#and then stayed at a home price and her got together

[absurdthirst]

Pretty Woman {Max Lord x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6k

Warnings: Prostitution, sex work, mentions of drug use, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, mentions of classicism and discrimination, anal sex, public sex, domestic violence, assault

Comments: A chance encounter on the boulevard has Max Lord paying to spend a night with you, then the week. Giving you an experience you never imagined.

A/N: Obviously based off Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts, but we did not add any physical descriptions of the reader beyond being able to wear clothing from Rodeo Drive

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Max Lord MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The boulevard is busy tonight. Cars pass by but no one stops to pick you up. You sigh, reaching up to scratch your scalp under the itchy blonde bob wig you're wearing. Your feet are starting to ache in these ridiculous boots Kit gave you to wear. "We say what. We say who. We say how much." Kit reminds you as you stand on your corner and your head turns when a sports car comes along the street, the gears grinding. "Catch this." Kit says and your eyes widen, "that's a Lotus Esprit." You exclaim, watching the car come to a screeching stop. 

"No. That's rent. You should go for him." Kit says and you huff, "you look hot tonight. Don't take less than one hundred." She finishes, reminding you once again that your rent is due tonight. "Call me when you're through and take care of you." She says and you nod, adjusting your dress after you give her a hug. You take your jacket off, swaying your hips as Kit tells you to work it and you approach the car. 

"You can handle this." Max says to himself as he fiddles with the gearshift. 

"Hey sugar, you looking for a date?" You ask as you lean in the window. 

"No, I wanna find Beverly Hills, can you give me directions?" Max asks, clearly frustrated and you smother your smirk. 

"Sure....for five bucks." You say and Max scoffs, "that's ridiculous." 

You shrug, "price just went up to ten." Max looks at you incredulously, "you can't charge for directions." 

You chuckle, "I can do whatever I want baby, I ain't lost." You shift away from his window and he sighs, "fine. You got change for a twenty?" He asks and you shake your head as you get in the front seat. 

"For that, I can show you personally. This is a hot car. Uh, lights would be good." You tell him as he pulls away from the curb. He comes to a stop at the light and you can tell he's struggling to drive this car. "What's your name?" He asks you after telling you he did not steal the car. 

"What do you want it to be?" You ask and he turns to look at you with those dark eyes that seem to look through you. You sigh and give him your name. He tells you he's staying at the Beverly Wiltshire and you are impressed, giving him directions. "This car is amazing. Four cylinders and it rounds corners like it's on rails." You exclaim and Max looks at you, "you know about cars?" He asks and you shrug, "grew up around it at home. Mustangs...corvettes...they'd fix 'em up and sell 'em." You explain and the gears grind. 

"You ever driven a Lotus?" Max asks and you shake your head. "Well, you're going to now." He says and you're soon behind the drivers wheel. 

"These have pedals that are really close together so it's easier for a woman to drive." You tell him, "good for little feet. Did you know your foot is the length of your wrist to your elbow?" You ask Max who stares at you in amusement. 

"No, I didn't know that." He confesses, "tell me...what kind of money do you girls make nowadays?" Max asks. 

"No less than $100..." You say, "a night?" Max raises his eyebrows and you shake your head, "an hour." 

"An hour?" He asks, "you make $100 an hour and you got a safety pin holding your boot up? You gotta be joking." He snorts and you shrug, "I never joke about money." 

Max chuckles, "neither do I. $100 an hour is pretty stiff." He says and you smirk, sliding your hand into his lap to press your hand into his groin, "well, no, but it's got potential." You tease until you pull your hand back and focus on driving to the Wiltshire.

Max looks out over the city and his stomach twists with nerves and anticipation. He is here to make his mark, to take over a company that had once looked down on him, refused to do business with him. Now he is poised to take over. To dismantle it piece by piece as soon as the deal is done. Despite his thousand dollar suits and suite at the Beverly Wiltshire, he’s not as confident as he pretends to be. “How much for the night.” He asks suddenly, deciding that he will do better if he spends the night with a beautiful woman and you are that.

You smirk, looking over at him. "Honey, you couldn't afford me." He snorts, "try me." You squeeze the steering wheel, "three hundred." You tell him, knowing you need to pay your rent. 

Max mulls it over for a second before he nods, "done." 

You internally squeal, knowing Kit is gonna be so proud of you. You pull up outside of the hotel and he is greeted by the doorman. "Welcome, Mr. Lord." You are impressed and he glances at your dress, shrugging off his Burberry trench coat. 

"Put this on." He says and you frown, following his order. 

"Great. Now I look like a hooker in a trench coat." You joke and his eyes meet yours for a second before he's heading into the hotel. "Holy shit." You hiss in shock at the expensive decor. He checks in and orders champagne and strawberries for the room. "Ooo fancy." You coo, caressing his back and trying to ignore the stares of everyone in the lobby of the hotel. He is soon escorting you to the escalator and you notice the woman looking at you with disdain so you lift your leg up onto the silver trash can by the escalator. "Oh no, honey. I've torn my pantyhose." You huff and caress your thigh. "Oh wait...I'm not wearing them." You giggle, winking at the woman's husband before you lower your leg. The escalator doors open and you rush in, excited to see this hotel room.

Max tuts, smirking slightly at your moxie as he follows you inside. He’s decided that he likes you. You aren’t stiff and boring, just like his ex-wife accused him of being. Pressing the button for the penthouse, he watches your eyes widen dramatically. He doesn’t expect that your clients often take you to the penthouse. He watches you fidget, wondering what you will do with the three hundred dollars he is paying you. Hopefully it’s not for drugs.

When the elevator arrives, the bellboy watches you as you walk down the hall to the double doors and Max turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, until the young man's face falls and he straightens up. Max unlocks the door and you walk in, mouth open as you take in the lavish suite. "Impressed?" He asks and you shrug, "you kidding me? I come here all the time. As a matter of fact, they do rent this room by the hour." You tease him, walking out onto the balcony. "I bet you could see all the way to ocean from here." You exclaim and Max sits down at the desk, "come inside." He tells you, "I don't go out there." 

You frown as you walk in, setting your purse down on the sofa. "Why not?" You ask and he sighs, "I'm afraid of heights." You snort, "then why'd you get the penthouse?" 

Max straightens up a little, "it's the best." He declares and you nod, confused by his desire to have 'the best of everything' and yet he hired you for the night. 

"Now that I'm here...what do you want to do?" You ask, biting your lip and he sighs, "I - I don't really know." You are surprised by this. Most men would've already been having a smoke after getting their orgasm over with. You sit down on the sofa, "well...one way to break the ice is to pay me." You tell him and he nods, reaching into his jacket for his pocket book and he pulls out three one hundred dollar notes. You move to sit down on the edge of his desk and take the cash, shoving it in your boot. 

"You're on my fax." Max tells you and you chuckle tilting to the side so he can pull the paper out from under your ass, "well that's one I haven't been on before." You unzip your boot, pulling out the condoms you keep there. "Right. Pick one. I got red, I got blue. I'm out of purple. I have one gold coin left. The condom of champions. Nothing getting through this sucker." You flick it and lean closer to him. 

He stands up and you reach for his jacket. "Right, let's get one of these on you?" You suggest and he shakes his head, "why don't we just talk for a bit?" You click your tongue, "talk. Yeah, uh, okay. Max...are you in town for business or pleasure?" You ask, watching him sit down on the sofa and you move to straddle him but he moves so you sit down on the ottoman. "I think you're a lawyer." You guess, crossing your arms and leaning forward to let him see your cleavage.

His eyes flicker down to your chest and he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his suit trousers. “Business.” He answers. “Not a lawyer, lawyers are bloodsucking bastards.” He huffs, rolling his eyes at how much his team of lawyers costs him per hour.

You giggle, reaching out to caress his thighs as he reclines against the sofa. “Ain’t that the truth.” You say just as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it. Make myself useful.” You stand up and walk over to the door. The hotel worker is surprised when his eyes trail down your dress and he asks where you want the champagne. “Where do we want it?” You ask Max. 

“On the bar.” He says and the man carries it over. He stands there after he sets it down and stares at you expectedly. 

“What you looking at?” You ask and Max sighs, standing up and pulling a note out of his pocket. “Here.” Max says and the man nods, “thank you sir.” He exits the door and Max comes over to pop the champagne.

“Oh.” It’s cute, the way you deflate slightly when you realize you had been a little overzealous in your attitude towards the bellboy. “Here.” He pours a flute of champagne and hold it out to you. “Have it with a strawberry.”

You frown, “why?” You take a large gulp of the champagne before you bite on the strawberry. 

“Just relax. I got some work to do.” He says and walks over to the desk. You frown at his retreating form and you sit down and grab the tv remote. You turn it on to an old episode of “I love Lucy” and you lay down on your stomach with the strawberries and champagne.

Max looks up from the report and smiles as he watches you. You’re kicking your feet and laughing like a little kid. It’s sweet and you don’t seem like a woman of the night, even with your provocative dress on. It’s honestly a joy to watch you and he has to tear himself away to look back down at the report.

You giggle at the show until Max tells you he’s done with his work. “So…you wanna keep talking?” You ask Max after you sit down on the sofa beside him. He stares at you for a second, his dark eyes burning into you in a way you’ve never felt before, and he slowly shakes his head. He leans in towards you but you pull back, “I have one rule. I don’t kiss.” You tell him and he nods. “Tell me what you like.” You demand softly, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

“I don’t really know.” Max admits softly. He knows you are more experienced, you have sex for a living. “What do you like? For yourself?” He knows that he will cum no matter what, but he would like to learn something that maybe he doesn’t know. Which wouldn’t be hard to do.

You’re surprised. No one ever asks you that. You never ever expect to cum or receive pleasure. You’re here to do a job. To make him feel good. “I, uh, I like to ride. I like to feel a little in control.” You confess, knowing that most men want to fuck you from behind to make them feel powerful.

“Okay.” He nods seriously, thinking about how he feels about that. “Then ride me.” He decides. “You choose the condom you’re comfortable with, and you can decide how fast you go.”

You nod, taking the gold condom from your boot before you pull them to the side, taking off your socks as well. He watches you, making no moves, and you decide to make this good for him. You set your boots aside and place the condom on the coffee table, grabbing a cushion from the sofa, you kneel between his legs and rub the bulge in his expensive slacks. “I want to suck your cock first.”

He’s surprised that you want to do that, his cock twitching in interest. “You don’t have to.” He promises. “I’m not- it’s not- you want to?” He is a little breathless at the prospect.

You nod, reaching for his Gucci belt buckle to undo it and you unbutton his pants. “Wanna make you feel good.” You murmur as you reach in to pull his hard cock out of his pants. He’s thick and your mouth waters as you lean in to lick a stripe along the underside.

“Oh fuck.” Max chokes out, his head dropping back against the sofa cushions and his eyes close. Your tongue is hot and wet against his cock and makes his stomach twist in pleasure. “Do you- do you like doing this?” He pants out quietly, a little more of his accent slipping out involuntarily.

You pull back, wrapping your fingers around him. “I don’t do this.” You confess, “I- I wanted to do this for you.” It’s true. You never allow oral but you want to do this for him after he’s shown you such a good time already. “I love doing this baby.” You coo, taking his head into your mouth and keeping your eyes on his.

Max groans, twitching in your mouth and biting his lip so he doesn’t grab your head. You are the one setting the pace and he finds it intoxicating. You are so pretty looking up at him with his cock in your mouth. “So pretty.” He praises. “It’s so good, baby, you’re so good to me.”

His slight accent has you getting wet and you moan around him, loving the way he groans and praises you. Your hands caress his thighs, still clad in a designer suit, but you take his cock a little deeper. Your spit combined with his pre-cum dribbling into the material. You moan around him, closing your eyes as you widen your jaw and breathe through your nose.

“It’s been so- so fucking long since I’ve had this.” Max moans out the confession, sure that it’s the best fucking blow job he’s ever had. “You gotta- gotta stop.” He pants out. “Gonna cum if you don’t.” His cock throbs and he wants nothing more than to spill down your throat but he wants you to ride him. He wants to feel your cunt around his cock.

You pull off of him, letting him decide what his body needs, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before you stand up. Your eyes meeting his as you slowly begin to remove your clothes, wanting to give him a show when he’s paying a lot of money for you. You tease, turning around and bending over as you remove your panties, his dark eyes fixed on your body as his chest heaves. When you turn around, you move to straddle his lap and lean in to run your nose along his jaw.

Max hums, still nearly completely dressed with just his slacks opened and his cock pulled out. It’s slightly sexier this way, with you naked on top of him. His hands are hovering over your hips for a few moments before he touches you. Groaning out loud when he grips your flesh and realizes this is actually going to happen.

You reach out to grab the condom, opening the foil packet and you pinch the tip before you work it down his cock. “Shit. You’re so thick.” You murmur, admiring him for a second before you move closer, lifting up to notch him at your entrance. You slowly sink down onto him, your eyes on his face as you take him inside of you for the first time.

“Shiiiiiiiit” Max hisses, loving how tight you are as you slide down his cock. Taking him deep until your ass is against his thighs. He twitches deep inside your hot walls and he grits his teeth to keep from moving. “Holy shit, baby. You’re so tight. So hot.”

You watch him struggle with the need to take over. You can tell he’s used to being in control. You love the strain in his jaw as you start to slowly lift off of him. The slight whine that escapes his clenched teeth as you lift up until only the tip remains inside of you, then you slowly sink back down. “You can touch me, baby.” You remind him, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” He slides his hands over your hips and up to cup your tits. “You are so- so tight.” He groans. “Are you going to ride me or tease me?” He demands with a pout, groaning again when you clench down around him. He’s so close to cumming already and you’ve barely started riding him.

You tut, reaching up to grab his cheeks, “I’m in control of pace, remember?” You remind him, clenching around him again and he almost whimpers. Fuck, it’s intoxicating to have a man like him, powerful and rich, whimper for you. You take pity after a second, shifting to grab his shoulders for leverage as you start to move on top of him.

Max nearly whimpers again when you slowly roll your hips, your cunt locking down around him like a vice. You’re gorgeous and your mouth watering tits are in his face. “Can I suck on them?” He asks you desperately, wanting to touch you and make you feel as good as he does.

You nod, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair, dragging his face to your chest. You moan when he wraps his lips around your nipple, biting down softly and you move your hips a little faster, loving the way he stretches him out.

It’s been a long fucking time since he’s fucked anyone and even longer than that since someone ridden him. He loves it though. For a moment, he pretends that you aren’t being paid and you want him. His cock twitches every time he sucks on your tit and it’s only when it’s hard and puffy does he switch over to the other.

Usually, you barely react to sex. It’s a job. Something to pay your rent and you’ve perfected the art of moans and whimpers to make the man paying you cum quicker. Tonight though, you’re in no rush. Max’s hands caress your back and his lips suck on your nipple, making you whimper and throw your head back. It’s the best you’ve felt having sex in so long. He’s thick and you feel him in places that seemed forgotten with your other clients. The control you have is intoxicating and you rock your hips a little faster, trying to find that spot that makes you cum.

Max groans into your flesh, his hands sliding down to your ass and squeezing. He doesn’t try to guide you, just rolls with your movement as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Enjoying it so much more that he had before because of the moans you give him. You’re incredible and you don’t make him feel inadequate.

“Fuck.” You hiss and grind forward, adjusting the angle and you moan at the way his cock hits just right inside of you. You bounce a little faster, “oh God. I- I’m gonna cum.” You confess breathlessly. You never orgasm with a customer. Most just rut into you until they cum a minute later but Max has you shaking above him.

“Don’t fake.” He begs, not wanting you to pretend like his ex wife claimed she did all throughout their marriage. “Want you to really cum for me.”

“Not- not faking.” You promise and reach for his hand, bringing it to your clit. “Rub.” You demand breathlessly and he wastes no time rubbing your clit. It’s perfect. The angle and his touch. You rock a half dozen more times until you cry out, clamping down on his cock and you moan his name.

Max chokes out a moan, Finding you completely gorgeous as you shake apart for him. Your cunt is like a vice around him and he’s not going to be able to hold out. “Fuck, baby.” He hisses, leaning forward and burying his mouth against your pulse to keep from kissing you as he starts to fill the condom.

You moan as he cums, caressing his shoulders and back, and you rock him through it. “So good, baby. So good.” You murmur as he groans into your skin.

You weren’t faking, you couldn’t have faked that. Max moans into your skin, sighing softly when he relaxes. “Fuck.” He pants, still breathing you in. Your perfume is surprisingly bright and clean and he enjoys it. “That was amazing.”

You are pleased he’s happy. Reaching down to grip the base of his cock before you lift off of him, slumping down on the sofa as you try to catch your breath. You haven’t had an orgasm in so long and you turn to look at Max. “Satisfied, Mr. Lord?” You ask teasingly.

Max hums, still blissful from his orgasm. “Call me Max.” He murmurs. “I think that I might actually sleep tonight.” His hand slides over to stroke your thigh. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You nod, “I did. It’s rare that I do but there’s something about you.” You admit, placing your hand on his. “Well, I’ll get my clothes.” You say but his grip on your thigh tightens. 

“Don’t go yet. I paid for the night. Stay. Have a shower.” He offers and you nod, knowing it will be hard to get home this late.

Max tucks himself away and settles back down with another report while you go into the bathroom. After a few minutes he hears the water start and then some singing. Making him pause and listen for a minute before he starts to grin. It’s off key and pitch, but enthusiastic. Making him shake his head as he looks back down.

You sing in the shower, cleaning off until you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything to wear.” You tell him as you glance at your tiny dress and he nods, standing up and making his way over to his closet to open it and take a white shirt out. “Here you go.” He says and you drop the towel, shrugging on his shirt and buttoning it up. “Thank you.” You wink at him and make your way over to the champagne bucket to pour another glass for each of you.

There something about having you here. Just your presence is nice, different from the austere penthouse. He’s not lonely. You turn the tv back to another older show and bring both of the glasses over to where he is sitting and plop down beside him.

You giggle as you watch the show while he looks over his reports again until you are closing your eyes in exhaustion. "Sleep." Max orders, jerking his chin towards the bedroom. You nod, stumbling into the bedroom and Max pulls the covers over you as you settle into the ridiculously soft bed. Max doesn't get in beside you, he closes the door and gets back to his reports, deciding to shower after you're asleep. You huff as the wig you've been wearing all night - even in the shower- digs into you so you grab it from your head and toss it on the chair, pulling off the hair net to let your hair free. You sigh as you settle back in and are soon passed out in a place you never expected to sleep.

It’s after two in the morning when Max decides to go to bed. Showering and then changing into fresh boxers, he stops when he sees you laying in the bed. The short blonde wig was obvious just that, but your natural hair is beautiful. You look so serene, sleeping on your stomach facing the empty side of the bed. As if you are waiting on him. He smiles softly as he climbs in beside you and turns to watch you sleep until his own eyes close.

When you wake up, the sunlight is shining through the curtains and you get up to pee and use some of his toothpaste to freshen your breath. Your hair is a mess but you try to fix it as you walk out into the living area in his shirt. "Hi." You say to Max as he is sitting at the table with his back to you. 

He turns to look at you and nods, "good morning." You run your hands along your sides and bite your lip, "I, uh, wig." You point at your hair and Max smiles softly, "I like it." Your heart thumps at that but you push it aside, "I can get my clothes and go." You say but Max shakes his head, "come sit down. Have some breakfast. I, uh, I didn't know what you like so I got one of everything." He lifts the silver lids up and your eyes widen. "Wow. Thanks." You reach out to pick up a croissant and he picks up his reports. "So Max. You aren't a lawyer...what exactly is it you do?"

“Merger and acquisitions.” Max tells you, folding his newspaper over and smirking at you. “I make money.”

“Right. That explains everything.” You snort sarcastically. “So you’re smart, huh?” You ask and he looks at you. “I didn’t finish eleventh grade.” You confess, “how much school did you do?” You ask him and he tilts his head, “I went all the way.” Your eyebrows raise but you’re not really shocked. He seems smart. “Wow. Good for you. So what are you in town working on now?” You ask and he sighs, “I’m working on acquiring a company for a billion dollars and -” 

You choke at hearing the figure. “One - one billion?” You ask and he nods. “Oh God. That’s - you really are smart. So you get the company and then what?” You ask, ever curious. 

“I buy it and then break it apart. Sell off the assets for more money than I bought the company for.” He explains, “I wasn’t this successful when I got started. Had a lot of fuck ups but I have learned along the way.” 

You gesture to the suite, “clearly.” He stands up, “I’m going to get ready.” He says and you watch him go and change into his suit. He comes out ten minutes later in a bespoke suit but he’s struggling with his tie. You walk over to him to help and soon perfect a Windsor knot. “How do you know how to do this?” He inquires, his dark eyes on yours. 

You smirk, “I screwed the whole debate team.” He chuckles and you wink at him. “My grandpa was a sweet man and he’d go to church so I’d help him with his tie.” You tell him the truth and he nods, reaching behind you to grab his briefcase. “Can I have a bath before I leave?” Max nods and you smile, kissing his cheek before you disappear into the bathroom and the phone rings.

It’s Max’s assistant, informing him that the owners of the company have invited him to some functions while he is in town. Frowning, he remembers that he cannot show up to these functions without a date, he had told James Morse that he had been in a relationship and Jessica had broken up with him because he was always working. To be fair, he had just spent a month away dismantling another company and hadn’t seen her in nearly forty-five days. The singing in the bathroom had started up again, this time it sounds like you are skinning a cat and he grins, telling his secretary to accept the invitations on his behalf and a date. Hanging up, he walks into the bathroom to find you have drawn a bubble bath and have headphones on as you screech along. Chuckling, he stands next to the tub and waits for you to notice him.

You continue singing until you open one eye and see Max perched on the edge of the tub. You throw the headphones for the walkman on the side and internally groan in embarrassment. "Mr. Lord." You greet him, trying to act cool, "Don't you just love Prince?" You grin and he shakes his head. 

"More than life itself." You shake your head, "don't you knock?" 

Max sighs and says your name, "I have a business proposition for you." You ask him what he wants. "I am going to be in town until Sunday and I'd like you to spend the week with me." 

You grin, unable to believe your luck. "Why? You're a rich man. Handsome. You could have anyone... for free." You add and he shakes his head, "I want a professional. I don't want romantic entanglements." You chew the inside of your cheek for a second, "as much as I'd love to be your beck and call girl, it's gonna cost you." You hum and he leans closer, "How much?" 

You tap your chin, "six-night, the days too...$4000." 

His eyebrows raise, "at $300 a night, it's $1800." He tells you and you shrug, "days too." He sighs, "$2000." 

You shake your head, "$3000." Max nods, "deal." Your eyes widen and you can't help but sink under the bubbles, unable to believe your luck.

Max smirks as he watches you do a little dance under the water and then immediately come back up. “Yes! Yes.” You gasp out, wiping the soapy bubbles from your face. “I’m your girl.” 

He chuckles. “Good, now, I’m going to need you to go get a cocktail dress. Something nice. These are important people and I want you to look the part.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a money clip, peeling crisp hundred dollar bills off until he feels like you have enough, about $1200 dollars and holds it out to you.

Your eyes widen as you stare in shock at the money in your hands. "What do you want me to get?" You ask, climbing out of the bath and following him as he rushes through the penthouse, getting his jacket and briefcase. 

"Classy. Not too sexy. Elegant." He says and you roll your eyes, "boring then." He nods, walking over to the door, "go shopping. Have fun." You nod and watch him go, the door shutting behind him and you rush into the bedroom, squealing in delight at your luck. 

Eventually you calm down and call Kit, giving her the good news. You ask her where to go shopping and she says, "one place in Beverly Hills...Rodeo Drive." You tell her you're leaving the rent money at the desk and you get ready, making your way downstairs to leave the money and you head over to Rodeo Drive.

The boutique that you walk into is obviously expensive and the workers there are immediately suspicious of you. “Oh my god.” Cordelia whispers to her co-worker. “A prostitute just walked into our store, can you believe it?” She purses her lips and continues to go through the clothes on the rack even though you are asking for help.

You ask her about the clothes on the mannequin, at a complete loss of what to do in a store like this. “How much is this?” You ask and she lightly scoffs under her breath. 

“It’s very expensive.” She says, “I don’t think it would fit.” 

You huff, “I didn’t ask if it would fit, I asked how much.” 

She sighs, looking at her colleague, “I don’t think we have anything in here that would work for you.” She says and your stomach drops. You feel sick. You swallow back the tears and rush out of the store. Making your way back into the hotel, you get accosted by the manager, asking you who you’re here to see. “Maxwell Lord.” You tell him and his eyes widen, looking at the bellboy who confirms you are staying in the penthouse. 

“Come this way.” He says, escorting you to his office. “This isn’t your usual hotel, Miss. This is the Beverly Wiltshire. This is a fine establishment and we don’t have women like you staying here.” You nod, feeling reprimanded but you won’t be defeated, not with $3000 on the line. “Mr. Lord, however, is a valued customer and he spends a lot of money here. We can overlook your…occupation for his sake. If anyone asks, you’re his niece. Understood?” He says, eyes burning into you and you nod. 

“Yes sir.” The manager nods, “now, Mr. Lord has a reservation at our restaurant tonight and I’d assume you’re attending with him. Do you have anything else to wear?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“I went to Rodeo and they were so rude. They treated me like trash. I- I don’t have anything else.” You pull out the money Max had given you. “I have all this money and no dress.” 

The manager nods, picking up his phone. “Women’s department, Bridget please.” He asks and waits for a brief moment. “Ah yes, Marie. I have a situation that would benefit from your expertise. I need someone to bring over a black cocktail dress for one of our guests for dinner with her uncle. Yes, black heels. A clutch. Also, send one of your girls for hair and makeup.” He says before he puts down the phone. You’re astonished and he claps his hands. “Now, let’s get you to the room and they will be here soon for you to get ready for dinner.” You nod, letting him escort you through the hotel and back to your room.

A knock on the door comes soon enough and a primly dress woman in a pencil skirt and a silk white blouse is at the door. “Hello!” She smiles brightly at you, her expression never changing when she sees your provocative dress. “My name’s Bridget.” She holds out her hand and you shake it. 

“Yeah, hi. Barney said you’d be nice to me.” 

Bridget blushes slightly at the mention of the hotel manager. “He’s very sweet.” You hum and she moves on. “What are your plans while you are in town?” You cross your arms over your chest nervously. “I’m gonna have dinner.” 

She nods. “Then you need a cocktail dress. I’ve pulled a section of dresses that will be perfect. I’m sure that you’ll find something that your uncle will love.” There is a rack in the hall that is loaded down with dresses and she moves to bring it inside. Correctly guessing your size, she asks you to confirm it. Your eyes widen in amazement. “Yeah. How did you know that?” 

Bridget smiles. “Well, that’s my job.” She replies easily, having to accurately guess women’s sizes all day long. 

“Bridge?” You bite your lip. “He’s not really my uncle.” You confess. 

“They never are, dear.” She assures you.

****

You tap your fingers on the bar in the lounge as you wait for Max, he’s late. You would order a drink but you’re terrified to do something wrong at dinner. To mess up the cutlery order that Mr. Thompson had so willingly taught you. You don’t notice Max enter the lounge until he’s nearly leaving again. You turn your head to look at him just as he meets your eyes and you smile, hoping he likes your new outfit.

Max is astonished. The transformation is nearly unbelievable. You look every inch the sophisticated woman with your cocktail dress, your hair and makeup styled elegantly. He smiles slightly, unable to believe that he gets to escort such a beautiful woman to dinner, despite it being a business transaction. Watching as you gather your clutch and walk over to meet him. “You’re late.” You tease and he is quick to reply. 

“You’re stunning.” He means it, but you giggle slightly. 

“You’re forgiven. 

Max hums and turns to offer his arm like a gentleman. “Shall we go to dinner?”

**** 

“Mr. Morse. It’s great to meet you.” Max greets the older man, “great to meet you. This is my grandson. He’s a fireball. David.” He gestures to the younger man who seems embarrassed by his grandfather. Max introduces you as his friend and you shake both men’s hands. The chair is pulled out for you and you move to sit down until you decide to stand again. All three men stand and Max asks where you’re going. 

“I’m going to the ladies room.” You tell him and he tells you where to go. 

“Shall I order for you?” He asks and you immediately respond, “yeah” until you remember yourself. “Yes. Please do so.” You correct yourself and walk off to the bathroom.

Max can see every man’s eyes at the table on you. Proud of the choice he had made in bringing you here. “She’s charming, isn’t she?” He asks before the three of them order. When you come back, the first course is being served and David is talking to Max. “Mr. Lord, my grandfather believes the men who create a company should control its destiny.” You look down at the plate and then lean over towards Max. 

“Where’s the salad?” You ask quietly. 

Max turns his attention to you. “The salad comes at the end of the meal.”

You stare at the forks, trying to count the tines and the elder Morse leans in, “I never know which one to use.” He chuckles and you follow his lead when he picks up the toast with pâté. The next course is snails. “Escargot.” Max explains, “they’re a delicacy. Try them.” 

You look at the tongs and frown, trying to figure it out until one flings across the room and the waiter catches it. “Slippery little suckers.” You joke “Happens all the time.” He tells you and you fluster. 

The sorbet is next and the conversation heats up between the men. Max reveals that his father died recently and you bite your lip. You watch Max as he clenches his jaw, clearly used to getting what he wants but so is the younger Morse who stands up and leaves, followed by his grandfather. You look at Max who huffs, deciding to pour another glass of wine. Back in the hotel, you decide to admire the view and sit on the balcony. Max joins you a few moments later, rid of his jacket and tie. “I’m sorry about your dad.” You murmur and he sighs, rubbing his jaw. 

“He died last month.” He tells you and you want to comfort him, to make him feel better. Something you haven’t felt in so long. “Haven’t talked to him in fourteen years.” He reveals, staring down at the whiskey in his hand. He hadn’t even attended the funeral, never wished to. He had meant what he said when he said that he never wanted to see the old bastard again. 

You give him a small ‘oh’ and are silent for a minute. “We could just veg out.” You suggest and Max frowns as he looks up at you in confusion. “Sit around and watch tv.” You explain with a grin. “Lay like broccoli.” He snorts and shakes his head before drowning the rest of his drink. “I’ll be back.” He tells you, setting the glass down and walking to the penthouse door quietly.

You huff as he leaves and decide to veg out by yourself. You rub your eyes as the movie ends, Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant kissing and you glance over at the clock. It’s three in the morning. “Where the hell is he?” You mumble, standing up and wrapping the robe around yourself. You ask the bellboy where Max is and he escorts you through the lobby to the event room. The sounds of the piano echo through the room and a few men are listening him. You’re in awe. You walk over to him when he finishes, clapping softly. “I didn’t know you could play.” You say like you haven’t only known him for two days. “I don’t play in front of people I know.” He explains and you rub his shoulders. 

“You should.” You murmur, leaning down to kiss his neck. His hand finds yours on his shoulder and he guides you around so you’re between his legs. 

“Can you give us the room, fellas?” He asks and the men soon vacate the room. Your eyes meet his as his hands grab your waist, caressing it and your breath hitches at the way he looks at you.

There’s something about you. It’s thrilling and comforting all at the same time. He pushes you up, your ass hitting the keys and he doesn’t smirk like he normally would. Fingers reaching for your robe, and he slowly unties it to pull past and see what you are wearing under it. “Eyes on me.”

You fix your eyes on him, unable to disobey, and he runs his hands up your body, admiring the black silk you're wearing. He grabs your ass and lifts you up onto the top of the piano, your feet hitting the keys as he stands to settle between your legs. His lips seem to gravitate towards yours and you turn your head at the last second, knowing it's not a good idea to kiss him. You're already too involved. His lips find your neck and you whimper when he pushes the nightie up your body, exposing your panties. His nose runs along your stomach, pressing kisses on the skin, teasing you. "Max." You plead softly, needing to feel more.

“I’m going to eat you out.” He decides. “Right here in the lounge of the hotel.” He’s hard and throbbing, but right now, he wants to take you apart. Leaning down even more, his nose presses to your panties and he inhales your intoxicating scent. “When was the last time a man feasted on your cunt?”

You gasp at the way he presses his nose just against your clit. “A long time ago. Clients - they don’t - they don’t do that.” You admit, most just want to get straight to fucking you. It’s not romantic or drawn out. Usually they cum in less than a dozen thrusts and you take your money and go. He hooks his fingers in your panties, “I want to taste you.” He says and you whimper when he drags your underwear down and your ass hits the lacquer of the piano.

His ex-wife had bemoaned his oral skills, claiming that all the talent in his tongue was left in the board room. Not matter how many hours he had spent between her thighs, it was never right and he had eventually given up. However, he wants to see what you think of him. More than that, he just wants to give. Give you things that you haven’t had lately. Forget everything but the way you taste and sound. His fingers pull apart your lips and he groans at the sight of your clit before he leans forward and laps at it with his tongue.

God his tongue feels so good. You moan when he flicks your clit and his mouth covers you. His tongue sliding down to push inside of you and you pant, “Max.” You reach down to tangle your fingers in his air, intoxicated by him already.

He doesn’t think about what he is doing, just focusing on the way that you sound. Groaning into your flesh and squeezing your hips as he drags you closer to taste you more deeply.

It’s scandalous. Him eating you out on a piano in the middle of a hotel lounge and you moan as he takes his time. Most of the time, men only do this to make sure you’re wet enough but Max seems so eager to make you cum. You moan his name as he laps at you and you don’t know how he’s so good at this and unable to get a girlfriend. You moan again, lifting your leg onto his calf as he sucks on your clit. “Oh fuck.” You cry, getting so close already.

Your skin is so soft, fingers digging into the supple areas that he can grab. Dark eyes on your blissed out face as he drags you closer to the edge. Pulling away from your clit to run a figure eight around it with his tongue, he rasps out “cum” before he sucks it back into his mouth to pull on harshly.

You can’t deny him. Fuck, you can’t deny him anything. You moan his name as you rock your hips up towards his mouth and you fall apart on his tongue. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You cry out as you cum on his face.

It’s the best dessert that he’s ever had, tangy and thick when he moves his tongue down to lap up the fruits of his labor while you shake apart for him.

You pant as you look up at the ornate ceiling of the hotel. The intricate decor almost blurs as you stare at it and you run through fingers through his hair until you’re pushing him away when it becomes too much. “Fuck baby. So good.” You murmur, “there’s a condom in my robe if you want to.” You say, unsure if he wants to fuck you here or go upstairs.

He too worked up to take you upstairs. Digging into your robe to grab the condom, he surges to his feet and fumbles with his belt as he rushes to sink into you.

