#for the low low price of an Annoying Noise?

[celepeace]

I don't feel genuinely violent very often but the sound of landscaping tools in the morning activates something in me like a sleeper agent

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

02 — THE NIGHT WE MET

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

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Turns out, as much as water is wet, Soap likes to talk.

“Bloody Shadows,” he grunts under his breath. You’d given him your knife, so he could help you take down the men searching the tunnels. Now, after killing one, he’s got a weapon not unlike your own. In one hand, he wipes off the bloody knife on his thigh and slides it into his belt, and in the other, he checks over the stolen gun.

The water soaks your calves, a cloud of blood and a body along with it floating behind you both. Taking another step forward, the water ripples, the weight of it pulling as you continue to move forward, Soap at your flank.

“Your men feckin’ suck at their jobs, lass,” your new companion hisses, low enough not to echo but loud enough to have you rolling your eyes.

“They’re not used to this kind of fighting. It’s not their fault.” You’re not exactly sure why you’re defending them, when you’re decidedly betraying your entire unit, but you feel obligated to anyway.

“Or you’re just a bad Lieutenant.”

You shoot him an annoyed glance. “Wrong. I’m not a Lieutenant, Sergeant.”

You knew of his title because of something Ghost had said earlier, his voice carrying loud enough through the earpiece in the quiet of the shops. It suited him, in a way you couldn’t quite explain, just as the smell of the sea felt like more of a home than any building you’d encountered.

Keeping your head forward, you miss the roll of Soap’s eyes, and the flexing of his hand around the knife at his waist.

“Sorry, Corporal,” he retorts, and you bristle.

“Colonel will do,” you snap back, quickening your pace but keeping your movements quiet as you spot the shadows of your men up ahead. Stretching your hand out, you encourage Soap to pause.

Soap scoffs. “Dinnae think you’re above me.”

You go to continue the petty argument, when –

“Graves has lost his fucking mind over his chick.” A Shadow says around the curved corner, and Soap stops as you do. You see a flash of red, their flashlight, up ahead, and pull Soap’s shirt to stand with you against the wall.

“How much do you bet she’s found out about another girl he’s got goin’ on the side?”

Your chest constricts, and your body feels as though it’s frozen in time. Soap’s hand comes up to remove your grip on his shirt, and you don’t make a single argument or movement against it.

“That, or she’s gone to find another superior to fuck,” the other replies.

Within one moment, and the next, you pull your knife back from the sheath on Soap’s belt, and take a massive, sweeping step to your right.

It’s not a second later that the knife has flung from your fist, and met the neck of one of the gossiping Shadows. Blood spurts out of his neck, and he quickly finds himself falling forwards onto his knees, and then effectively being pulled by the motion of the flood.

“What the –” The other starts, but in one click, you’ve pressed the silencer onto the end of your gun, flicked off the safety and shot a bullet into the back of his head.

Your hands do not tremble. You don’t even make a noise.

Soap does, though, just as the sun is set to rise.

“Christ, lass, that was clean,” he says under his breath, before letting out a low, impressed whistle. “Colonel it is.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you just put your knife back into its rightful spot in your vest, flip on the safety, and continue to wade down the tunnel.

The words of the two Shadows echo in your mind, like your very soul has been hollowed out for the sole purpose of being a cavern of mindless thoughts. You suppose that’s the way of life.

By the time the two of you reach the end juncture of the tunnel, Soap’s killed two more Shadows. You haven’t hurt any since the last few, but it’s a small mercy. You’re not exactly itching to murder your… previous subordinates.

Previous. Past.

Whatever.

“Ghost says the church is just to the right, ‘nd up the stairs,” Soap supplies as the two of you make it to the T-junction. Giving him a small nod, you turn right, finding the said stairs mere metres away.

“It’s going to be rough out there,” you warn with a short glance his way.

He chuckles a humoured sound, surprising you with its warmth. “Aye can handle rough, lass,” he teases, and you’ll forever be grateful for his positive outlook on the situation. Humour was good, when one was going through such… bullshittery.

“What’s the plan after we meet with Ghost?” You ask lowly as you start ascending the brick steps, the dripping of water a debilitating soundtrack. 

Soap is just a few steps behind you, his steps just slightly slower due to his injuries and general stress. “Eh, we’ll see. Ghost has probably got a rough idea already,” he admits. He seems to almost worship Ghost, although in a very different way to how you do – did – with Graves. “Lt for a reason, hen.”

“I’m not a chicken,” you snark back, hand resting at the dagger strapped onto your thigh. It’s a familiar habit.

Soap’s laugh, this time, comes out boisterous and almost shocked. It’s a loud, genuine thing, and you can’t find it in yourself to despise it. 

“Yer funny for a traitor,” he responds, and your stomach hollows out once more.

Traitor.

That single word – title – rings in your ears like the bombs you’ve set off in past missions. Like a tormenting, cruel ghoul, whispering taunts in your ear. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

You don’t reply as you make it to the inside of a house, the front door seeming to face exactly where the two of you needed to go. Pausing before it, you look to Soap once more, cocking your gun.

“Ready, Sergeant?” You ask, both for his sake, and your own. Your resolve is weak, trembling, almost, but there’s no going back now. Not after this.

Soap lets out his own exhale, before his deep blue eyes meet yours. “Aye, I’m ready.”

You turn.

And you open the door.

“Jesus fuck!” Soap yells out, and your focus is quickly split between his sudden words, and the hilt of a gun crashing into the side of your head.

Falling to the ground with a groan, a bloom of light taunts you in the corner of your shut eyes, your skull pounding with the sudden pain. Bringing a hand up to the source of your ache, you slowly blink your eyes open, watching as your fingers come away with sticky blood coating them.

“I found her! She’s with –” 

Looking up, your mouth falls open as a bullet lodges itself into the Shadow’s forehead, and he too, falls to the ground.

Except, unlike you, he would never get up again.

“Was that you, Lt?” Soap calls into his own comms, and he sounds nothing if not impressed. Rising to your knees, you manage to find your way back up to your feet, albeit with shaky movements.

Your vision is slightly skewed, and you feel somewhat out of it as you look outside, and spot the darkened streets once more.

Whatever Ghost responds with makes Soap laugh, but all you can focus on is that the church is so close. You guys could make it – no, you would make it.

And you would convince Graves to stop this, and to continue being the man you thought you knew.

You could fix everything.

“All good?” Soap asks you, then, appearing at your side like a trusted dog. You’re all too aware of how you must look – bewildered and bloody.

“What’re we waiting for?” Is your reply.

Turns out, a lot.

By the time the two of you make it to the steps of the church, there’s enough blood on your hands to make you think that it’ll never come off. Both figuratively, and physically.

“Johnny!” 

Breath stilted, head pounding and ears ringing, your weighted gaze sloppily meets that of Simon Riley’s.

You’d never met the guy, never seen him, either. And in person, he’s terrifying in a guttural, instinctual way. All dark-clothed bulk, skull mask dirtied and stark in the eery night. The sniper strapped to his back just adds to his whole image.

“Fuck, Ghost, you’re –” Soap begins, but a bullet just missing his ear has his words silenced.

“We gotta find a way outta here,” Ghost directs, and you nod instinctively. At the movement, his eyes zero-in on your frame – and they narrow. His hands clench around the smaller, more close-range gun in his hands, and his jaw tightens.

Right. You weren’t friends, and you could hardly be called acquaintances.

Enemies, first and foremost.

Swallowing, you flit your gaze back to Soap, inclining your head towards the multitude of vehicles along the street to your left.

“Come on, we’re sitting ducks here. Let’s find a car and go,” you yell over the sound of the harsh pattering of rain, thunder reverberating through your chest. Your eyes maintain a wincing position, hair completely wet and droplets dripping from your face and gear, mascara coating underneath your eyes, and you’re sure, your cheeks.

“The lass is right,” Soap shifts his attention from you to Ghost, “C’mon, Lt.”

