes, polished oak throughout, filtered natural light through ivory lace curtains. Even past the lunch hour, it's busy. The hostess, scarcely younger than you, greets Alex and then beckons down a side hall.

Dutifully, you follow behind Mr. Price, clutching your off-brand bag to your chest. Hiding it, like you could pass as a regular patron.

A small private room, furnished and staged with a table for two, awaits. 

"Bring another chair and a side table for the lady," Price instructs, pointing toward the room's corner. When the hostess sends for the furnishings, you pluck up the courage to ask.

“You want me to sit behind you, sir?”

“Can’t have you distracting me.”

It shuts you up quick. The chair and table arrive and are arranged carefully under Mr. Price's watchful eye. You sit when he glances pointedly at the Picardy. You withdraw your laptop, with which he takes issue next. You are made to exchange it for your legal pad. Something about the restaurant being too nice a place for the clicking of a keyboard. With nothing in your lap to balance the writing surface, you cross your legs at the knee and scrawl out the date, time, and location.

John orders for you - Earl Grey and a small sampling of accompanying bites. He orders for himself and his ‘guest’, who’s yet to arrive. 

You sneak a few morsels, nerves oddly creeping up on you. Between the utter lack of information and Mr. Price's exacting behavior, you humor if he’s meeting a member of the royal family or a celebrity. Busying yourself with a flowery doodle in the margins, you attempt to relax.

A booming voice tinged with an American accent from out in the hall lifts your head. Price’s too. You watch the CEO check his watch, adjust a cuff link, and stand as a handsome blond man appears in the doorway. 

You hastily pop to your feet.

“Alex, good t’see you again,” the stranger drawls. Southern definitely, Texan maybe? The gentleman shakes the bodyguard’s hand, head turning slowly into the room. He spots Price first, you second. 

His eyes are like John’s - blue, a flintier shade. Self-possessed with a horizontal scar over a cheekbone and a toothy grin. Confident. So much for having a singular type.

“John, how the hell are ya?” The man’s gaze shifts to Mr. Price. He extends a hand, flashing another thick silver watch band. 

“Graves. Trust your travels were smooth?”

“As butter. Kind of you to ask. Say, who’s this little lady you’re hiding back here?”

Mr. Price does not turn to introduce you; he merely retracts his hand from the shake. “Assistant.”

It smarts, but Graves steps closer and reaches out. Instantly, you’re soothed. You take his hand and give your name in a tone so shy you hardly recognize your own voice.

The American repeats it, tongue running over his teeth like he’s savoring the last bite of dessert. “Pleasure to meet you, darlin'. My name is Phillip Graves.”

Oh! You know this name from the big meeting notes. He’s the—

“President of Shadow Company, at your service.”

“If you’re done chattin' up my assistant, I’m hoping we can discuss the details of the contract.” 

Phillip releases your hand with a wink and joins Price at the table. The men sit, and so do you.

You are not sure when the business portion of the meeting begins, but being you, you start taking notes anyway. 

Phillip Graves. Confirmed Texan. Employs lots of sport metaphors. Sprinkles the word fuck into conversation when he gets excited. Obviously an appreciator of nice suits, like Price, but clearly of an American cut. His is a dark blue, most likely to bring out his eyes, which are on you.

Hmm. Phillip keeps looking at you. Whenever John speaks, his eyes stray. You pretend not to notice, save for one or two times you catch him, and he flashes that smirk again. 

He is a handsome distraction. Not enough to completely knock you off course, luckily. Not when the CEO expects another set of immaculate notes. You sip your tea to break the spell and refocus.

By the time the meeting winds down, you’re out of tea, and a stack of notes sits on your lap. Your hand cramps a little. However, you have a handle on things now - how important Project Intercontinental is to the 141 Group.

When the men stand to shake hands once more, you do, too. 

Phillip nods at you, eyes dropping subtly down you while Mr Price briefly looks at his phone. “Looking forward to working together, John. Glad we’ll be seein’ more of each other, workin’ close.”

You suspect you should not heat at that, so you act like your discount purse is very interesting.

“Likewise, Graves.”

When Phillip leaves, Mr Price doesn’t move, not until Farah ducks her head in and nods.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he rumbles, voice harsh through gritted teeth as he gathers paperwork Graves left for him.

He must be referring to making you sit behind him again. It was rather awkward. “It’s fine, sir. I heard everything well enough.”

“That's not what I mean. Wait a tick, need to make a call."

Things packed away, you examine the fineries of the space. It'll probably be the last time you're in a private room of a multiple-star restaurant for the foreseeable future. You half-listen to Price's phone call.

"That so?" He asks, pausing. "I see. Well, your idea worked. Man's got a weakness…Yes, behind me. Saw his eyes keep moving over my left shoulder."

You freeze, fingers pinching the pearly lace of a window dressing. 

"Mhm. Add it to the file. I want multiple methods of putting him on the back foot and keeping him there if need be," Mr. Price sounds closer, and sure enough, he stops at the edge of your vision. He rocks on his heels once, staring through the window.

Openly, you gawk at him. The nerve. Man in charge or not, the audacity is astounding. 

If he notices the building anger beside him, he does not say a word. In fact, his hand lifts and toys with the delicate trim as well. 

It's childish, but you move away and retrieve your coat. You know how to get back to the office. He can't get upset with you if you intend to return to work. However, before you finish closing the fasteners of the coat, Mr. Price ends the call. 

"I've got to run. Let's discuss this later."

You turn to grab your bag, only to see a large hand draped over it on the chair. "Don't recognize this brand."

He's not even looking at you. He examines the bag's strap, where it's worn thin from years of riding on your shoulder. The strap you snatch up and haul into place.

"Yes, well, forgot my Moynat at home," You snipe, forcing a thin smile.

Mr. Price simply stares at you, mouth a line framed by his beard. Then his nose twitches, mustache following. "You're upset."

Biting the flesh of your cheek, you shake your head. "No, sir."

His head tilts in a half-nod, a brow lifting, and he steps closer. "Mhm. A good assistant you may be, a poor liar, you are not."

The proximity does something. Without the dark of the copy room after hours or a drink in hand, you're vulnerable. But not cowed. "You used me. As bait." 

"Not bait," He corrects in a lowered tone. "I admit, your presence and placement was predetermined but not malicious. Needed to see something."

You frown. "If I was Phillip's type?"

His eyes narrow slightly. "If he's easily distracted."

It's a shock to hear this man, a man who's been featured in various business publications a dozen times over, admit to such a scheme. Even if he doesn't come right out and say it. You lick your bottom lip and huff. 

"Right. I'll have the notes typed up and delivered to your desk as soon as possible." Turning away to escape, you adjust your bag, and a hand takes your elbow.

"Let me make it up to you," He squeezes gently and steps closer again. "Kyle is not expecting you back, and the working day is almost done."

Your head turns and tilts up; he's right over your shoulder. He's got to know what he's doing, looking at you like this, gaze somehow soft yet stern. It's another invitation that leans more toward command, more instruction than a suggestion. The worst part is that you really would not mind a repeat of two weeks ago. You found the attention of a powerful man more intoxicating than any cocktail.

The hand on your elbow releases. He knows he's got you, smug man.

"Fine," You acquiesce, then push it a little. "It'll take more than a drink, though."

His eyes crinkle as he grins. "I've something better in mind."

After thanking the hostess, he leads the way back to the car. Once inside, he takes another couple of calls, and that damn hand finds your knee again. You should pull away or push it off, but you don't, not when his middle and ring fingers rub small circles on the inside of the joint. 

You retreat to the relative neutrality of your mobile's screen. 

When the car stops a short time later, you nearly drop the device in your lap. Outside, the Moynat brick and mortar sits, waiting.

His hand squeezes. "Will this do?"

[brokenpieces-72]

Repairing Bridges

Navigation

TW: gang stuff, past trauma, mentions of death, tell me if there is anything else.

Graves shifts in his chair in the dark of his apartment. He figured this day would come. The tv illuminated the small living space in harsh light. You were safe, he told himself. You told him as much. When he saw you turned off your location he considered texting you. Now he was glad he hadn’t.

Makarov was back. That monster was back and now Graves worked for him. He thought back to when you told him about getting jumped by a few officers. They were his, he could tell. You didn’t tell him, didn’t rat them out. He’d asked them to keep an eye on you while you were having a week to yourself. In that time, he had kept checking up on you. It wasn’t just for you to report to him but to see you were safe. He kept it professional not wanting to get too attached, and vice versa. Losing his partner was bad enough, but he wasn’t about to lose his partner’s kid too.

With you gone and somewhere not even he knew, there was less to worry about. Now he needed to figure out his own next steps. Time would tell for now. Maybe he would take some long vacation, but Makarov was thorough. Could he trust his own officers, after they hurt you?

He switched over the channel not wanting to see the man’s face. The tv continued playing, as he got up, to get a drink for himself. Day off tomorrow. He had a little more than 48 hours. Graves texted Alex. Wouldn’t be surprised if Alex already knew but Farah would need to know as well. Then he thought about Price. Price would already know by now, word would spread to other gangs like the Los Vaqueros easily enough.

As he took more sips of his drink the memories came back. Ones he told himself he wouldn’t let bother him. Makarov’s words of warning, your father’s body, Price’s glare, Soap holding him against the wall… and your scared, sad face full of tears after he had to tell you your dad wouldn’t be coming home again. He blamed himself, wishing he had stepped in, stopped your father, done something either in that moment or before.

Graves texts you.

You didn’t see the text until the next morning. You got up, asked Simon who was already up if you could have a shower.