You sit up on your elbows as he rolls the condom down his length and you moan when he notches himself at your entrance and slowly pushes into you. “Fuck Max.” You moan, reaching for his hand when he pushes deep inside of you.

He moans your name quietly, his thighs bumping the keeps as he tries to get as deep as he possibly can. “Warp your legs around me,” he begs quietly. “Hold onto me.”

You nod, wrapping your legs around him and you shift to sit up, gripping his shoulders the new angle makes you gasp as he starts to move inside of you. “Oh God.” You pant as he curves just right inside of you like this. “Fuck me.” You demand, leaning down to kiss along his neck. Biting down on his ear lobe, “feel so big inside of me.” You murmur, meaning every word.

Max groans, aware that you probably tell every guy you’re with that, but he pretends you mean it. You’re kissing along his next and squeezing his cock with your tight little cunt, making him forget everything as he rocks into you. “Fuck.” He hisses softly. “So beautiful, so tight around me.” He praises.

You rock your hips up to meet his, your hands caressing his back as he pushes deep inside of you. “Fuck baby. Max. Feel so good.” You moan as your nails lightly scratch his back. “Want you to feel good after you made me feel so good.”

Max shudders, aware that anyone could walk in and watch him fucking you, but he doesn’t care. Or maybe it’s that he wishes they would. That they would see that he’s pleasuring such a beautiful woman. “You do, you do.” He pants out. “Feels so good.”

You keep him close, your legs wrapped around him as he pushes deep, slow but precise. “Max. God, that - that’s it.” You pant and he reaches down to rub your clit. You’re so close. Still worked up from your previous orgasm, it doesn’t take you long until you’re clamping down on his cock. Your cry echoing in the empty function room covered in gilded gold.

“That’s it, cum for me.” He hisses, loving the unrestrained way you cry out for him. Letting anyone nearby know that he is making you feel good. His throats turn sloppy, pace faltering as he starts to chase his own release. Groaning your name as he slaps his hips against your once more and presses deep, his body shaking as he empties himself into the condom.

You watch him as he cums, loving how tight his body gets. Jaw clenched and eyes fluttering shut as you get a glimpse into the one and only moment Maxwell Lord relaxes. “That’s it baby. So good.” You murmur, caressing his upper back as you continue to watch him.

When he pulls out of you carefully, his hands are pulling your robe closed so no one could see you even before he's slipping off the condom. Tying it in a knot and tossing it in a trashcan near the piano, he offers you his hand to help you down. "We should sleep." He murmurs, seeing how tired you are after your orgasm.

You nod, letting Max help you off of the piano with shaking legs and you’re soon back in the room. The same as the night before, you get ready for bed and he goes off to review a report, leaving you to fall asleep alone. 

**** 

The next morning, you come out of the room to find Max reading the newspaper. “Good morning.” You greet him, leaning in to kiss his cheek and he hums a good morning to you. “What’s the plan for today?” You ask and he smiles at you, “shopping.” You groan, “no. I- I went yesterday and they were so mean to me.”

Max frowns and folds over his paper, “mean to you? What do you mean?” He demands, his frown deepening even more as you explain and he shakes his head. “Get dressed.” He decides. “I’m coming with you.” 

****

He doesn’t let you pull your hand out of his. Dressed in your outfit you wore the night you met, your heels from last night and one of his dress shirts, you look sexy. The limo driver drops you off on Rodeo drive, he chooses one of the most expensive looking boutiques to walk into. 

“Hello, how may we-“ the worker starts her spiel but Max just cuts her off. 

“We are looking to spend an obscene amount of money.” He declares. “Very obscene. So we are looking to be sucked up to.” He smirks as he looks over at you and winks as he pulls out his Amex card and hands it to you. The one that has no limit. 

“How obscene sir?” The manager asks greedily and Max smirks, “very. Make sure she gets what she wants.” He gestures over to you as you stand admiring the dresses shown to you. Max comes over and takes your hand, “I have a meeting to go to but I’ll see you later.” He says, kissing the back of your hand. You want to pout but instead you nod, letting him go. When he leaves, you try on more clothes than you’ve ever owned, pick out lingerie and nighties. You stare at the man holding a pair of shoes and you see his tie. “Max would love that.” You point to it and the a manager snaps his fingers, “your tie.” He demands and the man takes his tie off to hand it to you. 

You leave the store dressed to the nines and you carry the bags as you make your way back to the store you went in the day before. “Hi, you refused to help me yesterday.” You say to the woman and she frowns until her eyes widen. “You work on commission?” You ask her and she nods. You hold up your bags, “big mistake. Big. Huge.” You tell them before you leave with a massive smirk on your face, unable to believe how on top of the world you feel as you make your way back to the hotel.

Max opens the door to the suite, briefcase in hand and expecting to find you opening dozens of boxes and bags from your shopping excursion. Instead, he finds you sitting at the table, wearing nothing but a tie and your heels. He smirks, setting down the case on the table and stepping closer to you. “That’s a nice tie.” He muses, admiring the way it sits between your tits.

You smirk at him as he walks in and freezes and you slowly uncross your legs, spreading them so he can see your cunt. “I got it for you today.” You coo, reaching down to squeeze your breast. “Thought it would look good on you.” You wink at him and slide your hand lower until you’re rubbing your clit, showing him how wet you are for him.

“Looks…expensive.” He banters and you shoot him a smirk.

“All yours for the low, low price of three thousand dollars.” You tease, reminding him and yourself of how much money he is paying you to stay with him. “Yes, a very expensive tie.” He strides forward and wraps his hand around the silk pinstripe tie, the back of his knuckles dragging over your breasts. “I think it might be my new favorite.”

You smirk up at him, “yeah? Maybe you can wear it tomorrow…after I’m done with it. Might have to take it off though if you want to fuck me hard…maybe fuck my ass?” You ask, biting your lip as you think of the lube you got from the pharmacy on the way back from shopping.

His eyes widen and he glances down at your beautiful cunt and then back at your face. “You want that?” He asks hoarsely, cock twitching. “I’ve never- no one has, um, wanted that. So I don’t know what you would want to get ready for me.”

You giggle at the way he seems flustered. Unused to seeing him like this when you know he’s so stoic in his business. You bite your lip as you lower your leg from the table and stand up to walk over to him. “I have lube. I have thought about this all afternoon so I have, uh, fingered myself open for you. Just need your gorgeous fingers to make sure I’m ready for you and then I have lube so you can fuck me. Want you to experience it with me.” You murmur, caressing his cheek as you stand naked before him bar the tie.

“On your back or your stomach?” He asks, cupping your tits immediately and squeezing them. “What is comfortable for you? What do you like? How did you imagine me fucking you?”

“On my back. I want to watch you.” You tell him as he pinches your nipples and you gasp out his name. “I want to watch your first time doing this.” You say and you pull a condom out from the flap at the back of the tie. “You ready, Mr. Lord?” You smirk, knowing you’ll be wet from him fucking you like this.

“Bedroom.” Max growls out, snatching the condom out of your hand and resisting the urge to grab the tie to drag you closer for a kiss. Reminding himself that he cannot kiss you, it was your one stipulation. He’s eager to experience this, to show you that he can learn new things. “Get your lube.”

You grab the bottle of lube from the side and you rush into the bedroom, loving how animalistic he is. You fling the tie off and throw it down on the chair as you lay down on the bed. “Get undressed Max.” You order, wanting to watch him strip out of his suit.

Max obeys your order, watching you as he starts to strip his suit off. Your greedy eyes make him feel desirable, wanted. It seems like you truly want him. He unpins his cuffs and slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. "Touch yourself." He orders. "Show me how you prepared yourself for me today."

You spread your legs, laying down to lift your ass into the air a little and you slide your fingers through your wet folds, gathering your arousal before you slide them lower to gently push into your ass, showing him how you’ve opened yourself up as you begin to work your fingers in and out.

“Oh fuck.” Max groans, eyes fixed on your ass as you start to finger yourself. “I should have been here for this.” He shrugs out of his shirt and works his belt open. “I would have jerked off.”

You moan at the thought, “you were busy working. Didn’t want to disturb you. You told me to never answer the phone and I assume that means making calls too.” You tell him and he pushes his pants down along with his briefs to expose his hard cock. “God, baby. Your cock is so gorgeous.” You murmur, “want your fingers first. Work me open a little more.” You say and reach for the lube you threw down on the bed.

“I can work you open more.” He promises, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it as he kneels on the bed. “Don’t want to hurt you. Want you to feel good. Can you cum from having your ass fucked, or is my pretty girl gonna rub her little clit while I fuck you?”

You whimper, “need to rub my clit to cum.” You tell him and he nods, shifting to kneel on the bed and he pulls your fingers from inside of you. “Lube baby.” He orders and you grab the bottle, squirting some onto his fingers so he can replace your digits with his own. When he does, your head tilts back at the stretch and you moan his name.

You’re gorgeous as he stretches you out on his fingers. Pushing deep inside a hole he had never expected to be in. Scissoring his fingers to work you more as you start to grind down on him, “you like that? Does it feel good?” He asks after long minutes working his fingers inside you. 

“Feels good baby. Want you to feel good.” You murmur as he scissors his fingers to open you up and you watch him as he pumps his cock with his other hand. “Fuck me. Need you inside of me.” You demand as you reach for the lube.

Max pulls his finger out of you and rips open the condom with his teeth. Rolling it down his length and groaning when you smear the condom with the lube generously. “I hope you’re ready.” He hisses, “position me.”

You pant as you reach down to position him, heart pounding as he starts to push in and you watch his face as he pushes in. You’re intoxicated by the look of awe on his face as he pushes into you, slow but precise. “Feel good?” You ask him, wanting to enjoy this.

“Tighter.” He groans, unable to believe how your ring of muscles is squeezing his cock. He checks with you, “how- is it good? Slower? Faster? How do you enjoy it?” He doesn’t just want this to be for him. You are supposed to enjoy yourself too, at least that’s what he wants.

You close your eyes for a second before you open them. “Slow at first then you can speed up. I will enjoy it because it’s you, baby.” You promise, reaching up to caress his forearms as he starts to slowly rock into you. You want to see him wrecked from enjoying this new experience. You’re happy to give it to him.

“You’re so fucking incredible.” He groans as he starts to pull back. Keeping your words in mind as he keeps the pace slow. Enjoying the way your body quivers and tenses under him. “Rub your clit for me.” He orders, remembering how you said you needed to in order to cum. “Want you to cum too.”

You nod, reaching down to rub your clit as he starts to move inside of you. “That’s it baby. Move a little faster. Need you to fuck me like you want. That’s what I want.” You tell him with a moan, your hands caressing his.

He groans, picking up the pace slightly as he watches you rub your clit. It’s so interesting watching himself fuck your ass. Watching your cunt flutter around nothing and yet you are moaning and clearly enjoying yourself. 

You moan as he rocks into you, pushing deeper and stretching you out. “So good baby. Oh God, so good.” You whimper as you rub your clit a little faster. “Keep going, Max. I’m gonna cum from it.” You tell him breathlessly.

He twitches inside you, gasping when you clamp down on him again and his next thrust isn’t as patient as the others. It’s more feral, unrestrained but then the next thrust is more like the others.

It’s your turn to gasp as he becomes more confident and pushes deep into you on the next thrust. “Yessss Max.” You moan, frantically rubbing your clit as he pushes into you again and again. You’re so close. The look on his face has your heart pounding and a couple of thrusts later, you’re clamping down around nothing as you squeeze him inside of your ass.

“Fuck, fuck!” Max hisses, unable to control himself as you start to cum. His thrusts turn frantic and he pushes deep as you squeeze him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” He cries out, feeling the pull in his groin and seconds later, he’s filling the condom with a moan of your name.

You watch him in rapture, loving the look on his face as he cums, filling the condom up. “God, that’s it baby.” You caress his arms as he leans down to kiss you but you turn your head, not wanting to break your rule despite really wanting to kiss him. “Good?” You ask him, wanting to know if he enjoyed it as much as you did.

Max nuzzles your cheek and kisses it softly. “Amazing.” He whispers softly, wishing he could kiss you. “Thank you.” He grips the base of the condom and pulls out of you gently. “Do you want to take a bath?”

You nod, needing to relax your muscles. It doesn’t take long for you to be wrapped around him in a bath, you grab the sponge to wash his chest and you kiss his neck. “What’s on for tomorrow?” You ask and he hums, caressing your arms, “polo match.” You nod, “I’ve never been to polo. What do I wear?” You ask,

“A nice day dress.” He hums. “Something flowy, a big hat to keep the sun off you.” You nod eagerly. “I have just the thing. It’s a cute dress with white polka dots, but it doesn’t have sleeves, is that okay?” 

Max shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

**** 

The next day, you and Max arrive at the polo grounds and you are immediately nervous and feel out of the place. Max seems to be in his element mixing with the upper crust and he leaves you with two sisters, going off to see his attorney. “So you’re the flavor of the week.” They giggle and you smirk, “oh no. I’m just using him for sex.” You stride off to find Max.

“Who is this girl? Where did she come from?” Max’s attorney is a nervous sort, who sees corporate spies behind every door. 

“Phil, don’t worry about it, she’s not a spy.” He assures him, but the man is about to stroke out because you’ve found David Morse, or the man found you, and you’re petting his polo pony. 

“See?” He hisses, grabbing Max’s arm. 

“Tell me she’s not a spy!” Max sighs, knowing he can trust his lawyer of nearly fifteen years. “She’s a hooker.” He tells the man in confidence. Phil looks skeptical, but Max nods. “Picked her up on the Boulevard the night that you loaned me the car.” He huffs. “Think Morse has spies turning tricks? There’s nothing to worry about.” Your laughter catches his attention and he looks over to find you laughing with the horse nipping at your palm and he smiles, thinking you look beautiful. “Excuse me.”

Max comes over to you as you say goodbye to David and he wraps his arm around you and you watch as the upper crust go out to pat down the holes on the field as is tradition according to the announcer. You take the glass of champagne Max offers you until he tells you he wants to talk to someone and leaves you on your own. His attorney, Phil, approaches you, his wife off talking to the others, and Phil chuckles. “You know, you dress up nice.” He says and you turn to look at him, “thanks.” He reaches up to gently run his finger down your arm, “yeah. You clean up nice compared to what you must wear on the boulevard.” Your jaw drops slightly and you turn to look at him. “Maybe I’ll have to come and find you when Max is done with you.” He winks and walks off and you clench your jaw, biting back a retort. When Max comes over, you’re silent and you remain silent until you get back to the hotel. 

**** 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Max asks when you storm into the room, straight to the bedroom where you begin to gather the clothes he bought for you.

“You. Telling Phil that I’m a prostitute. He - he said you told him and I- I just thought you wouldn’t be telling everyone there what I am to you.” You spit, zipping up the garment bag.

Max huffs, pissed off at Phil for telling you. “He thought you were a corporate spy.” He snorts, still amused by that. “Was talking about running a background check on you. And you talking to David Morse didn’t help.” He hates that a thread of jealousy had ripped through him when you had been talking to the other handsome guy, annoyed that you might be more interested in him than Max.

“I just - I thought - I thought we would discuss what you told people before you announced to everyone that I’m a hooker.” You huff as you grab your things.

 “You are a hooker.” Max says and your heart breaks. You thought you were- well, never mind. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and you say, “I want to leave. Now.” You grab your purse and Max nods, grabbing his pocket book to throw the money down on the bed. You swallow harshly as he walks out the room and you don’t want his money. You storm through the hotel suite to the doors and you walk away from him, waiting for the elevator.

Max looks back into the bedroom and sees that you’ve left all the money on the bed, his heart aching at the thought of you leaving. His shoes are still off but he walks out of the suite and down the hall to where you are waiting for the elevator car. Pausing for a second when you won’t look at him. “I’m sorry that I told Phil.” He apologizes. “Will you please come back inside?”

You stare at the golden doors, clothes folded over your arms. They open a few seconds later with the bellboy standing there. “Please?” Max asks, his dark eyes wide as he stares at you pleadingly. You bite your lips as you look at him until you sigh, nodding. “Sorry.” You tell the bellboy and you step back towards Max.

He’s relieved that you are willing to come back to the room and he takes your bag and the clothes out of your arms to carry them for you. Biting his lip as he brings them back into the bedroom and the money is still on the bed.

You set the clothes down and your purse, crossing your arms as you wait for him to say something. “You didn’t take the money.” He says and you shake your head, “I don’t want it.” You confess, “it’s - it’s changed. This situation has changed.” You confess and he nods. You step closer to him, “are you…you think I should stay?”

“I do.” He confesses, reaching out and touching your shoulder. “I didn’t like it when you were talking to Morse.” He continues on. You look at him strangely, “we were just talking.” You remind him. “I didn’t like it.” He repeats, feeling almost possessive of you. Sure, he has purchased your time and use of your body, but he also wants your interest, your thoughts.

You turn towards him, cupping his cheek as he admits his jealousy. “Baby. I’m yours. Until I leave.” You tease, leaning in to kiss his chin. “But that won’t be tonight. I want…I want you to show me that you’re sorry.” You smirk, pushing down on his shoulders, “make me cum.” You smile at him as you work on the zipper of your dress, wanting to feel his tongue again. 

**** 

In bed, you turn to face Max and he softly asks you how you ended up in L.A. You sigh, “I followed a boyfriend over here. He - he was a bum. I have always dated bums. One cheated on me. One went to jail. This one…I followed to L.A and he dumped me for some other girl. I refused to go home with my tail between my legs so I got whatever job I could. Even valeted cars for a bit. Then I couldn’t pay my rent. I met Kit and she told me how much she made…how easy it is. I- I decided to do it. No one plans on becoming a hooker but - I cried. The first time. I cried the entire time.” You confess, shifting a little closer to him.

Max frowns, his heart hurting for you, how you must have felt. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs softly, feeling compelled to tell you his story as well. “My ex constantly told me I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t make enough money or I wasn’t a good enough lover.” He snorts. “She paraded lovers through our home and tried to convince me it was my fault.”

“She was an idiot.” You scoff, reaching out to caress his chest. “You’re handsome. You’re funny. You’re smart as hell. You’re rich as fuck. Why would she say you’re not good enough? Pfft. She’s a goddamn fool.” You scoff and Max snorts, pulling you close but not saying a word. His heart thumping in his chest as he holds you close. 

**** 

“What are we doing today?” You ask Max as you walk into the living room in your robe. He looks up from his reports. “Tonight, we are going to the opera.” Your eyes widen, “the opera?” He nods and you are nervous at the thought. “How am I going to understand anything they sing?” You ask and he smiles at you, “it transcends words. Languages.” You nod, “guess I better get another dress.” 

**** 

Max adjusts his cufflinks as you exit the bedroom, wearing the red dress that you can barely breathe in but it’s worth it. It’s gorgeous and you’ve never felt so beautiful. “You like it?” You ask Max, wanting his approval.

“Hmmm.” Max shakes his head slightly. “It’s missing something.” He decides and pulls out a large jewelry box out of his jacket. He had stopped and picked it up on the way back to the hotel. “Now…” he opens it and snaps it back shut before you can see inside. “This is on loan. You can’t keep this.”

Your eyes widen and you giggle when he snaps the lid shut on your hand and you gasp when you see the necklace again. “Max…oh my God.” You are in awe of the jewelry and you look at it. 

“Let’s get it on you.” Max says and you let him escort you over to the mirror. He fastens it on your neck and you touch it, “how much is this?” You ask and your eyes widen when he says a quarter of a million. “A quarter mil?” You gasp and he nods, “on loan.” You giggle and reach for your clutch as Max escorts you through the hotel where everyone looks at you in awe. “Everyone’s staring.” You murmur.

“Of course they are.” Max huffs, proud to have you on his arm. You are gorgeous and look fucking amazing in your dress. “Good evening, Mr. Lord.” The limo driver nods as he opens the door once you are out of the hotel. “The pilot is ready to take off as soon as you arrive.” Max smiles as he helps you into the car. “Good.”

Your eyes widen once more and you lean into his side, unable to say much as you are driven to a small airport and right up to a private jet. “Max?” You gasp as he escorts you up the steps and onto the plane. You didn’t know that this kind of life was real but it is and you’re in awe of the luxury Max lives in.

“I didn’t tell you?” He asks playfully as he guides you towards a seat and he nods when the stewardess asks if you would like champagne before take off. “The opera is in San Francisco.”

You grin, shaking your head in disbelief. “Is this my life?” You ask Max and he chuckles, leaning in to kiss your cheek. 

**** 

When you arrive at the opera house, Max ushers you to your seats which happens to be a balcony. “You said you don’t like heights?” You ask him as you sit down in your seats. “I don’t.” Max says and you lean in closer, “then why did you get these?” 

He chuckles, “because they are the best.” You playfully roll your eyes and he winks at you just as the opera is about to start. You grab the binoculars and try to figure them out. You flip them until Max chuckles and puts them the right way. “Thank you.” You smile and the music begins.

Max looks over at you during the first act and you are completely enthralled. Eyes fixed on the stage and you are twisting your program in your lap as you watch. He finds it almost more entertaining than the opera. Reaching for your hand, he picks it up and kisses the back of it as tears slip down your cheeks from the beauty of the story is conveyed through the emotion of the performance.

The opera ends and you swallow back the lump in your throat as you wipe your tears away. It was beautiful and moving and you’ve never been to anything like it. “Max.” You sigh when you get back to the hotel after a quiet flight back to L.A. “God, Max. That was incredible.” You sigh as you step out of your heels. “Thank you for taking me.” You tell him, reaching up to remove his tie.

Max smiles at you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks, even though he knows you did. Happy that he could give you this experience, he reaches out and touches the loaned necklace. “Remove your dress, but leave the necklace on.”

You smirk, shaking your head at him. “Let’s play chess.” You say, wanting to keep him on his feet even if he’s paying for you. You grab a Diet Coke from the fridge and move over to the table where the chess board is c waiting for Max. “Come play with me.” You demand as Max watches you. He nods and comes over after removing his jacket and tie. “Take tomorrow off.” You say after he’s won a game and you’re on the next.

“What would I do?” He asks with a frown, knowing that he’s come to L.A. to work. To make this deal happen and make a lot of money.

You reach out to rub your foot against his ankle. “Nothing. Anything. Relax.” You tell him, knowing he takes no time to himself. “You could explore the city. Have lunch. Have sex.” You wink, wanting him to have a day to himself when all he does is work.

He purses his lips, about to tease you and remind you that you turned him down, but the idea is intriguing. “We’ll go on a picnic.” He decides. “I’ve not been on one in so long.”

“Let’s do that then.” You grin and stand up, slowly moving around the table to straddle him in his seat. “And for now…I want to show you how much I enjoyed the opera.” You lean in to kiss his neck and his hands find your waist, sliding up to unzip your dress. “Fuck me with this necklace on before we return it.” You murmur into his neck as you bite his ear. 

**** 

You adjust your skirt as Max finishes getting dressed and after he’s ready, you take his hand as he guides you out of the hotel and into Beverly Hills where there’s nothing planned for once in Max’s life.

The two of you manage to find a deli who is willing to put together a picnic basket for the handsome sum Max slipped him. The charming wicker basket hangs from his hand and he feels lighter than he has in a long time. When you reach the park, you take off the stylish flats you are wearing and grin at him. “Take off your shoes.” 

He snorts and looks down at the Italian loafers. “What?”

“Take off your shoes.” You tell him and he stares at you for a second before he follows your order. You lay out the blanket and you sit down as you grab the basket to open it. You eat and watch the people pass by until Max pulls a book out of his pocket. “Shakespeare?” You ask in curiosity.

  “Of course.” Max huffs playfully, as if everyone should carry Shakespeare in their pocket. “What else would we read while drinking wine and laying in the grass?”

You giggle and listen to Max as he reads a sonnet, your head on his chest. Later that day, you go to a small diner and sit and eat at the bar, laughing at Max as he tells a story from his high school days. When you return to the hotel, you tell Max you’re going to go get ready for bed. You change into one of the silky nightgowns that Max bought you and you adjust your hair as you make your way back out into the bedroom. Max is leaning against the headboard, his eyes shut as he finally sleeps. You shift quietly to sit next to him, smiling. “He sleeps.” You murmur, leaning in to gently kiss his cheek, turning your head slightly to kiss his lips. You break your rule to give him a piece of yourself without him knowing you’ve broken your rule.

The next morning, Max apologizes to you about having to leave so early, rushing out of the hotel suite before you can even have breakfast together. He has a meeting with Mr. Morse that the rest of the board doesn’t know about, not even his lawyer. Wanting to talk to the old man one on one. Or with David too, but without the sharks to smell blood in the water.

You gather your things, packing your bag, and you wait for Max to return from his meeting. The doorbell rings and you answer the door, eyes widening when you see Max’s lawyer, Phil. “How are you?” You ask him and he storms in. You shut the door behind you and you watch him as he practically pulls his hair out, walking over to the bar to pour himself a scotch.

“How am I? I wish I knew. I used to know. Just like I used to know how Max was. But now, I think he’s with you.” He tells you, taking a sip of the scotch and staring at you. Max had completely undone all of his hard work, ruined his chances for making a boatload off this deal and it’s all because of you.

“Max will be back soon. Any minute he’ll be home.” You tell Phil who scoffs, “home? This isn’t your home. This is a hotel room and you aren’t the little woman. You’re a hooker.” Your stomach twists and you swallow down the urge to slap him and decide to sit down on the sofa instead. Phil follows, sitting down beside you, and he sets down the empty glass on the coffee table until he places his hand on your bare thigh. 

“So how much is it? You must be good to have Max all tangled up. I wouldn’t mind a piece of that pussy.” Phil says as he slides his hand up higher and you gasp, grabbing his wrist to push him away. He growls and pounces on you, pushing you back into the sofa and you scream, trying to get out from under him. Phil reacts, slapping you across the face to get you to shut up but you scream out again, putting up a fight.

Max had been in a good mood as he let himself into the suite. Ready to tell you about the deal he had struck with Morse. He wasn’t going to dismantle the company anymore, he was going to invest and make sure that Morse enterprises build the ships they wanted to. When he sees Phil on top of you and you struggling, something snaps in him and he rushes over to drag the man off of you, spinning him around and punching him in the mouth. “What is the matter with you!”

“She’s a whore, man.” Phil growls and Max shakes his head, about to punch the man again. Max throws his briefcase down the hall "this is bullshit. Bullshit. I gave you ten years of my life!" Phil cries, throwing up his hands. 

Max shakes his head again. “This is such bullshit. It's the kill you love not me. Get out of here. Get out!" He demands and Phil stumbles down the hall as Max slams the door. You sit on the sofa, nursing your sore cheek and Max immediately rushes to get you some ice. You hiss when he presses it to your cheek, covered in the napkin, and he looks ready to kill. “Are you okay?” He asks, despite knowing you’re not. 

“I’m fine. I- I gotta go.” You choke out, knowing this moment just solidified your leaving. 

“Don’t go.” Max murmurs, “come with me to New York.” 

You shake your head, “I can’t go with you. It’s - it’s always going to be someone. Some guy who finds out what I am and wants something from me. You can’t beat everyone up.” You reach out to caress his cheek, wanting to cry but you remain strong. 

“Stay here then. Stay and I’ll get you a condo. You can have a card to spend whatever you want if you see me when I come back here.” 

You shake your head again. “That’s a mighty fine offer for a girl like me but I can’t take it. I want…I want more than just the castle. I want the prince. I want the fairytale.” You confess, eyes burning into his. 

He nods and stands up, helping you up and you gather your things again. “Stay with me. One night. One more night. Not because I’m paying you but because I want you to.” He pleads softly and you sigh, “I can’t.” 

You watch him as he takes the money and places it in your hand along with his card, stamped with gold. You lean in to kiss his cheek, “you have a lot of special gifts.” 

Max chuckles, “my special gift is complicated relationships.” You smirk, reaching for his hand before you make your way to the elevator. Max watches you go and somehow you make it down to the lobby. You find Barney and tell him you’ve come to say goodbye. “Thank you for everything.” You murmur and lean in to kiss his cheek. 

He smiles at you, “you’re welcome back whenever you wish, goodbye.” He reaches for your hand to kiss the back of it. “The hotel limo will take you wherever you wish to go.” He says and you nod, “stay cool.” You wink and make your way out of the hotel, knowing you’ll never return.

Max walks through the suite, touching the surfaces that you had touched. The table where he had you for breakfast instead of food. The bathtub you had laid in together. He already misses you. He can’t let you go. Picking up the telephone, he’s connected to the front desk. “Yes, Mr. Lord?” The voice on the other end says. 

He bites his lip. “I need the limo and a dozen roses.” He orders.

You arrive back at your apartment and see Kit, telling her your decision to go to San Francisco to start again, to finish school. You pack your things, including your new clothes, and hand Kit some cash before she leaves because she says she can’t handle goodbyes. Your bus leaves soon and you’re about to go when you hear a horn honking. You go out on your rickety fire escape and you see the hotel limo approach, Max hanging out of the roof window and your eyes widen. Opera plays from the car and Max jumps out when the car stops. You lean over as he contemplates what to do when he looks up at the high fire escape and you giggle when he puts the flower stems into his mouth so he can climb up the stairs. “Don’t-” You don’t get to protest as he rushes up and you decide to meet him halfway, chest heaving as you face him. He comes to you, handing you the flowers. “Max?” You gasp and he stands before you. 

“I can’t let you go. I - it’s more than this week. You- you’ve crawled under my skin. Into my heart. I don’t want to let you go, I want you to be mine.” He declares and your heart clenches. 

“I love you Max.” You murmur, stepping closer to him and you cup his cheeks. 

“So what happens after a prince climbs up the tower to rescue the princess?” He asks you breathlessly. 

“She rescues him right back.” You grin and lean in to press your lips to his. He groans and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close and you melt into the kiss. You never imagined you’d be meeting the man you love by walking the boulevard. You thought you’d be down on your luck forever until a handsome man pulled up in a Lotus Esprit to change your life forever.

​​

[gomzdrawfr]

Everything but you

another fic for PriceRaven, BUT this is an art + fic combo fic :3 I'll do a separate post for just the art (or you can check out this clip i posted on twt), so for now, enjoy this mess

this fic is within PriceRaven's cannon timeline, somewhere after MW3 and during fishy arc

tags:

angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, canon-typical violence and behavior, character study (done poorly), grief, major character death (MCD), mention of MW3 content, author trying to be poetic but most likely just messing up the narrative flow, miscommunication, happy ending

author's note:

word count: 6,048 (the back part is not proof read)

the italics are internal thoughts or third perspective thoughts

━━━━━━❆━━━━━━━ [this divider represent a time skip]

Raven knew the possibility of Price having to leave for a period of time, and was fully aware of the escalation of things when the news of Makarov started popping up.

“To update you on the breaking news of a Russian passenger jet that crashed…”

“A hundred and thirty-three passengers and nine crew members were on board the flight…”

“Descending very rapidly…..unexplained descent…..” 

“Kastovia flight 761 bound for sochi…” 

“...just hours after a missile attack on Arklove Military Base…..looks to be a terrorist attack” 

They both knew then, that this would be the beginning of a long separation.

A quick goodbye, a hug and a kiss.

A swift departure, leaving Raven to tend to their home with their two lovely cats, their girls, after the shit show that went down between Cobra and Vik. 

━━━━━━❆━━━━━━━

Months later, Price would return a changed man, sprawled on the front door and drenched by the rain, clutching onto Raven for dear life as he shakes.

She’d never seen this man in this state; never seen Price that would openly show his distress to this level. 

She could deduce that the operations most likely did not go well, and something terrible must’ve happened.

The guess confirms itself in the form of a watch.

Soap’s watch. Resting on his desk.

And later, a conversation.

“We’ll have to abandon everything”

“The house, the plants, the cars-”

“The girls…”

There was a sense of urgency in his tone,  its timbre deepened and solemn since his return. A frown etched between his brows, accompanied by an increased consumption of cigars and even cigarettes.

━━━━━━❆━━━━━━━

“I tied one of many loose ends”

He murmured into her skin in the quiet of night where the world is asleep. Price returned hours ago, dressed in a dark overcoat and a beanie, with a handgun beneath his shirt. 

“Did you now?”

Shepherd huh.

She whispered back, feeling his chin resting on her shoulder, his beard tickling her skin slightly, properly nestled in his arms, but there weren't the usual giggles and laughter that surrounded the two.

No, this was their last night on this bed, on this home.

Their last night in the comforts of their safe haven. 

“Mm” He mumbled back, palms covering her arms as he hugged her closer, spooning her in his arms.

Nervous that somehow, she’ll slip away, taken away from his grasp. 

“....” “Tell me, Pricey” She brushed his knuckles, easing his tension.

“Will you follow me still, Raven….? Even if we have to leave…” he trails off, leaving things unsaid.

She understood fully the gravity of the question. Even if we have to leave away our hopes and dreams, dreams of settling down, growing old peacefully, dreams of comfort and promises of the future.

“Where would I go if not with you, John?”

“...I don’t know, Singapore?”

“...and what does Singapore have to offer again?”

“Really good seafood” 

“So you’re assuming I’ll pick seafood over you?”

“Well, I was hoping you don’t”

A small chuckle escapes her, which made him smile in return, some of the pressure and uneasiness dispersed from this exchange.

“I won’t leave you” She whispered back, holding his hand up to kiss his fingers. Bittersweet murmurs exchanged throughout the night that comforted the two.  “Alright then, Eira”

━━━━━━❆━━━━━━━

It was exhilarating and intense for Raven to get back on the field with Price, joined as an ally to provide much-needed support in the mess and development following the escape of Makarov from the Trojan Horse mission.

But they have to admit it was exhausting having to move constantly without a proper place to settle down.

Physically and mentally.

Which explains why they’re here now, on this island that Raven can only assume that it's a personal island owned by Price.

“You telling me you own this place?!”

“Ah well, I wouldn’t say “own”, birdie…”

She still doesn’t fully comprehend what he meant by that.

It was a much needed break, being surrounded by the ocean and forest, exploring the places, catching fishes and crabs.

Price hasn’t seen Raven smiled this much in a long time.

Raven witnessed a side of Price she had longed to see: relaxed, carefree, and at peace. Yet, beneath his newfound calmness, she sensed something off about Price that hinted at a deeper turmoil within him.

There were moments when he'd gaze into the distance, lost in thought, thinking.

Pondering.

This was, unfortunately, one of the many truths Raven had come to understand about Price.

More often or not that contemplative look of his means he is plotting or thinking ahead of things, which inherently, is not a bad thing.

It only became problematic when he kept these plans from her, setting things in motion without her knowledge.

Because that’s what Price does.

Plan, execute, reflect, repeat. 