Ghost waits another moment, and even with Soap looking at him, his focus remains solely on you. His gaze is hard, cold, full of hatred and distaste.

“Please,” he insists, tone gone pleading and almost desperate.

It’s all Ghost must need, it seems, because he shifts the weight of his gun between his hands once more with a direct nod. 

It’s not a moment later that more bullets are shot at the three of you, causing you to instantly find cover and press your back against it, quickly checking that your weapon is loaded. It is, thank the gods, and you quickly peek around the stall of which you’d used as cover and pop a few shots at some Shadows you see lining the streets. A few drop, and more yelling echoes throughout the town.

“There’s a truck with its lights on up ahead!” Ghost’s voice carries over the cacophony of sounds down the street, and you heave out a shaky breath. Turning just enough that you can search for the vehicle he’s talking about, your heart thumps in your chest as your eyes lock onto it.

You figure that the man must be further along the streets than you, so steeling your nerves, you stand up once more and raise your gun.

Soap and Ghost have already made a dent in the soldiers after the lot of you, but you find yourself lodging bullets into quite a few Shadows’ skulls anyways. To be on the other side like this, to kill your men, it’s a kind of pain you’d never even considered that you’d have to experience.

Your chest rises and falls at a concerning rate as you find the truck just a few feet away from you, Soap’s hand gripping the door to the passenger’s side, and Ghost jumping into the driver’s seat.

With one final pull of the trigger, you push Soap into the car, and rush into it right after him, pulling the door shut with an audible slam!

“Drive!” You quickly direct Ghost, pulling up your gun over the back of the seat and aiming it at the Shadows directing their sights to the three of you. “Before they kill us all!”

Ghost jerks, the glass of his window shattering as a bullet flies through, a searing pain bursting through the top of your right cheek. Cursing under your breath, you pull the trigger of your gun, Soap shooting his own at the same time.

With a burst of the accelerator, the truck goes rearing backwards, and your eyes go wide as you watch Ghost reverse into two Shadows, their bodies churning underneath the wheel.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lt!” Soap cries out, and just as he does, Ghost quickly manoeuvres the vehicle into drive. He’s quick about it, and you flinch as he crashes through the wired gate that had previously blocked off the street, the truck lurching with the movement.

With tight swerves, and a few more bullets shot from your guns, both you and Soap finally loosen your postures as you lose the couple of Shadows left behind.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale a deep, meaningful breath.

“You good, hen?”

Blinking away the blurriness of your vision, you jolt when Soap’s hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing the spot where the pain originates on your cheek. Letting out a small hiss, he immediately pulls away.

“Just a graze, I think,” you bite out, bringing your own shaky fingers to the wound. You can feel where the blood drips from it, along with the blood from your forehead.

“I found some cloth,” Soap pulls out said object, handing you a decently clean strip of tawny fabric. “Will it do?”

With a sharp nod, you take the fabric from his grip, righting yourself to face him properly. Looking down, you unzip one of the compartments on your vest, taking out a small first aid kit.

Soap lets out a low, impressed whistle. “Didn’t realise ye were a medic, lass.”

Despite yourself, and your situation, you can’t help the small tilt of your lips. “I’m a medical professional. Just chose to take lives, rather than save ‘em.”

“Well, ye saved mine today.”

Looking up from where you scavenge through the small kit, your eyes meet his. They’re so blue, and they shine beneath the night lights of Las Almas. Even with his wound, they seem so positive, so joyful and kind.

“And you saved my humanity,” you admit. It’s true, of course – if not for you crashing into him, you had no idea where you’d be right now.

Ghost clears his throat, and you quickly focus back in on your supplies, scurrying through them for the necessary items.

Pulling out a pair of medical scissors, and some cleaning alcohol, you wave for Soap to pull up his sleeve and give you his arm. He does, swearing under his breath as some of the crusted blood pulls away with the fabric of his shirt. His arm is nothing if not muscled, and if it were any other circumstance, any other man, you’d allow yourself a moment to appreciate such pure masculinity.

But this is an enemy, and this is a bullet wound.

“This’ll hurt,” you murmur, checking over the small alcohol bottle in your hand, before looking through the medkit once more. “And you’ve lost a lot of blood. Here.”

Reaching for a small piece of candy, you drop it into his open palm.

His eyes flicker from yours, to the small wrapper in his large hand. He seems to inspect it, for a moment, before his mouth twists into a mocking smirk.

“Sweethearts, aye?”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks burning for reasons other than your wound as you twist off the cap of the bottle in your hands. If you notice Ghost’s attention flit from the road ahead to the two of you, you don’t say a word.

“You need to get your sugars up. It’s not much, but it’s all I have right now,” you explain, refusing to look up at him. “Have one now, this’ll sting.”

He huffs, but undoes the wrapping and pops one of the lollies into his mouth. He hums.

With one hand on his shoulder, you bring up the bottle and drop some of the liquid onto the wound, flushing out any bacteria or infections. Hopefully.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap groans out, teeth clenched and jaw straining as his eyes flutter shut.

“Be careful,” Ghost warns, worry and threat bundled into the two words like a second skin. If you were one to be intimidated, you would take the sentiment seriously, but all you can focus on is the obvious care for his companion.

Very odd, indeed.

“How’s the candy?” You ask, grabbing a sterilising wipe and cleaning up around the wound. Luckily, the bullet had exited – there wouldn���t be a need to go digging in there. That also meant that you had to clean the other side of his arm, however.

Soap’s chuckle comes out strained, but it’s better than silence.

“Delicious, sweetheart.”

You pause your movements, briefly, your chest tightening at the mocking endearment.

“Sweetheart?” You repeat back, your tone a question, before you continue to clean his wounds, albeit with more stilted movements.

“The lollies,” Ghost supplies, and you can’t help but think that he either thinks you’re dumb, or just generally despises you.

Maybe both.

…Definitely both.

“Yer jus’ so sweet, lass,” Soap taunts, before letting out a sound akin to a whimper when you swipe the wipe a bit too close to his wound.

“My bad,” your smile is sickeningly sweet, your tone light and innocent.

Soap’s jaw sets, but silence fills the truck as you make sure that the cloth will properly fit around the wound, getting out a safety pin to keep it around his arm.

It takes a few minutes for you to wrap the makeshift gauze around his skin, the groans of pain from him few and far between. Despite everything, you were a good medic. You’d been trained well, and you had the cadence for it.

Usually.

Fastening the clip through the cloth, you fix it up so it looks presentable enough, and successful for its job.

“All done,” you say softly, hesitant to speak up in the silence of the space.

You go to pack up your supplies, before a hand reaches out and wraps around your wrist, stopping your movements.

Flicking your gaze up to Soap’s, you go to open your mouth to say something, but find yourself at a loss for words. Your eyebrows furrow, and he seems to sense your confusion, because –

“Yer wounds,” he blurts out, wincing at the suddenness of his proposal. “...Yer wounded. Too.”

You can’t stop a shocked, sharp laugh leaving your lips.  “I’m very aware of that, yes. Brilliant observation, Sherlock.”

“Let him speak,” Ghost grits out, and Soap’s grip tightens around your wrist. The smell of blood and gunpowder is potent in the night, but you find yourself at ease with the somewhat familiar scent. What’s throwing you off is the sudden add-on of their cologne – somehow, someway, you can smell it. Whether it’s military-duty, or it’s ingrained into their very bones, you haven’t a clue.

You could slap yourself for noticing, for being curious at all.

They smell oddly like cedarwood and musk.

“Let me fix ye up,” Soap supplies, and you can’t do anything but oblige.

Handing him the first aid kit, your fingers brush, and it really, really shouldn’t mean a thing. For the gods’ sake, you’d had your hands all over his upper arm just mere moments ago.

But there’s a spark.

Like a universal truth, maybe. Like a sensation of sudden purpose, as if all this time, all of your life, had led up to this very moment. To this very person.