“I’m not your parent.” He replies. “There’s a towel in your closet though.”

After the shower you come back out, and find Simon crouched in front of black cat eating at some leftover tuna. It’s interesting to see Ghost in a much more calm state. You hadn’t seen him in action but you’d heard he could be lethal, sending more than a few cops to the hospital. Now here he was in dark jeans, a black hoodie and the same scarf over half his face from last night, petting a scrawny feline, who wasn’t intimidated at all.

“Are they yours?” You ask trying to keep your voice down. When you left the bathroom, you could make out snoring in another room. Didn’t want to wake anyone.

“Seen her a few times. People don’t like black cats, so they try to get rid of them.” He says, scratching the cat between the ears. The cat raised its head, welcoming the scratches. When Simon stopped the cat circled him rubbing up against his legs. “Cats don’t get to choose what they look like… owners don’t deserve to be cruel.” He adds in. Simon stood up and turned to you, seeing clean clothes. Black pants, baggie hoodie, a white tshirt. Your wet hair was covered by your beanie, and you already had your red scarf on.

Both of you stand there in awkward silence. Simon’s feline friend was still rubbing against his leg and purring.

“Hungry?” He asks finally.

“Kind of.” You say. Ghost shakes his head. He could understand you being weary still, he wasn’t exactly a bunny rabbit.

“Diner across the street does take out. Ask them what the price is for breakfast. Get yourself something too. You got money?” He asks. You nod, getting your shoes on with another word, taking your card and phone in your back pockets.

Once you get outside into the cold winter morning, your phone buzzes. You check it and find a text from Graves. One sent last night and the other just now.

G: Keep your location off.

G: We need to talk.

You stare at the text message while you walk through the alley, to get to the diner. Your steps are slow as you try to decide what to text back with.

Y/N: getting breakfast right now.

G: Take it back to your place.

G: or where you’re staying.

Y/N: why what’s going on?

G: is anyone with you?

Y/N: not right now.

G: staying with you?

Y/N: Why?

G: Tell me.

Y/N : Tell me why!

You weren’t about to let him get away without giving you answers. You finally reach the diner, and repeat what Ghost told you to, while ordering something for yourself. While you wait at the counter, you look around the quiet mostly empty diner. You notice a larger man in a booth staring at you. At first you turn to look in the same direction he is, then back at him. Definitely staring at you. Keeping your hands in your pockets you look back at him. Two can play at this game. He scoffs after a bit of you both staring.

“Can I help you?” You ask with some attitude. He scoffs again finally looking away. You take a moment to pull out your phone and snap a photo of the guy. Thankfully your food comes and you’re able to leave. Something about his stare made you uncomfortable, like he was sizing you up. You take a longer route back to the hideout. Couldn’t hurt to be safe.

By the time you arrive Soap is up with a coffee in hand, and at the bar counter of the kitchen. You close the door behind you and set the food on the counter, before sitting next to Soap at the bar. You take out your own container with your breakfast inside, and start eating while Soap gets his. You notice three containers remain. Ghost retrieved his and Gaz emerges from the hall way. Soap is wearing the same clothes as last night, while Gaz just changed his shirt.

“Last one for the cat?” You ask, through mouthful of food.

“Still feeding it?” Soap chimes in, while Ghost rolls his eyes.

“He’ll be here soon.” Gaz says.

“It’s a girl.” You say, thinking you’re still discussing the cat. Only when the door to the unit open do you realize what Gaz meant. Price walks in wearing a long coat. You notice he seems rushed as he takes his jacket off, and makes his way to the kitchen. He gives a quick and curt morning, before getting his breakfast. He too seems to be wearing similar clothes from yesterday. Off white shirt and faded pants.

Ghost is staring, his container hardly touched. He’s watching Price as he looks up and back at him. Price’s eyes look to you, and you look away to take out your phone. You look back to see a silent conversation happening between the two bosses.

Price keeps moving his eyes to the floor while Ghost’s body language goes tense. Ghost clenches a fist, body now facing more to Price and away from you. Ghost shakes his head before pouring a cup of coffee for Price.

“What’s wrong?” You finally ask. Gaz hops up on to the other side of the counter you and Soap are seated at. Price sips the dark coffee sighing, and looking at you.

“Before I answer, I need to know how much you understand about your father.” He says. Before the case you would have said you understood everything. Now though… you weren’t as sure as before.

“I know he did things for good reasons. Trusted you guys.” Not much else you could say.

“Do you trust us?” Price asks, folding his arms and leaning against the counter behind him, staring at you. There was still so much they hadn’t told you. It would take time for you to get the answers that made sense. For now, you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yes.” You say. There’s a hint of uncertainty in your voice but Price wasn’t about to be picky.

“…Makarov is back in town, and he’s got his old position.” Price says. Everyone freezes in place going dead silent. You’re confused. You didn’t know who Makarov was. The name felt familiar though. Maybe something you heard in passing.

“Unfucking believable.” Soap says.

“News report was last night.” Price confirms.

“Who’s Makarov?” You ask a little nervous now.

“Mafia, has his dirty lil’ fingers everywhere.” Johnny says.

“And he’s the former police commissioner.” Ghost adds. You fidget in your seat. More questions but those could be addressed later.

“What about Milena and Nolan?” Gaz asks. Great more names you were in the dark about. Well, Milena’s you’ve heard before, she’s a businesswoman and socialite. There has been some small rumours about her and her late partners, but no one seemed to pay it any mind.

“More than likely.” Price said. “Alex, Farah and the Los Vaqueros have been made aware and to lay low for now. Don’t need Nolan getting set on anyone until we know what’s going on.”

“What does he look like?” You ask. When you get a loose description you unlock your phone and show Johnny the man you saw at the diner.

“Steamin Jesus…” he says, while Kyle leans back getting a look at the photo. You hold it up to Simon and John. John straightens and comes over to take your phone and get a better look.

“How long ago was this?” He asks.

“Maybe an hour or two by now. Took a longer way to get back just in case. He kept staring at me.” You explain.

“You see him again, you tell us but don’t go near him if you can.” Price orders. You nod and he looks at his everyone in the room. “Right here’s the deal. Makarov is back and he’s gonna have something planned, underground shit and we need to keep our eyes open so nothing goes unnoticed. We need to expose anything and everything he does or is connected to, I don’t care how hare-brained.”

“Yes sir.” Was said by everyone including you. You swore you saw the corner of Price’s mouth turn up for a moment to a smile. Loyalty. If there’s one thing Price had it was that.

Then your phone buzzes in Price’s hand. He notices the name but makes no comment as he hands it back to you. You check the name, and excuse yourself, getting you boots on and stepping outside.

You answer it just before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Y/N? We need to talk.” You hear Graves on the other end. He sounds tired, and nervous.

“Yeah what is it?” You answer, trying to keep your hesitation out of your voice.

“I mean in person. Are you able to meet with me, or have you skipped town?”

“No no… I’m just uh… sorry was just eating breakfast. What’s wrong?”

There’s a long pause in the other end. For a moment you wonder if the signal is lost. Then you hear a sigh.

“Y/N… there’s a lot I’ve got to tell you. In person. When can you meet?” He asks.

“Couple hours maybe?” You say uneasy.

“I’ll send you my location. Come alone.” He instructs before hanging up. You pop your head back into the apartment. Everyone looks at you from the kitchen.

“Can someone give me a ride?”

Rudolfo helped Alejandro back into their hide out, both of them exhausted and bloodied. They expected some resistance during their shipment raid but not that high.

Rudolfo gets Alejandro into a chair before making his way carefully and slowly to the first aid kit.

“You broken Hermano?” Alejandro asks. Rudolfo almost chuckles. Man was nearly on a his death bed, and asking him if he was okay.

“More intact than you.” Rudolfo says, focusing on the injuries. Alejandro, still running on adrenaline gives a large grin, chuckling painfully. His mind was racing and clouded at the same time. The shipment was a big one but holy hell, the amount of security, and their weapons… he’d seen swat teams less armed.

Rudolfo helps him get his jacket off, to a bloodied white tank top underneath. Rudolfo assesses the damage before getting up and going to the bridge, giving Alejandro a strong bottle of liquor. Full the pain now. He winced himself feeling a couple of casings in his arm. Alejandro had taken the brunt of it though.

“You think that little cop told them?” Alejandro wonders aloud.

“Not likely. They haven’t talked to us. Unless Soap has told them something.” Rudolfo says, starting to tend to the bullet wounds.

“Or we have yet to be told something.” Alejandro speculates.

Kyle gives you a ride to the address you’re given, parking some distance away. He’s insistent on coming with you but you’re firm. No one comes with you.

You meet Graves by a river, with small boulders along the edge. Near the shore of the river you see Graves pacing. Thinking back there was never a time you could recall of Graves sitting still. He’s wearing casual clothes, along with a coat and leather gloves. Looks nervous too. Slowly you make your way down to him. As you get closer, he looks up hearing you approach. You don’t look up at him until you reach the shore focused more on your footing.

Then he hugs you. It’s a protective one, a relieved one like you just came out of the hospital. You squirm out of it, feeling annoyed. He was giving you shit not that long ago, and now he was acting all protective? Yeah no, he didn’t get to do that without talking.

“You okay? You’re safe?” He asks. You nod.

“What do you want?” You ask him, wanting to get this over with. Graves shifts a little looking around.

“How much time you got?” He asks.

“If this is some bull shit to get me beat up again-“

“That wasn’t supposed to happen!” He says.

“Wasn’t suppose-the hell does that mean?!” You demand.

“Y/N, a lot has happened and a shit ton is about to happen, so can you please just-”

“No.”