The other negative trait from this, is that it always means there is something he was harboring within that was threatening to break apart. Troubles he would rather deal with alone.

Things that slowly etched eats him out bit by bit on the inside. 

Now, Price was a man of many many thoughts, meticulously organized into mental compartments, sealed, and cast into the abyss of the unknown.

A man who had no room for lingering emotions: guilt, anger, sadness – anything that could hinder his motives, his plans, his every step. 

A man that is calm, quiet, composed and in control, with a constant battle inside he can never say or show.

Behind his eyes, Raven saw it all.

The ocean behind those eyes of his are no longer violent and roaring, similar to when they had to toss their belongings into a pool of fire after that last night in their home.

Freedom tastes like ash and anger after all.

His eyes are now shrouded in darkness, like the deep blue sea.

Suffering and screams muffled in silence.

Drowning.  

━━━━━━❆━━━━━━━

“Up for a ride, birdie?”

“Sure”

It wasn’t uncommon for them to venture into the sea at night, they would drive out in their trusty lil boat (named Cash ‘n’ Fly) far enough until the horizon stretched endlessly, with a seamless line between the sea and the starry sky.

It creates an illusion of infinite space and solitude.

A small escape from everything.

What set this trip apart was the cigar hanging loosely between Price’s lips.

She counted the amount of cigar he used daily, and it was reduced to one or two per day during their break.

So to see him light it up, the fourth one of the day, right now, especially when it's dark and quiet, it could only mean one thing.

“You know…Eira”

And so it begins.

Everything but you.

She had anticipated this conversation, in some form or another.

She didn’t know it would be…this.

Leaving me with the island? I’ll have everything?

And I am supposed to be content with this?

Price was a hardened soldier, a veteran.

A seasoned Captain that has done enough chaos and has enough body piles up below him more than he could handle.

Battles stitched across his skin and back, hands coated in blood and regrets that clung onto his soul.

Far from a savior, close to a sinner.

Hands that were better suited for violence, instead of softness.

It should’ve been just another one of those moments, where he’d tell off some of his men, his soldiers, people who depended on him, boys and girls alike, to leave, to never come back.

To leave him.

So why is it so different when it comes to…the person before him now?

Why does this ache so differently?

What Price has in mind, doesn’t quite align with what John wants.

Needs.

John craves for the simplicity of being loved. Yearns for warmth and understanding, desperate for someone to look into his eyes and see the real him.

John thinks about Eira, thinks about her, her hands, her voice, and he wants more, more and more, a beast that is never satisfied, that can never get enough.

John wants to drown in love. In her.

Price fears that John loves more than he is ever allowed to. 

Price wants what is right.

It’s for the best.

The one sentence that helps justify everything, doesn’t it? 

“....”

Price watches as she stood up abruptly after a long uncomfortable silence, seeing her approaching the bow of the boat-

“Raven?--”

A loud splash was heard, and his body moved before he could process anything.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?? RAVEN??”

Raven, out of all the possible reactions he has anticipated, does none of what he expected and dives into the black sea.

“I'm going back to land!” She yells back with a strain, huffing as she proceeds to swim to the general direction of where the shore was. 

“That’s way too far!! You’ll freeze your arse before you could even reach it!!” “GOOD, I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DIE IN THE OCEAN ANYWAYS”

“EIRA!!”

God dammit.

He quickly drove the boat, starting up the engine to propel the boat towards her, careful not to hit her as he quickly pulled her aboard.

“What–what are you trying to achieve by doing something stupid like this?”

“Nothing productive”

“Ei-”

He stops mid-sentence, seeing her freezing and trembling form, sea water coating her entire form as she shakes like a leaf on the wood.

For a split second, he wanted to ask if she cried, when he saw the red corners from her eyes.

Instead, he took off his jacket and outer shirt to wrap it around her.

The ride home was nothing but silence.

━━━━━━❆━━━━━━━

A letter and a necklace, that should be all.

Price thought to himself as he placed the necessary items on the table outside their room, with a heavy bag on his left as his thumb lingered on the necklace.

An owl head marble piece hangs at the end of it, an item he found comfort in whenever they were separated.

Not like it would be…of any use now.

He brushed it one last time, before heading out, leaving Raven behind.

At least, that’s what he intended to do, to leave behind the one person he had willingly, and stubbornly let into his life.

And now, he’s walking away like a mad man.

He sees Nik’s heli in the far distance, the sight both a relieving but solemn reminder of what is about to happen.

Usually, he wouldn’t think.

Just walk, it’s right there.

Yet, he stays rooted in the sand, as if waiting for a miracle.

“Is that it?!” A shout made him flinch slightly, turning around only to be completely knocked down into the sandy beach.

“You think you can throw me aside like a doll, a birdie with songs you’ve grown bored of, is it?”

“Wha-”

A loud clean slap, with the sting now buzzing on his left cheek as his eyes widened.

“You– you don’t get to decide what’s right for me”

“Listen here you– prick! Old geezer whatever the fuck you are right now-” 

“You only get to choose me once, you either live with me forever, or we live our lives apart”

“Can you live your life without me?”

“Eira–”

“Don’t you dare say anything other than to answer my questions”

A long uncomfortable silence stretched between them, as Raven stayed straddling his chest as he lay against the sand that felt like it was burying him up.

It wasn’t when he felt the warm drops of tears on his cheek that his eyes truly met her. 

“....do I mean nothing to you? Am i…just another pawn for you in the grand scheme of things? That could be abandoned once you’re done?”

“What happened to staying together through thick and thin? What about the vows you exchanged when you put this ring on my finger?”

More tears streamed down her face, hands shakily but tightly gripping his collar

“Answer me, coward”

That finally broke Price out of the trance as he quickly reached up to cup her face, brushing away the droplets of pain and sorrow that dampened her delicate face.

“I have to go…” “Why…? Just…just why?” “I wrote everything in the letter-” “I don’t care about the damn letter…tell me straight in the face”

“I can’t-” “John, please”

“I CAN’T LOSE ANOTHER ONE–”

Now it was Raven’s time to pause, a frown that formed for a split second before it softened.

“....” She sighs, letting go of his collar as she cradled his cheeks.

“....you know you won’t” “That’s what I said to him too…you know”

“....it wasn’t your fault”

“sunshine…I called him sunshine…Eira….I-”

“You didn’t know”

“I should’ve…”

His eyes glistened as vision blurred, the months of unshed grief escaping, cascading down to the sand.

Price never got to grieve, it swirls inside, a little bit like a black hole, like infinity. 

A small part of him is lost with every soldier and civilian he loses.

And Soap took a big chunk of him, a good part perhaps, one of his– kinder shards. 

Another, is stuck frozen in the moment, in the tunnel. No goodbye, just an absence, sudden, abrupt end, a gunshot louder than any screams that ensues.

Price tends to get rid of grief, one way or another, because it reminds him of his mistake, because it feels like he is holding onto a lost cause.

But here’s the thing about loss, grief is hanging onto love.

It is why it is always felt at all times.

Even on days where he thought he’d healed, while other days it was like old wounds opening up deeper than before.

There was not a day where he wouldn’t miss his favorite Scottish gremlin. 

And if his absence was strong enough that it makes it hard to breathe, he could only imagine what it would be like if Eira’s gone as well.

“I can’t lose you”

There is no more desperate creature, than a human being on the verge of losing love.

She sighs, leaning down as she lays down next to him on the sand ungraciously, staring up the sky with him

“....leaving me alone here on this island doesn’t guarantee my safety either, you know that right?”

“I have my people watching you here…” “And a tsunami could come and drown us all”

“Well if that happens I would know-” “No, no you won’t”

She can tell he was about to argue as she shushes him gently, turning to face him, uncaring for the sharp sandy stones that scratched into her ear.

“You can’t always take the blame for things out of your control”

She murmured, holding his palm

“...and you can’t let your worry cloud your conscious and…do something stupid like this”

“Don’t push me away, when you’ve already made a place in my heart that will never be replaceable by anyone.”

“....you think this was dumber than you jumping into the ocean?”

“Absolutely” He chuckles lightly, raising a brow as he smiles.

“I don’t want to be…your regret, John” She whispered, voice breaking a little

“Even if we were not meant to be together…we’ve proved that idea wrong, time and time again…”

He shifted, sitting up slightly as he pulls her onto his lap, hands brushing away the sand on her hair slightly (failing, sands are stubborn lil shits) as he lets out a quiet sigh

“I dream of a time where…the universe was never wrong to begin with, and you’re mine to keep…forever”

“Well you ought to pick a better dream” She smiles, leaning up as she landed a small kiss on his nose

“This dream is already true, because Im yours forever, and ever”

“You are stuck with me, whether you like it or not”

“I suppose I am, aren't I…” “Absolutely…” He smiles, and hugged her tightly, everything about this felt neither wrong or right.

It felt like home.

“Now, are you going to continue mopping around in the sand or will Nik start throwing a tantrum when we get there? Last time he did he defied physics..."

“Im sure man’s busy with the coconuts and alcohol over there, plus we need to get your stuff–”

“It’s in your bag”

“my–what?”

He unzips the cover, and realize that somehow Eira’s sneaked her belongings inside

“No wonder it got heavier…” “Im telling you, you’re an idiot” He laughs slightly, ruffling her hair as they stood up, pulling her closer by the ends of her shirt as he kissed her forehead.

“Yes…but I’m your idiot…”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 6) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

-

And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root.

You repeat that to yourself when you catch the way you glance out the kitchen window again, surreptitiously watching John. It’s hard to pull your eyes away. He walks over to the well to fetch water for you to do the dishes, the chore you’d elected to take when he offered you the choice between that and feeding the horses. It’s a fair compromise since you balk at the thought of getting anywhere near either of those beasts. 

Watching him bend over the well to lower the bucket down, his muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and suspenders drawing tight against his back, makes you bite your lip. Then scowl. Then pull the curtain shut to block out the view.

You have to cut any gentleness off at the root. 

When he comes back, you step to the side without a word to let him pour the water into the wash basin, hot water from the teakettle and lye soap making the water already in the pan sudsy. In a sense, it’s not any different from anything you’ve done back home; the same two pans for washing and scalding, the same cake of soap, and the same dish towel to dry the dishes off at the end. The only difference is the man that pours the cool water into the basin to make it more comfortable for your hands. 

“I’ll be out back,” he tells you, before grabbing you around the waist and pulling you in close to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of your head. You only scrunch your nose a little. “When you’re done, come get me. Got business in town.”

“Why do you need me to come with you?” you ask, lips cresting into a pout without a thought. You’d never considered yourself a bellyacher, but it’s almost second nature around John. “I can…I can stay and clean the house.”

“You saying I keep a messy home?” John asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You look pointedly down at the dirt he tracked into the kitchen after fetching the bucket of water from the well. “It could do with a spit shine.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, a bellow from deep in his belly. It shakes you to your bones. 

“Darling, I’ll be honest with you,” he says, turning you to face him before folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust you not to bolt like a runaway horse, and you’ll only wind up putting yourself in danger if you try to make a run for it out here.”

That expression makes your stomach twist. “Good to know you think of your wife as some scared filly.” 

“You talk a whole lot for a woman who’s been over my knee. Do we need to repeat that?”

When his tone goes stern, you lose the wedging piece of candor keeping you upright. Eyes widen and then narrow. He’s been patient despite your loose tongue, but when that patience slips, you can see the steel underneath his gentle exterior. It’s the true root of him. 

You clam up under his stare, sullen and begrudging. Smooth your dress down to have something to do with your hands. You’ve forgotten your place again. Side-stepped it out of intimacy or misplaced trust or naivety or forgetting, again, for the umpteenth time, that the world is not a place for women that open their mouths. So you keep it shut, trap every festering word behind your teeth. 

He must not like something he sees painted on your face because his brows draw closer together, frustration brewing anew in his eyes. The longer you stay quiet, the more irritated he grows, his nostrils flaring wide. 

“See that you come get me as soon as everything’s squared away in here,” John bites out, pointing a single, blunt finger at you. “Else I’ll come get you myself.”

And we wouldn’t want that, you think, surly. You hope it swims across your eyes. Blooms on your face. Perhaps it does. 

The lines around his mouth and eyes grow more defined when he smiles. His whole mustache moves with his smile, every part of his face expressing his satisfaction. It’s beyond infuriating. He taps you on the nose with his knuckle before leaving out the backdoor, not sparing you a backward glance. You nearly shake with indignation. 

It’s hard not to watch him out in the paddock while drying the dishes though, not with him set against the gilded sun. You inch the curtain slightly open, just enough of a gap to peer through. The Stetson shadows his face when he tilts his head up towards the sky, the hard edge of his jaw the only thing that meets your gaze. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a man out in the fields or pastures, but most of those have been at a distance, removed. Glimpsed briefly through the window while your train barreled on past acres of farmland. 

John cycles through the morning tasks of guiding the horses into the paddock by a lead fixed to their halter, replenishing the food trough, and fetching more water from the well to fill the water trough. His horses are striking in the sheer size of them; muscled shoulders and legs, and well-padded flanks. Most of the horses you’ve seen out west haven’t seemed nearly as well-fed, many whittled down to rib and hip bone. 

It says something about him, but you’re not ready to confront exactly what. You turn your attention back to the dishes, scrubbing the last of the dried butter and eggs at the bottom of the pan. It takes a little extra grit, but cleaning is a familiar chore—it’s one you’ve done all your life, what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You don’t like what you find when you finally venture out of the house to track him down. 

“I’m not getting on that thing.” 

You put your veritable foot down with that, arms straight and stiff by your sides, more out of worry than annoyance. You do also give a little stomp for good measure, but you’ll chalk that up to reflexes should John inquire. 

He doesn’t. Just stares down at you with unimpressed green eyes that haunt your days and nights now. Tells you without telling you that you’ll get on that horse, willing or not. 

It’s not for a lack of beauty that you can’t quite shake the nervousness they elicit in you. Buttercup, the one that John saddled up and now waits patiently to be mounted, keeps her head low as if sensing your disquiet, curiosity glimmering in her coal black eyes. Not even the animal curiosity of is this a friend or foe, but the curiosity that comes with pure trust, almost intelligible that way. 

John runs his hand down her smooth, buttery flank. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s walk?”

“I didn’t hate it.” Truth be told, you’d hardly been of a mind to notice it at all. Though your legs still ache from the walk back to John’s house, the walk itself had not seemed especially grueling in the moment. The mind can put aside quite a bit when it has something else to focus on. 

“Well, I’m not too keen to repeat it.” He leaves it at that, tightening a strap on Buttercup’s saddle in such a purposeful way that your shoulders tense. 

“I could meet you there,” you say, a touch desperately. Your stomach turns when you think about hoisting yourself up onto Buttercup’s saddle. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s not something you’ve ever done or ever considered doing. You remember horror stories of stableboys back home trampled under their hooves and stomped to death, kicks so powerful that they could break a fully grown man’s ribs or cave in his face. 

“My wife isn’t gonna wander into town by her lonesome like some vagrant,” John says disdainfully, almost scoffing. Insulted by the whole idea. “And you’re sure as hell not staying here alone, darlin’.”

“Well, figure something else out because I am not getting up on that thin—” You cut off on a yelp when he circles around you and abruptly lifts you up. Your head rushes at the sudden motion, legs flailing beneath you. 

“Quit squirmin’ like a damn barn cat. Little hellion,” John grits out, guiding your heel into the stirrup. “C’mon, you’re just side saddling, so you only need your butt on the saddle.” When he sets you down lightly onto the saddle, you stop wiggling around, acutely aware of the thousand pound horse beneath you. “There we go—that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” 

“I hate this,” you hiss, fingers clamped tight over the pommel. 

“Aw, darlin’, don’t go insulting Buttercup like that,” John chuckles, replacing your foot in the stirrup with his own.

You sit there stiff as a board, perched precariously on the saddle as he hoists himself up behind you. His sheer proximity doesn’t register right away. You’re too concerned with the moving beast under you, its ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. Unlike you, John is more than comfortable sitting astride the horse, not a smidgeon of tension in his body. You suck in a horrified breath when you feel him readjust himself before settling down more comfortably. 

He reaches around you to grab the reins, a sharp whistle signaling the horse to take her first stride forward, looping around the side of the house. Even the slow trot threatens to buck you off at first. You lurch forward with each step, certain that you’ll slip right off the saddle and onto the dusty ground below until John loops an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest.

You grow stiffer in his arms somehow. Despite sleeping in the same bed the night before and sharing far too many kisses for your comfort or virtue, being pressed up tight against a man never gets easier. Perhaps if you’d been married for longer than a single day you’d be more at ease with the notion, but as of yet, it comes as a shock to the senses every time. 

You carefully avoid the thought that other married women wouldn’t be still in possession of their maidenhead so many hours after their wedding night. That’s none of your business.

The two of you navigate into town at a slow canter, allowing you to gradually acclimatize to the gait of a horse. Part of you remembers riding horses when you were younger, but that was a lifetime ago, long enough to shake the memory from your muscles. These days, you can barely remember the hands holding you steady, the ones that would’ve lifted you up onto the horse and helped you back down. Those people are faceless in your memories. 

John stays silent at your back, only tightening his hand around your hip when you slip the slightest bit when Buttercup picks up the pace, heading towards the familiar sight of the sheriff’s office. It draws a quick squawk out of you, neatly masked by a fake cough. His chuckle at that rumbles through you, clearly not buying it. Another lesson in humiliation. 

You manage not to flail as much when he gets off the horse and helps you down, even though you’re still not used to being manhandled so, particularly not in front of the townsfolk milling about and glancing over with undisguised interest. 

“Are you working today?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you while John ties Buttercup’s lead to the post outside the sheriff’s office. 

“Don’t exactly get many days off when you’re the only sheriff in the county,” John replies. “We’ve got a few deputies in every town, and a couple here, but it ain’t an easy gig.”

“How many deputies have you got here?” 

“Just the three. Simon, John, and Kyle. You met Simon the other day.” 

His name draws up the faint memory of the masked deputy from your wedding ceremony. “I remember,” you say flatly. There’s no lost love between you and anyone involved with that sham of a wedding. 

“Don’t hold that against him,” John smiles. “He’s a good ole boy. Can’t fault a man for following the boss’ orders.”

Watch me. You glance away lest he see that thought etched across your face. 

The town is bustling with activity this late in the morning. Steps and floorboards creak under the weight of boots coming and going. A man going by in a horse-and-buggy whistles sharply when he cracks the reins, his horse puffing out a low, frustrated grunt. 

Men hustle past you decked out in leather chaps and waistcoats, spats covering the half-boots of those not decked out in tall, spurred cowboy boots. There are far less women scampering about town than men, particularly not so close to the sheriff’s office, but you keep finding your eyes drawn to them. 

John grips you under the arm and swiftly pulls you back when you narrowly sidestep a mound of horse droppings left uncovered in the middle of the road. The smell only hits you a second later. 

“Well, that’s lovely,” you remark, deadpanned, putting your foot down deliberately a good distance away. 

“Wouldn’t need to complain about it if you just watched your step.”

“You know, this really would’ve been a nice day to just stay home,” you mutter, chastised enough not to say something sharp in return. 

While the smell makes your nose wrinkle, you have to admit that the air here is far less pungent than back home. In general, this bucolic town is far more pleasant in certain respects than the city you’d left behind in a haste. 

“Where do you want me to wait for you?” you ask, turning to face him now at the front steps of the sheriff’s office.

He frowns. “Wait for me?”

“While you work, I mean. Surely you don’t mean for me to sit inside all day twiddling my thumbs while you work.”

His mustache twitches with a smile. “Thought I’d show you around first—get you acquainted with the locals.”

The idea of mingling with the townsfolk doesn’t appeal to you, but you also can’t think of a good enough reason to refuse. Especially with the curious glances already being sent your way. You duck your head to stare down at your boots when you spot a group of other women clustered together and whispering to each other, their eyes trained on you. Somehow you’ve gone from being furniture in a room to being a source of local gossip, and it’s almost hard to believe that you miss being ignored. 

When you look back up at John, you find him still staring down at you, waiting patiently. Up close, the sunlight almost turns patches of his beard gold; he has a smattering of moles across his face, not the blush of freckles but rather a few dark spots by his nose. Aside from the tuft of hair under his bottom lip, his chin is mostly bare, and when he smiles, his whole face moves with it. You have to blink to snap yourself out of it. 

Your upper lip curls involuntarily when you say, “So you want to help me make friends?” 

“Well, seeing as I know most of ‘em, figured I’d be a help.”

“The job’s really not all that busy then, huh?” You really wish you could learn to shut your mouth, since it keeps getting you in trouble, but the barbs roll off your tongue so naturally. Luckily, it seems to amuse him now more than it did early this morning. 

“Guess life isn’t as exciting ‘round here as it is back in the city, but it has its days,” John chuckles. “Now come on; I’ll give you the tour.”

For some reason, you hadn’t pictured the town being quite so big, but during your walk, you realize you’ve vastly underestimated the true size of it. Though not anywhere near as ostentatious as the cities back east, the sheer breadth of it eclipses anything from back home. It’s spread out on an incomparable scale, the mountains in the background stretching out along the horizon like the skeletal remains of a giant long since dead and decayed.  

It’s not the ramshackle town you envisioned when you stepped off the train the other day, despite the wooden facades and their brightly painted signs. You almost wish you had more time just to admire the craftsmanship, but John leads you from store to store like he’s on a mission.

He seems most interested in towing you around like some prized mare, all trussed up and clean from your bath the night before. You meet so many people that their names and faces all begin to blur together. The worst offense of all is that it makes you lean on John for support, looking up at him again and again for reassurance whenever you can’t answer a question or your answer triggers a moment of awkward silence. 

Those moments come aplenty too. The few people nosey enough to ask you about your life back in the city find themselves on the butt end of a cheerfully delivered lie from John. It unnerves you at first, seeing how comfortable he is with lying. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second when recounting your previous life as a schoolteacher in Connecticut prior to your engagement.

Perhaps it’s not a lie though. You don’t know the extent to which he and his original betrothed corresponded. Certainly not enough for him to suspect you of not being her, but maybe she’d spun him that story. Or maybe it had been the truth. All this time you’d thought that John had been swindled by some con artist using desperate men to fund her lifestyle, but maybe somewhere between here and Connecticut, there’s an unmarked grave with the corpse of the woman that John had intended to marry. 

That makes you feel guilty somehow, like you’ve taken something not meant for you. Even if you hadn’t wanted it—in fact, been forced into taking it. 

You swallow that thought when John leads you into the general store. Your eyes bug at the sight of a blonde haired woman in khaki cloth knickerbockers stocking the shelves, who turns at the sound of the door creaking open, the sharp look on her face melting away at the sight of John.

The warmth in her face infuriates you more than it should. You have no right to feel this way—or, some right, but you resent the fact that you do as well. 

“Hi John,” she greets. Her voice is deeper than you anticipated, springtime crisp like a babbling brook. 

“Laswell,” John greets, scooping his arm around your side until he can palm the side of your hip, dragging you in close. You stumble into him, catching yourself with a hand on his chest. Your neck and face go hot when Laswell’s eyes turn on you, curiosity glinting in them. 

“Your lady finally showed up then,” she surmises. “I’ll be honest, I was starting to think you made her up. Told the boys to think about forcing you into an early retirement.”

John huffs at that. His fingers tighten at your waist when Laswell says your lady, as if the words alone make it fact. Speak it into being. The metal burns against your ring finger. In a sense, it is fact, despite the subterfuge. You wonder if it would hold up in court, but out here, it’s real enough. 

“Well, she’s very real, as you can tell.” He gives you a little shake with the hand on your waist. “Say hi, darlin’.”

If looks could kill, yours would be pit-viper venom. You’d leave behind a festering puncture mark and a body in the throes of envenomation. “Excuse me?”

Your attitude might come at a cost this time because he looks unamused at your back talk in front of an audience. “Darlin’.” It’s said like a warning. 

You bite your tongue instead of lashing out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kate Laswell; I own this little shop,” she says, introducing herself and stepping forward to hold out her hand. You have to step forward to take it, pulling you out of John’s arms. It feels familiar being on your own, certainly more natural than being constantly at John’s side the way you have for almost two days now. It’s also a bit cold after having John’s warmth at your back or side at all times. 

There’s a moment when you realize that Kate is the first person you’ve had to introduce yourself to, John having introduced you to everyone else you’d come across. It hovers on the tip of your tongue when you realize that you could just say your real name, and you find yourself torn between setting it free and the odd fear of John’s reaction. 

You chicken out at the last second, giving Kate the same name as the one John introduced you by to everyone else in town. 

“He might growl like a bear, but you’ll get used to that,” she says, winking.

You frown. Awfully familiar talk for someone who isn’t his wife. Why should she know that? 

You make yourself push that thought away, reminding yourself again that it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your concern. 

“He’s been a gentleman,” you croak instead, smile so thin that it might as well be a grimace. 

A shout from the bar across the street startles you, drawing your attention away from the conversation. John stills too. A series of raised voices puts him on alert, and then someone inside the bar must fire a gun because the violent crack of one makes you scream, the noise pulled involuntarily from your chest. 

“Stay here,” John growls, his pistol already drawn. He’s out the door before you can respond, darting across the street towards the bar and shouldering the door open so hard that it rattles in its frame. You watch everything happen through the window of the general store with your heart in your throat. 

“Good Lord,” you whisper, hand over your mouth. Kate stands beside you in a similar manner, her eyebrows pinched in concern. 

The thought doesn’t even occur to you that now would be the perfect time to make a break for it, with John busy across the street. Your feet are rooted in place; you doubt you’d be able to take so much as a single step towards the door. 

There’s precious little that you can see through the grit-lined bar windows, not as dusty and dirty as they are, but you can hear the commotion from inside. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. It makes you flinch, heart galloping at an even faster pace. Like harness horses on the Freehold Raceway. It’s not long before you see a large, masked man hightailing it down the road towards the bar, dust clouding around his boots with each heavy step. 

You recognize him almost instantly as the man from your wedding, the one that signed your marriage license. John’s man—Simon. He nearly takes the bar door off its hinges when he throws it open, barely in there a second before he and John come out each with a man in hand, both already handcuffed and looking roughed up They drag them stumbling down the dirt road towards the sheriff’s office, Simon half-dragging another man whose white button-down is slowly saturating with red blood oozing out of a gunshot wound in his belly.

“Shouldn’t they call a doctor for that man?” you ask Kate in a frantic voice, whipping around to face her. 

She nods. “They probably will once they’ve got the four of them locked up. Doctor probably heard that anyway—he’ll be on his way, I bet.”

“On his way already?”

“There’s only one doctor around here. And not much else sounds like a gunshot.”

“Does that happen a lot around here?” You don’t know why the thought makes you nervous, but there’s a cramp in your belly and a sweat building up on the back of your neck and your hands itch to grab something. When you swallow, it almost doesn’t go down. 

“It’s not uncommon. I reckon it’s not something you’re used to?”

You purse your lips. “I’ve seen a dead body before.” You don’t know why that comes out so defensively, like a slight that’s been levied against you. There’s no easy way to dispel the myth in everyone’s mind that you come from a life of comfort and ease, with delicate hands fit for delicate work. You curl your hands into fists at the thought, conscious of the old scars and calluses built up over years of scrubbing and cleaning. If she were to look down, she wouldn’t see the well-kept hands of a lady. 

When Kate quirks an eyebrow, you realize that your response had nothing to do with her question. “Well, look at you.”

When John and Simon disappear into the jailhouse, the door swinging shut behind them, you sway on your feet for a second, feeling oddly unbalanced. Something about the sight of the man’s blood leaves you feeling woozy, taking the chair that Kate offers you when she sees the way you rock back on your heels. 

“Let me get you something to drink,” Kate offers, brows now furrowed sympathetically at the pathetic sight you must be. “I’m sure you got a little fright thinking of your husband facing down a man with a gun, but I’m afraid that comes with marrying a sheriff. There’s danger everywhere, you know.”

What you don’t say is that your lightheadedness came not just from the sight of the man with the blood leaking from a wound in his stomach, but the grim look on your husband’s face as he carted away the man responsible, eyes hard as steel. No sympathy for the man in his hands. Only another criminal to be tossed away in a jail cell. The punishment for making another man bleed.

Your hands shake in your lap, but you don’t say that. Instead, you smile weakly and take the glass of water from her hands when she comes back from filling it at the sink. “You’re right. Just a little fright.”

[princessdimondheart]

Tells | Ghost x Secret Wife! Reader

Pairing: Ghost x f! Reader

Warnings: blood, wounds, pregnancy, 🥺

Edited: No

A/N: I really wanted to do my own take on this idea. Hope you like it.

Masterlist

Character banner ©️ Me

Johnny wasn’t sure how he hadn’t realized it before, after being introduced to his Lieutenant’s wife. There were small, subtle tells that gave away Ghost having a significant other, but he never put the pieces together. Honestly, Johnny was a little upset because he’s in the SAS- he should be able to see things like this. 

The first time he noticed something was strange with Simon was when they were gathering their gear right before going to another mission. They were placing the last of their equipment into their bags. Simon had not put his black skeleton gloves on yet so his wrists were exposed. Johnny didn’t notice anything different until Simon rolled up his sleeves like usual. And there it was. 

A hair tie. 

He didn’t think much about it. Maybe he found it laying around the base. No. That would be weird and there weren’t that many women frequenting the same places as Simon anyways. 

Could he be using it to snap at his wrist when or if he got anxious? Nah.. Ghost stays focused on missions. Johnny doubted Ghost would let anxiety pull a fast one on him in the field. 

Oh! Simon is definitely growing his hair out. Johnny wondered if his balaclava was comfortable with long hair. So he pointed it out. 

“Growing your hair out L.t.?” His lips curled into a little smirk. 

Simon looked up from the full magazine in his hands. Only his eyes gave away his confusion. “No? Why?”

“Your hair tie.” Johnny nodded to his right wrist. “Never took ya for a purple-wearin’ kind of guy, sir.”

Ghost blinked at his Sergeant and then glanced to his aforementioned wrist. Sure enough a bold purple hair tie was bound to his lower arm. Simon was sure he had removed it before leaving home earlier that day. 

“Oh… must have forgot.” Simon spoke absentmindedly. He was remembering his wife. He had gotten home before her and when she came he helped her remove her ponytail, completely forgetting about the hair tie once their kisses got the better of them. 

Simon didn’t say anything else, so Johnny shrugged it off and continued filling his bag with ammunition. Not even two minutes after he forgot what they were talking about when Captain Price called them over. 

~~~~~

The next time something was different with Ghost, Johnny wasn’t even the one who noticed it first. It was Gaz who pointed it out. 

After a long and hard mission, Task Force 141 had finally arrived at base. The team desperately needed showers, so right after hoping off the helicopter everyone went straight to their barracks. 

After their most loved showers everyone went to the mess hall for some real food and not the field MREs they had been eating for the past few weeks. There Kyle had already gotten his portion of food and was digging in. Soap and Price were sitting across from him too, but no Ghost in sight. Simon came in almost halfway through their dinner and sat next to the young Sergeant. The food on his tray was not being eaten. 

That’s when Kyle smelled it. A fruity smell was wafting from the freshly showered SAS powerhouse next to him. Ghost smelled of fresh cut pomegranates and some other fruit notes. It took him by surprise. Kyle would have normally pictured Ghost as a strict standard-issue soap kinda user, not a fruity one. 

“Did they change the regular soaps, sir?” Gaz took the risk. 

Johnny had finished chewing and looked up at his L.t. and Kyle with a questioning look. Then he leaned forward on the table to take a sniff. 

“Is that pomegranate, L.t.?” Johnny chuckled. He’d take any chance to tease his superior. 

Ghost gave them a subtle glare. He had hoped no one would have noticed his mistake. He’d been in a hurry to leave home and well…

“I grabbed the wrong bottle.” He deadpanned then turned to Price, who was shaking his head in disapproval at the two, to ask about any new leads. Clearly, the conversation was over. 

~~~~~

The third time was when their mission went FUBAR. Ghost and Soap had gotten separated from Captain Price and Gaz when their enemies tried to ambush them. In the chaos Soap was shot in the leg, but with Ghost’s help, he was able to escape and hold out until it was safe enough for them to head to the rendezvous point for extraction. 

Now that they were relatively safe, Ghost was searching his packs for supplies to help Johnny with. Johnny wasn’t particularly paying too much attention to what he was doing since he was bleeding out and moaning in pain, but he definitely noticed when Ghost used a tampon to plug the gunshot wound in his thigh. 

“Fuckin’ hells, Ghost! Where’da fuck yous get a bloody tampon from!?”

“It’s an essential tool for survival.” He honestly had no idea how that slipped into his med pouch. Johnny guessed it was so if Ghost had said it. 

~~~~~

Next time they were somewhere in Africa, most definitely melting with the heat. A great bonding experience for the two of them. Their only relief was a slow moving breeze. Soap and Ghost were staking out one of a known terrorist cell’s many compounds. All was quiet for now. 

“Johnny?” Ghost didn’t move from his position, eyes dead on his scope. 

Johnny looked over. “Yeah, L.t.?”

“Once we’re done here, I’m taking you somewhere important. Keep your schedule clear.” Simon’s deep voice sounded out softly. 

“Oh… alright.” He didn’t know what to say. “Okay. Definitely, Simon.” 

He looked back towards the compound. Simon had glanced at that moment to see his little smile. His eyes crinkled. 

~~~~~

True to his word, after their stakeout mission was completed, Simon hauled Johnny into his car and began to drive them to who knows where. All Johnny knew was that the drive took several hours from their base in London to wherever they were in the countryside. 

They were nearly at their destination when Simon pulled them into a long driveway and pressed a button controller on his shade that opened the metal gates. Going through, the road was surrounded by open pastures on both sides. When Johnny looked around more closely he noticed a few horses, and, was that a cow? They were grazing on the lush grass. Was his L.t. taking him to a farm?

“Where are we, sir?” He had to ask. 

“You’ll see, Johnny.” Simon had slowed down so as to not spook any of the animals grazing. 

Two minutes later and the car pulled up to a nice two-story cottage home. It was made from stone and appeared to be like a fairy tale type of house. Johnny quite liked the look of it. He noticed that the lights were on. 

Simon opened the locked door, then took off his skull balaclava. It was clear that he was comfortable enough to forego it. “I called ahead, so dinner should be ready soon.”

Dinner? Who’s made them dinner? Johnny didn’t question him and just nodded. Simon stepped inside, none of the wooden boards squeaked when he walked in them unlike when Johnny stepped on them. His steps alerted the person in the kitchen. A delicious smell was coming out in soft waves. The person poked their head out to see who was there. They weren’t worried because they knew that only Simon had the extra key. 