You pull away sharply, and Soap doesn’t comment on it.

You’ll forever be grateful for that.

“This’ll hurt,” Soap chides, mocking your voice. You fight the urge to slap that smug grin off of his face.

You notice Ghost’s uneasy grip on the steering wheel as he cruises through the city, taking odd turns and slightly too risky manoeuvres. His focus is designated directly to his task, only occasionally checking on Soap.

Fingers underneath your chin force you to look to the Scot at your side, his movement gentle but fingers calloused and weathered. It’s an impossible dichotomy, but one you find yourself relaxing into anyways; the kind of impossible that one starts to think of as home.

Yet, your home is far from here.

Your home is in Graves’ quarters. At the Shadows’ base. 

It’s difficult to suppress the groan when Soap brushes the alcohol wipe against your cheek, but biting down on your lower lip does the job. If anything, it makes you focus on the sharp pain of that, rather than the graze on your cheek.

The trick lasts a few minutes, before Ghost goes over a particularly rough bump, causing the wipe to dig into your open wound. Your head falls forward, a soft grunt falling from your lips at the burst of pain.

“Aye, lass, ‘s alright,” Soap soothes, but it does little for your growing embarrassment. 

You shoot your glare his way, settling back further into your seat. “Thanks, but that’s enough for now.”

Soap’s expression betrays his inner turmoil, but you turn, looking out of the window. 

The darkness and rain battle along the forested roads, and it’s only now that you realise you’ve left the city. And, also, that you have no idea what’s happening, or where the fuck you’re even going.

“What’s the plan?” You ask steadily, falsifying your growing apprehension.

“A safehouse,” Ghost grunts the reply, and you already know that that’s all you’re going to get from him for now. Letting out a small huff, you fold your arms over your chest, resolutely not looking at Soap.

If you did, you’d see him personifying a kicked puppy.

Silence falls, once again, over the three of you. It allows for you to think, both over the storm brewing both outside, and in your head. 

You weren’t sure how long it would take Graves to realise that you betrayed him, if he would believe it at all. Somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him to say that this is all an elaborate kidnapping, but you figure he must have bigger problems to deal with than you going missing right now.

Then, there was the issue of alliances. Ghost hadn’t exactly agreed to working with you, and he definitely showed no signs of being anything but cold towards you. And, even then, could you really kill your – whatever Graves was – if it came down to it?

And what was to happen next? After everything was said and done? Would the 141 allow you to work with them?

Would you want to?

“We’re here.”

Pulling the handbrake, the truck stops, and you see that Ghost has pulled up outside a safehouse of some sort, in the outskirts of Las Almas.

You go to get out, but you realise that your door’s remained locked – and when you turn to question Ghost, you soon gather that it’s a purposeful move.

Ghost’s eyes narrow on you, calculating and assessing, before he says, voice like a gunshot in the quiet of the night –

“Give me a reason not to kill you right now, 'nd we might let you live.”

You swallow around the desert that your mouth’s become, and with shaky words, you respond.

a/n. first post of 2024!! i hope everyone enjoys, and if u did, please comment, reblog and follow!! mwah mwah

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias

[mapofthesea]

poly!maknae line x fem!reader

genre: SMUT. Like SO MUCH of it. They’re all fuckin’. Porn with very little plot tbh

word count: 8.3k

summary: having gone years since your last real relationship and subsequent satisfying fuck, you decide its finally time to put yourself back out there at the club. For some reason, this club is full of sexy men-who all happen to be taken. As soon as you’re about to give up on men for the rest of your life, your night takes an extremely lucky turn. 

warnings: swearing, dom!maknae line x sub!reader, reader experiences some self-doubt, boys are poly and all in love with each other, use of pet names, name calling but y/n is into it, specific smut warnings: unprotected sex (simply don’t do this irl please), oral (male and female receiving), some mxm, face fucking, spit, spanking, praise kink and degradation kink at the same time, maknae line are fucking hung, dacryphilia (but very slight), double penetration, Taehyung loves readers tits, bi!maknae line, cum eating

an: I don’t proofread so if there are typos that’s why. As always, this is mature content so if you are under 18 and/or uncomfortable then please do not go beyond the cut! 

“You should really go catch a dick. Maybe that would make you less of a bitch.” The teenager pops her gum as she leaves, a loud complaint about ‘shitty customer service’ spilling to her friends as soon as she catches their gaze. 

As much as the girl was annoying-demanding a refund for a dress that had clearly been worn-her words did hold a small modicum of truth. How long had it been since you even had a satisfactory hookup? Your last long term relationship fizzled out about 2 years ago, and a few months after that you gave up on the dating scene altogether. There’s no denying the fact that you’re a bit lonely, and a lot horny, and that there’s an easy way to fix those problems if you’re just willing to put in some effort.

So you find yourself at a club for the first time in probably four years, the bass pulsing through the sticky wooden floors. A group of giggling girls pushes past you, forcing your body further into the writhing mass of dancing bodies. Your heels pinched your feet as you walked, but they made your legs look good, so you soldier through the pain to make it to the bar. The prices make you cringe, but you haven’t flirted with anyone in so long you need the liquid courage. You order two drinks, intent on sitting at the bar to get your bearings before going to well, catch a dick. The height of the stool makes you struggle to get into it, extremely out of practice when it comes to balancing in heels. The chair shakes under you as you try to settle into it, finally planting your ass down ungracefully. You puff out a breath, already feeling downtrodden about the night and looking forward to swallowing down the alcohol set in front of you. Just as you gather one of the glasses into your hand, a voice sounds from your side. 

“Excuse me, uhm,” you turn toward the source of the noise and thank the heavens you’re already sitting down. The man speaking to you is tall and built in all the right places, strong shoulders you want to sink your teeth into drawing your eyes upward until you reach his defined jawline, the plump of his pink lips that stretch into a boxed smile. His body is wrapped in a simple black button up with a subtle pattern, leaving only the top button undone to give you a glimpse of smooth skin and a chunky gold chain around his neck. Devastatingly handsome brown eyes peer down at you and you wonder when you got so fucking lucky. He seems to be alone, this perfect man, and he started a conversation with you?

He licks his lips, eyes darting pointedly down to your cleavage-thank god you chose this low cut dress- and then back up to meet your gaze. Sparks of excitement thrum over your body as he leans against the bar beside you. 

“Can I ask you what you’re drinking? It looks quite...delicious.” The deep timbre of his voice burns you from the inside out and you nod dumbly.

“They’re called electric lemonades. They’re definitely among the things I find...delicious.” You hope that you haven’t completely missed the mark in attempting to flirt back. In a different setting you would have cringed at the words, but tonight you were operating only on the desire to get fucked. The man cracks a smile and extends a hand your way. His fingers are long and adorned with rings, and you shudder at the thought of how they would probably feel inside of you. 

“I’m Taehyung,” he adds as you shake his hand. “And thank you for the recommendation...” he looks at you pointedly and you get the hint to provide your name. The feeling of his warm hand makes your voice waver as you answer him. 

“Thank you, Y/N” His hand ghosts up your wrist, giving it a small squeeze and holding on as he grabs the bartenders attention. Your heart is thrumming erratically; trying to decipher what the contact means, if your night was really going to be this easy. He turns back to you, fingers dancing on your delicate skin as you catch a whiff of what must be expensive cologne. Your head fills with lust, abandoning rational thoughts as words bubble out of you. 

“You, I think you’re-” Taehyung smirks at your stuttering, cocking his head to the side as you speak. “I think you’re really hot, and I- do you wanna get out of here?” You blurt, face flaming at the cliche you resorted to in the heat of the moment. Taehyung’s smirk morphs into a full blown smile, pearly white teeth on display. 

“Oh, Y/N. I would love to, but I’m actually-” His eyes slide over your head, gaze locking onto something, someone, behind him. Your heart stops, world crashing  in on you from overhead. 