“What?!”

“No, you need to tell me what the hell is going on and what has been going on! I was nearly beaten to death by a bunch of blues, and out of nowhere you want to meet in private. Tell me what the fuck is going on!” You tell him. You’re done. You want answers and Graves clearly had some. He looks down at his feet. Wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or proud of your backbone.

“I asked some of my buddies down at the precinct to check in on you, that was it, and only it.” He says, firmly. You cross your arms. “When you told me about them attacking you, I was pissed off.”

“You knew about dad and the 141?” It was hardly a question. Graves solemnly nods.

“Why the fuck was I put on this case then?!” You ask. “I was going to find out.”

“…because I hoped you would be the key to bringing your dad back.” Graves admits.

“What…?”

“Your father opened up cases we couldn’t get access to because of warrants and policies and laws. If it weren’t for your father there are cases we would never have looked into. We needed that again. The 141 don’t trust me, but they would trust you. When you told me you wanted off the case, I realized I screwed up, you weren’t ready. I was worried about you still, but didn’t want to risk tipping off the gangs that we knew each other.” He explains.

“…you were using my dad’s name basically.” You said not wanting to show any empathy. “So what changed? Why are you telling me this now?”

“…your father’s killer is the new chief commissioner.” He puts bluntly.

It’s like a big rock was thrown at your chest. You knew Makarov was back…you didn’t know he killed your father. Graves kept that from you. Makarov was mafia, maybe he was paid. Did the 141 know? This was almost too much and you felt yourself running out of air, the world spinning around you. Suddenly Graves is holding you up by your shoulders leading you to a rock to sit on.

Graves helps you through your sudden attack, helping you breath and keeping you from passing out. Naming your surroundings by your senses while you fight the memories. You weren’t there when he died. Graves came to you one night while you were home alone. You greeted him at the door with hug around his waist. Usually he would gently peel you off of him, but on this night he got on his knees and hugged you when you came over to him. When you asked him where your father was, he nearly broke down himself. You remembered him hugging you and picking you up to take up to bed, and asking the same question.

“You doing better…” he asks finally. You take deep breath and nod your head.

“I promised your father I would look out for you… encouraging you to be a cop meant you would stay under Makarov’s radar and no one would go after you. Makarov left I thought that would be the end, but it wasn’t, he’s back now, and I have to keep you safe, do you understand.”

“No.”

“Y/N-“

“I’m not running away… I’m not going to be a cop either. You can’t keep me out of it anymore. I’m a fucking adult, I’m not a child.”

“I made a promis-“

“I’m in this now! I’m not running from it!” You yell at him. Graves sighs, frustrated.

“…where are you staying?” He asks.

“None of your business.” You say crossing your arms. Graves is starting to get fed up with your attitude. He almost chuckles, giving you a smile.

“You’re right it’s not.” He confesses. “Do me a favour then. Adult to adult.”

“Sure.” You shrug.

“Stay safe. Now I don’t need to know what you’re doing, in fact the less I know the better. Keep me semi-posted. Made a promise to keep you safe to your dad before he passed. I can’t stop you from being your own person. Should have known that day one of meeting you, but be careful. Makarov has his hands in a lot of places, and I’ll be on a leash. If I try leaving who knows what will happen. Can at least try to keep the others in check.”

“Got it.” You say. There’s silence with only the rushing water to fill it. He sits down next to you on the rock, thinking of how to change the subject.

“Saw the mural you made on Soap’s Turf.” He says, over the rushing water. “Shit you are talented with a spray can. Should never have told you to change, could’ve made a good life for yourself.”

“I have one now.” You tell him. “One with good friends.”

“You need any of your stuff out of the apartment? Dropped off or anything?” He offers.

“Could probably go pick it up now, before I head back.” You say.

“It’s my day off.” He mentions. “If you really want we can get something to eat, give you one day of normalcy before shit hits the fan. Show me the other murals.”

“I have one I still need to make… got interrupted the last time, think I owe them one.” You exclaim.

“Think you could do it tomorrow?” He asks.

“I should start it today… but I could eat first.” You know Graves is going through it to, whether it’s his own fault or not. Graves while not the best father figure, was there for you. He was there for your dad. In the end he was still the one who stood up for you in precinct. You wanted to give him some normality before you both parted ways.

“Let the gang know we may be a bit. Otherwise I think Gaz will be sitting and waiting in that car for some time.” Graves says standing up. You watch him slowly climb the boulders back to the top where the road was. You follow after him after texting Gaz you would be going with Graves for a bit.

Graves is nice enough to drop you off at your apartment and let you grab a couple things, including your art supplies. Then he takes you to a specific location.

There you get to work on the mural you had offered the Los Voqueros. Bridges need to be remade and rebuilt. They may not be the most sturdy, but it was simply a matter of creating more support.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y_l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies

[wispscribbles]

Mw3 spoilers (just a long personal ramble)

Hiii. So

As soon as the pre-release came out on, I hunted down spoilers, because I know myself and knew that if someone died and I got that information out of the blue, I wouldn’t take it well. Jokes on me, because I still haven’t been taking it well lol

I won’t talk about how Soap’s death was handled or the quality of the game. Plenty of smarter people are doing so.

I try not to talk a lot about myself and irl stuff on here, but will just say: I am very unwell, mentally. (Cue silence because that’s not surprising at all) Something I am very aware that I do, is that I latch onto fiction with my whole being, usually one specific character. For some reason, I always latch onto the character that ends up dead, usually in a way that make them only exist to further the motivations of other characters. It sucks.

So my hope for Soap has never been great, but for some reason I was still so shocked?? I don’t know, I tricked myself into thinking this time was different. Such an iconic character with so much good setup for great character development. I knew someone would die, but ow. To me, he was the element that made 141 seem more like family than coworkers. Soap’s interactions with the rest just livened up the games so much and made them all shine. Especially Ghost. Their dynamic, man.

Soap was the character that intrigued me enough to jump into the cod rabbit hole. It feels very hollow without him.

I keep telling myself that it’s silly to be so hurt over something fictional, and that I can just treat it as a mcd fanfic and move on, but nope. Brain’s stuck in the bad stuff. It’s a bad habit of mine to let something like this affect me so much, but well. Logic vs feeling and all that.

I really did find so much comfort in Soap this last year, that I severely needed. It feels a little like losing someone I know, someone who helped me through a rough time. I related to something in him and felt inspired. I only started writing after getting into ghostsoap, I started working out and I got back into art after a very long burnout. It may be fiction, but the impact is not.

So that was pretty much the worst case scenario of what mw3 could be to me. I always knew the risk, but, once again, ow. But there also seems to be plenty of good stuff in the game that I enjoy. I’m happy with the Ghost and Soap dialogue, the whole team working together and seeing Laswell and Farah and Alex and Nik. I hope I can be inspired by some of the new content once I’m calmer.

And I was worried they would ignore Ghost and Soap’s relationship after their development in mw2, but they genuinely seem to have gotten real close. It’s nice. I thought the shipping might scare the game devs into never having them appear in a scene together again, so that’s a plus.

Bottom line to all this is: I probably need a little break to get my head sorted. The grief is surprisingly real, it’s triggered some old stuff for me (haven’t been sleeping or eating, been stuck in some old thoughts). I’ll need to calm down and become a bit more normal about this again. Part of the grief isn’t so much about Soap himself, but also just the safe space that this account has been. The very nature of how the fandom is going to interact with Soap and Ghostsoap is going to change now, and man… I liked how it was, y’know? Could’ve used a little longer in that bubble. There’s going to be plenty of new fics and art, lovely stuff as always, but many of them will be tinged with grief, and I’m not in a place where that won’t break me a little.

I will hopefully come back to posting and making stuff once my brain settles down. I have so many drafts for fics and ideas that I hope I can return to. I’ve gotten so used to drawing these lads that I doubt I can stop tbh

The version of Soap that we love is already evolved from the games due to all the time and care the community has put into the character. The games may have killed him, but luckily, he’s fictional. We can do what we want, same as before.

I’m not even saying that I wish they hadn’t killed him. The games are crafting a story that fits their audience. It makes sense.

But I will choose to live in one of the many universes we’ve created for Soap, where he is alive and cared for, with a found family and a spooky lieutenant with a soft spot for him. Good for him.

Hope you’re all taking care of yourselves. RIP canon Soap (again). Thanks to Neil for a wonderful portrayal. And no matter where we go from here, thanks for a wonderful year of creating with you lovely folks. Seriously, some of the kindest people I’ve met in fandom. <3

Lastly: fuck you Kevin O’Reilly, but more importantly, sincerely thank you. (CallMeKevin video about mw2 got me into this mess. Otherwise I was keeping cod at an arm’s length, but he’s my fav youtuber, so I watched it. And here we are!)

[tobybestupid]

Masterlist

★ Also, if requesting please add what gender you would like if it is for NSFW!! (Gender neutral is okay too!)

★ Btw! Please, do not spam like my posts!

★ from this point on, July 20 2024, I will STOP writing for bands. Extremely sorry but it makes me uncomfortable to be writing about real, living people. I will continue to do games however!

★last updated: September 15, 2024★

Before we get into this, info for requests and such!

★ I do nsfw, angst, fluff, ECT.

★ I do NOT allow/do racism, homophobia, rape, icky bodily fluids, anal, beastiality, etc.

★ I will do character x character, character x reader, character x character x reader!

★ hope this makes sense!!

+ if I missed anything I'm so sorry!