“I’m home.” Johnny noticed a softness in his voice that he hadn’t heard before. Simon’s large frame was blocking his view of the person. A dog suddenly burst from the kitchen barking at Simon before realizing who he was. It sat down when he started to pet him, his butt wiggling with the fast beat of his tail. Cute. Then the dog, a German shepherd, turned to him and started sniffing him with caution. Johnny let him sniff his hand and after a bit he licked his hand and wagged his tail. Approved. 

“Welcome home, Simon!” The person’s voice was distinctly feminine. Johnny had moved closer to Simon and the kitchen, so when the woman fully came into view he saw her right away. 

She went in for a hug and that’s when Johnny noticed a small, yet significant distance between the two. She was pregnant and her baby belly was making it a little harder to hug her. But that didn’t stop Simon from embracing her as tightly as he could. When her hand came up to rest against Simon’s shoulder, Johnny noticed again the large diamond on her ring finger. 

“L.t.?” The two lovers separated to look at him. 

“Johnny, come meet my wife.” Simon gave him a knowing nod which Johnny instantly returned. 

He almost couldn’t believe it. His L.t. had brought him home to see his little family. Johnny almost choked up upon realizing the significance of Simon trusting him with this information. Right then and there, Johnny gave Simon a mental promise to help keep his family safe, no matter what.

Bonus: 

“Oh! The baby is kicking! Want to feel ‘em, Johnny?” Simon’s wife asked. 

“Oh, sure! If that’s alright with you?” She took his larger hand in answer and placed it near the top of her baby bump. A few kicks hit his hand. They were rather strong kicks too. Definitely a football star, or another SAS kid, in the making. 

“Woah!” Johnny exclaimed. Then, turning to his L.t. who was watching them interact, his mouth turned into a wide grin. “Does that make me their uncle, Simon?”

“Don’t push it, MacTavish.” His wife giggled. 

Masterlist

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 9

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ mdni no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nightmares, comfort, relationship issues and dynamics, established throuple. Emotional distress. Mention of medication. Angst. Darling is her/your own warning/tag. Eating related issues. Flashback heavy. Simon and Darling heavy. Simon struggles with the aftermath of his words.

Simon is having trouble keeping his eyes on the road.

He keeps looking in the rear-view mirror, holding his breath, hoping you’ll say something, answer one of Johnny’s questions, or look back at him for a second, even though the seconds tick away, and none of that happens. You keep your face pointed away from them, streetlights and headlights reflecting across your face, illuminating your grief filled gaze that’s transfixed on the world outside the window.

You’re far out of his reach now. Farther then when they came home and discovered you had left, farther then when he saw you in the doorway of your hotel room, exhausted, confused, free falling.

He had a good grip in those moments. Had a firm hand on the situation, could still read you, anticipate you, understand what was needed.

Now, he can feel that grip, that control, slipping away.

He clears his throat.

“Darling? Are you hungry, do you want to stop for something?” You don’t answer, still facing out the window, mind somewhere else, and Johnny shifts uneasily in the passenger seat, the spot you refused even though it’s your preference.

His phone vibrates in the center console, pulling his focus to where the screen is lit with a text from Price.

Let me know what you’re going to do. You’ve got more than enough leave saved. 

His stomach twists.

Simon jolts, trying to piece together where he is, where Johnny is, what’s happening, muscles instinctively tensing, legs and arms shifting his body into a weapon, something that can be used to defend, to fight-

He’s in his own bed. He’s in his own bed, at home, with Johnny...

and you. 

You’re shaking in your sleep, practically rattling between their bodies, face scrunched up in terror, panicked whimpers breaking from your throat. He recognizes it immediately, similar symptoms of the same affliction that sometimes plagues both himself and Johnny. 

You’re having a nightmare. 

His eyes adjust, taking in the dark of the room, the leak of light from the hall just barely illuminating the curve of your hip, Johnny’s chest and messy mohawk. 

Johnny had wanted you to stay the night so badly. Simon did too, but he didn’t want to push you as hard as Johnny was willing to, more agreeable to let you lead, let you decide what you did or did not want to do. 

But Johnny was so sweet on you, with you, convincing you to stay over even though in the past, you had been adamantly against it. 

Is this why? 

He scrounges in the dark for his mask, the black cotton one that he’s been wearing around you, sliding it over his face, loops behind his ears, before he hesitantly reaches towards your shivering form. 

“Darling.” He murmurs, bringing himself closer, boxing you in with his chest. If you have a bad reaction when you wake, he needs to be able to grab you, hold onto you. Keep you from hurting Johnny. “Shhh, hey, you’re alright.” He rubs your upper arm, firm pressure enough to keep you mostly still, leaning closer to say your name a few times, gently trying to rouse you without making it worse. He knows how it feels to come abruptly out of a nightmare, how it feels to wake up confused, frightened, unsure if you’re still dreaming, or still trapped in your own mind’s torment. 

He shakes you carefully, holding your shoulders firm, listening to your gasps turn into stronger breaths, your eyes flickering behind closed lids until they’re slowly peeling open, half clouded with sleep.   

“Ngh-“ you groan, blinking up at him, disorientated. You instantly tense, flinching away, and he keeps himself still, letting you come to consciousness slowly. 

“Shhh. You’re safe. It’s alright.” Your brow furrows, like you’re trying to piece together what’s happening, and he keeps his voice low, soothing. “You’re with us, at our flat. You stayed the night, remember?” He’s still rubbing your arm, working the contact, the connection, into your skin, trying to jog your hazy memories, keep you present. 

Realization snaps across your face, fear melting away into something else, something he knows well. 

Shame, and panic. 

“Oh my god.” You whisper, turning to look at Johnny. 

“Don’t worry, he’s a heavy sleeper, he-“ 

“I’m so sorry.” You blurt, sitting up, slipping yourself out from under his arm. “Did I- did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re no strangers to nightmares either.” He tries to calm you, ease you with the lighthearted comment. You shake your head, pausing, and then manage to slide down the bed, swinging your legs over the side to sit up. 

“I shouldn’t have… I- I shouldn’t be here.” You take short breaths, and he reaches for you, hand hovering over your shoulder. Johnny taught him that touch can be comfort after a nightmare, a lesson learned over too many nights spent waking in terror, choking on the feeling of dirt clogging his windpipe.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t- I-“ you trail off as you stand, stepping away from the bed, hands gripping each other, clenched together. 

“Darling, hey.” He follows, stepping closer into your space, your eyes wild and darting all over the room. Johnny mumbles behind him, and you wince, your mind working in overdrive, guilt and worry and fear trying to take over, drown you, work you up until it convinces you to run out the door. 

Something tugs at Simon. Something strong, heavy with emotion, with feeling, pulls at him, dragging him towards an inevitability, one that he’s been able to see coming since the first night they took you home, and he’s not going to let whatever is going on in your head right now take you away from them. Not when they've just found you. Not when he knows there could be so much more. 

“Look at me.” He drops his tone, sinking into the authoritative edge, the one you’ve responded so well to during sex. He’s pushing boundaries, pushing into unexplored territory, but he needs to control this situation before it destabilizes you, and he knows, instinctively, that he can reach you. If he tries. “Everything’s alright now, you’re okay.” He pulls your hands into his, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of your knuckles, your head tipped back to stare at him, vulnerable as he’s ever seen. “There’s nothing to apologize for, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“What’s goin’ on-“ Johnny grunts, twisting in the bed to find where Simon is standing with you in the dark. He immediately goes on alert, back straightening, scanning the room for what’s happened, if there’s danger, if there’s a problem.

“It’s okay, she just had a nightmare.” Simon doesn’t take his eyes off you, your hands squeezing his like you’re afraid he might disappear. “She’s a bit rattled, is all.” There’s movement, Johnny getting up, stretching, before lumbering over to where you’re frozen to the floor. Simon releases one of your hands, motioning for his partner to stop. The gesture speaks volumes. 

I’ve got it. 

“Johnny, I think, some tea-“ 

“Rog.” He presses a kiss to Simon’s shoulder before heading for the kitchen, and you force a deep breath, still holding on tight, fingers gripped to his like iron. 

“Let’s lay down while we wait, yeah?” Simon instructs, turning your body back towards the bed, keeping his hands on you as he directs you between the sheets. The stiffness in your limbs starts to dissipate as he rubs your back, your neck, arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to his body. You fit there, right in the crook of his torso, his shoulder, and he presses you closer, mask covered mouth above your ear. “You’re safe with us. I’ve got you.”  

“What do ye mean, it’s not the right thing?” Johnny hisses, voice low. He casts a glance at the sunroom door, lips pressed together, jaw tight with disbelief.

“I was telling Price that the relationship is difficult, at times, that it can be hard on all of us, that it doesn’t feel fair, to her. It was a casual conversation, he was talkin' about his wife too. I said…” He trails off, frowning. “I said, I worry about it being the right thing.” Johnny shakes his head, incredulous.

“Well, that’s… that’s just bloody-“

“I was talking to Price as a friend. I didn’t know she was outside.”

“Ye shouldnae’ve been sayin’ anything to Price! Ye get on her for communicating poorly, but then ye go and do somethin’ like this.”

“I know.” Johnny’s still shaking his head, but there’s a note of fear to his voice now, panic, and Simon knows they’re thinking the same thing.

They could lose you. You could run. They just got you back. Just got you settled down. 

The consequences of his mistake loom on the horizon.

You’re going to shut down. 

“Ye need to fix this. Now.”

“Hey.” You whisper, peeking out from the blanket and Johnny’s arm, soft and hazy in the early sun’s light. He bends forward instantly, brushing his lips against your forehead, palm cradling your cheek, thumb stroking across your skin gently. Johnny’s snoring, oblivious, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, leaning over to kiss his cheek too, running a few fingers through some unruly strands of mohawk. “How was the gym?” 

“Fine. How’d you two end up out here?” He motions to the couch, slipping off his trainers. 

“Couldn’t sleep after you left. Johnny said we should watch a movie, but he nodded off pretty quick.” The Black Cauldron is playing across the screen, one of your favorites, and you shrug your shoulders “He said I could pick.” 

“I said we were goin’ to sleep.” Johnny grunts awake, burying his face into your neck, blinking up over the mound of blankets and your hair at Simon. “C’mere.” 

“Gotta shower.” 

“No come on.” You whine. “Please?” You look so hopeful, and Johnny looks so sweet, he can't say no. He’s weak for it, for both of you, settling himself between Johnny and the couch, shifting your weight so that you’re laying across the two of them, still curled up in the blankets. Johnny’s face is blissfully slack, still half asleep, and he wonders if he can get you back to sleep too. 

“Feel like closin’ your eyes?” He whispers, and you shrug. “We went to bed pretty late last night darling, and you hardly slept the night before.” You make a face, and then try to burrow deeper into the blankets, hiding your eyes from his. 

“’m not really tired.” 

“Did you take your meds this morning?” Johnny cracks an eye open, watching where you squirm under the scrutiny. 

“No…” you pout. Simon looks to Johnny, who gives him a swift nod of acknowledgment. Neither of them have to speak. 

“Alright.” The blankets move, Johnny arranging you so you’re completely in Simon’s arms. “I’ll get them for ye, okay? How about some toast?” He’s the one leaning over now, looking down at you, hand gently cupping your face. You nod reluctantly, and he rewards you with a proud kiss, short and sweet, before turning away for the kitchen.

 “We don’t shut each other out.” Simon implores, listening to the sound of you moving around behind the locked door. “You know that. We need to talk about what you heard, I need-“

“I don’t want to talk.” You yell, and Johnny winces, Simon thunking his forehead against the wood, defeated, worry tying his stomach in another knot.

“Darling, please. Talk tae us. Let Si explain-“ The door swings wide with a jolt, surprising both of them, nearly sending Simon careening forward until he catches himself.

“I don’t want to talk.” You repeat, slowly. Your face is blank, concerningly so, hands already holding two paintbrushes. “I don’t want to talk to either of you right now. I’m fine, I just… I want to be left alone. Is that too much to ask?”

“You’re not fine. It’s okay to be upset, to be angry, you have every right to be. But I can’t let-“

“You can’t let what?” You’re eerily composed, nearly void of the storm that he was expecting, and it’s absence makes him worry even more.

“Let you shut down and ignore us when we need to talk.”

“Why don’t you two talk to each other instead? Since you have so many opinions about what the right thing is. And we all know, what Simon says goes so-“

“No, darling. Stop.” Your mouth snaps shut, outraged, but it fizzles out quickly, and your shoulders slump.

“I’m not doing this.” You rebuff him, swinging the door shut to the sunroom, the art room, and locking it. Johnny covers his face with his hands, and Simon bristles, the overwhelming guilt practically jeering at him, blaming him, reassuring him that this is all his fault.

“’m go get started on dinner.” Johnny grinds out, glum, shooting him a pleading glance before he turns away. Do something, it says. Please.

“She hasn’t answered.” Simon glances at the clock. 

“She has a life, Johnny, and a job. Do you expect her to drop everything, every time we text her in the middle of night? It’s not like she can plan for it.” 

“Ah know but… it’s been all day. She usually at least responds.” He can’t argue there. You do always text them back, even if it takes a little while. If they get home in the early hours of the morning, you’ll usually respond when you wake. 

That didn’t happen this time. 

“Maybe we should call.” Johnny hedges, restless, pacing, overanalyzing the last time they saw you, and the text message they sent earlier. Simon takes a breath, stepping forward to pull him into his arms. 

“I know you miss her.” He doesn’t say it out loud, but he misses you too, and you’re not even theirs yet. “I don’t want us to be too overbearing. We can’t… we’re trying to treat it like a relationship, but we haven’t even had the conversation yet.” He only just showed you his face, before this last op, and that was almost two weeks ago, at this point. 

“But we will. We are. We said we are.” Johnny protests, half panicked. 

“We are.” Simon agrees, soothing him. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea to call, I just don’t want you to be disappointed, if she doesn’t answer.” He tries to temper the younger man’s expectation, hoping that they won’t be left heartbroken if there’s still silence on your end. He wants to see you as much as Johnny does, but he’s cautious about encroaching on your boundaries, upsetting your equilibrium. Too much, too fast, could do more harm than good. 

The phone starts to ring, on speaker, and Johnny chews on his bottom lip, hand rubbing through his mohawk anxiously as it goes to two, then three rings. Simon sighs on the fourth, about to tell Johnny not to stress, when the line clicks open. 

“Hello?” It’s you, but you sound… different. Your voice is scratchy, and thin, almost watery. 

“Hey, darling.” Johnny coos. “Just wanted to give ye a call, see what’s goin’ on?” 

“Hi, I- uh. Sorry, I meant to text you back I just… fell asleep.” Simon frowns, and a warning bell goes off in the back of his head. 

“Are you sick?” He asks, and you take a breath, blowing it out sharply. 

“No, um… well, maybe. I’m out sick from work today. I’ve just been really low energy, not feeling great.” 

“Do ye need us to come over? Have ye eaten?” 

“I’m not that hungry, I’ve just been in bed.” 

“Can we come by? Check in on you?” Simon keeps his voice light and controlled, but worry is crawling up his spine now, pieces clicking together in his mind, painting a picture that’s been all too glaringly obvious. 

“Um, if you want? I’m not really doing anything. I don’t really feel up for… you know. I won’t be much fun for you guys.” You try to joke, and Johnny grimaces. 

“We just want to see ye, darling. We dinnae care about that.” He assures you sweetly, and Simon is already shrugging on his hoodie, looking for his shoes, calling out to the phone from across the room. 

“We’re on our way.” 

“I can’t fix it if you won’t let me in.” He says through the door. He doesn’t know for sure if you’re listening, but he has a good feeling that every time he opens his mouth, you probably pause, head inclined to where he sits outside the room. He can see it, paintbrush in your fingers, mouth slightly ajar as you consider his words.

And then go right back to ignoring him.

Occasionally, over the last hour, he’s heard things here and there, soft murmurs to yourself, the opening of moving boxes, bunching of the tape that had been holding them together. You even came out for water, filling your pitcher in the kitchen in silence, ignoring Johnny’s honeyed and gentle attempts to get you to talk to him. You refused to acknowledge him until he was pressing your water bottle into your free hand, which you accepted with a sigh, shoulders slumped and face completely morose.

You didn’t even look at Simon on your way out, or in, opting to ignore his presence entirely.

His back is a little sore from sitting straight up against the door, and he stretches, bringing his arms over his head to work his neck out. He’s trying to resist the urge to pull the key down from the top of the frame and open the door, something he could easily do, if he had the gall. He’ll let this go on, for a while, until he can’t stand it anymore, until he starts to become too worried. Until the sick feeling in his stomach becomes too much, and he’s forcing you to talk to him. To give him a chance to at least explain.

“Dinner’s ready.” Johnny interrupts his thoughts, holding out his hand to pull him to his feet. “Darling, do you want something to eat? I made chicken soup.” He offers, but there’s no response, and Simon tries to knock for good measure.

“You have to eat.” He murmurs, hand flat against the wood grain. “You know that.”

“’m not hungry.” You’re just on the other side, so close that he can see the shadow of your feet, can practically the feel the vibration of your voice through the door.

“Please, open the door. I need-“ His knees suddenly feel weak, and he’s desperate to just lay eyes on you, to prove to himself that you’re alright, that you’re here, with them. He pleads softly, tidal wave of emotion rising through his body, Johnny’s warm hand on his back between his shoulder blades. “I need to see you.”

[lovifie]

Hey there Lovifie.

I hate to bother you but can I ask for a request?

You see the thing is that I’ve been having a few bad weeks lately and the news I got today just really pushed me to the point that I can’t stop crying now.

Long story short, I’ve applied again for another promotion within my department for my job; this would be the third time I’ve tried for one and for the third time I was passed over for someone else. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing wrong; why they're not choosing me. I’m doing everything they’re asking for, going above & beyond for them and more but apparently it’s just not good enough for them. I just don’t know what else I can do.

Now I feel like I’m not good enough for anything; I'm confused and it hurts. Can I please request a comfort fic of John Price or Poly141 comforting a curvy, Mexican female reader who just feels like she's not good? Please? 🙏🏽 💔

My dear, you are never ever a bother. I’m really sorry to hear you have been having the last couple of shitty weeks, I sent you a message before and I hope this cheers you up a bit and everyone that may be having a rough time 🩷

I did it with poly141 because if we are looking for comfort we are going all out!!

The boys are back home and you know it, they got home last week, spending most of the time together, bathing in each other comforting proximity, helping them decompress after their deployment. 

You didn't tell them about what was troubling your mind, they already have enough on their plate and you didn't want to bother them. Or that's what you thought it would be, a bother. 

That's why you are standing before the door, knowing you have to enter but trying to recollect your feelings to be able to portray a happy face when you finally open the door. 

But the door opens before you want it to, Simon's brown eyes staring at you. “What are you doing, lovie? The motion camera is going nuts…” he trails off, looking at how you try your hardest to look fine. “Everything alright?”

You quickly nod, walking past him, kissing his cheek standing on your tip toes. “Yeah, all good. Was trying to remember where I put my keys.” You laugh, thinking that it is believable as you enter. He doesn't buy it but chooses to stay quiet. You will talk when you need it. 

You leave your bag on the floor next to the door, taking off your shoes and Simon helps you take off your jacket, hanging it on the hook next to Johnny's. “How was work?”

“Horrible.” You think, but instead, you sight and murmur. “Tiring.”

“Did I hear somebody say they are tired?” Johnny's voice beams in the room when he walks to you like a happy puppy, hugging you from behind and hiding his face on your neck. You move your hand back to pet the back of his head. “You tired, mami?”

You nod, with a smile on your face. Closing your eyes when he kisses your cheek squishing your face with his. “Then eat dinner and straight to bed.”

“No shower?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah, you are still clean for a couple more days. Right. Or are you stinky?” He says, moving his head back with a confused expression on his face, only for him to hide his face again in your neck making you chuckle when he sniffs your smell dramatically hard. “Yeah, not stinky.” 

He pats your butt, as in signing the deal that you don't need to shower and you smile shaking your head. 

His silliness is almost enough to make you forget the hardness of your day. Almost. 

“Is she home?!” Kyle's voice sounds from the kitchen and you follow his voice like a moth to the light. Hearing Simon tell Johnny to go shower his stinky self, making him whine. 

“Hi, Riri.” You say, using the nickname he hates so much. 

He groans, scrunching his face at you making you laugh. “I'm not Rihanna, love.”

“Hm, but you sound just like her when you shower.” You say hugging him from behind, he is standing in front of the stove, taking care of dinner. Some kind of pasta getting boiled while he works on the sauce on the pan right in front of you. 

So close to it, that when Kyle moves, threatening to tickle you for teasing him, you move your arm to shield yourself. But your forearm crashes with the pan, making it fall and burning you in the process. 

Kyle manages to catch it by the handle just in time before burning himself or spilling it all over the floor. He turns off both of the stoves, to make sure nothing burns while he checks on you. 

“You alright, love? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have stood so close.” He says, but your eyes are glued to the spot of sauce on the ground. Almost nothing fell from the pan, barely enough to fill half a glass. 

But the thought in your mind makes you write it at the top of the list of things you have fuck up. And it makes your eyes tear up with the feeling of simply not being good enough.

“Sunshine.” Kyle calls you, cupping your face so you will look at him but his eyes follow you, seeing the sauce on the ground. “Hey, hey, it's okay.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice cracks making you inhale to try and calm yourself down. “I'm sorry, Kyle.”

“Hey, what happened to Riri?” He asks with a kind smile on his face. “Don't apologise, love. It's okay, there is more sauce stuck to the spoon than on the floor, love. No problem, alright? Everything is fi- you are burnt!”

He cuts himself off when he sees your skin red with the burnt, he grabs your wrist pulling you to the sink to move your arm under running cold water. “I'm sorry, love. Poor baby…”

“Hi, mami.” Price says entering the kitchen, he must have just come out of the bathroom. Possibly kicked out by Johnny, because he enters the kitchen only wearing his pyjama pants, hair still moist. You look at him, eyes wet with tears making him furrow his eyebrows in worry. “What happened?”

“Little cooking accident, nothing to worry about.” Kyle answers, rubbing circles on your hand still under the water with his thumb. “Can you pass the mop, please?” Kyle asks, pointing with his face to the sauce on the floor. 

“I'll do it.” You say, trying to pull your hand from Kyle's grasp. “I spilt it, I'll clean it.”

“Nonsense, you and I are bothering Johnny to grab the burns cream from the bathroom. Let's go, we might see his bubble butt if we are lucky.” Kyle jokes, winking at you, trying to get you to smile. 

But you are already too deep in your own thoughts to do so, you sigh, rubbing your eyes at the sting of your tears and shaking your head. “I'm fine, I'm just… I'm just going to go to bed.”

“Without eating?” Simon walks into the doorframe, handing the mop to Price who cleans the floor keeping an eye on you. “Are you grounding yourself or what, love?”

And you try your best to not cry, to hold it in, at least until you are in your room, with your privacy to cry yourself to sleep. But then Johnny also walks in, talking about if anyone knows where his towel is; and his blue eyes catch yours, shining with worry when he sees your tears.

“What happened?” He asks, repeating Price's words without knowing it. 

You look at them, the four pairs of eyes looking at you, expecting an explanation, worry and curiosity clear on them. And it only makes your eyes sting more with a new batch of tears that easily roll down your cheeks. 

It makes you cover your face with your hands, sobbing softly against your palm. One of them hugs you, pressing you against his body and you know it's Price for the warmth emanating from his naked torso. 

“Let's go to the living room, the kitchen is too small for five people.” Simon comments, his hand resting on the small of your back, caressing comforting circles on it. 

When you don't move, Price moves his hands under your armpits, raising you to hold onto him like a koala. Crying on his strong shoulder like a baby, a big baby.

He sits down on the sofa, moving you so you are sitting on his lap sideways, your face still hidden on his neck. You feel everyone else find their place around the two of you. Kyle is sitting next to Price on the sofa, your feet resting on his lap, his warm hand resting on your calf under your trouser warming you up. Johnny is sitting on the armrest of the sofa, his hand resting on your ribs, moving up and down as well, moving slowly to help you breathe slower. And Simon is kneeling on the floor behind the sofa, one arm bendt on the backrest of the sofa to lean his head on it and the other hand petting your head, brushing your hair. 

But no matter how comforting his touches are at the moment, the door holding the tears in has been opened and they are rolling freely down your face into Price's exposed shoulder. 

It's long after that, that you manage to breathe normally again. Still hiccuping but now oxygen getting to your lungs. 

Simon is the first that you look up, moving your hand from Price's shoulder to grab Simon's finger, the man curling his finger pulling your hand to his. A soft smile on his face. “Hey, pretty girl.”

Price looks over your shoulder, using his thumbs to dry the tears from your face, kissing your cheek. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, the only answer he gets from you is in the way of shrugged shoulders. 

Simon stands behind you, letting your hand fall onto Kyle's and groaning when his knees pop as he stands up. He sits on the opposite armrest from Johnny, next to Kyle and looks at your face when Price moves you lower so you are resting your face on his chest. 

“What's wrong, love?” Price asks looking at you, his hand petting your thigh. 

“I… I just keep fucking everything up…” You admit, voice tiny, afraid that if you speak any louder the tears will return. “I ruined dinner, I ruined tonight, I ruined everything…”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny asks behind you. “You haven't ruined anything, lass. Everything is right.”

“Surprisingly, Johnny's right, love.” Gaz says, Johnny making an offended noise behind you. “Nothing is ruined, love…”

“Did something happen at work today?” Simon asks, regretting the moment you lock eyes with him and your eyes glisten with tears. 

You nod again, melting into Price's arms. “We are proud of you, you know that right?” Price says, making you sob again. “We were proud before today, we will be proud tomorrow, we were proud of you weeks ago and we will be even more proud of you in the future.”

“You don't even know what happened…” you sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

“We don't need to.” Johnny says. “We know you. And we know that you always try your best, that you work your ass off and that you are a bloody good worker, love.”

“Yeah, I just need to make my boss see it too.” You mumble, sadness being replaced by annoyance. 

“We can always murder him.” Simon says, earning himself a group groan of his name. “I'm just saying.”

“What Simon's trying to say.” Price says, turning to you again. “Is that if all four of us can see it… he will eventually see it too.”

“Yeah, it's his fault he is so stupid it's taking him so long.” Gaz says, smile on his face.

“But I'm tired of it…” You admit, pout on your face as you lean your head back onto Johnny, the man resting his hand on your face, caressing your cheek. 

“That's normal, love… How about we take care of you, him?” Johnny asks, making you look at him. “Let's have dinner, then you and I take a stinky bath, and then… a movie? Some cuddles? Sounds good?”

You nod before answering. “Yeah… sounds really good.” 

All of them but Price stand up at your words. “Dinner time it is, boys.” Gaz says, walking into the kitchen as Johnny and Simon set up the table.

“Should we help them?” You ask Price, looking over his shoulder. 

“Nah, they can themselves.” He answers, cupping your face to give you a peck on your lips. “You are amazing, love… don't forget it, alright? You are more important than your job, a promotion or anything going on, alright? We love you, cariño.” He says, accentuating the “r” to make you smile.

And later, when you are sitting down with the four of them at the table, the only thing you can think about is about how lucky you are.

[rainybubbles]

What are COD men and women missions as your guardian angel ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Farah, Valeria, Alejandro, König, Roach, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T :

-He was sent to prevent you from accepting a job opportunity that would lead to your death. 

-The prospective boss was destined to be tyrannical, pushing you to overwork, neglect your health, sever ties with loved ones, and gradually spiral into a state of despair. 

-Ultimately, exhaustion would compel you to cross a road, only to be struck by a truck. 

-Simon's purpose was to avert this tragic fate.

-Simon exerted considerable effort attempting to erase all traces of the job offers and announcements from your computer, eager to fulfill his mission swiftly. 

-However, you persisted in pursuing your dream job, repeatedly defying his interventions. 

-”Fucking hell” he whispered one night after passing hours on Indeed to delete everything.

-He realized he had to convince you. But it means getting to know you. 

-He sighed and moved in, thanks to his power, the flat next to yours was magically free.

-Despite his strategic move, Simon struggled with social interactions. 

- He tried the “have you any sugar ?” but it was 1AM, so it scared you.

-God, Simon and his social skills.

- One day, you, alarmed by a peculiar noise, knocked on his door, convinced that an intruder had breached your home. 

-Trusting Simon's intimidating presence to scare off anyone, you spent the night at his flat for reassurance. 

-This incident marked the beginning of a gradual acquaintance.

-As Simon got to know you, a mutual exchange of pastries became a regular occurrence. You started it to thank him for that night, and he offered you ones, and it has became a regular thing.

- Friday nights turned into joint activities like watching matches or cooking together. 

-During these moments, you opened up about your dream job, and Simon, in turn, disclosed the harsh realities about the company.

-The realization dawned upon him as he witnessed the trust you placed in him.

- When you decided not to pursue the ominous job, he felt a sense of joy until the weight of the truth settled in—his mission was complete. 

-Simon waited in anticipation for the next assignment.

-He waited.

-Days

-For another name, another mission.

-Nothing came.

-And he saw Laswell.

-He knew what it meant.

-“Simon, they decide you can either continue as an angel or stay with her and become human”Laswell says.

-Being with you.

-Waking up with you, living a life with you…

-It sounded perfect.

-He didn’t deserve that. Not after all what he had done, not…him with you, you deserved better.

-The following morning, you knocked on his door, only to find the flat deserted.

- Frantically searching for Simon Riley on social media, you discovered an unsettling absence—like a ghost, he had vanished, leaving you with a broken heart.

-“He fucking ghost me”, you cried on the floor of your flat, not knowing the truth.

P R I C E :

-He had not been sent for you, but for a boy named Clark. 

-Clark was on the verge of homelessness, and John's mission was to help him develop an idea to secure some much-needed money.

-As John succeeded in his task, he couldn't help but notice the negative transformation in Clark.

- The influx of money had turned Clark into a selfish person, threatening his friends if they considered leaving him. And that's how he encountered you—a kind soul who had been there for Clark since the beginning.

-You, always supportive, witnessed how toxic Clark had become towards you.

- Slowly, you began to believe you deserved such treatment, unable to find better friends. 

-John, disturbed by this realization, hoped for another mission to rescue Clark's friend from the clutches of his destructive behavior.

-But nothing changed.

-Frustrated, John couldn't stand idly by while people suffered for the sake of his mission. 

-His purpose was to rectify injustice, not allow someone to turn into a despicable person.

-During a party, he found you outside and couldn't help but express his thoughts

- "I'm glad you're in his life. He's so much better now. He was really broke, and I was scared he'd end up alone on the streets. He lived at my house for a long time." you said.

-"He should have end up in the streets," Price asserted without regret.

-Your eyes widened, but a chuckle escaped you. "You shouldn't say that."

-"But you agree.

-”Money got to his head, but he's a good guy."

-"He's not, and you know it, love."

-"I don't want to lose him. I love him." you admitted.

-And then it clicked. You loved Clark before he became the person he was now.

-"You loved him before all of this." he realized.

-"I know. And it hurts because I still hold onto the hope that he'll realize and suddenly become better."

-"I'm sorry." Price said.

-"It's not your fault."

-It was, but you couldn't know.

-"Maybe in another life, I'll be as happy as he seems to be?"

-Price could have read your life with his power and gotten to know your future. But he didn’t.

-"I hope you deserve it." he answered.

-"Hey John, if I'm not happy, could I count on you? You're always here for me."

-"I promise, love."

-You smiled.

-Later, when John received his new mission, he decided to peek into your future to protect you one last time—only to realize there was no future.

-He rushed to your flat.

-The police were there.

-Clark had been arrested.

-And a body was being taken to the morgue.

-Maybe he should have looked at your future earlier.

S O A P

-He had been dispatched to safeguard your moral values from crumbling into ruin. 

-The situation was straightforward; you were shattered, and a friend of yours suggested a lucrative opportunity to intimidate someone for a hefty sum. 

-In simpler terms, you were on the verge of joining a gang for the sake of money. 

-Broke, homeless, unwilling to burden your family, and unable to afford food, you were desperate enough to consider anything that paid, given the absence of job offers.

-Soap's mission was to avert this downward spiral, to prevent you from evolving into a heartless figure with bloodstained hands, a potential mafia leader. 

-Naturally, he couldn't just hand you money; you wouldn't accept it from a stranger. So, he devised a plan to hire you at his bakery.

-Initially taken aback, because hell you couldn’t even say or bake croissant. 

-Nevertheless, your role was strictly to sell, not to bake. 

-Moreover, your boss, Soap, emanated a comforting presence. 

-He treated you kindly, just as he did with everyone on his missions

-But to him, your smile was more than just a pleasant sight; it stirred something within him.

-Your laughter, dry and infrequent, motivated him to ensure you laughed more often, even if it meant he made a fool of himself with sugar or butter.

-When your friend said you couldn’t stay at their place, Soap went a step further and provided you with one.

- As you began accumulating enough funds to secure a flat, you encountered difficulties in finding one. 

-Leveraging his magical abilities, Soap helped locate a suitable residence for you. 

-Once settled, he taught you the art of baking, gradually helping you to take charge of the bakery.

-A year later, you had become a skilled baker, and Soap realized his mission was accomplished. 

-Independent and content, you were ready to take over the bakery. 

-Craftily, he fabricated a story about relocating to another country and passing the bakery on to you. 

-Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed after lengthy discussions.

-As Soap sensed the emergence of a new name and mission on the paper, he looked at you and sighed, "I'll miss you, love."

-"Me too, Johnny," you replied.

-Little did you know it was the final time you would see him, but Soap was acutely aware.

- So, for the first time, he allowed himself to act on impulse and kissed you. In that fleeting moment, he wished he could relinquish his wings and live with you indefinitely.

G A Z :

-TW : social anxiety :) !

-He was sent to help you with your health.

-You grappled with social anxiety, a condition so severe that the fact of being in a crowded bus could make you faint

- Asking for a bag at the cashier's counter filled you with fear, and even a simple "hello" caused three weeks of overthinking

- You existed in a state of solitude, ensnared within a relentless cycle of anxiety.

- Your mental health had plummeted, yet the luxury of a therapist was beyond your means.

-Social anxiety, insidiously, severs connections, making it difficult to seek help, leaving you trapped in an endless loop of overthinking. 

-The act of breathing itself became a struggle

-Walking in the streets became a nightmare, convinced that every passerby scrutinized your every move. Life, for you, felt burdensome, your very existence a weight upon others.

-Enter Gaz, sent to prevent you from venturing too close to the precipice. 

-He initiated contact through social media, engaging you in conversation within a fandom you both shared.