“Oh god, no, I’m so sorry,” you scramble out of his grip on your wrist, all but leaping off of the stool to get away from him. His handsome face twists in what must be disgust of your desperation. 

“Y/N, wait, you don’t have to-” He speaks after you as you leave, drinks latched between your palms as you hurry away from the bar, desperate to find a new spot to sit and collect your mind. 

As busy as the club seems to be, you find a small booth table squeezed toward the service door that leads into the kitchen. It’s dark and secluded, the leather of the seat smooth and cold against the bare skin of your thighs. Heat still simmers at your core from your encounter, and you down an entire drink in a few gulps, welcoming the burn of vodka and sting of sour lemon juice to wash away the embarrassment of being rejected. Still, there were a lot of people here, and although you doubted you would find another as hot and captivating as Taehyung, you weren’t ready to give up just yet.

“I told you I don’t have time to talk right now!” You jump at the person who seemed to have materialized from thin air sitting at the other end of your booth. His hair is shaggy, pieces hanging around his eyes in a tantalizing fashion, the beginnings of a mullet type style evident by the long cut.  His short sleeved shirt shows off an arm of impressive tattoos you’re desperate to have a closer look at. 

“Holy shit!” You exclaim, hand clasping over your chest as your empty glass clinks against the full one. You don’t think he even heard you, dark eyebrows furrowed as he presses his phone against his ear. His free hand is digging harshly into his thigh, clearly annoyed at whoever was on the other end of the call. 

He glances your way at the outburst, a frown marring his handsome features. Your stomach dives as you process just how handsome this stranger is too. Did all the hot men in the area flock to this club tonight? His eyes don’t leave yours as he finishes up the call with a curt goodbye and you squirm in your seat at the attention. The desire to down your second drink burns in the back of your throat but you suppress it by scratching at the back of your hand. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” the man speaks and you catch a glimpse of his shining lip piercing. He extends a veiny, tattoo covered-hand across the table and you catch a glimpse of a delicate sliver chain around his wrist that likely costs more than five months’ worth of your rent. You extend your hand slowly to his own, hoping he can’t feel the way your hands are clamming up. 

“Jungkook.” He states simply, shaking your hand two times before dropping it gently back to the table with a deceptively adorable smile.

“Oh, hi. I’m Y/N. And it’s okay, really. I just didn’t notice you were here when I sat down...” His piercing eyes are still stuck on your form, eyebrows quirked in what now looks more like amusement. Your face flushes at his attention and you're worried that the heat will begin to melt your makeup off unintentionally. “I just, ah, hope that you’re okay. That sounded like an intense call?” 

He grunts, fiddling with the bracelet. “Been on worse calls. And at least this one brought me some good fortune.” For a moment you assume he means whatever business he must be in, but the way he licks his lips tells you a whole different story. You squirm, in utter shock at the way your evening has shaped up. “M-me?” You finally stutter, once again proving why you hadn’t been in the game for a long, long time. 

Jungkook’s eyes scan you, crinkling with a genuine smile that makes your stomach backflip. The hand you shook previously takes your own again, running a gentle line over your palm.  “Yes, you, pretty. Don’t know why you’ve secluded yourself to the furthest booth in the bar, but I won’t complain if it means I get to be the one to entertain you.” He cocks his head in a way that has no right being so attractive, and you feel your insides start to liquify. 

“Oh, thank you. I think you’re pretty too...” you deliberately dance your fingertips over his, hoping the teasing touch does a lot of talking for you. Jungkook’s eyes narrow in on the gesture, glazing over with what you believe is lust. Your heart kicks up in excitement, feeling like you had finally cracked the proverbial code. His grin widens and you feel your heart stutter at the way he suddenly grasps your hand between both of his own. “The things I would do to you, if only...” his face shifts, and you’ve done enough time in customer service to know it’s a look of disappointment. A shard of sadness strikes right through you as you wiggle out of his grip, quickly grasping your drink and downing it ungracefully in an attempt to wipe out the shame in your gut. You vaguely register Jungkook’s voice calling after you, but you power towards the dance floor, hoping to get lost in the press of sweaty bodies. 

Alcohol and embarrassment are an interesting comorbidity, and the ache to get away from the gazes of the two men you had already met persuades you to weave further into the dance floor. You don’t know the lyrics to the song that’s playing but the beat vibrates through the floor and straight into your blood, encouraging you to rock your hips. You’re vaguely aware of the heat of bodies around you as your eyes slip shut, vodka finally doing the job you wanted it to. Something loosens in your chest, a feeling not unlike taking off your bra at the end of a long day. A body presses in close behind your own, a hand skating over your side to rest just above your hip. The two of you rock along to the music and you look down to see the hand on you looks strong and capable. Your heart and pussy lurch at the same time and you dare to spin around as you rock your hips to the music. 

The man attached to the hand had to have just walked off of a runway. His eyes are rimmed in smoky eyeliner, even with his plump bottom lip trapped between his teeth you can see a hint of gloss. His hand tightens on your waist, seemingly pleased with your ogling. You lean closer to his warmth, linking your arms around his neck to pull him down to your height. He takes the bait easily, slotting his head next to your neck and ghosting a hot breath over your skin. A shiver escapes you, exasperated as the music changes and the man makes a point to press his hips forward into your own. An unbidden groan slips from between your lips and you swear you hear him chuckle. 

You move just as boldly as he is, rotating your hips forward pointedly. His hands wander to tease the curve of your hip before resting firmly on your ass at the same time he nips at a spot on your neck. 

“I’m Jimin, by the way,” his voice is devastatingly husky and low right in your ear. It makes you shiver, digging your fingernails into the lean planes of his shoulders.  “Y/N,” You answer back with a push of your hips further into his own, happy that the tight jeans he had on confirmed the bulge you thought you felt against you. A shuddering breath punches out of you and Jimin notices, nudging his nose firmly against the lobe of your ear. 

“What’s a beautiful thing like you doing out here alone?” He husks. 

“Tryin’ not to be. But I keep hitting on taken men, apparently.” Jimin abandons the spot at your neck to peer down at you, pretty eyes narrowed in to your own. Your veins thrum under his attention. There’s something in his stare you can’t explain, a quality so captivating that you don’t have it in you to look away. 

“Well, what a shame for those guys. You’re such a pretty little thing, I can’t imagine turning you down...” he smirks in a way he must know makes your knees weak, hands taking another generous handful of your ass. You pitch forward into his chest, the fabric of what you assumed to be a simple tank top feels silky and cool under your cheek. Jimin’s chest rumbles with a pleased hum, lips ghosting over the sweaty hairs on your forehead. 

“Fuck, baby. Should we get out of here?” 

Your heart jumps at his words and you nod immediately, the desire to hook your legs around his waist and let him carry you out of the club replacing all of your usual concerns. You settle for clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he begins to move the two of you out of the crowd. People part easily for the two of you and before you know it you’re in a much quieter and cooler spot. Your fingers finally unlatch from his shirt and find a place on his jawline instead, hesitating for a second before pulling him down and kissing him. You feel triumphant when he falls into your rhythm, biting playfully at your bottom lip before weaving his tongue inside of your mouth. Desire is burning in your stomach and you squirm against him, desperate to get the fuck out of here and onto doing what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

“Hey, what the hell!” Someone exclaims, obviously in close proximity. You jump, narrowly avoiding biting down on Jimin’s lips as you both turn toward the noise. He keeps you close in his grasp, arms tight over your waist- possessive in a way that makes your stomach clench. 

“Oh, hey guys. This is Y/N.” Jimin grins, nodding his head in a loose gesture towards you. Your stomach knots and flips with anxiety as your drinks threaten to make a reappearance. 

“Y/N, this is Jun-”

“Jungkook and Taehyung. Yeah, I um...” you trail off, wide eyes still in disbelief of the fact that your two failed endeavors are standing before you and seemingly are friends with Jimin. 