----------------★---------------

Bands I do

Guns n Roses

Mötley Crüe

KISS

Hanoi Rocks

Megadeth

(No longer writing bands)

Other

Call of Duty mw2-mw3

Red Dead Redemption 1-2

----------------------★-----------------------

Mötley Crüe

All of them together x reader

Mötley x reader hc's

🖤Nikki Sixx🖤

Sick mötley x reader

Mötley dealing with you being drunk

Taking care of him after tour

Fourth of July with mötley

You pampering mötley

Big ol' crybaby

Doing so good

⛓️Mick Mars⛓️

Sick mötley x reader

Mötley dealing with you being drunk

How to take care of him after tour

Fourth of July with mötley

Please, stay

Bubble bath- with cats?

Peachy Keen

You pampering mötley

Mick Mars x Reader injury (appendix, I think)

NSFW hc's

🌜Vince Neil🌛

Sick mötley x reader

Mötley dealing with you being drunk

Fourth of July with mötley

You pampering mötley

NSFW Alphabet

❤️‍🔥Tommy Lee❤️‍🔥

Sick mötley x reader

Mötley dealing with you being drunk

Fourth of July with mötley

You pampering mötley

You're still beautiful

🥀Terror Twins x Reader💣

Terror Twins x Reader hc's 1

Terror twins x Reader hc's 2

Terror Twins x reader hc's 3

Terror Twins x reader hc's 4

Terror Twins x reader hc's 5

Terror Twins x reader hc's 6

Sick!Terror Twins x reader hc's

My turn

So, so good

Cuddle..sex?

Calm down, ey?

(y'all are so hungry for Terror Twins omg...)

Hanoi Rocks

🌚Razzle🌝

Late night kisses

🕸️Sami Yaffa🕸️

NSFW Alphabet

Such a tease, huh?

KISS

💫Paul Stanley💫

Snow

Guns n Roses

🎩Slash🐍

Do you love me more?

They fell asleep with your kid

❤️Axl Rose💋

They fell asleep with your kid

Axl x Kurt Cobian sister!Reader hc's

NSFW Alphabet

Cold baby?

Bad day?

🎸Duff McKagan🎸

They fell asleep with your kid

🚬Izzy Stradlin🚬

Sick as a dog

Sweetheart

They fell asleep with your kid

🍿Steven Adler🍿

The, fell asleep with your kid

Paradise City

NSFW Alphabet

Megadeth

🍃Dave Mustaine🍃

Your not my baby

Tour rat

NSFW Alphabet

Dating Dave head cannons

Call of Duty (COD)

🦴Alex Keller🦴

Coming soon!!

🖤Simon "ghost" Riley🖤

Reader with sensory issues

💣König💣

Dating him head cannons

Roommate könig

🧼John "Soap" Mactavish🧼

Coming soon!!

🌜Farah Karim🌛

Coming soon!!

🥃John Price🥃

Coming soon!!

🦎Nikto🦎

Red Dead Redemption (2)

Coming soon!!

🦌Arthur Morgan🦌

If they were parents

🦬Charles Smith🦬

If they were parents

🃏Dutch Van Der Linde🃏

If they were parents

🐀Micah Bell🐀

If they were parents 2

🎸Javier Escuella🎸

If they were parents

🐎Kieran Duffy🐎

If they were parents 2

🐺John Marston🐺

Coming soon!!

🖤Jack Marston🖤 (1911)

If they were parents 2

🪶Eagle Flies🪶

Coming soon!!

🍷Molly 0'Shea🍷

If they were parents

🔪Sadie Adler🔪

If they were parents

🪻Abigail Roberts🪻

Coming soon!!

☘️Sean Macguire☘️

If they were parents 2

Character x Character

Coming soon!!

[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #7

Sherlock, in response to being asked to sneak into Valeria’s house: Okay. Don’t worry, guys. I got your back!

*She steps behind Ghost*

Sherlock: From right here.

———

Laswell: Hey did you call General Shepherd a bitch?

Price: Yeaaahh! He changed the Wi-Fi password!

Laswell: You can’t be-

Nikolai: THAT BITCH CHANGED THE WI-FI PASSWORD!!!!

———

*Something bad and unexpected happens on a mission*

Nikolai: Why didn’t you tell me?!

Sherlock: Well, because I wanted us to fail.

Nikolai: 😑

Sherlock: OBVIOUSLY I DIDN’T KNOW!!!!

———

Graves: Hey, I always get the vibe that you, like, hate me or something.

Ghost: What?! Me, hate you?!

Ghost: …You’re right.

———

Soap: If I punch myself in the face and it hurts, am I strong or weak?

Ghost: Strong.

Gaz: Weak.

Price: A dumbass is what you are.

———

Alejandro: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying.

Graves: …

Graves: And?

Alejandro: And you are.

———

Hadir: Sorry I’m late, I was… doing things.

*pounding footsteps can be heard from behind the door*

Alex, bursting through the door: HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

Hadir: Push is such a strong word. I prefer calling it … giving you a little nudge.

Alex: Oh I’ll give you a nudge when I shove mY FOOT UP YOUR ASS!

Price, covering Farah’s ears: Hey! Watch your fucking language in front of the president!

———

Graves: Yo, what’s that song that goes like, “Despacito”?

Alejandro: Despacito?

Graves: Yeah. What’s the name?

Alejandro: DESPACITO

Graves: …Yeah. What’s the name?

Alejandro, pissed: Dios mío, you’re an idiot!

Graves: Thank you! Alexa, play “Dios mío, you’re an idiot!”

Echo Dot Alexa: Ok *starts playing Despacito*

Alejandro: 😦

Graves 😎

———

Ghost: What happens to the car if you press the break and the accelerator at the same time? Does it take a screenshot?

Price:

Soap:

Gaz:

Roach, wanting to be a little shit: Ye-

Sherlock being done with life: No. That’s it, I’m driving.

———

Soap: Go to bed! It’s 3am. If you don’t you’re going to hate yourself in the morning!

Roach: Jokes on you, I’m gonna hate myself in the morning ✨REGARDLESS✨

———

Sherlock: I don’t want to be a person anymore.

Ghost: … What?

Sherlock: I’m tired of it.

Soap: 😥 Maybe we should talk about this-

Sherlock: I just wanna be a dinosaur.

Ghost:

Soap:

Roach: Me too!

———

*Sherlock walks into the rec room and drops her bag on the floor*

Sherlock: tEll mE wHy tHerE arE 7 BiLlioN peOplE On tHiS DAmN PlaNEt ANd NoT 1 pErsOn hAs A CrUsH On mE!? WhAt ThE HelL UNiveRsE?!!

Gaz, whose been pining for her since the day he met her: what about me 🥺

———

Roach, sleep deprived: All I want-

Soap: Oh no

Roach: -is for for someone to walk up to me-

Ghost: What’s going on now?

Roach: -look me in the eyes, put their hands on my face, and very passionately-

Gaz: Kiss you?

Roach: -twist as hard as they can and put me out of my fucking misery!

Price: Roach no

Roach: Roach yes

———

Laswell: John, aren’t you supposed to be on a Zoom call right now?

Price: I got kicked off already.

Laswell: Why! What did you do?!

Price: Well she said, “DoN’t GeT sMaRt WiTh Me!” and I said, “Then what are we paying you for?” and she did not like that!

Laswell: John that’s rude.

Price: …But I’m right on this.

———

Roach: Remember when you guys told me to go to the pharmacy?

Sherlock: *looks at Gaz before looking at Roach* Yess

Roach: Mmm they’re out of my ADHD medication for five days.

Sherlock: Oh my god-

Roach: It’s gonna be a fun week!

Gaz, already leaving the room: I’m going to my mother’s-

Sherlock, pissed that she would have to watch Roach by herself: What happened to “in sickness and in health”, motherfucker!?

———

Sherlock: I’m sorry guys… there’s nothing else we can do. Graves is dying, we’re gonna have to pull the plug.

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: Oh my god… Oh my god…

Soap: Can I do it?

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: What?

Soap: Can I pull the plug?

Gaz: Hey no! I wanna pull the plug!

Ghost: No fuck you! I get to do it!

Soap: This is bullshit! I wanna do it!

Price: NO! I-I’m the oldest, I should be the one to do it!

Ghost: I’ll thumb wrestle you for it.

Price: Fine, let’s go BITCHHH

Price & Ghost, hands together for thumb wrestling: 1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war!

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: Are you two serious?!

Price: YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE

Ghost: OH, YOU’RE GOING DOWN

Price: NOOO, NO, NO, NOO

Ghost: OHHHHHHHHHH

*Ghost wins*

Ghost: Yess

Price: NO

Ghost: yEsSSSSS

Price: DAMN IT

Ghost: Alright, where’s that plug?!

Soap: Where’s that plug?

Ghost: Where’s that mother fucking plug?!

Sherlock: Do you have ANY respecT?!

Ghost: No, I have 0 respect!

Soap: We have 0.

Price: We have 0 respect.

Gaz: I have nothing!

Gen. Herschel Shepherd: I can’t even believe this!

Sherlock: Yeah, me too. Alright let’s get this show on the road! I got some leftover lasagna at home, and it’s got my name on it!

———

Ghost: Good morning, everyone. God has let me live another day. And I’m about to make it EVERYONE’S problem.

Soap: Good morning to you too.

Price: 🤦‍♂️ I give up.

———

Alex: What do we do when we’re feeling sad?

Farah: Watch a murder documentary and plan out how to do it without getting caught?

Hadir’s soul in Hell: *scared shitless despite already being dead*

Alex: Jesus fuck, NO!

———

Soap: You guys won’t believe what just happened!

Ghost: What happened?