- He witnessed the genuine joy in your smiles as you responded to his messages, the relief emanating from having notifications from a real person rather than an automated system.

- Talking to him felt right, providing a respite from the isolation.

-Gradually, your interactions with Gaz progressed beyond the digital realm.

- Attempts to meet in person were met with reluctance or last-minute cancellations, fueled by fears of judgment, rejection, or even the possibility of an elaborate prank. 

-However, perseverance prevailed, and one day, he succeeded in meeting you face-to-face.

-The anxiety lingered, but Gaz's warmth created a sanctuary, a safe space for you.

- Together, you confronted the formidable adversary that was social anxiety.

-Gaz became your anchor during the lows, comforting you when crowds induced panic or tears flowed at the thought of being among people.

-Of course there were downs, where you couldn’t go out, where you would cry just by the idea of being in a crowd. But he was here for you.

-Every Monday, he accompanied you through bustling streets, holding your hand as you breathed through the anxiety. 

-Small victories were celebrated, such as summoning the courage to ask for water from a waiter. 

-To some, these achievements may seem ridiculous, but Gaz understood the immense courage they required.

-He cherished the moments you shared, the progress you made—ordering food by phone, making a call—each step a triumph on the arduous road of overcoming social anxiety.

- In these moments, Gaz recognized that this was more than a mere mission; it was a lifelong commitment. 

-Social anxiety was not a battle with a finite resolution; rather, it was a continuous struggle.

-A knowing chuckle escaped him. 

-Captain Price, knowingly, had bestowed upon Gaz a life mission. 

-In a quiet moment, Gaz whispered his gratitude, acknowledging that if his mission was to love and support you, there was no doubt he would embrace it for eternity.

V A L E R I A :

-She was sent to save your marriage.

- Angels, renowned for their influence on matters of the heart, and Valeria, in particular, was on a divine mission to salvage the threads that held your union together. 

-However, as of late, doubt began to creep into her convictions as a guardian angel.

-In numerous assignments, she found herself helping individuals of questionable character.

- Then, she met you—a person ensnared in a wretched marriage. 

- Your wife treated you poorly, arguing with you for trivial matters, asserting your worthlessness without her, forgetting your birthday and engaging in infidelity with others.

-Valeria questioned the purpose of preserving such a toxic bond.

- Was she supposed to save this tormented marriage?

- Was the sanctity of matrimony so sacred that it should endure despite the evident misery it caused?

-No, she had enough..

- She reached a breaking point, disenchanted with being the obedient savior in every situation. 

-She wasn't Rudy or Alejandro—she wouldn't blindly adhere to a mission that clashed with her newfound convictions. 

-Instead, she took a daring step and seduced you, believing you deserved better, deserving her.

-You, with your kindness and generosity, deserved someone who would treat you with the respect and love you lacked in your current relationship. 

-Valeria refused to surrender you to the shackles of your miserable marriage.

- She cared not for the rules of her celestial role; she wasn't a guardian angel any longer. 

-That night, driven by an irrepressible desire for change, she made a drastic choice—she cut off her wings. 

-The pain was excruciating, but amidst the agony, she found relief and liberation.

- She knew this act condemned her to damnation, but the prospect of being with you made it inconsequential.

- Morality blurred into shades of gray as she willingly became a fallen angel, abandoning her celestial duties for the ecstasy of earthly love.

- The sensation of your lips against hers eclipsed any impending punishment, and in that moment, she embraced the fall from grace for the happiness she found in your arms.

N I K O L A I :

-He was the one training guardian angels. 

-Nikolai wasn't a guardian angel, but a fallen one. 

-In the past, he had fallen in love with the one he was supposed to guard.

- As a consequence, they severed one of his wings and stripped him of his celestial status. 

-To prove his devotion, Nik decided to assist in the formation of guardian angels.

- Laswell and Price supported him, and they agreed.

-So, he began training new guardian angels, and you happened to be one of them.

- He admired how you struggled to fly, resembling a fawn. 

-"Солнце (=sun), use your back muscles, not your arms," he teased as you tumbled to the ground once again. 

-"How could you know?" you snapped back, frustrated.

-He stopped, his lone wing retracting. 

-You realized the impact of your words.

- "Shit, Nik, sorry, that's not what I meant."

-"It's okay, but I used to fly in the past, you know. Don't doubt my abilities again."

-"Of course, I... It's just frustrating to see everyone else succeeding."

"-It's okay. Ghost took six months to fly; Soap burned his wing three times," Nikolai said. "So, don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Really?" you laughed.

-"Yes, so don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Isn't it difficult to watch all those angels and not feel free like them?" you asked, a question no one had posed to him before.

-"It is, but I deserved it."

-"You just loved someone. I don't think it was worth the punishment," you whispered.

-"Maybe, but I betrayed my mission."

-"I still think you did it for good reasons. The world isn't black and white. Sometimes we have to be gray. Loving them, it's not a crime."

-He stayed silent. "Maybe."

-"Sorry, I overstepped, but I think it's unfair they treat you like this. Graves is keeping his wings when he had killed people to succeed in his missions, not very guardian angel of him."

-"You're right, but we can't do anything."

-"I will. I'll fight for you. Use my wings to give yours back," you said, determined.

-That day, Nik felt a spark—the same one that had cost him his wings. 

-The one who was back with you. 

-He ignored it. 

-"If you say so, I'll watch you doing it," he chuckled.

-Little did he know, you would succeed and restore his wings. 

-Perhaps, one day, Nikolai would fly again with his wings and not a helicopter.

A L E J A N D R O :

-He was sent to protect you, to help you to expose the truth.

-You, a journalist delving into a precarious story surrounding the cartel's sway

-. Alejandro understood the gravity of this mission; his entire previous life had been defined by this relentless fight against the cartel.

- With unwavering dedication, he vowed to shield you with all his heart.

-Thus, he concealed himself, surveilling your residence, neutralizing all dangers, confronting cartel members seeking to harm you under the cover of darkness.

- His magic thwarted explosive threats, and he meticulously tarnished the reputations of those aiming to intimidate you after your initial article.

- He stood watch, silently guarding you.

-His cover was blown one day. In your apartment, a cartel member lay unconscious at his feet.

-"So it was you?" you inquired.

-"I can explain," he stammered.

-"You were the one protecting me, weren't you? I've never felt threatened since my colleagues shared their ordeals. Only words, never physical harm or bombs. My family is unharmed. Someone protected me. It's you, isn't it?"

-Your perceptiveness impressed him.

-"Yes," he admitted.

-"You should have said something. I can pay you if needed. Being a bodyguard for someone who challenges cartels must be challenging."

-"Not as challenging as being a colonel fighting the cartel in my previous life," he thought but refrained from saying.

-"It's okay. I don't need a salary."

-"Then live with me. Let me repay you, in a way. This way, you can keep an eye on me 24/7 but still have a place to stay."

-It was tempting, avoiding the need to surveil you from across the street, being able to follow you closely to prevent traps.

-"Okay," he accepted.

-Gradually, he became a fixture in your life. You shared your findings, and he assisted during investigations, often necessitating clandestine break-ins to gather information. 

-He marveled at how you managed to stay alive with your audacious pursuits.

-But with each cartel member arrested due to your articles, he felt satisfaction and pride. You were making a difference.

-Until one day, the absence of the familiar sound of typing alarmed him. 

-Racing to your room, he found you lifeless, a bullet wound in your head. 

-How was this possible? He had used his magic for protective measures, installed cameras.

- Then he noticed it—a black wing on the floor, a fallen angel turned malevolent.

-He knew who was responsible—Valeria. Of course, she would be entangled in the sinister web of cartels. Mierda...

L A S S W E L L :

--She was sent to ensure peace.

-You, a fledgling diplomat, had just entered the scene.

-In a matter of months, a critical meeting loomed on the horizon. 

-Unfortunately, one of the other ambassadors harbored nefarious plans. 

-Their aim? To ensnare you, hold your country responsible for an attack, derail any alliance, shatter hopes of peace, and plunge nations into war.

-Laswell, tasked with preventing this diplomatic catastrophe, sought to guide you through the treacherous world of international relations.

-Gaining your trust, however, proved to be a formidable challenge.

-You toiled in isolation, reluctant to confide even in an assistant. 

-Acutely aware of the sordid nature of politics, you had no intention of succumbing to manipulation or falling prey to powerful lobby interests.

-To demonstrate her capabilities, Laswell embarked on a mission to help you confront a corrupt mayor. 

-When she successfully ousted him and exposed the truth, despite the mayor's pervasive connections, you were compelled to extend a job offer.

-"Thanks for this. I couldn't have done it without you. He had connections everywhere," you expressed your gratitude.

-"I have connections too, but I guess mine are just better than his," she replied with a hint of confidence.

-A chuckle escaped your lips.

-It was evident that Laswell, fueled by a genuine commitment to peace, would prevail. 

-Witnessing the purity of your heart, she found solace.

- She had observed how the hearts of political figures often tarnished when power came into play, but you remained an exception.

-"You're a remarkable diplomat, never doubt that," she reassured.

-"Maybe, but niceties don't seal alliances or foster peace," you sighed. "Money does, and we don't have it."

-Together, you delved into the intricacies of contracts and gathered information about other nations.

- Nights were spent in your office, surrounded by take-out containers, punctuated by jokes that lightened the mood while maintaining a serious focus on work.

-Gradually, Laswell began to open up to you. 

-Of course, she concealed her past as a CIA agent, weaving a narrative that shielded her secrets. Yet, you felt a sense of security in her presence.

-One evening during a break, you asked,

-"Do you have someone, Kate? You're always here with me, and I wouldn't want your significant other to worry."

-"I had someone," she admitted.

-"Sorry to hear that," you responded.

-"It's okay. It was a long time ago, like a previous life," she joked, though the truth lingered beneath the surface.

-"How were they?" you inquired.

-"She, and she was wonderful. My wife. I could have given everything to her, except I didn't. I didn't give her my time. I was working too hard."

-"Did you divorce?" you asked.

-"No, but I quitted my job for her."

-"Oh."

-"It was the right thing to do. She deserved it," she smiled.

-"And you never met anyone after?"

-"No.”

-Because after that, she died old and happy with her wife, before becoming a guardian angel.

-She never looked for love.

-"No, but maybe someday." Laswell said

-"I don't doubt it," you chuckled.

-"And you?"

-"I'm too busy with my work. They say I'm mostly married to it," you attempted to joke, but Kate sensed the underlying sadness.

-"You'll meet someone. You're a great person."

-"Thanks," you replied, returning to your work. 

-After weeks of collaboration, Kate unearthed a drug affair involving the other diplomat and dealt with it discreetly.

-On the day of the crucial meeting, the peace offer was accepted without hesitation, thanks to the covert threat.

- The treaties were signed, and a sigh of relief echoed through the diplomatic corridors.

-However, when Laswell awaited her next mission, she discovered a surprise.

-Your name resurfaced, but the mission had taken an unexpected turn.

-"Marry them."

-Confused, Laswell pondered the note. Guardian angels can't love humans. Then, she noticed a message on the back.

-"You deserve a retreat, Kate. And they're your type. Enjoy it. - John."

-She chuckled. John, always meddling where he wasn't needed.

- However, she didn’t know if she would marry you or not but this life as a diplomat, reshaping the world for the better, was the love she had found."

F A R A H :

-She had been sent to infuse you with the strength to confront adversity with courage and resilience.

- Once a firefighter, you had walked away from the profession after a tragic incident where a child lost his life in a fire. 

-Your attempts to alert your boss about the suspicious nature of the recent fires fell on deaf ears, and disillusioned, you resigned. 

-The question lingered: Why be a firefighter if you couldn't save lives?

-Farah had been dispatched to restore your inner fortitude because, deep down, you were right

-Those recent fires were no accidents. 

-Only you had the power to uncover the truth, having been the sole observer of the pattern.

- Fate placed her as your neighbor, but your demeanor was reticent, a mere husk of your former self.

-Observing your silent suffering, Farah chose a bold approach. 

-She ignited a fire in her own apartment using a toaster, triggering your instincts. 

-Without hesitation, you rushed to her aid with a fire extinguisher, quelling the flames.

-"Thanks, I don't know what happened," she lied, keenly observing the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the relief in your eyes.

-"It's okay; toasters can be tricky, many of them catch fire," you reassured her.

-"Do you often see that?" she inquired.

-"I'm a firefighter," you paused, correcting yourself, "was, sorry."

-She smiled, finding solace in your continued identification with the role.

-"You quit? Injuries?" she probed.

-"No, I... it just wasn't for me."

-"It doesn't seem that way," she said, nodding towards the fire extinguisher still in your grasp.

-"It was just a reflex."

-"Hmm, if you say so. You know, just because there are some bad firefighters doesn't mean you have to quit," she remarked.

-"True, but sometimes it's hard to... fight when you're alone."

-She understood. Without the support of people in her past as Karim, Farah would never have succeeded. 

-"But without brave people like you, the bad ones win," she emphasized.

-"Maybe," you conceded, "but... why am I discussing this with you? I don't even know you," you whispered.

-"It's easier to confess to a stranger, especially one with a burnt toaster," she joked.

-You chuckled, finding an unexpected comfort in her presence.

-"Maybe you're right. I just... I felt useless. I knew something was wrong with those fires, that we should have saved those kids, but... no one believed me. Maybe they're right."

-"Or maybe not. Now we'll never know since you quit," she countered.

"-Maybe..." you sighed.

-"I can help you," she offered.

-"How?" you inquired.

-"I'm a journalist," she lied, "if those fires are really peculiar, then I have a great article, and you could regain your job."

-"…But it means investigating my own brigade."

-"Betrayal often comes from those close to us," she said, recalling what did Hadir.

-"You're right, okay," you agreed.

-And so, the investigation began. Farah watched as the embers of your internal fire reignited. You didn't give up. 

-Gathering evidence, taking photographs, you uncovered a shocking revelation: a colleague was a pyromaniac, deliberately setting fires to play the role of a savior, to feel godlike.

-Presenting the proof to journalists, your chief could no longer cover for the rogue colleague. Farah felt a surge of pride for you.

-"You fought well," she commended.

-"I'll continue, thanks, Farah," you said, embracing her, the lingering scent of burnt still on your clothes after your mission.

-"Never give up, even when I'm gone," she whispered.

-"Never," you smiled.

-When her mission changed, she left you a collar. Months later, Farah noticed how you kept it as a talisman.

- She smiled, realizing that although she couldn't stay, your strength and hers would forever be intertwined.

K Ö N I G :

-He had been sent to rekindle your passion, to bring happiness back into your life. 

-Once a talented dancer, you had abandoned your love for dance in favor of a more practical career, burdened by financial responsibilities. 

-Your parents, disapproving of a dancing career, further added to the weight on your shoulders.

-König, however, was on a mission to reignite your love for your hobby and give your heart what it truly desired.

- So, in your building, he discreetly posted a classified ad seeking a dance teacher for the waltz.

-When you stumbled upon the ad, you thought, "Why not?"

-A little extra income wouldn't hurt, and you missed the joy of dancing. Intrigued, you decided to respond to his ad, accepting his offer.

-Little did König anticipate that it would work. 

-Now, with his towering 2-meter frame, he found himself awkwardly attempting to move like a swan without crushing your feet. The stress was palpable.

-“Breathe and focus on me, not on yourself,” you instructed, guiding his hands to rest on your waist. 

-Slowly, with the accompaniment of a piano, you led him through the graceful movements of the waltz.

-Suddenly, it felt like home. Memories flooded back – the aroma of onions and Zwiebelrostbraten cooking, the cramped kitchen adorned with peculiar pictures, his mother's gentle dance, and him on her feet as she attempted to teach him how to dance. 

-Dancing, he thought, could be so beautiful, and those who tried to prevent such feelings were truly awful.

-You noticed the sparkle in König's eyes, a reflection of the passion you had years ago.

- “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you remarked.

-“Yes, it’s like we’re floating,” he responded.

-“Waltz is beautiful. I…I wanted to compete when I was younger – waltz, salsa, and more.”

-“What stopped you?”

-“My parents. They said I would never be good enough to make a living from it. And they're right; only a few dancers can sustain themselves.”

-“But you could still live through it in a different way.”

-“How?”

-“Teaching it. Many dancers become teachers.”

-“I don’t have connections, König. Studios prefer people with a reputation.”

-“Then I’ll spread the word. You’re a great teacher. I mean, you made me dance the waltz, and I'm a giant,” he joked.

-You smiled. “Because you’re a great student.”

-“Nein, believe me, I can’t dance without you.”

-And so, König set his plans into motion, praising your classes to everyone. 

-Soon, a married couple sought your expertise, and as their marriage flourished, the word spread. 

-Requests poured in, and slowly you amassed a following.

-König, with his mysterious charm, helped you secure a studio.

- Although you maintained your part-time job, you now knew you could live from dance.

-“I’ll quit,” you whispered, nervous. “I need to quit to have more classes and finally be happy.”

-“Good, you deserve it,” he smiled.

-“Thanks. Without you, I probably would never have been brave enough to do it.”

-“I’m here to support you,” he assured, even though he missed holding you in his arms and waltzing with you.

-He asked for one last dance to celebrate. Unbeknownst to you, he would soon leave.

-As you danced, he felt your heart beating fast, resonating with happiness. 

-When a paper appeared in his pocket with another name and another mission, he looked back at you. 

-Perhaps now, when alone, König would practice the waltz for the day he would meet you again.

R O A C H :

 

TW : death (not of Roach or you though) + (i kinda create a past for him, I know it's not canon)

-He was sent to help you to protect Orion.

-The problem was, he had no clue who Orion was.

- Despite attempting to tap into his powers, all he could extract were names: Orion and yours. 

-Thus, he met you out and forged a close friendship, yet Orion remained elusive.

- Not in your familial ties, not as a romantic interest or enemies—nowhere. 

-Until one day, after returning from work, you shared an anecdote about Orion.

-Orion.

- A four-year-old boy. 

-Suddenly, it dawned on him; he comprehended his purpose

-. Roach, with his own history in foster care, knew he was selected because he understood the flaws in the system and how one could make a difference by adopting a child.

- However, Orion had loving parents, leaving Roach perplexed.

-"He's a sweet boy," you smiled.

-He reciprocated with a smile, albeit tinged with fear. 

-Did this mean Orion would lose his parents? 

-Or was he expected to kill them? 

-Roach was uncertain, prompting him to shadow Orion's residence, using his expertise in navigating air ducts, he was not called  Roach for nothing, air ducts were his things.

-As he observed, nothing seemed amiss until he spotted it: a crack in the wall. 

- Regrettably, before he could extricate himself from the air duct, the building collapsed. 

-The landlords had ignored warnings about the need for renovations, leading to the tragedy. 

-Roach barely escaped the ruins, coughing and trying to find his way out.

-Then, he heard Orion's voice. 

-Under a table, the little boy clutched his deceased mother's hand. 

-Roach froze; there was no doubt, Orion's parents were gone. 

-Why was he sent to manage this? 

- Why wasn't he tasked with preventing the tragedy or saving them?

- Why did Orion have to endure such a harrowing experience?

-He crawled to Orion, embracing him as the boy cried and screamed. 

-He waited with him at ER, refusing to leave despite your attempts to reach him. He only sent you a text “at ER”

-You joined him and he…he could only express his pain through a silent hug.

-You and Roach became determined to ensure Orion wouldn't be left in the system after such trauma.

- Despite the challenges, you visited every day, dealing with bureaucracy and, with Roach's magical assistance, eventually adopting Orion

-. Roach didn't leave; he remained a steadfast companion in your collective journey.

-It wasn't easy—Orion was confused, lost, and traumatized. 

-Yet, through your unwavering support, he slowly began to open up to both you and Roach.

- A family emerged, something Roach had only discovered in his twenties during his time in the military.

- He was grateful that Orion could experience it now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

-Each day brought the fear of a new mission, a new departure. Until one day, Ghost appeared in your flat.

-"What are you doing here?" Roach questioned.

-"Cutting your wings," Ghost responded.

-Roach recoiled. "I never kissed them." he said, yes he loved you, but he never tried…

-"Roach…"

-"You can't take them away from me, please L.T. I don't want to lose everyone like I lost you and the unit."

-"I’ll cut your wings so you can become human, Roach, not to punish you."

-Roach halted. "You—"

-"You deserve it."

-"Thanks, L.T."

-"You're welcome," Ghost whispered, cutting his wings.

-Roach felt pain but also a strange sense of freedom. He smiled at Ghost and let him leave. Finally, he had found a family.

_____

_If you want more : my COD masterlist

_My masterlist

[ceruleanchillin]

141 x Reader: Biker!AU

Note(s) -

1.) Nobody asked for this, but here I am combining two obsessions. Congrats, you’re a biker’s old lady now 🎉.

Any media with hot guys in a group should have outlaw MC AUs

2.) I love roughneck Simon. Please give me more of him. I wanna talk about the guys in this AU so badly, don’t (DO) feed my inbox. BlueCollar!Simon, Mafia!Simon, Mechanic!Simon, Idc I love it all. 

3.) If you saw this before, no you didn’t (plus I added more to it). I decided to keep them all together, and it’ll just be long as hell. A long fic stored under a cut never hurt nobody.🤷🏾‍♀️

Simon

Nobody can get him as soft as you. There’s a 3-ringed barrier around his heart. Outsiders < The Club < You.

He loves doing mundane things with you, the kind of things he never saw for himself when he swore to stay single in this life. Like, after a good run fattens his wallet, letting you run wild in the shops.

“C’mon on then lovie, give us a spin.”

You squealed, spinning so the soft fabric fanned around your upper thighs. “I love it! But Si, it’s too much.”

“You let me worry about that sweetheart. Just let me see how it looks comin’ offa ya.” He gripped the very thighs you teased him with, eager for his favorite part besides your smile.

He’d pick up as many extra runs as it took to keep you in small luxuries, as long as he was the one that got to keep that look on your face.

They all have tattoos, but Simon is the king. His body art is top notch, because he’s very discerning with his artists. He’s had the best from Europe to the States. Now, he only trusts Price’s old lady, Johnny, and you. 

In fact, that’s how you met. You started your apprenticeship under an asshole who bailed before it was over, and took a chance on the dangerous shop everyone warned you away from. Mrs. Price was everything you were afraid of AT FIRST. You later understood it was because the shop is 141 affiliated, and she had to be harshly discerning to protect herself and her family.

Once you got over that phase, she was unendingly sweet, and dedicated to helping you hone your craft. 

Simon saw you when he came to fix the sink in the shop’s little kitchen. You were the only one there, intensely focused on a practice skin arm.

You were beautiful, hair wild from you tugging at in concentration, and your tongue poking out slightly. How long had you been working here?

“I knew you needed a hand around here, but that’s a bit far isn’t it?”

You jumped, startled out of your practice, the buzz of the tattoo gun stopping. “Oh my god! I don’t know what scared me more, you, or that joke.”

The two of you kept each other company in your respective tasks, until he was done. In admitting you were aching to do a real tattoo again, he found himself volunteering on instinct. 

At first you resisted, worried about the ethics in your mentor’s shop, and he came up with the genius idea of going back to your place. Smooth Simon.

By the end of the night he was sure he’d never need another artist again.

He’s often as busy as Price, sometimes more so. It takes a lot to run a charter as is, but to establish a table so far from home calls on him more than any other era in his time with the club. On top of that, he often pulls double duty, acting as an enforcer with Konig.

That’s where he really appreciates you understanding, and accepting, his lifestyle. You’ve made a home for him, and he only hopes he conveys how much he appreciates that.

—

He comes home with a headache taking up residence in every corner of his head more and more these days. It was all he could do to kick his boots off, and not collapse on the nearest thing that could hold his weight. His room felt miles away. Downside of living in the dorms.

He drug himself to the clubhouse kitchen, prepared to dig around for some painkillers, when he saw a post-it note on the island next to a napkin with two pills.

Ignore if not Si!

Dinner in the fridge + cake in the dish on the counter. Eat and get your ass in bed with me.

:)

He chuckled, headache long forgotten when he realized you were in his bed. However, his heart and stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the home cooked meal in the fridge, and once he’d savored every bite, he was a blur on his way to his room.

You were curled up in one of his shirts, sleeping soundly on the side of the bed he favored. He stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor, only stopping to deposit his kutte on the dresser, before scooping you into his arms.

“Si..” you murmured sleepily, burying your face in his chest, seeking something to lay on after being picked up.

“‘s alright sweet pea.”

“Glad you’re home, don’t let go.” You were slightly more awake now, but not by much.

“Was never an option.” He got into bed, relaxing in the warm spot you left behind, and situated you next to him in his arms. 

Assuming big spoon position, his hands roamed your form, finding momentary purchase wherever they could. He felt a little guilty for further waking you up, but it occurred to him that you must have seen the day he’d had, and had taken the time to attempt to make it a little better. You could be home in your own bed, but you chose to be there for him. He was starving for you.

His lips created the same desperate patterns across your cheek and neck that his hands created on your body. He gripped your thigh, giving the plush skin a squeeze, before hooking your leg back over his.

There was a sharp inhale of air from you, and you pushed back against him, undoubtedly feeling him firming.

He laid his other arm under your head, letting you lay your cheek against his arm as he grasped your face. He tilted it up to grant more access to your skin for his lips.

“Taking care of me pretty bird?”

“It’s what you deserve, baby.” You slurred, squirming in sensory overload at all of his attention.

“Swear m’ going flat hunting tomorrow.” His fingers skimmed over your covered heat, grinning when your lower half bucked.

“‘s what you deserve sweetheart. Somewhere to put all your nesting to good use.”

You moaned rolling your hips back into your solid wall of a man. “Don’t tease me, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, m’not teasing pretty bird, m’ appreciating.”

He’s been called on to do many dark things for the club. Price doesn’t leave room at the table for anyone not to pull their weight, and he’s even tougher on his titled men. However, the darker jobs fall on Simon more often than anyone else, because he’s thorough, and can put the deed away somewhere, somehow, every time. 

When he pulls on his mask, and just surrenders to being no one but Ghost, he’s ready to work. He never cared what anyone thought about his actions, he never had to, until you. 

You’d been around rough crowds in your lifetime, but Simon was a career criminal, and so was his found family. He was sure some recollection of his deeds would reach you, and that’d be your line. In fact, he was waiting on it.

He was shocked, truly floored, to find that wasn’t what triggered you. It was how you felt he was being utilized. You didn’t like, what you felt, was the unequal distribution of the extreme jobs, and you told him as much.

When he got over his shock, his reaction was fiercely defensive of the club. It was your turn for shock, but he couldn’t help it. He felt judged about the family that owned his loyalty, by the woman that owned his heart. 

You were taken aback by his ferocity, but it didn’t change your view. It created a hotbed of tension that threatened what the two of you had built, until he understood why you felt so strongly. Simon was the one taken aback when he realized your intensity came from your love for him, not a judgement of the 141. He still couldn’t wrap his head around someone loving him to that degree. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t think he was worthy of that. That’s how he was supposed to, and did, love you.

He admitted as much when the tired topic reached a fever pitch.

Simon’s close cropped blonde hair was riddled with evidence he’d been running long, frustrated fingers through it. Those same fingers pulled a cigarette from his pack,, and lit it with a calmness that didn’t reflect the current mood.

“So now you tell me what I can and can’t do? That it then?”

You snapped at the accusation, breaking the promise you’d made to yourself not to raise your voice. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, stop reframing what I fucking say!”

“Grow the fuck up, you’re not a bloody baby. You knew what I did when we got together. I protect the group, I’m meant to be the first line of defense. I pull my weight, my life be damned!”

Your eyes widened in shock at the underlying implication of his words. His own expression wasn’t familiar enough to you for you to place.

“The table doesn’t make me do the ugly bits, most times I volunteer.” He flicked ash onto the pavement, his finger tapping with more force than necessary. “Whether I die, or get pinched, I can be replaced. ‘s my job to stand in front of the ones that can’t.”

His chest heaved with trapped frustration, voice guttural, raw with emotion. “That’s my use.”

You couldn’t place a time where your heart had ever hurt for anyone the way it hurt for him in that moment. It was a physical pain, pin pricking across your chest in a wave, and momentarily halting your ability to speak. You loved this man, fuck the moon, he hung galaxies in your eyes, and that’s what he thought of himself?

Simon, studying your expression and not liking the shame it made him feel, turned away. He didn’t know what to do with shame, especially in front of you. He’d said too much, and his mind was racing to find a way to undo it. Stiffening at the feeling of your arms barely meeting around his large form, he fought the urge to pull away.

Your voice was shaky, laden with the tears you didn’t bother fighting the fruitless fight to stop. “I wish I could get you to understand how untrue that is. I wish I knew where to start.”

He turned back around, but refused to meet your eyes. That startled you. Simon had never been afraid to lock eyes with you. He backed down from no one.

“Wasn’t an answer you liked then lovie? Sorry to disappoint.” He said quietly, taking a last drag before he ended the cigarette under his boot, and walked off back towards the clubhouse.

Tears streamed down your face at a faster rate now, and you tried in vain to swipe them away quickly. You weren’t sure what to say. Not then, too much was in the air as it was, and things needed to cool, but this clearly wasn’t settled

You only knew what you wanted to do. Hold him. Hold him until he saw how fucked his outlook was, and how much worth he really had.

Long out of town rides to create a bubble with just you and him. No specific destination, you just ride until you can both believe you’re the only two people you know.

He throws you a surprise party when you get certified as a tattoo artist, and Mrs. Price releases you from your apprenticeship to a chair of your own.

No one can believe Ghost is throwing someone any kind of party, but they don’t dare deny him as he enlists them in different tasks. He took the whole thing very seriously, and left no room for mistakes. No one, not even Soap, was careless enough to spoil the surprise. Simon wanted perfection.

It was obvious to anyone who watched his love struck gaze follow you when you were around, but if anyone doubted it before, they didn’t now. This man loves you.

Simon sometimes comes to you with a design he’s made for his next tattoo. It’s never elaborate, and it’s usually more utilitarian than aesthetic. He trusts you to make it pretty, he knows you will. He just wants to better convey his idea, or so you think.

In reality, he just likes when you praise him, and he can be part of your passion. He’s constantly amazed by your artistry, and humbled that you let him be a part of it. Essentially, you two collaborate on his tattoos in an undeniably intimate way.

He unceremoniously comes to you with a scrap of paper, something he’s sketched over the past few days.

“Somethin’ f’ya to look over when you get the chance.” He mutters before giving you a long kiss and leaving the shop.

You study the lines, shaky but serviceable, and the design clear. Your mind immediately began to think of ways to tie it into his existing tattoo’s style and his tastes. All the while, you kicked your feet, ecstatic that once again, the most complex person you knew was trusting you with this responsibility.

Si had some serious, high quality pieces on his body, and he thought enough of your hand to add to that.

Simon is usually more affectionate when you’re alone. In public, it’s mostly gliding fingers across your back, or a quick brush of his lips across your forehead. BUT, sometimes his intrusive thoughts win, and he has to slap your ass. This can happen anywhere, anytime.

You’re bent over the tattoo chair, disinfecting and scrubbing, and you swear you hear his hand cutting through air before you feel the smack.

“Si!”

“You put it there sweetheart.”

Shooting range dates. You’ve been judged by some of your more…conventional friends, but you’re a gun girlie (which turns Simon on like nothing he’s ever experienced), and you don’t care. They tried to make you feel like he was being inconsiderate taking you there. Meanwhile, it was damn near your demand.

Simon loves having friendly competitions, random kisses, and exchanging shitty jokes. Seeing you get excited, and engaging in a little tech/spec talk about a gun you love, gets Simon bricked up in 10 seconds flat.

You truly believe he’s taken you in hidden parts of the range more than either of your beds at this point.

Makes you keep track of football season when he’s away. Almost put you in a box and mailed you far away from him when you assumed he meant American football season.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again lovie, I won’t be held responsible.”

Punishes you with edging and cockwarming if you miss any important details. It’s especially excruciating when he’s just returned, and all you want is him to stretch you out. Simon is a mean dom, and he won’t be moved by sympathy.

“Please Si, I only missed one game.” you whined, trying to get him to come back to where he’d just spent time building you up to fall on his tongue, only to pull away at the last second.

He smirked, rising to his feet which clued you into the fact that he really wasn’t going to finish you off then. “That’s a bad girl. Have the missing orgasm to match.”

——-

Gaz:

Lives for where you live. Your little house is his home away from home. Sometimes the gang can be on business that keeps them on the road for weeks, and the last thing he wants when he comes back, is to continue to be locked in close quarters with other guys.

That’s when you know he’s skipping clubhouse life to crash with you for a while. You love it as much as him.

Scented candles and incense, sweet laundry detergent, soft materials, home cooked meals. It’s such a soft juxtaposition to his previous journey. 

Your hands are all over him, soothing bruises and kissing him over in mapped out patterns only known to you.

Kyle may not know the difference between a single thing on your beauty table, or much about the things in your bathroom cabinets, but he knows he loves how it all smells/looks on you when he’s running his nose across your skin.

“Baby, I gotta get ready for work.” 

Kyle hummed in acknowledgement, but kept you pinned to the overstuffed couch, kissing your thighs in his own personal ritual. The two of you had been sequestered away for two days since he’d been back, but he still couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be good for me love, I won’t make you late.”

“Liar.” You giggled when he pinched you in retaliation. “If you do what it feels like you’re about to do, I won’t make it to the shop until noon.”

“Not a liar babe, you know that better than anyone else.” He pushed your knees up until they pressed against your chest. “I promise, you’ll be the first one there. Can’t say in what state though.”

Being the club secretary, it may seem like Kyle has the plushier job at the table. Wrong. He sees as much action as the other guys, and he likes to stay in shape. That’s fine by you, because you reap the benefits when you get to watch him working out at your place.

Kyle Garrick doing burpees and up-downs in your tiny backyard, clad in nothing but gray sweat shorts, and a thin gold chain against his chest, isn’t a sight that should be free. Yet, after Kyle has finished his mission of witnessing you walk funny at least once, it’s a sight you’re treated to when he sinks back into his home routine.

You somehow think you’re safe to creep-watch from the back doorway while you enjoy your green tea, even though Kyle catches you every time. He just always knew when your eyes were on him.

Without even turning to give you a look he called your name, laughing softly. “I should start charging admission.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” You stuck your tongue out at his back, slamming the door when he revealed he somehow saw that too.

Kyle comes to the salon and hangs with you between appointments. Sometimes he watches you work, and fake flirts with customers to get you more money. He’s great for business.

“Cost a little extra, yeah? But myself, I love a bird that sweats the details.” Kyle’s brown eyes and bright smile were a lethal combination against free will, you knew this for a fact.