Jimin puffs a breath that ruffles your hair. “Wait, is she- she’s the same girl you guys were talking about? And they’re the guys you mentioned earlier?” 

The two other boys nod along with you, and despite the growing feeling of horror in your gut, you can’t help but feel hot under the gaze of all three of them. Jungkook locks his gaze on Jimin’s arms wound around you and his lip curls into a smirk. He moves in closer to your body until you can feel the heat radiating off of him. The tattooed hand you were so enamored with comes to tuck a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. 

“I really wish you would have stuck around when I called after you earlier, babe. Just lucky you found your way to Jimin.” His eyes dart to your lips and your heart pounds out of your chest. Every one of your senses heightens; the feeling of Jimin’s arms around you, the scent of Jungkook’s cologne, the way your vision is swimming with desire. 

“You can kiss him if you want,” Jimin offers, splaying his hand against your waist in encouragement. Your eyes go wide and you hear a throaty laugh- Taehyung- at your stunned expression. 

“Here’s the thing, Y/N. What you didn't let Jungkook and I get to is that we’re dating. Us, and Jimin. His eyes have gone a shade darker than they were at the bar and it makes your pussy clench. “So if you’d like to have all three of us. We’d all certainly like to have you.” 

You swear you forget how to breath as his words land and process, but the way your knees physically weaken is evidence enough of how you’re feeling. 

“Yes! I uh, yes. To all of it. Y-yes. Please.” Taehyung smirks, running his sinful tongue across his lips, and before you know it you’re all moving towards the door. You feel hazy in the best way possible as Taehyung and Jimin go to collect a taxi and Jungkook hangs back with you, attacking your lips with his own. The cold press of his piercing pulls a gasp from your mouth as he devours you in a kiss even nastier than the one you shared with Jimin. You’re more than happy to get lost in it, allowing Jungkook to guide you until you’re at the taxi, squeezing into the back seat with the other two boys. Jungkook settles you on his lap, holding you steady around the waist as the car starts and gets you back to their apartment. 

It’s a race to get up to their unit, and you can barely keep track of who is touching you where as the four of you ride the elevator up several stories. 

The inside of the apartment seems nicely decorated and clean, but you only have time to glimpse the living room before the three men are pulling you into a bedroom. 

“Look so fucking sexy, baby. I thought we’d lost you after you left me at the bar like that...” Taehyung shamelessly eyes your body, hands working underneath the fabric of your dress at your thighs. 

“Can we get you out of this?” Jungkook presses in behind you, pulling your hair to the side and playing with the delicate zipper on your dress.  “Yes, please.” You nod emphatically, head tipping forward to allow Jungkook more room. The gentle skim of his fingers on your back raises goosebumps and makes your nipples perk. 

“Shit.” Taehyung swears loudly when your dress slips down, leaving you bare aside from a simple pair of underwear. His lips immediately attach to your nipple, sucking with a fervor that your ex never came close to. Jungkook’s calloused fingers dip into the waistband of your panties and rub the soft skin at your hip before pulling them down your legs. You can feel your arousal smearing down your thighs with the movement, sure that there’s already a mess between your legs. Before you can open your mouth to defend yourself, Jimin appears, shirt already gone, to claim your lips again. 

Taehyung nips at the sensitive skin of your breast, leaving a mark that will be blooming in purple by the morning. He laves the spot with his tongue, humming against you as he helps himself to the expanse of you. Jimin lets up so you can both heave a breath. His eyes are much darker than they were on the dance floor, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver through you. He smirks, laying a possessive hand on top of Taehyung’s head as he continues to leave a path of marks on your torso. 

Your stomach hums with anticipation as you watch the two of them. The simple touch speaks volumes to the closeness of their relationship. Jimin grips your chin with his free hand, tipping your head upwards until you make eye contact. 

“You gonna be good for us?” You’re already nodding, and he lets out a dark chuckle. “Good little slut, letting us do whatever we want to you. Isn't that right?” A whine rips from your throat, as Jungkook’s hands find a new home in between your legs, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your body pitches forward, forcing Taehyung to back off as you move. 

“S-sorry,” you stutter, embarrassed at the way you bent over for them so easily. The feeling washes away as your angle brings you level with Taehyung’s cock, clearly strained against the fabric of his linen pants. You swear your mouth waters at the sight, itching to have him in you. Jimin’s hands find a home on your lower back, the gentle touch grounding you to the absurdity of the situation. 

Jungkook groans at the sight of your bared pussy, his hand immediately spreading your folds. You moan in tandem, eyes rolling at the pleasure.  “Shit, she’s so fucking wet.” He’s clearly speaking to the men around you, and the idea makes your cheeks flame. The squelch of your juices fills the room as Jungkook pushes a long finger inside of you. The stretch makes you gasp and quiver, having been embarrassingly long since you had anything inside of you. Your hands flail wildly until they land conveniently on Taehyung’s waist, just inches from his waiting cock. 

“Feels good?” He asks, latching his hands around your wrists and not so subtly inching them toward his cock.  “Wanna suck your cock,” you blurt the words as soon as your hand grazes him and are immediately rewarded with triplet groans from the men. 

“Go ahead, baby.” Taehyung encourages you as you find the zipper to his pants, struggling as Jungkook slips another finger inside of you and begins opening you up in a slow burn. You puff a breath when you finally get a look at Taehyung’s cock, heavy and flushed in your hand, with a prettily colored tip and strong veins under your thumb. You rub your thumb over the head and Taehyung groans, canting his hips forward into your touch. Anxiety stirs in your stomach at his size and your lack of experience, and your eyes widen at the prospect of trying to hold yourself up while being fucked on both ends. 

“Wait, I-” the words punch out of you, loud enough that the room stills. Jimin’s hands move, encouraging you to stand back upright as three concerned faces materialize in front of you. 

“Oh god, this is so embarrassing.” You groan, shutting your eyes tight. 

“We can stop!” Jungkook insists, voice surprisingly high strung. 

“No! No, I just.” You open your eyes again, licking your dried lips. “Its been a long time since I...you know. And I just, maybe we can move to the bed so I don’t like, fall?” Your eyes dart between them, expecting them to laugh or maybe tell you to just suck it up, but instead a low coo spills from between Jimin’s plush lips. 

“Poor girl, you haven’t been fucked in so long you’re worried you won't be able to handle us? Come on.” He leads you the few steps to the bed, laying you down with your back on the cool comforter. His pretty hair falls around his face and your hands are immediately in it, relishing in the soft feeling of his locks between your fingers in a way that grounds you to the moment. All you can focus on is how handsome he is, and how lucky you are to have found yourself in this situation. His lips descend on your own as if he can read your mind, grabbing at your waist with both capable hands. The kiss tastes like alcohol and you can't get enough, welcoming his tongue inside of your mouth in a messy swap of spit. Your noses squish together, as close as humanly possible to one another, until a sharp moan throws you out of your rhythm. Jimin lets up when you stop, leaning to the side casually to let you get a glimpse of the other two boys. The moan belonged to Taehyung, who had apparently stripped down while you were kissing Jimin, who was at the mercy of Jungkook’s hand on his cock. Jungkook had rid himself of his clothing as well, and you couldn't decide where to look first. 

Taehyung’s neck was on display, the muscular column inviting you to take a bite out of him as Jungkook works his deft fingers along the impressive length of his cock, all while his other hand grinds slowly against his own. 

“Aren't they pretty?” Jimin’s sinful voice snakes into your ear and makes you shiver. His hands deftly work down his own pants and boxers, and you’re given a hint of what he has to offer. 

“P-please, Jimin, want you.” He chuckles at the words but obeys you, quickly slotting himself between your legs. With no barriers between you, you can feel the thickness of his cock against your pussy, the girth of him taunting you. 