Soap: Some guy from Shadow Company wouldn’t leave Sherlock alone-

Nikolai, maternal uncle instincts kicking in: Excuse me!

Soap: -but she took care of it!

Price, to Sherlock: How’d you take care of it?

Sherlock: Simple. *clears throat* 🎶Row row row your boat, The fuck away from me, Felony felony just tried to test me, And I’m a cause a scene🎶

Nikolai, laughing: That’s my girl!

[halfmoth-halfman]

iii. no proof except my silver tongue

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 8.3k Warnings: blood, alcohol, brief nudity, guns Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: i ended up rewriting this part because i thought it was too long, but it ended up being longer than before so enjoy the hefty chapter! prev | next

“You know, it’s just dawned on me that you’ve never actually been to the club.”

You look up from the vase you’re polishing, tilting your head at Kyle, who sits across the table from you. He had been working on some kind of financial report when he joined you, but now he’s leaned back in the plush chair, arms folded across his chest as he stares at you. You blink back at him, trying not to let your eyes dip down to where he’s left the top two buttons of his crisp, deep purple shirt undone.

“I'm…literally in the club right now?”

Kyle rolls his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Not what I meant,” he scoffs. “You’ve never been here while we’re open.”

“You’ve just noticed that?” you ask, raising a brow at him. He gives a half-shrug, glancing back down at the pile of papers in front of him.

“You’ve been here for nearly three months…” he says, quickly glancing back up at you. It’s your turn to shrug, using that as your answer before you return to polishing the vase.

“There’s no cover charge for employees if that’s what you're worried about.” His voice is quiet, but you easily catch his words in the club's silence.

You stop mid-polish, setting the vase aside to clasp your hands together on the table. You meet Kyle’s eyes with a steady gaze.

“You think I can’t afford to get into your club?” You keep your voice light, but the accusation is there, and Kyle picks up on it instantly—you’d be surprised if he didn’t.

“I’ve seen that hunk of junk you call a car,” he laughs, all tease and no malice. You scoff, grabbing the closest serviette and tossing it at him. He catches it easily—one-handed and without flinching—neatly folding it and setting it aside. He turns back to you, still waiting for an answer.

“I’m not big on clubs,” you sigh, sliding your hands off the table to settle them in your lap.

“If I remember correctly, you came here to sing in a club?”

Your fingers loosen, allowing your thumb to pick at the edges of your nails.

“That’s work, not recreation.”

“Semantics.”

Your thumb catches on your pinky nail, digging in and tearing painfully into the bed of your finger. You roll your eyes, ignoring the sharp sting on your finger and Kyle’s quiet chuckles.

“There a reason you want me here so bad?” you ask, pulling your jacket sleeves down over your hands and folding them atop the table. You press your pinkie into the denim, letting the coarse fabric soak up the few droplets of blood.

“You missed out on the New Years party—”

“Not a fan of fireworks.”

“—And you’ve been here long enough. Most people would jump at the opportunity to get in for free.”

You have a feeling this is something Kyle’s stubbornly set on, and you’re going to have a hard time talking your way out.

“Isn’t there some kind of fancy dress code?” you try, looking down at your simple outfit; it's the same t-shirt and jean jacket combination you've worn almost every day—you hadn’t thought to pack your whole wardrobe when you started this little adventure. “If you’ve seen my hunk of junk car, you should know I don’t really have anything that nice.”

Not anymore.

Kyle scoffs, an easy and surprisingly sympathetic smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. You can hang out at the bar with Alex, and if anyone gives you shit about it, just let me know.”

“I don’t—”

“And if it really bothers you, you can take one of Farah’s outfits from backstage. There’s a ton of them, dresses and suits; I’m sure you’ll be able to find something that fits.”

A moment of silence as you stare each other down. Kyle’s convincingly charming smile against your blank stare. You know he won’t accept no for an answer as you try to mentally sort through excuses to find one that might work.

All you can come up with is, “Who’s Farah?”

“Guess you’ll have to show up tonight and find out,” he smirks.

Walked right into that one.

You sigh, long and dramatic, putting your hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’ll come see what all the fuss is about.”

“Great!” You can't find it in you to regret the decision when you see how Kyle beams at you, clapping his hands together. He hurriedly gathers his spread of papers, standing from the table. “Club opens at eight. You can come in through the back; I’ll let Rudy know.”

He takes off, heading straight for the back office.

“Wha- hey! Is that why you came and sat with me?” you call out, turning in the chair to yell at his back.

“See you tonight, Canary!” he laughs, disappearing behind the doors.

-

You don’t borrow one of Farah’s outfits, instead switching out your denim jacket for the only other piece of outerwear you’d packed: a long, black sweater that still carries the faint scent of your mother’s favorite perfume. You switch boots, choosing your cleaner and less worn pair—still solid black and probably not formal enough for where you’re going—and try to put a little more effort into styling your hair than your typical ten-minute morning routine.

The bathroom mirror in your motel room is permanently foggy; your reflection is still visible, but just blurry enough to be frustrating. You do your best, using the always-too-cold sink water to wash your face and smooth down any stray strands of hair. It takes some time, and you’re finally presentable enough to leave the room thirty-four minutes after eight.

You’ve never been to this side of town at night.

The road to the club is packed, cars filling spaces on both sides of the street, some parked and some dropping people off. It’s almost an hour after opening, yet there are people everywhere. A long line spills out of the club into the crowds walking by. Blurs of silk, sparkle and too-much money pass by you, the masses already belligerently drunk and ready to party.

It takes some effort to get to the back lot in your car, avoiding cars and pedestrians alike. You can see a few stragglers in the alleyway: a bald man smoking by the dumpsters, two men talking quietly near the entrance, and a couple doing something they probably shouldn’t in the back corner.

You keep your eyes forward, parking your car and tucking your duffel bag as far under the backseat as possible before you get out. You lock your car, double and triple-checking that it worked, before hurrying to the back entrance.

You pull on the door, only to find it…locked?

When the hell did they start locking doors?

You knock, knuckles wrapping against the metal in a quick rhythm. You give it a minute, then two, then five, before you knock again.

Still nothing.

You groan, clenching your hand into a fist to bang on the door. You step back to wait for an answer, glancing around at your surroundings. The two at the entrance have joined the smoking man, all watching you as they exchange laughs. They’re dressed in all black covered by long coats covered in impeccable hand-stitched designs that you recognize; you’ve had a few of those bespoke coats yourself. Their smug grins verge on leering, setting you on high alert as you spin back around to the door.

You shuffle the keys in your hand to grip them like a small knife and pound on the door one more time, debating if you should try the front or just get back in your car and head home.

You hear the men laugh again, louder this time. Chancing a glance over your shoulder, you see the bald man toss his cigarette, stomping it out with a polished shoe. His eyes never leave you, even as he leans slightly to speak to the men beside him.

He takes a step forward.

Your hand tightens around your keys.

The door swings open behind you, a blast of hot air and a cacophony of delicious smells following suit.

“You’re late,” Rudy sighs as you turn to him. Tiny beads of sweat gather on his brow, threatening to slip down his handsome face onto his crisp, white uniform.

“Traffic was a nightmare,” you mutter, peeking back to the alley to find all three men gone and walking away. You let out a small breath of relief, your grip loosening on your makeshift shiv, turning back to Rudy with a smile. “So, you gonna let me in?”

He steps aside, and you hurry past him into the busy kitchen. You can barely hear the music over all the sizzling, clanking, and yelling in Spanish. A solid hand sets itself on your upper back as Rudy guides you through the kitchen's chaos and to the doors of the main room.

“Gaz is taking care of something, but Alex left a seat open for you.” Is all he says before someone yells, and he rushes off.

You’re immediately hit with the thrum of the music’s bass as you open the doors to the main room. It rattles through your chest, settling somewhere at the base of your spine. The curtains to the booths are all open, small groups of patrons laughing and talking over buckets of ice and wine bottles. You offer a polite smile to those who look your way as you head to the bar.

You don’t bother looking for a seat; your attention is immediately pulled to the scene before you.

You suddenly understand the longing and envy in your father’s voice when he told you tales of the infamous 141.

The room is covered in a soft haze of smoke, the normally blinding house lights dimmed to a sultry glow. The place is completely packed. The tables are full, older patrons decorated in subtle wealth enjoying rich food and richer wine. Groups of suits hang around the game tables, sharing drinks and letting their hands wander along the scantily clad women hanging on their arms. The dance floor is full, a colorful hurricane of expensive fabrics and laughter. A few smaller groups, mostly giggly couples, make their way up the steps to the second floor.

And at the center of it all, standing on the stage beneath a bright spotlight and singing into a microphone, is a woman with long, black hair dressed in form-fitting red satin. Her voice is lovely—soft and deep but upbeat—matching the fast-paced music perfectly.

There’s a slight pang in your chest—images of overpriced champagne bottles, hours spent in hair and makeup, throngs of black suits and blacker hearts staring up at you as you croon into your own microphone flashing through your head.

Stop it.

You shake the images from your mind, pulling your attention away from the siren on stage and ignoring the ache in your shoulder. Your eyes wander the crowd, spotting Soap serving a table with a dazzling smile and a few too many of his shirt buttons undone. Valeria sits at a poker table, cards in hand and a pile of chips bigger than any of her opponents. A few feet away, Ghost’s figure towers above the crowd as he stands unnervingly still with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Next to him, speaking to a small group of men and women huddled around a pool table, is Mr. Price.