The soccer mom in your chair ducks her head under his attention, cheeks filling in with red, as she tells you she changed her mind about the rhinestones.

You appreciate the efforts towards fattening your wallet, but sometimes he’s so effective, you get annoyed and drag him to the break room to remind him you own him.

When you ride with him, he loves looking down and seeing the pretty designs of your nails grasping his chest. Something about the contrast of hot pink, or pearlescent purple against the black leather of his kutte does it for him.

Kyle is definitely on the calmer side most times, especially for his lifestyle, but the fastest way to break that is someone meaning you harm.

You were out at a crowded club with the 141, their ladies, and some friends of the club. It was a celebration of good finances and a successful legal dodge. 

The guys clung to a dark VIP section, there for the drinks and victory lap more than the dancing. On the other hand, you and the other girls were not there to sit idle. 

After a tense few months, the cause of your respective relationship ups and downs with the guys, you guys deserved to cut loose. The table agreed, with your men shouting words of encouragement and flirtatious innuendo to hype you up.

The whole bar was enthralled by you and the other girl’s dancing, singing, and general untethered energy. It was contagious. You especially, you had a few drinks in you, and all that could currently keep your attention was the music.

There was, unfortunately, one outsider who got a little too enthralled with the performance.

When you peeled away from the group, following the uptempo rhythm, he thought that was his time to make his move.

You felt him press up against you while your eyes were closed, assuming it was Kyle, you almost ground back against him. Then you smelt the liquor. Kyle liked a drink like everyone else, and you’d even seen him drunk, but this was someone who’d been at it for a while. Disgustingly sour, too close, and ultimately not your man.

You sent a sharp hit back with your elbow, turning to confirm what you knew. It wasn’t Kyle. He grunted, but pushed forward again making you hold your hand up in a warning.

“I don’t think so.” you waved him off, laughing at the prospect of entertaining him.

Angered by your laughter, he got bolder, shouting to be heard. “Well I think so, but I’m real interested in knowing why you don’t.”

“Because I said what I said, and I have a man.” You were tipsy, but there was an underlying fire to your words lending them solidity. “Fuck off!”

He bristled at another dismissal. “Bitc-“

Kyle had appeared, most likely having started making his way to you once the man got too close, and clapped him on the shoulder. His expression said that he had heard at least some of what was said.

“Hi baby!” You shouted, a little loud even for the club, but that made it endearing. “That’s my man.” You told the asshole.

“Use your ears before I send you home carrying them.” He was gripping the man’s shoulder so tightly you should see the sharp knuckle bones flexing, his rings catching the light.

The man looked at the kutte, and the expression on Kyle’s face, and the exact moment he realized the man would act on the threat literally became apparent.

If that wasn’t enough, you had the ladies at your back, and the table alert and waiting for the call. It was over for the bastard before it even started.

He raised his hands and scurried into the crowd, aiming for the door.

“I love you baby.” You crooned, throwing your arms around him and covering his face with kisses.

He laughed. “I love you too, even when I know I’m going to be holding your pretty hair back all day.”

When the gang has to have a tense table vote in a briefing, their equivalent to some other mc’s “church”, you always wait for Kyle. As secretary, it’s his job to gather information on other gangs, as well as any important changes in the area, and his council is called on first.

You’re waiting for him right after, inviting him back to your house for the night, knowing he won’t want to stay in his dorm. He won’t show it then, but he’s disappointed, and when you get him home, you let him vent to his mind’s content.

All the while, you’re drawing him a bath, doing a light skin routine on his face, greasing his scalp, and curling up on the couch with his back against your chest.

You know his brothers have his best interest at heart, and respect his role in the club, but sometimes he can get in his head about it, and that’s when you step in.

——-

Soap:

Johnny kept his lifestyle a secret from you at first. You’d only been hooking up for a couple of weeks before you both confessed to wanting more.

The crew had mocked him relentlessly about his inability to keep a relationship casual. 

“Give it up mate, you ain’t even foolin’ yourself!” Gaz had clapped him on the back, laughing right in his face. “You start up with a girl right, and it’s over. You’re looking for a house by sunup.”

“Och, piss off with ya! I can keep it casual!” Indignant, and maybe a little drunk, he elbowed the man on the other side of him. “Tell em’ Ghost.”

Simon glanced at him sideways, bourbon halfway to his lips, careful it didn’t spill due to the prodding. “Johnny, some pretty bird starts chirpin’ in your ear and it’s curtains. Now fuck off.”

He couldn’t believe his friends, no — brothers, had such little faith in him.

Cut to a few days later, with him balls deep in you, confessing he wanted more. 

“I’ll be good to ya bon, I swear it. I’m all for ya, just be for me?”

The only thing that lessened the embarrassment of proving his friends right, was that you seemed relieved, and admitted it was what you wanted too.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d been patched in, besides the camaraderie, he was enamored with the relationship between Price and his old lady. There were plenty of solid old lady/old man pairings around him, but something about the way the club queen cared for her man, kept the other girls in order, and still maintained a life for herself was astounding to watch.

He couldn’t help chasing that in every girl he’d gotten with since he’d joined up. So many girls wanted the mystique of a sexy biker, but that’s all he was for them. Either a living dildo, or an attraction they could make their friends jealous with. Things never got very far outside of the bedroom. Except once, but that didn’t go over so well in the end.

He wanted that ride or die bond so badly, he couldn’t wait to have the perfect old lady to wife up and fill a house with brats. 

With you, he prayed he was it for you, because you had quickly become it for him. 

You were a good girl. Specifically, his good girl now. He felt it was highly unlikely you would go for his lifestyle, and so he kept it under wraps at first. He knew he had to tell you at some point, but he wanted to soak up as much time as he could in case you checked out.

“Nah sweetheart, it’s nah like that. We get a little rough, but mainly, we just appreciate bikes.”

“Do ya think I have what it takes to be in a criminal organization? And with ya not knowin’ no less!?”

“Let’s talk about something else bon, did ya ken your thighs look cute warming my ears?”

Guilt eating through him like acid, especially when the club picks up on the fact that he hasn’t brought you around. Anytime Soap has a girl in his bed more than once, he’s parading around the club with her in no time. They know there’s something special about you, and that baffles them even more. Soap claims it’s because you live one town over, which you do, but Gaz calls him on his shit.

He’s hyper defensive, and fights until he’s blue in the face before he admits it’s true. He’s afraid you’ll turn out like the others, or reject him all together. He’s so far gone at this point, he’d rather you use him than leave him.

Price doesn’t like it, and councils him against lying to you any further for numerous reasons. Soap promises he’ll tell you soon, but he’s trying to convince himself as well as his president.

Eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore, but it wasn’t exactly his choice when the curtain got pulled back. 

The two of you had been to a late movie, Johnny finally having had time to squeeze in a date with you after a series of back-to-back runs. You’d suggested coming to him for once to take the burden off. Before he could object, you’d admitted that you were already in town, and he’d rushed to meet you. 

Though he was nervous about you hearing something, or seeing someone off-color that he knew, he couldn’t deny he loved the day he spent with you.

He never needed a reason to want to kiss you, but something about your soft smile under the parking lot lights compelled him right then. Maybe because your expression said just how content you were to be with him, and he buried that in his heart.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped you, lips on yours before you could ask why.

Parking lots didn’t exactly get safer as they got darker, and emptier, but he couldn’t stop once his lips touched yours. Then you started tugging on the curly hair of his Mohawk like you did when you’d really gotten into things.

He was just about to suggest he stay over at your place, when you were interrupted by a cop. You assumed he was going to warn you about loitering and apologized, but he and Johnny knew that wasn’t what it was about. He called Johnny “Soap”, and you were confused as to how they knew each other.

“Oh, Scotboy here goes back with the law a long ways back home.” The cop tried to clap Johnny on the shoulder only for him to violently dodge it. “Easy. I’m not booking you on anything…tonight.”

You were at a loss for what the cop thought he could book Johnny on, and called it out as harassment. Johnny knew, by the sick expression on his face, that the cop was eager to spill it all once he realized how little you knew about the man you were clutching. He tried to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah well, you’re just wastin’ time then, and we have a drive.” Johnny’s arm tightened around your shoulder as he started to lead you away.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what he’s told you, but if you were my daughter I’d want you to know. That’s a dangerous man you’re on the arm of.”

“Shut up.” Johnny growled, and he knew you had to be thinking about how you’d never seen him like this, but he’d also never been this angry around you.

“Johnny…” you pushed at him to try and get him to move, but he was rooted in rage.

He knew where the cop was taking it.

“This was when you were a prospect back in England right? The number you did on the guys from that other charter…interpol still talks about it. Oh wait…they never proved it was you did they?”

Johnny thumbed his nose and sniffed, jutting out his chin in utter opposition of the man in front of him. “Nah, wasnae even in the country at the time.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve only read the reports our precinct got when you boys moved to town.” The obnoxious officer bounced his palm off his forehead in a mock gesture.

Johnny felt you squeeze his arm, grounding him for the moment, and he thought you might be saying something. His ears sounded like the Grand Rapids ran through them. A hot rage was settling into his chest, and spilling into other parts of his being.

The smug expression of the cop, one of the ones on the force who’d made things personal with the club was

“Johnny!” You shook him, finally getting through to him. “I want to leave.”

He exhaled, softening at your expression. Little tremors of adrenaline wracked through him, but he still led you towards his bike by a firm grip.

“You know, they included pictures in those files they sent over. What you did to those guys..” The cop whistled from behind you.

Johnny helped you into your helmet, watching as your eyes raced with questions, but you were so good for him. You would wait to ask him. 

He brushed his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “Ignore him bon. Whatever he says, please.”

“But, the real shame is what happened to Anna.” The cop continued.

In a straight shot, Johnny launched himself at him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”

“They cut her up pretty bad. Was her nose always on the side of her-”

—

He knew it was bait, and he admitted as much later, but he’d taken the active grenade in his hand all the same. The wounds that piece of shit poked were too raw not to, on top of probably killing everything between you and him. 

Everything was designed to hit a critical point in him. His past deeds, Anna, and most importantly, you.

All he could think about was if he was going to lose you after tonight, there was no way he wasn’t going to make it count all over the bastard’s face.

The local police had been looking for something, anything, to get the club on, but they’d been too careful. That’s what Price had told you on the way to the precinct. Johnny had dialed for you while the cop was getting back to his feet.

“Was any of what he said true?” You were clutching your purse the way you had since you’d gotten into the car with Price and the club’s lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean love?” Price looked at you cooly, not giving anything away, though you were sure he knew what you meant.

“Never mind.” You shook your head. “I know it’s true. Did Johnny really hurt those guys? Who’s Anna?”

Price kept his eyes on the road, while the lawyer kept his attention on his phone. The air couldn’t have been more tense,

“You should talk to your boy sweetheart. Don’t let some future desk-riding prick make you doubt the man who’d rip out his own heart just to show you it’s yours.”

You swallowed, hard, and didn’t say anything else until you got to the station.

“Um…I think I’m just going to Uber home. Tell Johnny I’ll call him.”

Price nodded, but his look was disapproving. “‘m sorry to hear that,” he adjusted his dark beanie. “But if that’s what you think is best.”

You did not call him. Not later when you were sure he had been released, and not the next day. You wouldn’t even open the never-ending text thread between you two.

He texted you early enough to be apologetic about it, and you had to push your phone to the far side of your bed to stop yourself from responding.

You went about your daily routine, getting ready for your shift at the diner. Your one room apartment didn’t allow you the luxury of pretending your phone wasn’t blowing up with text messages, but you were too afraid you’d cave if you saw the screen while attempting to silence it.

He showed up at the diner, and you pretended to be too busy in the back until he left.

He waited outside of your place, but you wouldn’t come down, going so far as to turn off the lights when you realized he was there.

No call was answered, no text replied to.

Johnny was a wreck. So much so, that as furious as Price and Ghost had been, as much as they’d come down on him, they weren’t sure he’d even heard it. They saw his regret, he did have his brothers and their families in mind, along with the fact that he was a higher ranked member who set a piss poor example for prospects and basic members. 

The fact that his stunt could’ve cost them their freedom. He saw all of that.

But he was HURTING. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all Johnny could do to roll out of bed and do the basics before he crawled back again. 

All the club girls dropped by his dorm. Some to be flirtatious, which he lashed out at, some to show sympathy. 

Mrs. Price and Ghost’s girl were especially gentle. It’s the darkest period in Johnny’s life, even when factoring in the Anna situation. It’s clear to all around him, you’re it for him. His soul is yours, and he’s dying without you.

It was Simon who came to you and changed your mind. He couldn't take seeing Johnny that way. The whole table was worried, but Johnny was a little brother to the taciturn specter. He’d only see him like this once before, and this was ten times worse.

In the early afternoon, the diner’s customers were nothing but truckers and elderly folks. So when the 6’4 blond with trunk-thick arms, and a permanent scowl walked in, there was no ignoring him. You noticed the kutte, and thought about making a break for the back, but his look said ‘try it’, and you thought better of it.

Instead, you wound up in a back booth with him, taking your 15 minute break. 

“‘m not the preachin’ sort, so I’ll get on with it.” He stared right through you, lighting a cigarette. “‘s no business of mine what you and Johnny decide to do, but you need to talk to him.”

You started to tell him no smoking, but didn’t feel like exerting the effort. Let your boss deal with it if it mattered.

Your hands trembled, so you put them beneath the table in your lap. “If it’s none of your business, then why are you here?”

”Because, it’s destroying him. You’re destroying him.” He turned for a moment to exhale away from your face, and then his gaze was cutting right back to you. “Lad’s a mess and a half without you. We’ve tried to sort him out, but it’s gonna take you.”

”He lied to me!“ the exclamation left your mouth without a thought to volume control, and you pointedly ignored the stares you knew were at your back.

”You knew.” he said simply. “You may not have known the specifics, and we told him not to do it that way, but you knew.”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to express the million thoughts in your head.

”You may be a town over, but our name gets around. I know you’ve heard somethin’.” He tipped the ash in the glass of water you’d gotten him. “You’re a smart bird by Johnny’s account.”

“If you told him not to lie, then why are you telling me not to be upset?”

“‘m not, ‘m tellin’ you to hear him out. Put him out of his misery, whatever you decide.”

The man left the booth, standing back to his full height and casting a shadow over the booth.

“He’s a right fuckin’ mess. Loves you more than life.”

“More than Anna?” The name that had been swirling around in your mind came out in a semi-bitter question.

There was something that could have possibly been a flinch, but you weren’t sure. It made you regret mentioning it either way.

He stubbed out the cigarette. “He’ll be round yours by the time you get off.”

He was. Looking completely unconfident and nervous about being there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beloved mohawk showed signs of too many anxious tugs. 

This wasn’t what you were used to with the confident man, and you didn’t like it. You understood, you looked the same way, but you didn’t like it.

He was apologizing constantly, between spilling streams of exposition that only served to confuse you, instead of clearing things up. You finally had to tell him it would just be easier if you could ask questions instead, and he sat back and became an open book.

It went all evening, and then well into the morning. Every question led into lengthy conversation.

—

“Who’s Anna?”

“...A good lass who didn’t deserve what she got.”

—

“So it’s definitely more than just appreciating bikes. Why?”

“They’re my family, and they’ve always had my back while lettin’ me be myself. If I have to do somethin’ a lil dodgy now and then, that’s a small price to pay.”

—

“I don’t doubt you love me Johnny, you make it impossible to, but how can I trust you after this?”

“By takin’ the chance to believe me when I say I’d rather die than go through this again. If honesty brings you back to me, I’ll never leave it out again.”

The sun is rising by the time the two of you are talked out. You make him stay, seeing that his sleep deprivation was starting to collect its due. It was you who didn’t sleep while you pet his hair from where he laid on your lap, and thought over your feelings.

He wakes when you inform him he has a phone call. He tells you to answer it, and you realize it’s a gesture towards the honest leaf turn. 

He took the time to honesty dump with you, so you admit to him that while you’re still hurt, your mind's made up about taking him back.

It should have frightened you how quickly you sank back into things with Johnny, but what actually frightened you was the reason why. You realized you were just as addicted to him as he was to you. How had you lasted the past couple of weeks?

It’s a mutual obsession, only strengthened by a period of absence. Something he vowed would never happen again.

You let him give you your first tattoo, and you even let him pick the design. He couldn’t believe you trusted him with the honor, and he wound up asking if you were sure five times.

“Baby, yes!” you laughed, squeezing his cheeks as a form of cute aggression over his heart eyes. 

This was such an intimate act for him, that he made sure you were completely alone in his dorm room when the day came. The room is spotless for once, sanitized to government standards. You can’t help but notice that he’s lit candles in your favorite scent, and his playlist is all soft music for once.

He spent weeks sketching the perfect concept, and even created variations for your choosing. He went through soooo many pages, unwilling to settle when it came to his girl.

In the end, it was decided, and he got to work on the inner wrist tattoo. All the while, he was checking in with you to make sure you were good.

“It’s just a small piece baby, I’m ok.” You always pressed a kiss to his nose to reassure him and get him back to work.

He looked so handsome, locked in concentration, that it almost completely distracted from the pain. You’d seen him work before, and you loved it, but this wasn’t just work right now. He was giving you something important, and you sensed that. 

When he finally finished, he sheepishly, almost fearfully, asked you what you thought.

“It’s everything Johnny. When everyone asks who’s the talent behind it, I can’t wait to say he’s my man.”

Soap has no regard for anyone or any place when he wants you, which is all the time. You’re all over the clubhouse together. The couches, the hallways, the armory. Officially, clubhouse outer-walls are your spots during cookouts.

Gaz walked into the storage room, focused on finding a part for a customer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you through the empty space on a tall shelf.

“Hi, eh, Kyle!” All that was visible was your face, and he wondered for a second why you were out of breath.

“Hey (Y/N), what’re you doing back here?” He gave you a side glance and smile, his attention mainly on the organized shelves.

“I’m..” you bit your lip, unable to form another word as your eyes rolled back.

Kyle froze, realizing what was happening. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me mate?!”

“You walked in on us!” Johnny’s indignant cry came from below his line of vision.

Sooo many lunch break dates. Technically, Johnny is on shift at the garage, and should be preparing for the next day’s run, but his best girl needs him :( . You work so hard at that cafe, and they never appreciate you. Not like he does.

So when he takes the work pickup truck to get you, knowing Price has told him a million times it’s not for that, he can’t be bothered to care.

“Johnny, tell me you did not go across town to buy me this sandwich.” You already knew the answer, and you wanted to scold him for neglecting himself again. “You’re gonna be late getting back to the shop!”

“You love it though. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of ya.” 

“That’s not the point, you-“

“You’re so pretty baby.”

And you melt and forget to be upset.

You can’t stay mad at Johnny with heart eyes and loving, grabby hands. Especially when those grabby hands start to get a little more focused…

What happens in the work truck, stays in the work truck. Until he gets drunk and brags at a club party….

The fun times were well and good, but Soap knew that the day would come when you got a glimpse at the uglier parts of the life. He barely got you back, and you throwing up your hands and declaring it was all too much was all he could think about.

They’d been having issues with the Shadows MC, and it was starting to boil over. They didn’t like the 141 moving in on their territory, but his table had made it clear that wasn’t up to them. This resulted in many skirmishes he could keep under wraps, but then it came to a head.

They’d hit the Shadows hard at one of their core locations, and in preparation for retaliation, Price and Ghost had called a lockdown. This meant all old ladies, kids, and friends of the club were to hunker down at the club compound until they gave the ok.

The day was here, and he’d been dreading it. He couldn’t very well leave you out there, he hadn’t exactly been subtle that you were his girl, but surely you wouldn’t go for it.

Nothing had been asked of you so far, and he was trying his best to keep from burdening you like the typical old lady. He felt you’d be less likely to leave if he kept the weightier things from you.

He must have paced up and down your street in the dark for over an hour. His phone was blowing up with demands he ‘get his ass back to the compound’ with you, ‘NOW’, but he had to do it right. It wasn’t easy to say “We mowed down some of our enemies, and destroyed their operation, and some guys could make you pay for that.”

He could lose you tonight. He could relive his past.

When he finally did get up the nerve to tell you, he was shocked at how well you took it. He knew you were scared, and you couldn’t have been too happy either, but he loved you for your strength in that moment. 

All you did was quietly pack, while his mouth ran a mile-a- minute. Swinging wildly between telling jokes, assuring you you’d fit in just fine with the other old ladies, and apologizing. You kept telling him you were fine, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

It took a week to beat the Shadows back. In that time Johnny had been in and out of safe houses, with barely a spare minute to check in with you. If he was being honest, he was terrified.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that when he got back to the compound, you wouldn’t be there. You’d be long gone, and when he went to your place, the things he’d left (so sneakily) would be in a box waiting on the doorstep.

He was so sure of this, that he wanted to go by your place first, but his bone-weary brothers were barely sitting upright on their bikes. Battered and bruised to hell, he couldn’t ask them to indulge his paranoia. The table didn’t like to be too far from each other until they were fully assured they were whole back home.

He was the last to walk through the door, to the shock of his brothers, but he didn’t want to tell them he was probably about to scream his throat raw when he saw you weren’t there. 

He clenched and unclenched his aching fists in anxiety. ‘Just look around the room you daft fucker!’ He mentally scolded himself.

He didn’t get a chance to. You barreled into him, arms locking around his neck. He stumbled back, weariness and shock combining to make his footing unstable, but his back hit the solid metal door behind him.

“I was so fucking worried.” You whispered into his neck, and he felt his neck dampen with what he presumed were tears.

“I was too…” he admitted, finding it in him to grip you to his person with a desperate strength.

Relief flooded his body when you started pressing kisses all over his face, and all he could do was stand there. Receiving your love.

“Oh!” You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. “Johnny put me down, the girls told me about how tired you guys are when something like this happens. You should be resting.”

“I’ll get to that bonnie, just keep kissing me like that.” He whispered, hands slipping into the back pocket of your jeans to keep you close.

You took over as soon as you got him back to his dorm room. You helped him undress, made sure he didn’t collapse in the shower, and even straightened his precious Mohawk while he struggled to pull on the sweats you’d grabbed him. All the while, awkward apologies from him. From you, excited recollections of all the things you’d learned from the strong women around you over the week.

Johnny supposed he had them to thank. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering what flipped the switch, and gifted him the kind of welcome home he used to envy the taken members of the club for getting. You were the best girlfriend he ever had, but an old lady was something else, yet here you were, excelling at that too.

And later, in his room after the hot shower, he collapsed face first on the bed. It took one, deep inhale of the fresh linen to know someone had done laundry. He exhaled with a hum, openly appreciating the clean scent.

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” You laughed, entering the room from his bathroom.

Johnny heard the sound of a lid pop, but was too far gone to look back and see what it was. Then you straddled his back, your soft hands kneading out a week’s worth of tension, self-inflicted and otherwise. He groaned, feeling the soothing lotion follow your hands over the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame.

“Addin’ this to my tab then?” He slurred, half in the dream realm, half with the love of his life.

“Yep, but I know you’re good for it.” You leaned down, nipping his ear, and making him mewl in frustration as he hardened against the mattress, knowing there’d be nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He used the last of what he had to flip you over, mentally cataloging the adorable squeak you let out. Cupping your cheeks, he shared a soft look with you for just a moment, before he sealed his lips over yours. All he could do was hope you could feel everything he wanted to say behind the movement of his lips.

Judging by your soft sighs, he guessed you could.

He pulled away, settling half on you, half off. “I’m settlin’ my debts soon as I’m up hen. Bet on it.”

He makes Ghost promise to take care of you if something ever happens to him. 

“Johnny, shut fuck up,” Ghost glared at him, faint facial scars following his frown. “You’ll outlive us all.”

Johnny stared at him from across the meeting table, more serious than a personification of the sun had any right to be. They were the only two in the briefing room, for some reason the place felt sacred enough to Soap for such a request.

“‘m serious VP, that’s ma heart, I love her.” His accent thickened with emotion, and he sipped his bar as if to wash it back. 

                                                                                                                               His fingers flexed around the sweating glass. “‘m gonna marry her.”

“Lads and I knew that the first time you talked about her.”

Soap smiled at that, but his expression quickly returned to its serious state. “Sweet girl and me have been talkin’ about kids, preferably after.”

A fond quiet bloomed between them at that admission. The two of you had told no one else, and Johnny felt guilty violating your pillow talk confessionals, but he hoped it would get Ghost to agree.

“Want that more than anythin’ VP, but I can’t pull the trigger until I know they’ll be looked after.”

“The club-“

“Not just the club!” He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration. 

Why couldn’t the stubborn fucking giant just agree?

“I know the club will look after them in general. I know I can trust our table, hope I can trust the other charters.” He sighed, refocusing. “You’re my best friend Simon. I just have to know my girl, and my bairn, would always have you at their back. If I died.”

“Wouldn’t happen. I’d lay my life down so you could make it back-“

Johnny shook his head, choosing not to repeat himself. Instead, he gave his friend a pleading look.

He could see a storm of thoughts and emotions competing for dominance in his friend’s mind. His expression didn’t change much, but it was in his eyes if you knew him.

He saw why Simon was resisting, he didn’t feel worthy of being looked to in that way.

Finally, Ghost responded after grinding his cigarette out in the dish on the table. “Promise the same f’me then. I’ve fucked her life up enough, shouldn’t still be doin’ it when I’m gone.” 

“On my honor.” Soap didn’t even have to think, it was an instinct.

“Then tell your missus you’re ready. I’ll cover my end.”

———

Price:

Head honcho. Chief. The Boss. Captain of the ship. It’s all the same no matter who calls him what, President Price is in charge.

He founded the club after leaving his original due to lack of loyalty, and thoughtless endeavors. He works overtime to make sure his club doesn’t fall in the same way. His code of ethics may not make a lick of sense to anyone outside of the outlaw life, but they’ve garnered the respect and admiration of some of the toughest men around the globe.

They’d follow him through hell because they know he’d be the first one in.

When they’re on a run, selling guns or attending a meeting in neutral territory, John’s mind is all business until business is done. Then it’s all you. He loves hearing his guys talk about how they’re going to spend their new check, or swapping stories about their old ladies. Sometimes, he even joins in.

But what he really wants to do is celebrate with you. Most times you’re already up at the compound. Seeing to the legitimate businesses, taking care of the girls, helping the member’s families, etc.

He respects what you do, what you’re capable of, beyond borders. However, he can’t help but be jealous. You always come to him first, tight hug and a long soft kiss, but then you’re quickly looking over his guys. The men revel in it, almost becoming kittens under your motherly ministrations. Especially Soap and Gaz, who you’re in the same age group as, but you scold all the same.

When the last man has been sent on his way, he’s dragging you away to the little bedroom off his office. He knows you find it amusing, to see his selfishness win out over any tiredness he’s feeling.

Before the door can even close, he’s pulling you close and kissing you his favorite way. A kiss he didn’t know he was capable of until you became his wife. Anytime he was gone too long, you did something that knocked him off his feet, or your affection wasn’t directed solely at him, he kissed you that way.

He cradled your head, holding you steady when he pressed his lips to yours. He left no room for there to be room between the two of you. Rough thumbs slid under your chin, tilting your head up slightly before he slid his tongue between your lips. He knew he had to release you soon, let you remember how to breathe, but it was hard to fight the hunger.

“Nothing flatters me like my big biker husband being unable to share me for two seconds.” you teased, but your teasing came out in short puffs, as your lungs weren’t cooperating with you at the moment.

He could feel you swaying, going dizzy, and he brushed his beard over your ear to make you squirm before he said. “Jump love.”

You did, feeling his heavy hands grasp your thighs seconds later. He slid your legs over his hips, encouraging you to lock down around his waist.

“I’m just making sure you take care of what’s yours.” he thrust upward, hardness touching. “I promised it to you that first time.”

He laid you across the bed, staring down at you with a darkened smirk. “Take some responsibility for the state of your possessions.”

He’s the head of an organization that now exists in several countries. All that responsibility is tiring, even for a man so skilled at navigating it, and there’s been many a day when all he can do is lay his head down for the pain of the headaches.

You can’t count how many times you’ve come up to the club when he didn’t come home, only to find him furiously puffing a cigar and downing shots to dull the pain. 

The guys had families to feed, there were good men behind bars for them that needed to be taken care of, he had tables back home that needed guidance, there were property expenses, legal retainer fees, and more. Much more.

That meant more risky non-legit work, which meant stretching the legitimate business to cover what that brought in. He had to know when it was time to expand, when it was time to halt, and when it was time to move to something else.

But he’s just a man, one man, and you’re there to remind him of that. 

“John?” You had been expecting to find him in his office, but the moment you stepped into the club house, you saw him at the bar.

He wasn’t alone. 

Phillip Graves, president of the Shadows MC finished off his drink and clapped John on the back. 

“We’ll talk again.” He nodded his head towards you with a wink and a smile. “Ma’am.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him out of the door, remaining there until his motorcycle’s engine was a distant roar. At that point, you turned back to your husband.

He was gripping his forehead, lit cigar balanced on the heavy crystal ashtray next to him. The last remnants of whisky mingled with the melting ice in his glass, which he threw back before attempting a fake smile.

”Hello darling, you just close up shop?”

”Yeah, and I got home to find my husband wasn’t there. What the fuck John? You said you were going to work on this.” 

You tossed your purse on the counter. “And Graves?! I can’t even-“

”(Y/N), don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have that in me right now.”

Sighing, you placed one hand on his back, using the other to put out his cigar. He protested with a disapproving grunt, but was too tired to do more than that. Your face softened at that realization.

He pushed back from the bar a little, allowing you to slide onto his lap, legs splitting over his thighs. “I’m just worried. You can lead a table, you can lead the whole organization, but you can’t carry the whole thing on your back.”

You cupped his head like he often did to yours, and massaged the base of his skull. His eyes slid shut, body going lax, and he practically purred.

Leaning down, you scattered gentle kisses on his face, careful to leave no spot untouched, before going in for a whiskery kiss. It was here John took over, thanking you for the attention.

“You know that it’s not you I don’t trust right?” you asked between kisses. “It’s him.”

“I know, and you know I value your judgment.” He got underneath your shirt, hands rubbing your sides slowly. 

There was a moment of domestic peace and quiet. You massaging his temple, and he massaging your sides. Though you trusted the capable man going soft under your hands, you hoped he wouldn’t regret whatever Graves was bringing to your door.

John doesn’t come to your shop often, but it’s not because he doesn’t support your career. It���s because he can’t watch you work for very long without wanting you biblically on every surface.

You love his open attraction to you, so it’s not exactly the easiest thing to ignore. No matter how much you try to stay focused on the job, the man is the love of your life, and he looks handcrafted by god.

Hunched over a client’s thigh, your brows were drawn in concentration on the elaborate Victorian cameo piece.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see John lounging in the plush desk chair he’d dragged over. A good distance to respect your client, but close enough, he could keep eyes on his favorite person.

Your client was amused, laughing through a wince, she nodded in John’s direction. “You’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

“I’ve been caught lovely, what to do now?”

”Ignore you.” You quipped before glancing up at your client. “He’s my husband.”

”Oh,” she hummed. “That explains the heart eyes.”

At that, you did have to look up, instantly wishing you hadn’t. It was a visual trap. 

John, sitting there like the king he was, manspreading with no shame. Black beanie, tight jeans, dark sweater with his royal kutte draped over the sweater, and leather boots. You told him more than once he could model, to which he feigned offense. 

“Focus on your work.” John admonished, but the smirk he said it though was pure sin.

Your eyes had strayed below the belt, and John was fully aware of this. Reveling in it really.

”Don’t you have a bike to fix? A prospect to bottle feed?”

”Nope,” his arms crossed behind his head, an action you saw out of the corner of your eye. “I belong to my missus this evening.”

Your client cooed, undoubtedly enjoying the banter between you and John. You did too, too much, and his bit about belonging to you made you have to pause and readjust yourself.

”Every evening really.”

”That’s nice John.” You hissed, lifting the gun from her skin to wave him off.

Your client laughed, trying hard to hold herself steady for you.

“Don’t encourage him.” you turned yourself at an angle slightly, trying and failing to ignore him. 

“Well, it’s really far more than just evenings isn’t i-“

You lifted your foot from the pedal, and placed the tattoo gun on the tray next to you. 

“Kitchen, now.” You gave your client a sheepish smile. “We were due for a break anyway hun. Can I get you anything?”

She was visibly entertained by you and John, after all, the two of you had become a legendary couple in these parts for a reason.

“I’m good, take your time.”

John winked at your client, strolling behind you into the back. You waited until he was in the kitchenette before sliding the door closed.

”You’re such an ass.” But your hands were already under his sweater, running up and down his chest.

You appreciated that he took up so much space in the little room, forcing the two of you together. You could blame the room’s dimensions for being all over him, and not your unwavering attraction to the man.

“I haven’t seen you in 15 hours, yes, I counted. I’m always counting when it comes to you. You can’t ask me to behave.” 

Large hands slid into your hair, fingers interlocking to cradle your head. He didn’t even have to pull you in to kiss you, and he grinned, clearly also appreciating the size of the space.

“You think she’s a big enough fan to give us thirty?”

You actually have three rings. Your engagement ring, your wedding ring, and one of John’s rings that he gave you the first night you fucked.

In the quiet of the briefing room, somewhere you were surprised to be, you sat on his lap. The two of you soaked up the afterglow, the party raging outside fading to a dull noise outside of your own world. Coming down from your high, you let out a soft noise of surprise when John gripped your hair to kiss you with one hand. The other hand grasped your own, the one that had come to rest on his chest when you’d ridden him into his throne.

He slid the silver, braided band onto your ring finger, promising. “The first to come”

He loves to get in the ring and show off for you. Sometimes, there’s a loud mouth from a visiting club, or another table visiting, and John takes them to the ring they have in the back of the club’s compound. 

Usually, it’s Konig’s or Simon’s domain, but it’s not because John doesn’t love dishing it out as much as them. That becomes apparent when he delivers careful, strategically brutal, blows to his opponent. Enough to win, and then a few more to humble.

You had long ago stopped lying to yourself about how much it turned you on. So when John emerged from the ring, panting, abs catching the compound’s lights on a sheen of sweat, you always dragged him off. Under the guise of cleaning him up of course ;).

John’s breeding kink goes wild when he sees you with a baby, or any kid really. He’s been around the club life long enough to see many couples welcome kids. One of the first outings the two of you made as an official thing was to the hospital to see the birth of a member’s baby.

His old lady bonded with you, and you were quickly given child holding privileges. It came so naturally to you, and John felt what he figured the two of you would get to eventually quickly build itself a home in his chest. New Kink unlocked: breed you on any surface he could find.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was hypnotizing. His family around him saw it for what it was. Their president had this future scene, starring you and him, written all over him.