“As much as I wanna dive into your pretty little pussy, she deserves some more attention, don’t you think?” A knowing smirk graces his features as he lowers himself to your stomach, skimming the skin of your stomach with his tongue. The trail he leaves is electric, sending shockwaves of arousal right to your core as he gets closer. Your hands find a home in his hair again, happy to scrape against his scalp with a gentle pressure as he finally settles between your legs.

A stream of air against your clit makes you whimper, hips bucking off of the bed enough that he loops an arm over your stomach to hold you down. 

“Fuck, Jimin, please!” He giggles from between your legs and you think you might die before his mouth even touches you. Taehyung and Jungkook have turned their attentions to you, and the sight of them both hard in front of you is enough to make your head spin. You close your eyes, and as soon as your head drops back onto the bed, Jimin makes his move. 

Maybe it's just because it had been so long since you had someone eat you out, but the first touch of his tongue brought you spiraling toward an orgasm. Your hands tighten on his locks and he groans as he laps at you, circling your clit with his tongue in perfect little circles. The noises that escape you don’t feel like your own as you rush embarrassingly fast towards cumming. Your vision blurs with tears, and you cum without a warning. A pleasant humming fills your mind as Jimin continues to eat you out, lapping up whatever you give him with a fervor that makes your toes curl. Wet tears roll over your cheeks and into your hairline, mixing with the sweat that was already there. 

So lost in the pleasure, you barely notice that Jimin had stopped until your hands drop form his hair, limp at your sides. His lips and nose are glistening with your juices, and the sight of him makes you gasp. 

“You came so fast, baby. Were you really that deprived?” You lean into the attention and nod, whining to him when he coos over you. “Such a pretty little pussy deserves attention, doesn't it?” You know he’s relishing in your submission, but you’re more than happy to fall into it when you feel so safe. 

The bed dips above your head, and you know that it’s Taehyung and Jungkook finally joining you. You crane your head backwards to find them both staring raptly at your figure, the heaving of your chest as you recover. 

“Think she's ready for a dick?” Jimin asks casually, as if you’re not right under him. You whimper, nodding your head emphatically. He finally casts a gaze back down at you, smiling with genuine kindness. After a second he leans away, allowing cold air to wash over your body. A small feeling of alarm washes over you as he backs up, and your eyes dart around as he reaches into the bedside table a few steps away. The silver packet shimmers in the low light, as as much as you admire their willingness to be safe, you shake your head petulantly. 

Taehyung’s face hovers over your own in an instant, eyebrows furrowed as he examines you. You know he’s looking for signs of distress; assessing if you need to stop, but all he sees is your pouty lip and teary eyes. 

“I wanna-” you gulp down a swallow. “Wanna feel you raw. Please. I'm on the pill and I’m clean.” You plead your case to the man above you, knowing well that they’re all listening. “I just wanna feel you...” you try again when no one says anything. Then, Taehyung’s face lights up in a smile that would seem evil if you didn't know any better. 

“Hear that, guys? Our pretty little baby wants us raw.” Excitement passes through your stomach when you see how this is going. 

“If that’s what she wants...” Jungkook chimes in, pretending like his cock didn't jump and throb at your words. Jimin comes back to you, hands empty, and grasps the meat of your thighs, hoisting them up so that they’re bent at the knees. One hand drops, and you assume he’s going to play with your pussy, but it instead comes down harshly on the juncture of your ass and thigh. 

“You nasty little thing. Want all three of us to cum in you? Fill up your little pussy like you’ve been waiting for?” The gravel in his voice makes your pussy clench and he sees it, chuckling darkly. 

“What do you say, guys? Wanna cum inside her?” A collective groan of agreement falls from everyone but Jimin, who is busy lining himself up with your soaking entrance. You heave a breath in anticipation as Taehyung and Jungkook move to flank your sides, eager to have their hands on you. “We’re all clean too, baby. Nothing to worry about.” Jungkook suddenly assures you, tracing a gentle line down your arm closest to him. 

At your nod, Jimin presses forward, beginning his descent into you. The stretch is already unbelievable, much more intense than your tiny vibrator. He reads your body well, taking his time to enter you as you gasp and writhe. Taehyung and Jungkook do their best to soothe you, helping to pain morph into pleasure as Jimin is finally fully inside of you. 

“Holy shit, you feel so good.” His voice is airy with pleasure and it inflates your ego just a bit. He begins a steady rhythm, splitting you open with every movement of his hips. A gasp stutters out of you when you realize just how big he is, tears brimming once again at the pure pleasure he’s giving you. It doesn't take long for him to increase his pace, fucking into you so hard that you’re pushed further onto the bed, tears spilling freely. Jungkook and Taehyung have each taken the liberty to attend to one of your nipples, pinching and licking at them as they please while Jimin wrecks you. 

“Look so pretty when you cry, baby. Sweet little crybaby letting me ruin her pussy, huh?” Jimin’s words add fuel to the fire in your stomach, and you cry even more as he hits a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. 

“I’m getting close, Jimin-” your voice is stolen from you as Jungkook takes the opportunity to work two large fingers over your sensitive clit, heightening every sensation into a burning desire in your stomach. 

“I’m cumming!” You’re impressed the words even make it out before you feel like you’re floating, cumming around Jimin’s cock. Neither him or Jungkook let up as you scream their names, hands scrabbling for something to anchor yourself. White spots cloud your vision, and as the sensation passes you realize that your whole body is trembling. Taehyung’s planting kisses on your collarbones, murmuring things you can't quite understand yet. Jimin and Jungkook’s eyes are glued to your pussy, and you can feel it fluttering with the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, gimme a turn.” Jungkook is suddenly on the move, practically shoving Jimin- who was still hard- out of the way. Jimin doesn’t protest, his chest heaving from effort as he lays down next to you on the bed, immediately stealing your attention with a kiss. 

“You are so hot, you know that?” He says, brushing stray strands of hair out of your eyes. “Crying like that got me fucking harder, somehow. Shit.” You almost feel bad that he’s still hard, but Taehyung steals your attention quickly with a kiss of his own. Jungkook’s hands dance on your thighs, admiring the red marks that Jimin’s hand had made on you. His hand comes down on the opposite cheek that Jimin slapped earlier, relishing in the way you whine into Taehyung’s kiss. He lands one more on each side for good measure, and you moan so loudly that you have to pull away from Taehyung’s mouth. 

Jungkook takes the moment to tease his head against your slick entrance, and you nod fervently to tell him you’re more than ready for his cock. He’s somehow longer than Jimin, the impressive length a bit imposing as he begins to slip in. Despite just having orgasmed, he still stretches your entrance considerably. Taehyung groans along with you, sitting up for a better look as he wraps his hand around his cock. You can see now just how needy he is, the tip red and leaking. You reach for him absently, trying to keep your eyes on Jungkook as his face twists into pleasure. 

“Think she wants you, Taehyung.” Jimin interjects, warm hands enjoying caressing your side. Your mind is fuzzy with desire, as Taehyung finally gets your cues and props himself up. The sight of his cock makes your mouth water, and you open it to him with no hesitation. Perhaps wisely, he sneaks a look down to your pussy, where Jungkook had started a slow and satisfying rhythm inside of you. As if he knew the exact timing, Taehyung shoves his cock into your waiting mouth at the exact same time Jungkook ramps up his speed. 

Stuffed on both ends, you moan, surprised and delighted at how well the men worked together. Jungkook’s pace is punishing, relentless with the way he batters your pussy like it’s made for him. Lewd groans spills from him in a constant stream, and paired with the way he stretches you, you would be screaming for the whole building to hear if not for Taehyung’s cock. 

You focus on him as well as you can, relaxing your throat to let him fuck your face as he pleases. Your gag reflex threatens to make an appearance but you fight through it, enjoying the burn of your throat expanding for him. Taehyung is surprisingly perceptive to your needs and speeds up his thrusts just enough to make you feel wonderfully numb, spit seeping around his cock. The wetness drips down your chin onto your chest, but you are far too gone to find it embarrassing. Jungkook is lost in his pleasure, hips moving at an inhumane speed that scrambles your brain and sends shockwaves through your pussy.