A deep blue shirt stretched tight over his chest with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open, you can see the rise and fall of his chest as he laughs at something said at the table. Black, form-fitting slacks cover the expanse of his legs, held up by a belt with a silver buckle that matches his silver Rolex. He leans against the table at the hip, lit cigar in one hand and a half-full glass of whiskey in the other.

It should be illegal to look so good, you think, heat slowly flooding your face as you let your eyes rove over your boss.

“Enjoying the show?” You try not to jump, shrugging away from the sudden hand that shoves at your shoulder. You whip around to meet Alex’s beaming face and pray he can’t see the red in your cheeks.

“She’s amazing. Who is she?” you ask as Alex leads you further down the bar to an empty barstool.

“That’s Farah, Gaz’s sister,” he answers as you sit down. His voice catches on Farah’s name, and you think you see a flash of pride in that wide smile of his. “What’re you having?”

“Water,” you smile. The pride is quickly replaced with disappointment as Alex stares down at you. You hold his gaze long enough for a few other patrons to start getting impatient before you relent with a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll spice it up.”

“Ha, I knew—”

“A water with lemon, please.”

Alex turns away with a huff, tending to the other people at the bar. You turn around on the stool, content to people-watch from your spot. Alex slides you your water, a small lemon wedge on the rim, followed by a shot glass filled with what smells like flavored vodka. He sends you a wink, leaving before you can send the drink back.

After three more of Farah’s songs, you spot Kyle coming down the steps and weaving his way toward the bar. He glances over the guests until he spots you. You wave at him, and he smiles wide. As he approaches, the person next to you stands, shaking hands with Kyle before heading to the dance floor. Kyle takes the now empty seat, excitement plain on his face.

“I was wondering if you’d actually show up!” he laughs.

“I did! And now you can do me a favor!” you laugh back. Kyle raises a curious brow as you glance over to make sure Alex’s attention is elsewhere. You turn back, handing the shot to Kyle. “Drink this for me.”

“What is it?”

“Vodka, probably? Just drink it before he comes over here!”

He downs it with ease, setting the glass back on the bar. There’s a small pause before the alcohol hits him, and Kyle sputters.

“Not vodka,” he coughs.

“Glad I didn’t drink it, then,” you mutter, sliding your glass of water in front of him. He chugs the rest of your water, taking a bite out of the lemon for good measure.

Once his throat is soothed, his eyes flick to the club before he looks at you with a smirk made of nothing but pure mischief.

“I think you owe me for that one.”

“Fair enough. Name your price.”

Kyle stands from the barstool, stepping in front of you and holding out his hand. You look up at him, confused.

“How would you like a dance?”

You glance over to the dancefloor, then back to Kyle. You hadn’t come here intending to do much aside from hanging out with Alex, but the place doesn’t seem that bad. The gang appears to have a tight handle on things, not a single person upset or out of place. You don’t see the harm in having a little fun.

And you’d never gotten to enjoy your time at—

Fuck it, why not?

“Just don’t get mad if I step on your toes,” you laugh, giving Kyle a quick wink as you set your hand in his and follow him down to the dancefloor. He doesn’t wait, using his grasp on your hand to spin you into the crowd. You bump into a few people, but no one seems to mind; a woman in an almost too-short purple dress with a draping diamond necklace smiles at you as you collide with her, pulling you into another spin that sends you back to Kyle.

You don’t know how long you dance for, but it’s long enough for your feet to ache. Still, you keep dancing. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve had real fun—how long it’s been since you were allowed to.

It helps that Kyle’s a good dancer, though his attention is split between you and Purple Dress, who seems determined to get him to herself. You can tell he’s as interested in her as she is him; his eyes wander back to her every time he rejoins you for another dance.

You’re ready to come up with an excuse to bow out and let them spend the rest of the night together when Kyle catches sight of something over your shoulder. He smiles down at you, grabbing your hand to spin you. You follow along, letting Kyle guide you until you collide with a solid chest and a set of hands clasp around your waist to steady you.

You look up to apologize, but the words freeze in your throat as you’re met with the smell of mahogany and expensive whiskey. Your eyes travel up the body in front of you to meet the sharp blue gaze of your boss. He looks down at you with amusement, hands squeezing your hips before he looks up at Kyle.

“Mind if I cut in?”

“Not at all,” Kyle laughs, immediately turning his attention to Purple Dress.

“Oh no, I don’t mind either. Thanks for asking.” The sass isn’t intentional, but you can feel the heat radiating from his hands into your hips, traveling up your sides and straight to your face. You feel the overwhelming urge to run, to return to the bar and drown yourself in lemon water and maybe a few of Alex’s mystery shots.

“We don’t have to dance—” Mr. Price assures you, beginning to step away, hands slowly starting to slide from your hips.

“No!” You step forward on instinct, chasing after his warmth. He raises a brow, mouth widening into a smirk that has your blush crawling down to your neck. “I mean—it’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine—but not like that. Well, yes, like that, but that’s not what I meant. I—”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to fight back his smirk, but you can see the way his shoulders shake with laughter.

Get yourself together.

“You’re my boss, and I don’t know what to do in this situation,” you say, trying not to let the embarrassment get to you. All you want is for a giant hole to open in the ground and swallow you, but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.

“Relax, dove. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

It is sinful, the way he speaks with that deep accent.

“I…I think I want a drink.” Preferably enough hard liquor to make you forget this moment.

“Then we’ll go get you a drink.” Mr. Price turns over his shoulder to where Ghost stands, completely still among the flowing crowd of dancers. Had he been there the whole time? You hadn’t seen him, and he’s a hard man to miss.

“Go make sure everything’s ready in my office,” Mr. Price says, quieter than he had been with you. Ghost nods, giving the dancefloor a once over before melting into the crowd with an ease that’s surprising for someone of his height. One of Mr. Price’s hands leaves your waist, the other sliding around to settle on the small of your back as he guides you toward the bar.

He leads you to the bar, keeping anyone from bumping into you. It’s almost gentlemanly, and if you weren’t so nervous, you might’ve read a little more into that.

There’s only one empty stool, and Mr. Price steps aside to let you take it. You sit down with a soft thanks, his hand lingering on your back until you’ve gotten comfortable.

“Alex!” Alex whirls around at the other end of the bar, making his way over with a wide grin.

“Hey, boss!”

“Whatever the lady wants. On the house.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Alex gives a two-finger salute, shooting you a wink before returning to work. You stare at his retreating back, a new, minor wave of anxiety crashing into you.

If this is on the house, does that mean you were supposed to pay for your water earlier?

Mr. Price glances down at his watch, shifting his gaze toward his office, then back to you. He sets a large hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze—nothing like the bone-crushing handshake from when you first met. “I have to check on some things, but you should have a few drinks. Enjoy yourself, Plover; you’re not on the clock.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod. You let the name slide, not trusting yourself to correct him properly until you can collect yourself and get a grip.

“And stop calling me sir,” he laughs. “Price is fine.”

He sure is.

“Sure thing,” you smile. His hand slides from your shoulder. Had his fingers lingered, or was that your imagination? He looks down the bar to catch Alex’s eyes and gives a single, sharp nod.

“If you need anything, Alex will take care of it,” Mr. Price—no, just Price—smiles down at you. Another nod, this time at you, and you nod back before he takes his leave, heading toward his office.

You wait until he’s out of sight to turn to the bar, dropping your head into your hands.

What the hell’s wrong with me?

You don’t know what it is about that man that drives you crazy, but you’ll have to learn to reel that in real quick.

“Rough night?”

You peek through your fingers to see someone taking the seat to your left, their gaze focused entirely on you. You sit up, letting your hands fall into your lap as you turn to face the stranger.

You’d expected another patron, maybe another co-worker you hadn’t met yet.

You weren’t expecting the bald man from the alley.

He’s sort of handsome now that you see him close up. Dark brows, darker eyes framed by thick lashes, and a beard freckled with gray. You can see the appeal, but he isn’t your type.

Your type is currently checking on some things in his office.

“Not rough, just…new,” you explain with a friendly smile. He returns your smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Something about him seems familiar, and the sense of déjà vu that creeps up your spine sets you on edge.

“First time here?”

“You could say that.”

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Most people spend the first night trying to get as wildly drunk as possible.“ There’s a thin veil of disgust over that second sentence, the mild irritation sparkling behind his eyes as he gestures toward the crowd.

He smiles at you, but his eyes keep flicking behind you. You don’t know what, or who, is behind you, but it’s something he doesn’t seem to like.

“A bit presumptuous for someone you’ve only just met, don’t you think?” you ask, with a slight tilt of your head. The man chuckles, eyes traveling up and down your form.

He extends his hand, a collection of gold bands decorating his fingers, “Hassan Zyani.”

In an instant, you’re back to being stuffed in a tight dress, pouring drinks for your father and the fearsome man he’s attempting to negotiate with.

No wonder he seemed familiar.

“Canary.” You force out a smile, shaking his hand.

“Canary,” he draws out your name, your skin crawling at the way it grates over his tongue. “If you’d like, I would be happy to show you around. The rooms upstairs are particularly—”

Someone steps up to Hassan’s side—one of the other men from the alley—leaning in to whisper in his ear. The man faces away from you so you can’t read his lips. Not that you’d try with Hassan’s eyes fixed on your face. He nods at whatever the man says, standing from the barstool.

“I’m needed elsewhere, but perhaps later we can continue this conversation somewhere more…private?” Hassan doesn’t let you answer, kissing the back of your hand and walking off with the other man.

You let out a deep exhale the moment he leaves, rubbing the back of your hand on your jeans.