He thought the intensity of it was something he had to keep under wraps until he noticed you had the same feelings. 

Baby showers, shopping for 141 babies, school drives and charities the club did for the local youth, seeing cute kids on social media. It didn’t matter, John caught on to the fact that you fucked him like a feral rabbit whenever you got that maternal glint in your eye. He didn’t call you on it until after you were married. The day when your shop receptionist went on maternity leave. 

You’d been going on all through dinner, and then while doing the dishes, about how cute the kid would be, and you loved helping her with her nursery, and how she was already glowing. The more you ranted, the harder he got, until finally, he trapped you against the counter.

“I reckon it’d be easier to just say you want to be a mum.” he lifted one leg to his waist, and bucked against your clothed heat. “Say it.”

You stammered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “J-John..”

“Say it.” his voice somehow found a lower octave to sink to, choked with desire.

“What are you talking about?” you whined, embarrassed at being found out.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m hard as steel love, you feel that?” he grabbed your wrist, kissing the knuckles before quickly brushing them over his length. 

“That’s how bad I want to make you a mum, can’t you just admit it too?”

Tilting your chin up, he placed tiny kisses under your chin, purposely dragging his beard across the soft skin after each kiss. 

“C’mon then, tell your husband the truth so I can give us what we both want”

You whimpered, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “John..”

“Go on, invite me in.” he slipped his index finger in the top of your panties just enough to play with the elastic. Stretching it until it threatened to fly back against your skin before he eased it back in place.

You moved forward in an attempt to make his finger slip lower, and he laughed darkly, holding you in place. Shaking his head, he repeated his precious statement.

“Give me a baby John.” you huffed, frustration rising until all that you could do was spill the truth. 

Gasping, you felt the cold tile of the counter beneath your thighs. You tried to process how he’d gotten you up there so fast, but your mind didn’t want to focus on anything other than your husband kneeling before you with the most determined look you’d ever seen.

As he slipped your panties and pajama shorts down your legs, he whispered how it’d be best if you prepared an excuse for work while you could still think straight.

[lululandd]

not even fate;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 784

warning: fluff? ish? ghost is a coward :3

note: funny thing; i met a dude that reminds me of ghost at the airport and we got onto the same plane and i got seated behind him while this fic was in the works jddhhssjj

summary: ghost wouldn’t even think of making a move on a civilian, even after fate (and his friends) pushed them together more than once.

He saw her hand hover by his bicep in his peripheral before feeling a light tap after. She was pointing at her phone, showing him a google map direction that has the track they’re waiting on. Why on God’s bloody earth would she approach a 6’3 fellow in all black—complete with a black facemask and a matching black wool cap—to ask for directions, he would never understand.

“Hi, sorry, is this the right track?” She meekly asked, if he had less honed senses he would’ve asked her to speak up, but he could hear her just fine over the hustle and bustle of the train station. He noted her neatly brushed and slightly curled hair, the makeup on her face, and the clothes she was wearing.

Would.

He nodded, “Right platform too.” He pointed at the sign a little way away.

Ghost had always scoffed at true crime for describing someone’s smile as ‘lighting up a room’ but that’s what’s he’s seeing right now. With big beautiful doe eyes to complete the set. If he was still fully Simon Riley he would’ve chatted her up, but sadly, he’s no longer.

The woman thanked him as she waited a little bit behind him. Had he known at that point in time how things would go, that night he would’ve turned the other way and go the fuck home. But he didn’t, so he stayed.

He met up with Soap and Gaz at a pizza bar—that in their opinion served undeniably the best pizza and also offered unlimited drinks—which they visited almost everytime on leave. Price was occupied with family activities and said would join them later on, which they knew largely meant he would be skipping this outing.

Noting the man sitting alone next to them checking his phone every few seconds made him thought he got stood up, until the girl from earlier showed up, looking sheepish as she made her way. Her gaze moved over to Ghost, so she waved at him, with a surprised look mixed with recognition. He nodded at her and of course Johnny immediately gassed him.

“Ooooo, who’s that el tee?” He started, nudging his upperarm with his shoulder, “Lass’ mad cute.”

“Don’t know.”

“Tae fock ya mean ya dinnae ken?” His voice a half whisper as she sat down. “She waved at yah.”

“English, Mactavish.”

“The. Fuck. You. Mean. You. Don’t. Know. She. Waved. At. You.”

“Mistook me for someone else, probably.”

“Ya nodded back.” He prodded.

“Didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ah piss off, ya shitebag.” Johnny barked, harmlessly.

Ghost couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, which drove him mad. He kept talking about himself while she just kept nodding and asking more questions, and not single time had he asked something about her. Even when the poor girl did find time to slip in information about herself—which he thought was interesting—he found a way to swerve the conversation back to himself again.

The night went slowly, with soap ordering more pizzas while upping their drinks from pints to shots, and the girl’s date still going on and on and on about himself. Ghost was glad she excused herself and politely denied a second date. He had to make sure he went the opposite way she was going before paying full attention to his friends again. Price showed up abhorrently late, clothes faintly smelling of baby powder and shit, and in his tipsy stupor Soap mentioned the girl from earlier.

“He nodded, cap! Tae da hen!”

John nodded solemnly at Soap’s ramblings and nursed his single drink, not opting for the unlimited drinks. Price had confided in him on his ongoing argument with his wife about his obsession with work, and Ghost listened intently as he took mental notes.

That would never happen to him. He couldn’t relate as he would never let anyone get close to even have such an argument.

He saw her again as he got to the station, a bag of fish and chips in hand. And as he was about to walk a little bit farther so they wouldn’t be in the same wagon, his phone buzzed three times in a row to reveal texts from Soap.

TALK

TO

HER

He froze for a moment and looked around to see where this menace of a Scot could be.

Y R U LOOKING FER ME

HENS RIGHT THERE

💀🖕

Soap’s laugh was loud enough that it could be heard from where he stood, which subsequently made the girl turn around. He saw her scan the room for a little bit before her gaze landed and she smiled, making toasting motions at him with a battered fish.

Ah, fuck.

[mrsparrasblog]

I wont pay for your therapy after this🥲

Mrs. MacTavish

Scotland—Johnny's birthplace and the place where he would be laid down permanently. The three men closest to him, the men who saw him die, stood together with his ashes in their hands. It felt surreal for them; of course, they knew something like this could happen. They had all lost a great deal of friends, but this was different. This task force should have been invincible, they should have been better—too good to be killed. But here they were, only three of them.

"Who dares wins. Sleep easy, soldier."

"See you down range, brother. We take it from here."

"Rest in peace, Johnny."

The men spread his ashes; he was finally where he felt at home, at least that's what his friends, his brothers in duty, thought.

They sat together in a rundown pub, unsure how to grieve or how to throw a worthy wake. Price said he didn't have any family left, so they were all he had, and they still failed him.

An order of his favorite whiskey stood on the table they usually occupied.

"He'd love that, he loved this place," Gaz said, trying to reassure his brothers. He now needed to be the glue of the group, the job Soap had before.

"One time, he hit an officer when he was still a rookie. The officer touched a female civilian, and Soap knocked him out. He almost got kicked out of the military, but he didn't press charges—too embarrassing," Price said, earning a slight chuckle from Gaz. Ghost stayed still; he was frozen since the death of his best friend.

"He almost beat my record at the SAS. Made me proud when I saw him in the recruitment," Gaz told them.

"He was the best," Ghost said. His voice sounded monotone; if he didn't have this thick British accent, he would have sounded like a robot.

"He tried to enlist in the SAS several times at 16, lying about his age each time," Price chuckled at the thought of his best trainee.

"He was more than his accomplishments." The other two men looked confused at Ghost; they weren't as close, he knew him better than them.

"Of course, he was, son."

"He had a journal, always drawing each of us, calling us his family. But now, he is dead. We failed him," Ghost said, bringing Gaz and Price down from their attempts to cheer him up and to appreciate Soap's life accomplishments. But he was dead, and nothing would ever change that.

After a while of drinking without speaking a word, Laswell came in, looking at the group of guys sitting down next to them. "Holding a wake for him?" she asked, nipping at the shared whiskey.

"Spread his ashes," Ghost replied shortly.

"You did what?" Her voice was loud; they could see the look of panic on her face.

"What's wrong, Kate? He would love resting in the Highlands."

"Please tell me, John, you didn't spread the whole ash."

"Kate, what's wrong?" Price asked, and she only sighed.

"I'm torn between granting the wishes of a deceased person and betraying his wishes at the same time," Laswell said. The inner conflict was visible in the wrinkles around her eyes.

"Laswell, spit it out!" Ghost shouted at her, the normally calm soldier completely losing control of his emotions.

"His last wish was that someone specific get his body in case of his early demise."

"Bullshit, he had no family left," Gaz replied, confused. His brother wouldn't lie to him about his family.

"Who is this person?" Ghost asked, his expression full of hurt. He wasn't mad like Kyle about the possibility that Johnny lied to them; Johnny was always smarter than the rest of them. He couldn't entertain the possibility that one of his brothers or whoever this person was would die because of his enemies.

"Mrs. MacTavish," Kate muttered under her breath. She promised him before joining the task force that she wouldn't, under any circumstances, tell anyone about her.

"Like his mother?" Kyle asked, and Kate only shook her head.

"He was married?"

"For ten years," Kate sighed.

"I will personally tell her and apologize," Price said. He knew this was the least he could do for him.

"I will tell her," Ghost thought. He needed to do this for his best friend, especially making sure that whoever she was, she would never be found by Makarov and could live a safe civilian life.

"Count me in, Captain," Gaz said, determined to apologize to Soap's wife. Maybe if he had been better, faster, Makarov wouldn't have gotten Soap.

These three men were as different as they could have been; the only thing about them that all of them shared was the guilt.

A few days later

The last days were harder than usual for you; the pregnancy took a toll on you. The worst part was not hearing anything from your beloved Johnny for a long time. You were used to not hearing from him; you knew what you were getting into when you decided to marry him. But you never even thought about making him retire. You loved him since high school. How couldn't you? He was a charmer. He had been in love with you since you both were 6, starting elementary school.

He asked you at least every week if you wanted to marry him when you grew older. You always declined his advances. You were sure that you even hit him once for staring too long at you. He looked like an arrogant ass who could have anyone he wanted, but somehow, he never, not even for a second in his life, thought about another woman. So after some years, you decided to give him a chance, and you never regretted this decision once in your life.

The bell rang, and you were sure it must have been one of the neighbors asking if they could have milk or eggs from the farm. But before you could gather your pregnant body up, your six-year-old son ran up, opening the door. "Maybe it's Dad, Mommy!"

"James William MacTavish, how often did I tell you not to open the door?"

Your son was a spitting image of your Johnny. It got worse when he decided that he needed to cut himself a mohawk to look like his dad. You were so happy to see Johnny's reaction to the mohawk when he came back.

At the door stood three muscular, tall guys looking down at the little boy. As Kyle saw the spitting image of Johnny, he walked to the nearest trash can and threw up. It was too much for him. The thought of a wife was bad enough, but a son too.

You walked down and gathered your son who hugged your thigh. You looked at the men; one of them was a bit older with a funny beard, and the other one was blonde with a scared face.

When Price saw the visible baby bump, his heart broke. The thought of you not only having a son but also being pregnant gave him the rest; his guilt was eating him out.

"Mrs. MacTavish?"

"Yes?" you asked in confusion. They didn't seem like the villagers who wanted to buy something from the farm, nor the parents of your students.

"We need to talk about your husband."

"No," you knew what this meant; you knew it in your gut.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. MacTavish, but your husband died while protecting his country."

You always thought these films were dramatic, but it was nothing compared to what you felt right now. The pain was indescribable; you felt like someone pulled your ground from you, and you fell, completely in shock. Your tears slowly started to roll down, and you saw how the older man held the blonde one back from reaching out to you.

"No, my Johnny, he said he would always come back. He will come back, he will come back to us, he always will," you sobbed uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am."

From behind, Aiofe and Maeve ran down, our oldest, the twins. "Mom, are you okay?" All your three children sat down next to you, afraid that something happened to their mom.

That was the final straw as Ghost saw even more children, his best friend left behind a wife, three children, and a little one on the way. It should have been him.

You sobbed as you spoke to your children, "It's okay, Simon is just kicking hard in my belly, nothing is wrong with Mommy. I love you."

"We love you too, Mommy."

[writingwithciara]

It's The Little Things ~Nico Hischier~

summary: y/n is unaware of how nico feels about her, until quinn brings it up

word count: 3.3k

pairing: nico hischier x reader

notes: nico is so precious and doesn't get as much love as he deserves ❣ so here you go nico girlies. hope you enjoy! [jealousy & some mention of sexual content at the end]

masterlist

y/n met quinn in the library at school. quinn was the only one there who didn’t judge y/n for constantly studying and trying to keep her grades up. he was also the only one who would stay and help her when the rest of her study group decided to ditch whatever they were working on to go to a party. no matter how many times she told him to go, he insisted on staying.

he became her best friend and she was his biggest supporter, on and off the ice. so when he was drafted to play for the vancouver canucks, they were both devastated. y/n still had a few years at school and couldn’t join him, but she was proud of him nonetheless. she promised to stay behind and look after luke when he decided to attend the university of michigan. and although she graduated the year before luke was drafted, she still stayed in town to keep him company.

when he was picked 4th overall for the new jersey devils, y/n went with him to newark where they found an apartment that was an affordable price for the both of them, with luke working off his hockey salary and y/n pitching in with whatever she could from her job as a waitress.

after almost a year of living together, they both decided that in order to save a little more money, that they would both move in with jack. and that was fine, for a while. but then the pandemic hit and they were spending too much time together. the boys started getting into more and more ridiculous arguments and it culminated with y/n deciding to find a new place to live. they all agreed that it was for the best, as it would save their friendship.

and it was convenient because their teammate nico was looking for a roommate. y/n didn’t know him very much but she moved in with him anyway.

3 years later, and nico was her favorite person. she felt bad for replacing quinn but he constantly assured her it was okay. he also tried to convince her that the main reason she preferred nico was because she had feelings for him, which she denied every chance she got because she truly did not have feelings for him. there was no reason she needed to have feelings for him.

until there was.

after quinn tried to convince her the last time, y/n started noticing all the little things nico did for her. he would bring her back her favorite snacks after practice and he would run her a bath when he knew she had worked a double shift. he would leave her surprise notes all over the place and he would send her motivational texts whenever he could. when he was on the road for away  games, he would call her or facetime her whenever he had a chance & if he couldn’t, he would send her a text to check in.

he bought her flowers ‘just because’ & he made sure she got the best seats at any of the home games.

she may not have had feelings for him but it was starting to feel like he had them for her.

---

“so what did your boyfriend do for you today?” quinn chuckled as soon as y/n accepted his facetime request.

“he’s not my boyfriend, quinn. we're just roommates.” y/n rolled her eyes. “and he doesn’t do these things every day. just when i'm having a particularly tough day. well that’s how it used to be. but lately, it’s been happening more and more. i'm starting to think that nico might have feelings for me.”

“yeah, probably. he asked luke about you when you guys met but luke didn’t give him the information he wanted.”

“what did he ask about?”

“he wanted to know what your status was. if you were seeing someone or not. but luke wouldn’t tell him.”

“if luke knew all of this, why did he and jack think it would be a good idea to live with him?” y/n set her phone down and looked at the apartment door. nico was supposed to be home shortly and she wanted to make sure he didn’t hear any part of the conversation.

“because they’re idiots, obviously. maybe they were hoping you guys would get together by now but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen any time soon.”

“he’s my best friend.”

“ouch.”

“okay he’s my alternate best friend.” y/n smiled. “what do you think of me being with nico?”

“i honestly think you guys are good for each other. it's like you’re each others missing piece or something.”

“quinn, i obviously love him. but it’s not like that. maybe we are soulmates, but i believe it’s only on a platonic level.”

“call it what you want but i do know that your dynamic with him is way different than your dynamic with me.”

“how so?”

“he does things for you and i just don’t.” quinn chuckled.

“that’s because you just suck, hughes.” y/n smiled. she heard the door open but before she could hang up, nico appeared behind her.

“hey quinn.” he waved and then turned to the table behind him, producing a fast food bag.

“i'll talk to you later. bye huggy bear.” y/n quickly hung up and turned to face nico. “what’s the occasion?”

“nothing special. just thought you’d be hungry & i know you haven’t had a good burger in a while so i stopped by that diner you love and got you a burger and some fries. oh and one of those specialty milkshakes and a slice of cheesecake for desert.”

“it’s from tops?”

“yes ma’am.” he smiled, knowing he had just made her day.

“you are the best roommate ever, nico!” y/n threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“i know.” he hugged her back just as tightly and was reluctant to let go but he knew he had to let go eventually so she could eat.

that was the night that y/n started seeing nico differently. she stopped seeing him through her ‘platonic glasses’ and started seeing him with the ‘heart glasses’. there was no way she could tell quinn though.

the next few nights were lonely since nico had to go to a handful of away games. the apartment was empty, quiet and it lacked nico’s presence. y/n couldn’t stand it.

just as she walked into his room to look for his favorite sweater, her phone rang in her pocket. she picked it up and immediately answered when she saw his request for a facetime.

“hey. how's the trip?”

“it’s nice. we won last night’s game.”

“i know. congrats on the goal, by the way. i screamed so loud when it happened and i think our neighbors hate me.”

“that’s impossible.” he smiled. “nobody could hate you.”

“miranda might.” y/n heard jack say somewhere in the background.

“who’s miranda?”

“she’s a girlfriend of one of the guys. she's not very big on any of the single players hanging out with a girl. she doesn’t believe that a guy and a girl can be just friends.” nico chuckled, suddenly seeming tense. “i gotta go but it was nice to see your face, love. i'll call you tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“okay. good luck tomorrow.” she smiled and when nico ended the call, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. something about the call seemed a little off and she needed to get down to the bottom of it.

it was another few days before y/n heard from nico. she sent him a bunch of congratulatory texts after the team won 3 games in a row, with nico scoring at least once in all of them. she even tried calling him but it went straight to voicemail every time.

on the night the devils were set to be back at home, y/n got ready in her custom hischier jersey and the coat he got her for her birthday. luke called her just as she was about to leave.

“hey lukey boy. what's up?”

“just excited to see you. i miss you.”

“awe. well i miss you too.” y/n smiled. “can you put nico on?”

“i would love to but i have no idea where he is right now.”

“okay. just, um, let him know i called and wished him luck tonight.”

“are you coming to the game?”

“of course.” she smiled again. it was hard not to smile with luke. he was sunshine. “gotta cheer on my 2 favorite players in the league.”

“hey, i heard that!” jack shouted from behind the camera. he suddenly appeared but he had a smile on his face, meaning her comment didn’t offend him. “i'm sure quinn wouldn’t be too happy to hear that either.”

“i can have more than 1 favorite player, jack.” she shook her head. “but seriously. good luck to all of you tonight. can't wait to cheer you guys on.”

“can’t wait to see you.” jack waved goodbye before disappearing off camera. luke just chuckled and looked back at his phone.

“we gotta go. see you shortly?”

“you bet. bye luke.” y/n hung up and grabbed her keys. the arena wasn’t far and the weather outside was nice so she decided to walk to the game.

when she got to the arena, she showed her id to security and they let her in, shielding her from fans. she made her way to her reserved seat and noticed a brunette sitting in the seat beside hers. the girl looked up at her and smiled.

“hi. i'm miranda.” she held her had out and y/n shook it before taking the seat next to her. “are you here for luke?”

“no. well, yes. but not just luke.” she watched as the players began skating out onto the ice to practice. she waved to luke and jack as they passed by the glass.

“oh. are you jack’s girlfriend then?”

“what? no. just a former roommate and really good friend of some of the team.”

“oh. that’s awesome.”

“who are you here for?”

“my boyfriend is on the team.” miranda watched the players until she found the one she came to see. y/n watched as the all too familiar 13 skated by them. he waved to miranda and caught y/n’s eye before looking down and skating to where jack and luke were. “that’s him. isn’t he so cute?”

“yeah. totally.” y/n watched as nico kept glancing up at the 2 of them.

down on the ice, luke noticed nico’s change in attitude. “dude, what is going on with you lately? first you ignore y/n for days with no explanation then you have your girlfriend attend the game, knowing full well that y/n would be here & also knowing that miranda doesn’t like her already.”

“she’s not my girlfriend, luke. just a fling.”

“a fling for what? what’s the point of breaking 3 hearts at once?”

“you know why i need this.” he glanced over to the stands and only saw miranda. she smiled at him and blew him a kiss but he just waved back. “what do you mean 3 hearts? the only hearts that are going to be breaking are mine and miranda’s.”

“in case you haven’t noticed, y/n has feelings for you. i can guarantee you’re breaking her heart and making it worse by ignoring her and keeping secrets from her.”

“yeah right, luke. there’s no way. y/n and i are just roommates. she's made that point about a billion times.”

“believe what you want, but we have a game to win, nico.” luke skated over to the bench while nico took his spot on the ice. he constantly looked over at the stands to see if y/n was there. she was but he noticed she was wearing a different jersey than the one she arrived in.

after seeing nico interact with miranda, even if it was brief, y/n suddenly felt wrong for wearing his jersey number while sitting next to his girlfriend. so she went and bought a 43 jersey instead and quickly changed into that, shoving the hischier one into her bag. when she returned to her seat, miranda looked at her.

“cute jersey.”

“thanks.”

at the end of the 2nd period, the devils were up by 2 and they were playing really well. y/n looked down as jack and luke looked up at her. nico waved to her but before she could wave back, miranda was waving instead. nico smiled and looked at his teammates. y/n pulled out her phone and pretended she was just checking her messages.

“hey, i gotta head out. can you tell nico that something came up and that i'm sorry & i'll see him when he gets home?”

“yeah of course. it was nice meeting you.” miranda and y/n waved goodbye to each other as y/n left the building. the air was a lot cooler than it was when she walked to the arena. thank god her coat was able to keep her warm.

she walked into the apartment and quickly turned the game on. the game was almost over and the devils were now down by 2. y/n suddenly felt bad for leaving, having been told by jack, luke & nico that she was their good luck charm. but nothing could make her stay at the game.

when the final buzzer went off, signaling the devils had lost, y/n clicked the tv off and headed to her room to change. she would normally do something to comfort nico after a loss but she figured that since he had miranda now, he wouldn’t need her to do anything to cheer him up.

about an hour later, y/n was in her room when she heard the door slam shut. rapid footsteps could be heard in the hallway before they stopped outside her bedroom door. y/n knew it was nico just by the gentle knock.

“come in.” she set her book down and sat up straight as nico walked in.

“why did you leave?”

“it didn’t feel right being there. your girlfriend doesn’t like me and even though she was being nice, i could tell it was fake.”

“so you left? since when has one person not liking you ever stopped you from doing something?”

“when the person is dating my best friend & doesn’t like me, that’s where i have to draw the boundary line, nico. keep my distance as much as possible to convince her there’s nothing going on between us.”

“she’s not convinced at all. she yelled at me after the game because she didn’t get the right vibe from you. she also asked me to ask you to move out.”

“you’re joking right? unbelievable. un-fucking-believable.” y/n got off her bed and grabbed a bag.

“what are you doing?” nico approached her and tried to slow her down but she kept throwing clothes into the suitcase.

“what does it look like i'm doing? i'm giving you space so you can keep miranda. in the meantime, i'll just stay with luke and jack. no big deal.”

“yes. very big deal.” nico grabbed her wrist gently and halted her movement. she dropped the tshirt she was holding and looked at him. “i don’t want to be with miranda. i made sure to tell her after the game & that’s when she yelled at me. assumed it was because of my commitment to you.”

“there’s no commitment. we're just roommates, nico.” y/n went  to grab the packed bag but nico stood in her way.

“before you go, i need to ask you something.”

“what?”

“do you really believe we’re just roommates? or do you feel a connection too?”

“no idea what you’re talking about.” she went to move around him but he held her in place by placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

“why is this so difficult for you to grasp, y/n?!”

“what are you talking about?” y/n sighed.

“i’m talking about the fact that i have been in love with you for the last 2 years and i thought i was making it obvious when i would do all those things for you. like, what type of roommate buys flowers for the other person for absolutely no reason? what type of person leaves notes for his roommate to find? what kind of guy would draw a bath for his roommate after she got home from a double shift? what kind of person would drop a significant other if they even said one bad thing about their roommate? a person who has no idea how to express his feelings with words, that’s who. i am that type of person, y/n & i need you to believe me.”

“why couldn’t you just come out and tell me how you felt, nico?”

“i told you. i’m not good at using my words when it comes to feelings. but i like you. i like you a lot. and admittedly, using miranda as a way to get over you was the stupidest thing i've ever done because it didn’t work.” he looked down at y/n and sighed. “earlier at the game, i think i felt my heart break like 4 times.”

“what do you mean?”

“well, the first time my heart broke was when i saw you looking upset when you met miranda. the second time was when i saw you had changed out of your hischier jersey and into a luke jersey. made me feel like crap for some reason. the third time my heart broke was when luke scored, you cheered louder than anyone but when i scored, you didn’t get as excited. and the fourth time was when the team lost. i looked up at the stands to see your reaction, only to find that you had left. you never leave the games and when miranda told me you were gone, i got upset and she yelled at me for caring more about he fact that you were gone more than the fact that she was there.” nico reached for y/n’s hand and sighed. “i am so sorry for everything, y/n. miranda meant nothing to me because whenever i was with her, i was thinking of you.”

“i love you, nico. and i’m sorry for not noticing the underlying reason behind all the things you did for me. i thought it was just what a good roommate would do. and i didn’t do anything for you. which i now realize makes me a terrible roommate.”

“you’re not a terrible roommate, y/n.” nico placed his hand on her cheek and smiled. “you’re always there for me when i need you & you always do something to cheer me up if my team loses. you're the best roommate, whether you believe it or not.”

“but you lost tonight and i didn’t do anything for you.”

“you just being here is enough, trust me.” his eyes flicked down to her lips before traveling back to meet her gaze. he didn’t waste anymore time. nico closed the gap and placed his lips firmly on hers. y/n kissed back quickly and pulled him closer.

as the kiss deepened, all of their jealousy was swept away.

nico placed his hands on her waist gently as he laid her down against her mattress. he hovered above her and she tangled her hands in his hair, biting his bottom lip in the process.

his grip on her waist tightened and a low groan came from his mouth as she gently tugged on his hair.

“how do you always look so hot after a game?” y/n asked as she broke the kiss to take a breath.

“only after a game?” he raised his eyebrow.

“oh shut up.” she smirked and pulled him back in. she flipped them over so she was straddling him and nico gazed up at her with he most amount of love he has ever had. or was it lust this time? he didn’t care as he pulled her down for a night neither of them would never forget.

------

taglist: @worldlxvlys @heavenlyhischier @chrisloyalgf @lhughes43 @ijustreallylovethem @captainboomaray @eberles

[lethalchiralium]

since you've been on an angst train with the happiness aus lately, could we possibly see a little more of Simon and misuss' interactions after she lost the baby? you wrote it so well, and so raw. it was very heart breaking, but beautiful to watch them grieve and grow together.

More Than I Could Ask For | Happiness Series

a/n: i got you homie

warnings: mentions of miscarriages, medical jargon, trauma, grieving. mentions of not eating. mentions of breastfeeding.

summary: Losing a baby is difficult, Simon knows that. But as he takes care of you, all he wishes for is for you to not feel the pain anymore.

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It was hard, Simon couldn’t deny that.

He hasn’t felt pain like this since he was a boy, being reprimanded for helping a girl on the playground when she had fell. He really liked her, but his father had beat him to a pulp for even looking in her direction. That’s when he grew scared to even make friends, to make connections because his father had beat into him that everyone will leave him. Everyone.

But, as you rested your head on his chest, he knew that you wouldn’t. The television was playing one of your favorite drama series, one you used to watch all the time when you were just Winnie’s nanny. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t grateful for you loving him too.

The doctor appointment today confirmed that the tissue was dispelled and you were no longer pregnant, now came the recovery period. He had drove you home in unwilling silence, trying to get you to laugh or talk or something, but you kept your eyes fixated out your window. It was normal for you now, for the past four weeks since he found you in the bathroom. Short answers, barely talking to him but still conversing with your daughters normally, like nothing happened.

Was he tired of it? Yes. Did he understand that you needed space? Yes, but only after he talked to Price about it. He was close to ripping his hair out because you wouldn’t talk to him, but Price had pulled him from the edge. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

He was going to have to start having Soap and Gaz check on you during the day, more issues were coming up and his deployment was getting closer. Unfortunately, it would be only him, Price, and König - a friend he hasn’t seen in a long time. It wasn’t that he hated his friends, it’s just that he had the urge to stay at your side no matter what. Melt his bones down and create a physical tie from him to you, just so he could be around you. He noticed that your hair had grown out, you would have gone to the hairdresser by now to fix it. He still brushed it gently in the mornings, one less thing you would have to worry about.

You were a shell, haunting him and he couldn’t emotionally handle it. He needed you back, he needed you to smile again.

He noticed way too much of your change. Sleeping more, trying your hardest not to eat, sick - it was like you were ashamed.

That’s when it clicked.

His fingers curled through your hair, his other hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” His words were the first spoken in the room since the morning, you stilled on his chest. Your head moved so you could look up to him, tears in your eyes.

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

His head moved to the side. “No, it’s not.” His thumb gently rubbed your cheek, “This happens. Miscarriages happen, you shouldn’t be ashamed.”

Your head turned back around, you whispered, “I just want to watch TV.”

“No, baby, please talk to me.” His hand kept running through your hair, trying to keep your attention. “Honey.”

Another few moments.

“Are you hungry? I can go make you something.”

“No.”

“Baby, please, you’re starving yourself.”

“It’s what I deserve.”

Simon paused, eyes widened in disbelief.

“What you deserve?”

You nodded, eyes gazing down at your lap.

His hand moved to your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark. “No, it’s not.” Tears fell from your eyes, his hands slipped for your face to your hands, cradling them with a soft grip. “You don’t deserve pain. You don’t deserve to starve yourself because you think you failed me.” He squeezed your hands, more tears fell from your eyes. “I just want you to feel better, I need you to feel better. Losing the baby hurts, I know it does, but you have two little girls who wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they lost you.” He brought your hands to his chest.

“Simon…”

“They wouldn’t know what to do because I would be gone too.” He murmured, his voice small. “I can’t live without you. I’d lose myself, they’d lose me too.”

You lurched forwards, diving into his chest and letting go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck, sobbing. “I-I can’t stop feeling-feeling like this-“

“I know, love.” His warm arms were instantly around your torso, fingers curled around your waist and carded into your scalp.

“Don’t-Don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I ever be mad at you?”

You hiccuped over your breath. “I-I’m starving myself.” Your hand held his head closer to yours, you were trying to calm down but your heart kept racing. “You’re right. I’m starving myself and I could die and leave my babies.”

“Your feelings are what makes sure you’re still human, you were scared. Scared means shutting down, shutting down means forgetting to do anything for yourself. That’s why I’m here.” His fingers twisted a lock of your hair between them before he gently pet your head, a kiss settled right behind your ear. “Let me take care of you, let me help you, let me hold you and fix you.”

If you could express the way your heart seemed to beat without being there, you would. If you could describe the disappointment that doused your insides like gasoline, the way your pain struck a match and was burning you, you would. You pressed your forehead into his shoulder, hiccuping from your sobs, “You were so excited.”

“I was, but I was scared too.” The waves Simon fought so hard to keep above kept crashing over him, pain striking his chest like lightning. “I was so scared that I would lose you.”

“Simon…”

“You don’t need to be ashamed about losing the baby. It wasn’t meant to be, I’ve come to terms with it.”

A loud sob left you, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly that it was painful. “I wanted my son.”

“I know, my love.” I wish I could take away your pain.

He held you for a long time, letting you sob your broken heart out. He kissed your head before he went to his daughters, cooking and feeding them, bathing them, and then putting them to bed. He warmed up some of dinner, planning to eat with you.

But when he came back to the dimly lit room, he found you in the center of the bed - his pillow held against your chest with an iron grip. He settled the plate with your favorite pasta on it on your nightstand before he quickly ate his portion, he’d clean the plates in the morning.

He discarded his plate on the dresser before he got back into bed with you, his arms tucked underneath the pillow so he could hold your chest, letting his fingertips faintly feel your heartbeat. His forehead settled on the crown of your head, he felt you subtly shift in your slumber.

He let tears of his own fall down his face in silence.

He woke up in the night to you crawling back in bed, he could hear the soft cries of his youngest daughter in your arms. Your lamp was turned on, it didn’t phase his eyes as he watched you nurse your baby. Your arm held her up as you gently patted her bottom, observing your sleepy and sweet girl. A tune came from your lips, quiet as he believed you hadn’t noticed he was awake yet.

“Young men dream and old men ponder,” Gentle fingertips traced Mellie’s eyebrows, the apple of her cheeks as you quietly sang a song to her. “But what of the in between?” Mellie’s brown eyes flickered up to your face, little lashes fluttered as she blinked. Simon didn’t have to move to know that you were smiling at her. “You look more like your father.” Gently brushing her hair back with your hand before you cradled her head. Her little hand smacked against your breast, you chuckled as softly as you could as you continued, “In this life, if you should falter,” A gentle brush of her cheek had Mellie kicking her legs, eyes still watching you. “Remember these words I sing.” Simon felt the current of the ocean in his body calm, your soft voice brought him a comfort he never knew he should have been looking for.

Mellie unlatched from you, whining and whimpering. You pulled your shirt back down and moved her onto your shoulder, gently patting her back - but she pushed backwards, wanting to look at your face.

“Don’t like Mama singin’ to you right now, huh?”

Little Mellie cooed, little hands resting on your chin.

“You’re such a sweet girl. Mama loves you so much.” You brought her face towards you for a kiss, your daughter squealed with delight as you gently shushed her. “Dada’s still sleepin’, baby. He’s doing so much for us, gotta let him sleep.”

He wanted to pull you into his chest right then, to kiss your head and hold his baby to his skin. He needed nothing more than to hold his girls, all three of them. He almost moved his hand before you moved out of the bed, your footsteps silent as you made your way back to the nursery. Simon’s eyes flickered to the food he left on your nightstand hours earlier, food eaten up and fork left on the cleared plate. His chest warmed, knowing that something got through to you. That he could help you with one little thing.

When you came back to bed, he sat up - which made you jump. Your hand flew to your chest as you huffed out a breath. “Jesus, Si, you scared me.”