“Pretty fucking girl, slobbering on my cock. Lettin’ me fuck your throat like a whore while Jungkook fucks you. Just a good little whore, doing whatever we want you to do, huh?” You nod at his words as best as you can, the mixture of sweat, tears and spit making your neck feel stick, but it’s all worth it when Taehyung produces the deepest moan you've ever heard. 

Jungkook mirrors him, letting out a string of high pitched whines. You choke around Taehyung’s cock at the movements and he lets up, allowing your wrecked voice to fill the room alongside Jungkook’s. With Taehyung out of the way Jungkook leans forward and leaves a bite on your neck, gasping as you feel his release fill you. The warmth makes your eyes roll back, satisfied to finally be filled with someone’s cum. 

Jungkook continues to buck his hips as he cums, laying his head down on your chest as Jimin captivates him in a kiss of his own. You’re entranced by their embrace, watching the way their tongues slip against each others as Jungkook rests on your chest. A happiness settles inside of you, not even bothered that you didn't come, as Jungkook lets out an airy giggle. He stands up and finds the strength to pull out of you, eyes glued to the mess he made inside of you. 

His cum rushes out and you clench to keep it in, loving the heavy feeling inside of you. Jungkook swears, pushing his sweaty hair back off his gorgeous forehead. 

“Fuck, you look so pretty with your pussy filled.” You’re surprised to hear Taehyung say, as he rounds the bed. They fall into their natural rhythm again as Jungkook finds his place, cuddled into Jimin’s side as if they’re watching a show. Taehyung’s eyes glint with something you can’t explain as he works a hand over his cock. 

He sees your questioning gaze and smirks. “Had to stop fucking your mouth cause I only wanna cum inside of you.” His hands find your hips, massaging the flesh there with reverence. “Flip over.” His sweet playful tone is gone, replaced by a hard dominance that churns your stomach. It takes a second to get your muscles to work, but soon you’re on your knees and elbows, head buried in the soft comforter. Taehyung groans, clearly enjoying the change in scenery as he gropes your ass. His fingers split open your pussy, watching Jungkook’s cum seep out of it. 

He takes a swipe across your pussy with his tongue, sending a moan stuttering out of you. “Tastes so good, but I can't wait to be inside of it.” 

“Please fuck me, Taehyung. I need you so bad.” You whine. The desire to have another load of cum inside of you overtakes any decorum as you shuffle your hips back against him, hoping it will make him act faster. 

“You greedy little girl. Already been fucked twice and you can't get enough?” He teases but you can hear the hitch in his voice, the way the heavy head of his cock traces against your exposed folds. He takes extra time to run the head of his cock over your engorged clit, extra sensitive since you didn't cum with Jungkook. Without warning his cock is sliding into you, pushing through the wetness of Jungkook’s come and your arousal. 

By far the thickest of the three, Taehyung’s cock punches the air out of you with the new angle. Your manicured nails grip the comforter in anticipation, and before you know it Taehyung is pounding into you. You feel like you will never catch your breath again with the way he’s moving inside of you, deconstructing your nervous system piece by piece. You’re vaguely aware of Jimin and Jungkook next to you and you turn your head in curiosity. 

Jungkook, despite his tiredness, has his lips wrapped around Jimin’s cock, eyes closed in pleasure as he bobs his head. The sight sends a ripple of pleasure straight to your core, tightening around Taehyung so much that he slaps your ass in appreciation. Jimin’s eyelids hang low but open, dangerous eyes boring right into your own as if he could read your mind. The hand that isn’t propping him up is resting gently on Jungkook’s head, and even with the momentum from Taehyung’s thrusts making your vision blurry, you can tell that Jimin’s face is the picture of sinful pleasure. 

Taehyung’s fingers seek out your clit and your instantly clench around him, your walls spasming as you fall into sensory bliss, all but drooling into the fabric below you. 

“Love this greedy little pussy, baby. So lucky we met her-” a hitch of his breath accompanied by his hips stuttering. “Come on, cum for me so I can fill you up.” His fingers somehow move faster, strumming your clit in a way that makes your toes clench and your stomach unravel. You cum with a force you didn’t know possible, gushing around Taehyung’s cock in a sticky mess. He thrusts only a few more times before spilling inside of you, slapping your ass again for good measure.  Your ears ring, happy with the numbness of your world. You can tell there are several hands on you, but who they belong to is a mystery. Taehyung’s cock leaves you and you whine, immediately missing the weight of him inside you. His cum spills out behind him and you feel like you could cry as the fullness slips away from you. You try your best to voice it as your body collapses onto the bed, but you can’t tell if they can even hear you let alone understand you. 

The edges of your vision return, fingers and toes coming back to life. You finally make out the hands on your head to be Jungkook’s, who is laying down next to you, staring at you as if you were made of stars. He’s speaking lowly and you smile when you finally make sense of what he’s saying.

“Good girl, now there you are. Hey.” The soft tone he uses makes you feel at ease. “Can you tell me what you were just trying to say?” His eyebrows furrow cutely and you try so hard to focus on his question and not the way you want to kiss him so badly. It takes your mouth a few moments to catch up to your brain, and you finally wade through the happy haze of your orgasm. 

“I said that I-” you wince at how wrecked your voice is. “I don’ want all the cum to slip out of me.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your admission, perhaps expecting you to have much more PG thing to say. He recovers quickly, allowing a sexy smirk to break through. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook says, and for a second you’re still confused, until the man he calls upon is taking his place. His makeup still looks impeccable, and this close up you can see the details in his irises. He says nothing, and you aren’t sure exactly what he heard, so you just start again. 

“I want to-”

“Have all the cum stuffed back into you?” His words shock you despite how lewd the entire night had been. “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright? That last orgasm really took it out of you, sweetheart.” 

Your heart jumps at his consideration, but there’s still a fire burning deep in your stomach that you know he could be the one to put out. You turn your head just enough to see that his cock is still hard, leaking precum against his toned stomach.

“Yes, I’m sure. Please. Please. I promise I’ll be good. Wanna make you cum. Wanna have you all in me.” Jimin’s eyes darken immediately, and his strong hands maneuver your pliant body back onto your back. A surge of confidence runs through you at the animalistic desire on his face. 

“Gonna get you all filled up, baby. Our perfect little cum dump. Lettin’ us all take our turns with you.” He spreads your legs, examining your puffy pussy lips and the remnants of cum that leak from you. He gathers up what he can with his fingers and shoves it back into you. You shudder at the intrusion, beyond sensitive to his touches. 

“”M not gonna last long, baby. I’m so fucking hard.” He whines, palming himself as he gets to where he needs to be, settled between your legs snugly.  “S okay, just want your cum.” You assure him sweetly, feeling the weight of the night as well. You weren't even sure you had it in you to cum again, but you knew you wouldn't end the night satisfied without having them all spill inside of you. 

Jimin wastes no time after your reassurance, and his cock slides right in as if you were made for him. The lubrication makes for an extremely easy glide. Every move he makes strikes pleasure in your pussy, the sensitivity of the muscles making your orgasm build with surprising speed. Jimin can feel you clenching around him and he gasps, knowing your tells after seeing you cum so many times in one night. He presses a nimble finger to your clit, and that’s all it takes for you to cum again. A slow simmering orgasm that makes your legs shake as you gasp, latching onto Jimin’s arms for support. He joins you not long after, giving a few short thrusts to make sure that he fills you up deep. 

He drops his full body weight on top of you and you relish in the secure feeling, his cock twitching while still inside you. The shake in your legs finally stills, and Jimin pulls out of you, careful to minimize the amount that slipped out of you. You closed your legs instinctively although you were exhausted beyond belief. As the adrenaline wears off and the sweat begins to dry you shiver under him. Despite the heat of his body, you were definitely in need of something else to cover you. When he feels you shiver he plants a kiss on your forehead before sitting up and pulling aside the comforter on the bed before leading you underneath the layers of warmth. He slips in right after you, wrapping his arms steady around your figure. Your eyes threaten to slip shut, but the absence of the others nags at the back of your brain. 