What the fuck was Ghorbrani’s right hand doing here? You knew from experience the Iranians kept their business within the family, but Hassan spoke as if he’d been here before. Was the 141 working with Ghorbrani? Your father tried for years to get in Ghorbrani’s good graces, throwing everything he could—including his only daughter—at the man’s feet. How the hell had the 141 managed what he couldn’t?

“You okay?” Alex’s voice breaks you out of your internal crisis, and you find him standing in front of you with a glass of water set between you.

“I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest.”

And you are. You’ve had fun, but you’re tired and left with more questions than answers.

“You can sneak out the back if you want; we’re closing up soon anyway. Besides, I think you danced long enough to satisfy Gaz,” Alex chuckles. You look around the club and notice that there are indeed fewer guests, and those who are left seem to be winding down for the night. You check your watch, the hands reading a few minutes after three in the morning.

“Maybe. I wanted to say goodbye, at least,” you shrug, looking around to see if you can spot Kyle among the shrinking sea of people.

“He probably won’t be back out until after we close.”

You spin around in your seat to face Alex. “I can make it, just need something to do…You need any help cleaning up?”

“Hell, if you’re offering.”

Alex lets you behind the bar, handing you a rag to start wiping down the bar top. You busy yourself with cleaning, trying to keep your mind from wandering. The club winds down until only a few stragglers remain.

The music eventually comes to a stop, Farah heading backstage as the stage lights dim and reappearing in the hallway next to the stage. She’s changed into a black hoodie, dark jeans, and boots with her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Farah makes her way to the bar, Alex meeting her at the top of the steps, leaning against the bar with a proud smile and pure adoration in his eyes.

You leave them to their conversation and take up the rest of the cleaning duties as König’s massive form heads down the steps to guide the remaining guests outside. The only people left inside are you, your co-workers, and Hassan’s two men standing guard outside Price’s office.

A few minutes pass by in relative peace: Alex showering Farah in praise, Soap bringing you empty glasses, Valeria counting her comically large pile of winnings, Kyle descending the staircase with Purple Dress giggling behind him, Alejandro joining the rest of you after locking the front doors.

A peace quickly broken by the sounds of shouting from the back office. All attention snaps to the doors and Hassan’s two men standing guard. Tension floods the room to a suffocating degree: Soap setting down his tray of dishes to face the door, Kyle guiding Purple Dress to stand behind him, Valeria’s hand crawling down the slit in her dress while Alejandro’s begins to slide into his jacket. You follow their lead, setting your rag on the bar top and preparing for the worst.

The seconds crawl by at an almost agonizing pace before the office doors burst open. Hassan storms out, followed quickly by Ghost, with Price walking up to stand in the doorway. Hassan turns back, shouting something in Arabic that you’re sure is an insult.

“Ghost, escort Mr. Zyani and his men out,” Price says, low and eerily calm. Ghost reaches for Hassan, but the man slaps his hand away.

“Get your hands off of me!” Hassan shouts. His men move forward, shoving Ghost out of the way to get between him and their boss. Alejandro stands abruptly, and Soap steps forward, but Price raises a hand, and the two stop where they are.

Hassan looks around, noticing the number of people he and his men are surrounded by before his eyes land directly on you.

He moves quickly, but you’re on high alert and catch the flash of silver he pulls from his coat. You drop to your knees, a bottle on the shelf behind you bursting into a spray of shards and alcohol.

You tuck yourself behind the bar, and all hell breaks loose.

Your heart slams inside your chest, the hurried thrum reverberating in your ears over the chorus of screams and gunshots. You crawl your way to the end of the bar, not stopping even as more bottles pop and shatter above you.

You barely feel the glass digging into your hands, peering around the end of the bar to look for a way out. You duck as several people run past you, all from the kitchen. A thunderous boom echoes from the front of the club, and the gunshots increase tenfold.

You take your chance, darting out from the bar and toward the kitchen as fast as your legs can take you.

You make it halfway to the backdoor when a hand snags the back of your jacket and yanks you into a rigid body. Two arms wrap tightly around your waist, lifting you up to slam you down onto the counter, dishes and cutlery shaking at the force. Pain vibrates across your body, your assailant gripping the back of your head to shove your face into the cold steel.

You reach out blindly as your attacker wrestles to get you subdued, feeling for whatever you can to help get away.

The blade that slices through your bleeding palm burns, but you tighten your grip around it and swing it backward. It lodges into the person behind you; you don’t know what part of them, but it’s enough to get them to step back from you.

You don’t hesitate, pushing yourself off of the counter and using the momentum to sprint towards the door. Footsteps thunder behind you, whoever it is recovering from their stab wound. You don’t think, yanking down every rack you pass in hopes of creating more obstacles to trip up your attacker.

You make it to the door, yanking it open just in time for it to shield you from an incoming bullet. You don’t bother looking, instead running straight for your car. Adrenaline courses through your veins, giving you the extra strength to not have to fight with the car door and pull it open on the first try.

You don’t even shut it all the way, only focusing on getting your key in the ignition. A higher power must be watching over you in this moment as your car starts up on the first try. You waste no time, not bothering with a seatbelt as you peel out of the backlot.

You head straight to your motel, body jittery with pain and adrenaline. Tension winds through your muscles, worsening into a painful tightness as blurs of police lights and sirens zoom past you. Blood leaks from your hands, sliding down your steering wheel to drip onto your jeans. You’ll deal with it later, you decide.

It’s not like you don’t know how to get blood out of your clothes.

You reach the motel, stumbling out of your car and kicking the door shut with little grace. You lock it behind you, trying not to run directly to your room but rushing all the same.

You move on autopilot, locking the door behind you, shutting the flimsy curtains, and immediately stripping yourself of your clothes. Your feet carry you to the bathroom, stepping into the shower before turning the water on.

The hard pressure of the frigid water is an instant shock, your body flinching at the sudden coldness. You stay under the spray, unable to will your feet to move, and stare down at the rusted drain to watch it sputter and swallow the water. Your hand rises on its own, holding your palm directly under the water. The hard beads sting as they beat into your wound, but the cold of the water seeps into your skin and numbs your hand just enough.

It takes almost two hours to collect yourself with a combination of deep breaths and soft assurances to yourself. By the time you turn the water off and step out, the sun is already starting to come up.

There’s a considerable effort for you to get dressed, the rush wearing off, leaving you full of aches and pains as your muscles untense. You wrap your hand in the gauze from your measly first aid kit, changing into your pajamas—a t-shirt and your only pair of sweatpants—before collapsing face down onto the lumpy bed.

You stare at your door, unblinking and vacant until the sun’s fully risen and sleep finally decides to take you.

-

A knock on your door startles you awake.

You lift yourself, groaning at the stiffness in your limbs and the ache that has invaded your entire being. There’s no light shining through your window, the whole room shrouded in darkness.

How long were you out?

The knock comes again, rougher and hurried.

“Hold on, hold on,” you grumble, shuffling to the door. You unlock it, pulling the door open just enough to look outside.

“Ma’am?”

It takes two seconds too long for you to process the blue uniforms and gold badges. The haze of sleep evaporates in an instant, and you straighten up. Their badges shine against the fluorescent light above your door: Dipaolo & Erikson.

“Is there something you need, officers?”

“We have reason to believe you might’ve been witness to a shooting last night. We were hoping you could come down to the station and answer some questions,” the cop in front of you, Erikson, speaks. You know that tone—the command hidden under the guise of friendly suggestion.

He’s asking, but he isn’t.

And if they’ve found you here, there’s little chance you can lie your way out of this one.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Yeah, no problem. You mind if I grab a jacket and some shoes first?” You open the door a little wider to show them your attire. Officer Erikson nods, and you leave the door open as you hurriedly grab your jacket and slide into your boots. You fasten your watch, catching your reflection in the glass.

To say you look rough is an understatement, but you don’t have the time to get dolled up now.

You head outside, and the officers let you lock your door before escorting you to their squad car. Officer Dipaolo opens the back door, holding it open for you. You can’t help but give your car a quick glance as you slide into the backseat. Officer Dipaolo shuts the door and joins his partner in the front.

The drive to the police station is quiet, the two in the front speaking to each other in hushed voices. Occasional chatter comes across their radio, but nothing they seem concerned about. Every once in a while, you catch Erikson glancing back at you through the rearview mirror, but when you meet his eyes, he immediately looks away.

Dipaolo holds the door for you again after you arrive, and you're escorted through the station. You get a few looks from the other officers, but all attention is suddenly stolen by the sudden shout from lockup—

“Hey, Pigeon!”

You turn abruptly, spotting Soap leaning against the bars with a broad smile and bruised jaw. He’s not alone, either. The entire gang seems to be stuck inside, all sporting their own cuts and bruises and all staring at you.

“Quiet!” An older cop, bald and angry and dressed in a nicer uniform than the rest, slams against the bars and startles Soap. You see Ghost shoot to his feet behind him, fierce glare aimed at the cop as he grabs Soap by the back of the shirt and pulls him away from the bars. The cop huffs, turning to look at you with a curious glare. You set your gaze on the floor, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“This way,” Erikson says, setting a hand between your shoulder blades and gently guiding you further into the station.

The room you’re left in is all gray, with a single metal table, a few chairs, and a large window of one-way glass.

You may have never been in a police station before, but you know what an interrogation room looks like.

Erikson brings you a cup of water, pulling your chair out before he takes his seat across from you. Dipaolo joins a few minutes later, walking in with a friendly smile. You smile back, but you peer out the door as it shuts behind him to catch a glimpse of the same angry cop watching you with an uncomfortable intensity.

“You’re not under arrest or anything,” Dipaolo starts—an attempt to be reassuring. “We just have a couple of questions for you, Ms….”