He held out his hand, your eyebrows furrowed with confusion but you stepped closer to your bed and took it. He gently pulled you up as you got into bed, he wrapped his arms around you wordlessly. His warm heart had a steady beat he could finally feel after so many weeks, his arms held you tight as you melted into his embrace. He held you like that until he laid you both down, his arms cradling you until morning light.

taglist is under construction!

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[ghostheartfelt]

Hiiii! First of all I hope you're doing well <333 and second omg!! I loved your ghost smut 😭😭 I'm here to request smt if you don't mind, I've requested this before but nobody wanted to write it but feel free to not wrote it too if you don't like the plot but here we go:

Ghost breaks up with reader NOT because he hates her but because his next mission is really hard and dangerous and there was a really slim chance that he'd survive it. So he tries to push reader away to not hurt her feelings but things escalated and they break up but when he comes back from the mission they have make-up sex? 🤭 Thank you for reading all of this and if you can't write it then I understand, thank you for your time and effort 💗

*:･｡☆ a/n: hi anon~ thank you so much for being my first req!!!! And thank u so much for  the support. I’m so sorry i took forever to get to this! but you bet ur sweet ass i’ll write this for you?! I hope you enjoy this regardless of how long it took me to get to it. mwah! -ur bbg cure 

〔☆〕 desc: ghost is deployed on a mission in bangladesh that price explains as risky and complicated--ghost immediately thinks of you as the possibilities of survival are described as slim. him, gaz, and soap set out back to manchester, and no amount of talk is able to change his mind. he ends things off between the two of you, which arises a depressive state in you before he arrives and makes it up to you completely. (possibly takes place before ten minutes past?…. 👀)

*:･｡☆ tags: p in v, unprotected intercourse, whiny ghost if you squint, hand job if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, reader orgasms twice, cock warming, he sleeps with the tip inside<3, this hurt my breeding kink heart, pet names, possessive ghost, breast worship if you squint, break up and make up sex, porn with feelings. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT!!! not too bad, sadly.

—✩ N[EX]T REGRETS ✩—

word count — 4.3k

☆ (peep the song that inspires this writing...) ☆

Your hands are setting two plates on the dinner table; one for you, one for your boyfriend.

He was coming home from deployment—it’d been months since you’d last seen him, you’d lost track.

Silverware wrapped in cloth napkins are set beside the plates before you flick the cog of a lighter and ignite the candles in the middle of the table.

You turn yourself around to grab the cookie sheet of ribeye off of the counter after pushing on mittens, holding it in your palm as you place two steaks down onto one of the plates, then one onto another. 

Then you take the tray back to the counter and set it back on top of the table cloth so it didn’t damage the marble.

Regardless of the fancy dinner setup, you were still in a black satin night dress and fuzzy socks. You knew Simon would just dress down himself the moment he got home.

You scooped steamed vegetables onto both plates, then potatoes and gravy with a sprinkle of chives. 

When you place down the spineless wine glasses, you hear a heavy door slam causing a smile to crease your face.

Simon was home, he was going to come inside and he was going to hold you again for the first time in months. Run his hands through your hair for the first time in months. Kiss you for the first time in months.

You seat yourself gently on the dinner table, ankle crossed over the other with your elbows bent and palms pressed neatly on the wood as you wait for him to come inside.

You hear the door open, then shut, heavy padded footsteps approaching the threshold of the dining room.

Ghost is the one who comes through the archway—fully geared with the skull mask and helmet, the only thing he lacks is a rifle.

“Simon…?” You push yourself off your palms, confusion whisked on your face.

It was one of your rules, the mask stays off inside your home.

His eyes land on the neatly set table before they reach yours. 

You approach him slowly and he tenses, your eyebrows stitching together in concern.

His stomach twists inside of him.

Gorgeous minx.

Absolutely breathtaking.

Beautiful perfection.

He couldn’t say anything he wanted to—and god he had so much to say.

Your eyes flicker to the windows alongside the front door seeing two other bodies.

Armed bodies.

He wasn’t staying.

“Can you all stay for dinner atleast? I made enough for everyone…” you smile softly while fumbling with the straps of his vest. 

Stop touching me, you’re making this harder on me. Ghost swallows the knot in his throat. 

There’s a pause before Ghost backs up.

“There’s someone else.” 

It’s a lie, it’s a lie. It’s such a lie. Ghost 

Something inside your chest tightens and you swear that it’s your heart. 

“What?…” You scoff lightly, your eyebrows pinching together in disbelief.

Don’t make me say it again. Ghost inhales sharply.

“Simon…” you tilt your head slightly, extending your hand to touch him.

“Please, let me try to be better for you, give me a chance…” your lips quiver. 

You don’t need to try and be better for me. Ghost thinks.

He knew you’d been reading articles on how to be in a relationship with someone in the special forces—he’d found out and closed the lid, sat you in his lap and kissed you so softly, telling you that you were perfect for him and you didn’t need an article to tell you how to love him.

But you know it’s real when Ghost jerks his shoulder away.

You know it’s real when you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as tears start welling in your eyes. 

You know it’s real when Ghost’s eyes evade yours. 

You know it’s real when Simon turns around and he doesn’t spare you a goodbye.  

You especially know it’s real when the door slams shut and rattles the walls around you.

It’s surreal, but you expected this. 

He must’ve found someone on base, you thought.

You feel your knees give in beneath you, and you’re met with the floor.

A hysterical sobbed scream leaves your throat as your trembling hand lifts to drag down at your lips.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

Ghost stands for a moment on the doormat outside of your home. 

Gaz’s hand finds a place on his back, the other holding his vest as he guides the larger male towards the truck they’d arrived in.

“Didn’t have to do that, Ghost.” He says, followed by a sigh.

“Did.” Ghost replies back as he seats himself in the back. “Wasn’t lettin’ her get my dog tags—she’s been through enough bein’ with me.”

Soap turns his head over his shoulder after sitting in the front passenger seat. 

“Ay, L.T, we all know y’ll make it back t’ya pretty lass.” He says. “Y’r one of we bes’ fighters, ain’t that righ’, Kyle?” Soap’s elbow bumped into Gaz’s ribs.

Gaz utters a strained noise before nodding, hands wrapping around the wheel.

“‘M not takin’ that risk, now shu’up ‘n drive. Cap’s gon’ ‘b pissy enough.” 

His head turns to look out the window as he feels the wheels of the truck roll down the driveway.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

It’s been seven months. Two-hundred-thirteen days. 

All you do is work, eat, and sleep. 

Eating, not as much as you should.

You couldn’t cook, couldn’t get yourself up from your bed the second you got home from work to start the stove.

You either sleep all day or not at all, there wasn’t a balance.

God, your living room was disgusting. Snot tissues were littered across the entire coffee table, empty champagne glasses, crusted food plates and crushed soda cans.

You’d resorted to hiring a maid just to clean your living room—which was the only room you stayed in for five months straight while your depression started getting progressively worse.

You lay on your side with a weighted blanket draped over you, holding you down comfortably. 

Simon stayed in your head, even after half of a year. He invaded your head. It drove you insane.

At the same time, you were scared of the day that he wouldn’t be your first and last thought each and every day anymore.

You bunch the blanket closer to your chin, your wet eyes have drenched the little area to hell. 

Things just have never been the same since Simon left the house–-you still happened to feel his presence next to you, hovering over you. 

“There’s someone else.”  His words settled an uneasy weight on your shoulders that you still were unable to shake off. 

A splutter of sobs escapes you once again, tears blurring your vision as they fall and your nose starts to clog. 

You try to breathe in, but you feel as though there’s not enough air around you. You breaking into a coughing fit is enough for you to push the weighted blanket off of your body and heave yourself up. 

Spit and drool creates several small strings between your lips–you’re practically foaming at the mouth from how hard you’re crying.

Tears flutter off your eyelashes and further blur your vision, so you try and rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms desperately. 

You stand up wobbly and start towards the bathroom, you didn’t have the energy to walk the extra couple of steps into your bedroom to use your own bathroom, so the guest bathroom would have to do for now. 

You turn the shower knob and pull it out towards you after undressing, then step into the warmth and sink onto the shower floor, hugging your knees to your bare chest and letting the water run over your face. 

Sobs cause your body to twitch and jerk, the heat in your eyes making your eyes burn as your breathing grows unsteady over the stream of water above you. 

You just wanted him home. 

But, he wasn’t yours to want home anymore. 

He wasn’t yours to crave anymore or to love. 

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

A door slams so hard air causes the fabric of his shirt to flail in the wind. 

Ghost had spent months struggling with the actions of his decision, where he had hoped that the choice would break you free of your shackles of worries when it came to the blonde when he was away. 

He spent every night and every rising morning worrying someone would take his place. It would’ve been his fault, he knew that, and it made him want to scream at the top of his lungs until they felt raw in his chest. 

He presses the lock button on his keys, hearing the locks inside the jeep click, then he jumbles with his keychain looking for the house key.

Ghost’s hands are shaking as he pinches the specific key and jabs it into the door lock, turning it.

When he hears the all-familiar click, he immediately pulls off his balaclava and pushes himself through the front door. 

There’s silence–pure silence throughout the house except for the sound of running water. 

She’s showering. 

A short amount of relief washes over him as he bends to untie the laces of his boots, placing them aside. 

When he stands, his eyes scan over to the living room and he feels his heart sink in him at the sight of the absolute mess made of the living room.

An overflowing laundry basket and take-out boxes that made the room stink of old fried rice. 

He throws his bag behind him against the wall before he walks himself towards the pile of laundry and begins pulling out shirts and pairs of pants to fold against his knee. 

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You took a two hour shower, most of it being of you shredding any form of emotion from your body that you could.

Now you were sitting on the fur-covered toilet seat, running your lotion-coated hands along your freshly shaven legs. 

You told yourself you would try going to a club to replenish your sex deprivation. 

Steam finally clears from the mirror allowing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Your hands pull the towel off your head, wet hairs sticking to your shoulders.

The bathroom smelt of your coconut milk shampoo and body wash–it smelt divine. 

You thumb up your white laced bra and panties, plug in the blow dryer and scrunch your mop in your hands as you wave the blow dryer over your hair.

It seems like hours, being only nearly ten minutes until your hair is somewhat dry, but your arms are tired, so you unplug the dryer and wrap the cord around it.

You leave the bathroom and walk back into the living room, pausing in motion at the sight of it being clean–your laundry being neatly folded on the coffee table. 

“Kris? Is that you?” You call, not too loudly. 

She had a key to your home, but she had stated she wouldn’t be available this week due to some personal reasons she wasn’t required to go over with you.

You walk over towards the couch and drag your hand along the cotton material.

There was no reply to your call, which concerned you. You hadn't contacted any of your family members to come visit.

You slowly turn yourself around and the breath is practically stolen from your lungs. 

Simon’s standing across the room from you, clad in a black t-shirt and jeans, a belt secured in the front.

You watch his eyes drag up and down your exposed body, watching as he inhales sharply while his eyes narrow.

“Love,” He mumbles. 

Your eyebrows furrow and you lift your neck up. “Why–why are you here?” “Will y’let me explain?” He sighs. 

“Does she know?” You reply quickly with a shaky voice. 

“Does wh–” 

“Does she know you are here, Simon.” 

There's silence, then he licks his dry lips.

“There is no she.” He says flatly.

“No,” you scoff, running a hand down your face, eyes darting to the side as you listen to him walk closer toward you. “No…no. No–I remember specifically…” your angry, now.

Simon catches your lips in a firm kiss, but you push him away, and the look in his eyes makes your chest ache.

“Please,” Simon’s eyebrows pinch together. 

“Stop, just stop.” You seethe, pressing your finger into the midsection of his chest making him back up some. “You said there was someone else, you said–”

“I was lyin’, there wasn’t.” He pauses, frowning.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head. “Fucking bullshit, Simon Riley!”

“Let m’talk.” Simon says gruffly, his tone stern. 

You swallow thickly and lower your head in defeat after nodding, finger lifting so you can chew on your cuticle bed. 

“I…I let a debriefing get t’me. Said there wasn’t much’a chance of survival–can’t say much, y’know that…but I didn’t want y’to have to go through that.” He explains. 

His hand reaches down to lift your chin, thumbing at any stray tears making their way down your cheeks. “Forgive me, lovie.” Simon leans down to close the gap between you both again, this time you submit and his hand cradles the back of your head. 

The kiss is slow and passionate–gentle with its hints of dominance. 

“Missed you…” He mumbles over your lips, hands finding your ass to knead the supple skin.

You gasp slightly, but cave in to his touch instantly. “And I missed you…” 

“Please…never do that again.” 

His forehead rests on yours a moment, fingers toying in your hair by rolling pieces between his fingers.

“‘M sorry.” He murmurs. 

He wasn’t the type to apologize, you knew that. His apologies were sincere and meaningful.

Your hands grip his shirt.

“Over half a year, Simon…” Your voice is so low, you couldn’t even call it a whisper. “This whole time…”

“I know…I know…” He mutters into your hair, taking in your scent. 

“Will y’let me make it up to ya, love?” Hot breath rakes over the side column of your neck.

You simply nod, and that’s all enough for him to pick you up by your thighs and for you to wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him.

He guides you both into your bedroom, seating you on the edge of the bed.

“So fuckin’ sexy when y’r half-naked ‘n angry…” Simon chuckles dryly as he drags a finger up your clothed cunt. 

“Simon…please…” you mumble into his shoulder.

“I’ve got’ya, gorgeous.” He says cooly while laying you flat on the bed. 

Simon slips his fingers past your panties, his cock twitching in his pants at the feeling of your wetness spreading along his fingers.

“Ffff..uck, babe, you're so wet for me ‘lready…” he whispers.

You gasp as his finger slips up and down between your folds, making you twitch as he passes your throbbing clit.

“So fuckin’ divine…” he purrs above you, eyes full of love and lust. His other hand finds a place on your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he works at your warmth.

You whine, watching as his teeth bite at the lace lining of your panties, pulling them down as his eyes don’t stray from yours.

“Oh…fuck…” you bite your lip gently, the action making you fanny flutter to the point of aching.

“Jesus…” he breathes against your thigh, pressing his lips along the skin and sucking it until he’s satisfied with the markings.

Simon scoops up both of your legs by the crooks of your knees, spreading them apart as he shifts down to rest his knees on the ottoman spread across the end of the bed.

A shuddered moan releases from you as his tongue prods at the hole in your cunt, then drags up to swirl around your sensitive bud. 

Your hand grabs a tight hold in his hair, making him groan against your core and increase the pressure and sensation in your stomach.

A whimper leaves your throat as he sucks and laps at your pussy, making you buck into his jaw.

“Jus’ like that, baby,” he growls onto you, pressing a wet kiss onto your clit. “Y’gon cum all over m’face like a good girl?” 

You mewl and cry out as Simon slips a finger inside, your back arching and thighs jerking.

“Simon!” You gasp loudly as your fingers dig into his back over his shirt.

His tongue drags flatly up your cunt, collecting all your juices—he’s practically drinking you. 

Another finger pushes inside gently, curling inside that same spot he’s able to find so effortlessly each time that makes you go wild.

“Gon’ c…cum…” you stutter meekly.

“C’mon then,” he urges. “Cum f’r me.”

Simon quickened his pace and the pressure, pumping his fingers in and out, in and out.

Like he was starved, his face presses closer into you, tongue toying at your clit making you twitch against him.

There’s an unbearable heat between your legs as you feel a knot tie in your abdomen when Simon levered his fingers deeper into you. 

“Good…” he groans, pressing his tongue inside with his fingers as your walls clamp around him desperately, a strained moan leaving you as your orgasm snaps.

You cum, hard, and grip his shoulders with both hands as his fingers fuck your orgasm back into you before he finally pulls his fingers out to coat your thighs in your climax.

Simon sucks out his work, then spits it back out onto your heat, slapping your pussy and releasing a deep groan.

He licks his fingers clean, his tongue sliding between each finger. 

You lift yourself up by gripping his belt, slightly wobbling before his hand finds a spot to rest on your back.

“Fuckin’ hell…cum drunk ‘lready, sweets?” Simon bends down to take your mouth onto his, taking the chance to slip his tongue between your lips when you moan into his.

Gently, you palm his hard cock over his pants, eyes squeezing shut then opening to find your place on his belt and fumble with the buckle.

“Mm—y’find what you were lookin’ f’r?” He pants heavily before his lips trail down your jawline to lick and suck at your neck. 

“Oh..fuck…” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin. 

“Want you so bad, Si…” you moan, lifting your head to grant him better access. “Want to feel you inside of me.” 

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere across the room while he kicks off his pants that you helped pull down Simon’s hips, lips then coming back down to tease at your collarbones and neck.

“Ooh..ho…you will, don’t y’worry, sweet girl.” His cock sprung free out of the restraints of his boxers, making him groan hoarsely.

Simon’s fingers tap on the outerside of your thigh. “Turn over,” he demands.

You babble out nonsense that is incoherent as you flip on your stomach and one of his hands gather both of your wrists. 

He’s on the bed now, between your legs with one hand holding you up by your stomach. 

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, lips trailing up your spine.

“Y’want it?” He growls. “Huh?”

He inhales sharply, nudging the tip into your greedy hole. “God…you do…” 

“J’s suckin’ me in like th’needy little pet y’are.”

You moan out a chant of pleases, cheek pressing into the comforter of the bed as he arches and positions you to his liking.

“Y’want this thick cock in y’r empty pussy.” 

“Yes…” you mumble, backing into him 

softly until you take in his entire tip which causes the larger man to apply more pressure into your stomach. “Fuck me, please…please…”

“Oh…Mmm…Such a good girl beggin’ f’r my cock.” Simon praises, letting you bounce on his tip for a few moments.

“Tha’s right baby…jus’ like that…I own this pretty little cunt, don’t I?” He snarls. “Nobody else’s to fuck.” 

“Only yours, just yours,” you nod helplessly, earning a positive noise from the man behind you.

He takes in a sharp breath before slowly he inches himself into you farther, stretching you. 

Filling you.

You moan loudly, your walls closing around his length making him push out the same noise.

When he bottoms out in you, his tip kissing your cervix, he retracts and ruts back into you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room as he hisses and breathes harsher at every thrust.

“Oh…” he sighs in ecstasy, releasing your wrists so he can grab the fat on your waist.

“Yes…” he moans, every contact with your hips causing the breath in his mouth to jump and fall.

“Tight little pussy just swallowing me,” Simon hisses through clenched teeth as he painfully yet deliciously stretches you open to his size. “So—fuckin’ sexy.” 

“Want y’to cum in me, please…” You gasp, clawing at the comforter as he bucks himself deep into you, filling you up and emptying you, repeating that motion over and over.

“Want me to fill y’with my seed?” He chuckles, a moan interrupting him. “Tha’s what my slutty pet wants?”

“Fucking yes! My god, yes…” you pant, muttering and whining unintelligibly as he slams back into you and makes your ass slap against his thighs. 

“Too bad,” he croons.

“Simon…pl..ease..” you moan.

“No…no, I can’t…cum in ya, love. We—we ain’t thinkin’ straight…” Simon’s cock twitches inside of you as he continues ramming his hips into yours, a guttural groan tearing out of him. 

“I can feel y’tightenin’ around me, j’s beggin’ to cum around my fat cock…” 

“There y’go…Bounce that gorgeous ass on me, j’s how I like it, babe.” Simon strains, hand roughly smacking the skin on your hind. 

You squirm against him, making the blonde growl and grab your hips with a bruising grip. “Y’feel me stretchin’ y’r tiny pussy?” 

“Mhm? Y’do?” He grunts, heaving above you as he thrusts himself into you. “Fuckin’ take it, filthy fuckin’ minx.”

“Look at you, such a pretty pet, bent to my content…Pussy out on display.” 

“Gonna cum, gorgeous, all over your perfect belly.” He mumbles and flips you onto your back.

You moan shamelessly and loudly, whining as he pulls out of you and starts stroking himself while playing with your pussy.

“Fu…u…ck…” his head leans back as you massage his balls and replace his hand. “J’s likeee…that, perfect girl…”

He rubs his middle and pointer finger over your clit at an inhuman pace, making your body jolt and try to push away if it weren’t for his hand holding you roughly in place.

You roll your wrist up and down, pumping his cock in your hand until he takes control again and smacks his tip against your lower abdomen, spilling out his cum onto your stomach with a choke of your name.

Simon’s body twitches, pants and swears rolling off his tongue in a pleading voice as he covers you in his warmth.

“C...C’mon lovie, cum all over my fingers again, let me sss…see y’come undone f’r me again…N…Need to see it…” He stumbles over his words as he comes off his high, an undertone of a whimper in his voice.

It makes you pool, your ego skyrocketing at the fact that you can do that to someone. To him.

Simon’s fingers hit every perfect nerve inside your pulsating cunt, curling and plummeting into the same spot of overwhelming pressure that brought you over the edge. 

A tightness coils in your stomach again, and he absolutely fucking loves the strained noises that spill out from you at every rut of his fingers inside of you.

He loves the way he can get you wrung out at every pet name and gentle touch, the way you clamp your thighs together at the smallest motions.

Simon knew your body better than you did, and he fucking loved it. He knew every spot that drove you absolutely mad and every crevice that had the ability to make you beg just how he wanted. 

Your eyes shoot open from their half-lidded proportion as Simon finds a certain spot that sends electricity throughout your entire body, making you cry out and dig your nails into his scar-ridden flesh.

“Righ’ there, huh, princess? Righ’ there?” He hisses which drawls out to a throaty growl, hammering that same spot with more pressure. “Couldn’t stand bein’ away fr’m this pussy f’r so long…” 

You chant ‘yes’ over and over again until your gasping and panting his name, your breath catching in your throat as you let out a loud cry through your climax, thighs trembling as they slowly close around his forearms in reflex.

He lifts your thighs up again and sits you on his lap as he pulls the covers over the both of you.

“Did s’good for me, lovie. Mmm…S’proud of you, baby.” Simon whispers, catching your lips in a ravenous kiss as he presses his cock inside of your warmth, pushing your climax back into you in a tranquil motion. 

“‘M gonna be right back, okay?” You coo against his lips as you swing your legs over the bed, he gives you a small ‘mhm’.

You quickly give yourself time to use the bathroom, then wash your hands before you walk yourself back into the room, crawling back into his lap before he turns the both of you to the side.

Simon unclips your brassiere and drops it onto the floor, cups both of your breasts in his palms and moans as you slide yourself back down onto his cock.

“Mmh…So warm…” he whispers huskily while kissing the nape of your neck down to your collarbones.

He spoons you, lulling you into a state of drowsiness as he gently massages your tits. Simon’s breath is a gentle pattern over your neck, gentle snores leaving the barriers of his lips after his hands go still.

You don’t take long to catch sleep right behind him, turning your head a moment to peck his wet lips before you’re able to finally shut your eyes.  

[maryangelex]

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.

[runninriot]

Inspired by the prompt Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared by @quinns-shadowy-arts for @steddielovemonth day 20

Give and Take

wc: 1737 | rated: t | cw: mentions of drinking and smoking weed | tags: Hurt Feelings (past), Fear of Rejection, Eddie realises he has a crush on Steve, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers

  

Eddie is just about to leave when Wayne calls after him. Tells him not to stay out too late and to say Hi to Steve. And then he ends how he always does, never lets Eddie go without:

„Love ya, son."

Eddie smiles, gives his uncle an affirming nod before making his way out of the door.

He's heard it so many times now, these words his uncle says so easily, and he wished he could do the same.

It's something Eddie struggles with a lot; telling people he loves them is generally scary as shit.

Because in his experience, to love means to hurt because loving always comes with a price, a piece of your heart you give away with no chance of getting it back.

He’s given away too many of those.

Gave a piece to his mother when he was six. Proudly holding up the card his teacher helped him write for mother’s day. “I love you, mommy” it said on the heart-shaped paper and Eddie smiled, toothless and wide. Got a dead-eyed glare in return when she threw it on top of a pile of unopened letters. Not saying a word, not even acknowledging his extra neat hand-writing or the colourful flowers he’d drawn on the back.

He gave one piece to Jenny in grade 6. The girl with the blue eyes and rosy cheeks who was always so nice to him. One day after school she took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. Eddie felt like flying, told her he liked her a lot, thinking she might feel the same. But Jenny just scrunched her nose, pure disgust written on her face when she told him “Eww, no. It was just a dare.”

He lost a large piece in high school, gave it to Nick. The pretty boy with the seductive smile who dragged him behind the bleachers and stuck his tongue down Eddie’s throat. The kiss was too wet and too sloppy but Eddie thought maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Let Nick push him to his knees and willingly opened up wide. Not once, not twice, it went on for a month. And Eddie felt wanted but apparently wanted too much when he asked him to be his boyfriend.

Eddie learned to keep his mouth shut. To keep the remaining pieces to himself.

-🖤-

Steve is already waiting in his car that’s parked outside the Munson’s home, waving happily when he sees Eddie step outside.

They’ve made plans to spend the evening at Lover’s Lake, have a couple of beers and maybe a smoke while watching the sunset.

They do that often, just hanging out together. Enjoying the long summer days and each other’s company.

It’s always nice to spend time with Steve because with him Eddie never has the feeling he needs to tone himself down. Can ramble and rant, can be as loud and impulsive as he naturally is without having to worry about scaring him off. Steve never makes him feel bad about himself, accepts Eddie as he is.

Being with Steve always feels right.

They get along. They’re friends now. And the more time Eddie spends with Steve, the more he understands him, sees him.

He’s vulnerable, like Eddie. Has had his fair share of people misjudging him based on what they see on the outside. Where people assume Eddie is scary and mean, they think of Steve as being strong but dumb. Where they think Eddie’s only interests are metal and nerd games, they think Steve’s life revolves around nothing but sports and girls.

But Eddie knows better. Knows all of Steve’s layers.

Sure, Steve does love his silly ball games (something Eddie will never understand) but he also loves to cook and bake. He hates the taste of ginger and is afraid of moths. He can’t sleep with his back turned to the door and he likes the sound of heavy rain pounding against the window. He hates to read but he loves to listen if someone takes the time to read to him.

Eddie cherishes Steve’s honesty. The way he’s not afraid to ask questions if he doesn’t understand something. The way he’ll tell you, straight forward, when you’re being unreasonable.

Eddie likes the way his eyes sparkle when he’s happy. Likes the way Steve snorts when he laughs really hard. Eddie likes the snappy tone he uses when someone (usually Dustin) gets on his nerves. He likes Steve's fierceness, and his courage, and how much he cares.

Liking Steve is easy because he’s a genuinely nice guy with a big heart who never lets his friends down and always gives so much.

Eddie feels lucky to have him in his life, would give everything to keep him there.

-🖤-

They are lying side by side on a blanket, their minds comfortably buzzed from the joint they shared, while the sun sets over Lover’s Lake, painting their bodies in a dark orange hue. A gentle breeze caresses their exposed skin, just a warm touch of air drifting over their sun warmed bodies.

It’s quiet out here, now that most of the people that came to enjoy a day at the lake have already gone home.

Eddie thoughtlessly turns his head to look at Steve who is lying there with his eyes closed, basking in the tranquillity of the moment. Calm and content, so still and at peace. So different from his usual demeanour – always alert, always a little tense, always ready to step in if someone requires his help.

He's... beautiful like that.

And suddenly it is like something snaps in Eddie's brain.

He can’t tear his eyes away, lets them wander over Steve’s soft features and the expanse of his body. Wonders, foolishly, what Steve’s skin would feel like underneath his fingertips, what it would be like to hold him, maybe even get a taste of his lips.

    Oh no. Oh fuck.

Something in his gut coils and twists, ripples through him like an electric shock wave when the realisation hits.

It was inevitable, really, and maybe deep down he already knew for much longer than he’d ever admit.

It’s a bitter truth to accept but the confession comes easy now that he allows his heart to speak.

He’s in love with Steve.

Can’t have him, clearly. But that’s just how it is. That’s always how it is.

Eddie turns his head back, eyes pinched close in frustration as he tries to breathe through the stinging pain in his chest. His heart pumps so fast it makes him dizzy, makes him feel a little like spinning on a carousel that’s going too fast.

    SHIT! Eddie thinks or did he said it out loud? Because Steve startles beside him and Eddie can feel him ruffling at their shared blanket when he moves.

   “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

Eddie looks back at Steve who’s suddenly so much closer than he was before –  brows pinched together in question, with small worry lines showing on his forehead, his face hovering over Eddie’s.

   “I just realised something,” Eddie answers too honest, doesn’t know where to go from here but he can’t find it in him to lie.

    “Oh,” Steve breathes out, his expression softening as the seconds pass. “Wanna talk about it?”

   “Uh, I- no. I’d rather not.”

The look Steve gives him shouldn’t sent him spiralling even more but goddamn does he look cute with that stupid smirk tugging at his lips.

Eddie wants to bite him, feels a deep red blush take hold of his face. Maybe he can put it off as a sun burn?

   “Who knew that the great Eddie Munson could be so timid?” Steve jokes and okay.

So much for trying to play it cool.

   “I’m not-“ Eddie takes a deep breath, “It’s just something I can’t tell you.”

Steve sits up and without being prompted, Eddie does the same. For a moment they just look at each other.

   “You know you can tell me everything.”

If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d think there’s something like disappointment ringing in Steve’s voice.

   “Yeah, hah, uh- not this, I guess.”

Eddie looks away, can’t hold Steve’s gaze. Nervously he starts to play with the rings on his fingers until a warm hand stops him, causing him to look back up.

   “Try me.” Steve’s voice is soft and Eddie knows he can trust him but-

    No.

He can’t. This isn’t worth losing him over. Eddie knows how this is going to go. He can’t give anymore pieces away.

   “I-“

Only now Eddie realises Steve’s hand is still resting on his own, his thumb gently rubbing circles over the back of it.

Steve has never touched him like this before, so tender it almost doesn’t feel real.

   “I like you a lot, Steve.” The words sputter out before he can even try to hold them back.

Eddie winces, tries to avert his gaze but before he can turn his head to the side there’s a hand on his cheek and a firm press of lips on his mouth and-

Eddie can taste weed, and beer, and the chips they shared. Steve’s breath is hot as he sighs into the kiss, his lips are plush and soft... they’re so fucking soft Eddie feels like sinking right into them.

He allows his eyes to flutter close as he deepens the kiss, wants more of the taste, more of Steve. His hands find their way to Steve’s hips, digging and pulling like he just can’t help himself, needs Steve closer.

They part when their startled laughter breaks the tension as Steve tumbles ungraciously on top of Eddie, looking down at him with glistening eyes.

   “Fuck, Steve.” Eddie feels giddy, breathless.

   “Yeah. Fuck.” Now it is Steve’s turn to blush.

Somehow their lips find their way back to each other, like it’s easy. And maybe it is.

Maybe it is easy because they both want it.

   “Want you, Eddie. Wanted you for so long but I was scared to tell you that I-“ Steve inhales shakily.

Maybe they both feel the same?

   “I love you, Steve.”

This isn’t just a piece. This is his whole heart he holds it out for Steve to take, hoping that this time, he’ll maybe get something in return.

Eddie holds his breath, feels cold sweat running down his spine as he waits for a rejection that never comes.

   “I love you, Eddie.”

[lunarw0rks]

I have a request for Ghost where 141 notices a change in Ghost when he can't wait to get home to a loved one but hasn't told anyone about her yet. They even notice that he smells different at times, has hairbands on his wrist, and is distracted more than usual and maybe even happier. Then they finally put the pieces together and maybe even find evidence that he does have a loved one, Thank you :))

『♡』 masterlist ♡ rules ♡ ask box Warning(s): nothing major, mild language, gn!s/o A/N: soap in this fic reminds me of this scene lmao. also, this is more headcanon/drabbles than a short fic, since those have been easier for me to write lately.

─── simon hated it, being in love with you. there was a point where his hyper-awarness had dwindled, leaving him lovesick and distracted. regardless, he's a solid lieutenant, hard and ruthless whenever necessary, but it's the little things.

♦ his street clothes don't just smell of tobacco and his natural musk. there's something else, too. your scent. the shampoo and fragrances that you use, are unmistakable to his co-workers.

♦ it wasn't until he was sitting still long enough to smell it, that he panicked. he had been nose-blind, too occupied with a busy day to notice it until now. this whole time, those who had stood next to him throughout the day smelled it too, no doubt.

─── but Simon had to stay calm, he told himself. he could do that, couldn't he? he's always stone-faced and stoic. should be a walk in the park... right? if he played his cards right, no one would notice, no one would tease him - no one would find out about you.

♦ well, that sentiment didn't last long at all...

♦ it went exactly how he pictured it. soap running his mouth, being chatty and persistent to get a rise out of him. and it worked.

♦ "if I were a detective, I'd say ya been caught red-handed, L.T." soap sneered, to simon's dismay. he hadn't said a word; all he was doing was sitting off to the side picturing coming home to you.

♦ the lieutenant replied, forcing his usual scowl. "go bother someone else, Sergeant. I've got no time for childish games." though, since meeting you, that expression had been more difficult to fake. perhaps it was how he bounced his knee anxiously, how he had his head back while daydreaming, or how he fiddled with his scarred fingers more than usual. simon had failed at being subtle, once again.

♦ soap wasn't going to give up that easily, naturally. "the crime of love. head over heels for someone, aren't you? fell so hard you knocked some sense into your hard head, didn't ye?"

♦ "watch yourself, johnny."

─── next, it wasn't just subtle clues to the lieutenant's dating status. it was cold, hard evidence. the gravest mistake he ever made; forgetting to take off one of the hair ties you handed him the day before. or, subconsciously, he kept it to keep a piece of you with him.

♦ no matter the root of the problem, he was screwed. he had officially gone soft... a little soft, at least.

♦ "ghost, you have yesterday's reports?" price asked, preoccupied with the mounds of work on his desk. simon nodded and reached into the bin on the top shelf, his hoodie sleeve rolling down his arm when he did so.

♦ in truth, price could care less about the dating status of his soldiers. all he cared about was that they were punctual and focused - but something about ghost having someone at home, it amused him.

♦ gaz, silently observed from afar, like always. he never spoke, unless spoken to. he was more shocked than anything. simon was never the type in his mind, let alone to be distracted and leave traces of the unknown lover. but, nonetheless, gaz didn't want to lose an eye, so he decided it best to keep his mouth shut.

♦ surprise, surprise.

♦ soap said something again. "hm, i knew it, L.T. you got the hots for someone at home, got it bad, heh." the iciest glare he'd ever received from ghost, was all he got in return. simon yanked his hoodie sleeve back down as if that was going to clear the memory of his vulnerability.

─── "be careful, sergeant, or you'll be lying in the med bay."