“Canary.”

“Of course. It’s nothing to worry about, Ms. Canary.”

“How did you find me?” you ask. “I—I mean, I didn’t give anyone my address, so….”

“Security cameras caught your car leaving the club,” Erikson explains. “We tracked your plates.”

Well, shit.

They must see the discomfort on your face because they both switch to good cop mode. Dipaolo leans forward, “Listen, the people who run that club are involved in some very bad business, and I think you know that. We just want to make sure they don't get anyone else hurt.”

They must think you're an unwilling participant, some damsel in distress. That's fine; you can work with that.

You shuffle in your seat, hands fidgeting in your lap. You keep your gaze focused on the table, glancing up at one of the officers every so often.

“What kind of help?” you ask softly. They share a quick glance, poorly hidden triumph in their smiles.

“We just need you to tell us what happened last night, as much as you can remember.”

You take a few deep breaths, exaggerating the shake in your exhale before nodding.

“Well, I got there—”

“Questioning someone without their lawyer present? I thought you two knew better than that.” You jump at the sudden slam of the door as a woman marches into the room, all respect and authority.

She’s older, blonde hair pulled up into a neat bun, and wearing a similar suit to the one your old family lawyer used to wear. She takes the seat next to you, staring hard at the now-agitated officers on the other side of the table.

“Didn’t realize she was one of yours, Kate,” Dipaolo spits, his glare briefly traveling to you.

“Because I’m not,” you speak up, taking everyone in the room by surprise. Dipaolo and Erikson ease up, but the woman—Kate?—fixes you with a stern stare. She turns to the officers, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I represent the club and all of its employees. As long as she works there, she’s a client.” She’s explaining to them, but telling you.

“I don’t need a lawyer,” you counter.

Kate’s hands clench around her arms before she says, “I need a moment with my client.”

“Doesn’t sound like she wants to be your client,” Erikson smirks.

“Doesn’t matter what she wants; I’m still here to represent her. Now, give us five minutes.”

You don’t need to be alone with her; you need to get the hell out of here and back to your motel room.

“I can tell you what happened,” you call out before the officers get two steps from the table. “If she wants to be here or not, that’s her choice.”

They sit back down, smug and taunting, ready to listen. You can feel the frustration oozing from Kate, but she stays put and stays silent.

“Kyle invited me to come see the club when it was open—”

“Kyle Garrick?” Dipaolo asks, and you nod.

"It was supposed to be a fun night out—a break from work—and it was. Things were fine until….” You give Kate a nervous glance, quickly looking away from the look of warning she gives you. “I was at the bar when this man came up to me. He said his name was…Hassan, I think? He started…flirting with me, and when I tried to keep things friendly, he got pushy. He said he noticed me outside and that he could show me the upstairs rooms. I tried to leave, but he grabbed my hand and—”

You take a moment, letting out a long, quivering exhale and squeezing your throat. It only takes seconds for the wetness to build in your eyes.

“One of his friends pulled him away, but he promised to come find me later so we could talk in private. I didn’t know what he was going to do, so I told the bartender, and he let me stay near him until closing. After everyone left, I was grabbing my jacket when Hassan showed back up with his friends. I tried to walk away, but one of them grabbed me and threw me onto the bar. I—”

You let the tears roll down your cheeks, waiting a few seconds before wiping them away. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I swear, but I was so scared. I just grabbed a glass and hit him with it. I think someone must’ve heard the commotion because Ghost and Kyle came in and tried to kick the guys out, but then Hassan pulled a gun—”

“Wait—wait, you’re saying Hassan pulled a gun?”

“I don’t know who shot first, but only him and his friends had weapons. I don’t know what happened; Ghost told me to hide behind the bar and run as soon as I could, so that’s what I did. The last thing I saw before I got out of there was him trying to wrestle the gun out of Hassan’s hands….”

Silence looms over the room, so you add, “If Ghost hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what those men would’ve done to me. He saved me.” You throw in a sniffle as Dipaolo sighs. He leans over to whisper something to Erikson, glancing back at the one-way glass.

“Is there anyone else who can corroborate your story?” Erikson asks through clenched teeth.

“There was another woman; she was in a glittery purple dress. I didn’t catch her name, but you could probably find her on the cameras. There weren’t a lot of people in purple.”

“And she saw everything that happened?”

And then some, you almost laugh to yourself.

“Yeah, she was there the whole time.”

“Alright,” Dipaolo sighs. “Thank you, Ms. Canary. We appreciate your honesty.” He doesn’t sound very appreciative, but you don’t really care.

“We’ll have one of the boys escort you out,” Erikson says, standing from the table. He holds the door open for you, and Kate follows you out into the long hallway. Dipaolo disappears into another room as Erikson whistles over another officer to show you out. You follow behind him but are stopped when a door opens behind you.

“A minute, Kate?” You and Kate look back to see Erikson and Dipaolo standing with the same bald cop from earlier.

“You go ahead,” Kate says to you, turning to the three with a polite and professional smile. She walks away before you can stop her, the officer in front of you nudging your arm and grumbling a quiet let’s go.

He leaves you on the front steps, standing by yourself in the cold, commenting that a cab has been called for you. You mutter a thank you, pulling your jacket tighter to fight the chill.

You take back that thank you forty-five minutes later when you’re still standing outside with no cab in sight.

Of all the times to not have a phone.

Another fifteen minutes later, you post up against the wall next to the doors, staring up at the clear night sky. It’s not as clear in the city as it was from your old view, but you find a small sense of comfort in the twinkling stars.

A few cars pull up, sleek and black, led by a vintage silver car with dark windows. You don’t have time to question it, the station doors opening abruptly as a cluster of footsteps pouring outside. You turn your head, watching the 141 leave the station, too busy speaking to each other to notice you.

Valeria leads Alejandro and Rudy into one car, Alex and Farah getting into another. Ghost and Soap get into the same car while Roach, König, and Kyle head across the street and start walking down the sidewalk, leaving one more car behind the silver car.

Price and Kate stay behind, waiting until everyone’s left.

“You sure we’ll be alright, Kate?” Price asks, watching the cars pull onto the street.

“Should be,” Kate sighs. “All they have is the exterior cameras and the bullets from Hassan’s guns. No one got killed, so all they have is eyewitness testimony.” Kate looks over Price’s shoulder, catching sight of you.

“Thanks for the help, Kate.”

“Don’t thank me,” she says, nodding toward you. “It was all her.”

Price turns around, surprised to find you standing there. You give a little wave of your fingers, trying not to wince at the pain in your hand.

“Here, you can take my car home,” Kate says once Price turns back to her. She hands him her keys before making her way down the steps. “Just make sure to return it in one piece,” she calls over her shoulder as she gets into the back of the last black car.

Price huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before turning his attention to you.

“Enjoying the fresh air?” he asks, leaning on the wall next to you.

“Waiting for a cab that probably isn’t coming,” you sigh, moving your gaze back up to the sky. “I think I pissed off the officers, and this is their way of getting back at me.”

“You definitely made a few enemies in there,” Price chuckles.

“Well, I couldn’t let my boss rot in a cell, could I? Who’s gonna sign my paychecks?” you joke. His chuckles turn to a full laugh, staring at the side of your face while you pretend not to notice.

“Come on,” he speaks up, pushing himself off the wall.

“What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he smiles. You want to argue, assure him that you can find your own way home, but your mind goes blank, and all you can do is nod. You follow him to Kate’s silver car, trying—and failing—not to blush as he holds the door open for you. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, sliding into the driver’s seat.

The first few minutes of the drive are spent in comfortable silence, with you giving him quiet directions. You lean back in your seat, savoring the warmth of the car.

“Does it hurt?” Price asks, breaking you out of your contentment.

“Does what hurt?”

He takes his eyes off the road for a second, nodding towards your hand where it rests in your lap.

“A little,” you shrug. “I was too tired to do anything other than wrap it.”

“Have Rudy look at it tomorrow. Make sure it’s nothing too serious.” He’s using that Boss tone that tells you there’s no room for debate, but you swear you hear a small current of worry beneath the surface.

The rest of the drive is quiet but not uncomfortable. Price follows your directions easily and even lets you turn the heat up a few notches.

It isn’t until you get close to the motel that you tell him to stop.

“You can just pull over here,” you say, gesturing to the sidewalk. It’s close enough that you can see, and walk to, the motel but far enough that no one else staying there will see the car.

“Here?”

“Yeah, people might get the wrong idea if they see me getting out of a car this fancy,” you laugh as he pulls over. He doesn’t laugh along, and when you turn to him, he’s frowning back at you.

“Something wrong?”

“I know we’re not paying you a lot, but I’m sure you can afford more than…this.” He looks to the motel, then back to you, unsure and concerned. It’s almost endearing.

You unclip your seatbelt so you can turn to fully face him. “You’re paying me quite generously, actually.”

“Am I?” He raises a brow, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. It takes everything in your power not to let your eyes fall to his lips.

“Mhmm,” you hum, a sly smile stretching across your face. You lean closer, blinking up at him innocently, catching the way his throat bobs as he swallows. “In fact, you’ve decided I earned a raise after tonight, and I’ll be sure to celebrate and treat myself to two bags of pretzels from the vending machine.”

With that, you swing the car door open and slip out into the crisp winter air. You start down the sidewalk, the telltale sound of a car window rolling down behind you as the car creeps alongside you.

“There’re other places around you can stay, y’know? Safer places,” he calls, leaning over into the passenger seat to look at you.

“Thanks for the ride, sir,” you laugh, turning to wink at him before heading into the motel parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

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