“Went to get clothes and water,” Jimin explains as if he can read your mind. His head barely lifts from your shoulder as he speaks, and the low hum of his voice against you soothes the very last of your frayed nerves. Seconds later the door glides open, a now-dressed Taehyung and Jungkook with bottles of water and fabric bundled in their hands. 

You and Jimin both take a water bottle, and the other boys settle down on the bed. Suddenly you realize the bed isn't quite big enough for all four of you, as Taehyung’s limbs sprawl overtop of Jungkook’s. 

Jungkook waits until you drain half the water bottle, and then shuffles the pile of clothes in his arms. 

“They’re uh- they’re my clothes, but I. Figured they'd be better than your...dress.” He blushes, gingerly holding it out to you. The sight makes you giggle, but you thank him, and pull the shirt on over your head while you're still in the bed. Feeling like you could trust your legs again you slip out of bed and pull on the boxers and sweatpants he gave you. The shirt falls to your thighs and the bottoms he gave you only fit because of their drawstring, but the enveloping warmth and comfort made up for the size difference. 

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You whisper your thanks, scared to ruin the comfortable low hum of conversation between Taehyung and Jimin. It's easy to slip back under the sheets, wedged between Jimin and Jungkook. Taeyhyung takes the other side of Jimin, barely having enough room for his body at the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he reaches an arm across Jimin to reach you. He gently places a hand on your arm, rubbing gently at the skin there. 

An odd wave of emotion crests over you and your eyes well. “Thank you, by the way.” 

To your complete embarrassment they all coo at once, squishing in closer to you. You all smell like sex and sweat, but the embrace is so sweet that you have to remind yourself it was only a one night stand. 

“We should be the ones thanking you, Y/N. Believe it or we don’t usually do...this.” Jungkook admits. He’s facing your back but you can imagine the blush on his cheeks as he speaks. The idea shocks you and a sound of disbelief punches out of you. 

“It’s true,” Jimin pokes your ribs gently when he sees the look on your face. “We’re pretty picky. But you...” He stops himself, seeming to be afraid of saying too much. A teasing glimmer of hope sprouts in your chest with the implications of his words. Was it too soon for you to suggest doing this again? Or just hanging out like normal people? There’s no denying that you’re wildly attracted to all of them, but does that mean its worth pursuing? “We can think about it in the morning.” Comes Jimin’s gentle voice. Taehyung nods from behind him, and you can tell that his exhaustion is catching up to him. You have no idea it was when you left the club with them, and certainly have no idea what hour it is now. Jungkook grunts his agreement into your neck, and you hope he can't sense the way your heartbeat speeds up at his proximity. 

“Well still, thank you. And good night.” You murmur, nestling into the surprisingly soft pillow. Your eyes shut, and sleep is just inches away, latched between the two men closest to you, when Jimin begins to wiggle. 

“Shit, guys. Let me out, I need to piss.” Triplet sighs follow his demand, and you all laugh as he flips you off on the way to the bathroom. 

[ledder4]

simon ´ghost´ riley hates you so mutch yet cant keep his hands to himself...~

womenpov

wordcount: 2695

God, he hated y/n

Her annoying, overly high-pitched voice, her bitchy attitude, the idea that she is better than everyone, and her absolutely fucking awful ideas. Once he almost got killed over her stupid fucking attitude.

And of course, he let her know that. "You look like a slut." He'd say, so low no one heard, and he'd grin at how pissed off little missy wissy would complain and whine, only for Price to throw him a glare and nothing else. She really thinks she's all that? Price would never believe her.

Being around her was like being in a storm. But unlike the peaceful type where it soothes children to sleep and holds couples dancing within the raindrops, she was more like a tornado or something. Only brought chaos and disturbance wherever she went. Apparently only for him, though. Soap fucking loved her ass, and so did Gaz. The three would always have something to gossip about. And he seriously wishes he had invested in noise-cancelling headphones, because her voice annoyed the living fuck out of him.

And he swears he tried liking her. When she first joined the Task Force, he treated her like any other human being. But her eye rolls and, what Soap called, side eyes, got on his nerves. Normally, he doesn't specifically hate anyone.

But her smart mouth always had a fucking comeback for everything, didn't it? Whether it be her snicker when he got one wrong shot or a nasty comment about his dead eyes. That dumb fucking mouth would get her in trouble one of these days. And they'd bicker. Like teenagers, at times, and sometimes, like drunk men at pub fights.

Sparring which turned a bit too real, blood and spit mixing into one as she landed nasty fucking punches, and he did the same. He, despite his bleeding nose and his bruised jaw, would always smile when she winced with a breath too deep. He knew her ribs had been at least matching his jaw, and maybe, if he was lucky, he'd get to check if her back hurt too. Her whines about it instantly got a smile to light up his face underneath the balaclava.

And, when the guys were out either on missions or just hangouts, the two of them raged war at each other. Like that time the little shit hid his towel. Little fucker had also once hid his underwear. Not fun. It was hard to find more.

Besides dumb pranks, they also got physical. When they'd talk back a bit too loud, how he'd shove them into the wall and get a punch in return. And sometimes, just sometimes, he'd be sitting, muttering something snarky, and before he knew it, a hand was on his face. A slap. A sharp one. That instead of sending a jolt of anger, sent lust rushing through his veins, redirecting the blood flow straight to his cock. And how she'd choke him, too? Fuck, it got him dizzy. Had him smiling like a stoner underneath the mask as she shook his head back and forth by the neck, yelling about something he couldn't even remember about in his face, and all he could think of was her trying to be this bitchy when he's balls deep in her cunt.

And when the rest of the task came back, they'd always be scolding the two for beating the fuck out of them. Too bad they didn't believe his cheap excuse of her 'falling' and that's how she got a bloody nose and a cut eyebrow. And the blood staining his balaclava? Ah... what a coincidence, eh?

It didn't take a genius to realize that she hated him, and he hated her. It was like saying the sky is blue, or the water is clear. And sometimes, Price came all father-like, trying to get them to make up, but it just wouldn't happen. In fact, it only brought more snickers and snappy attitudes for both of them. Soap, that little fucker, would always say: 'The line between love and hate is thin!', which is unlikely considering that, for them, the line between love and hate is about five miles long.

Call it hatred, call it anger, call it grudges or jealousy, the pair would never get along. No matter how many times they were forced to go on missions together, or how often the two would spar together, no one could make them bond. The only thing that truly made them be together was the anger. The constant fire when his eyes met hers. The eye-rolls. The pure, unfiltered hatred when she would try to pin him down.

Her hands wrapped tightly around his neck and, despite his size, he just couldn't get out of the damn chokehold she had on him. He thrashes and finally ends up giving the side of her skull a blow, blood running down his nose, making her drop to her side as a nasty cut spews out blood. It makes him smile and burst into laughter when her not-so-weak hands try to get him. Disorientated, that's where he's got her. Weak punches and weaker reflexes. Easy as that, he had her pinned underneath him. Blood dripping slowly, mixed with sweat, as he stares down at her. He tugs his balaclava off, and the red liquid now pours on her cheeks while his hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his forehead, and he can only grin, a mouthful of blood when her eyes blow wide and her cheeks taint pink. "Little missy forgot how to speak?" He teases.

"Fuck you" she mutters.

"You wish" he whispers back.

Simon only narrows his eyes before his thumb swipes at the blood running down from her temple. The harsh leather picking up the blood with ease, and his eyes glint when she winces and whimpers, a noise that sends a jolt straight to his cock. Without speaking, he makes sure his thumb is coated with blood before writing a big "R" across her forehead. Riley was here. And when he's about to wipe his thumb off on his jeans, her annoying voice booms, insulting him for all he's worth. So, naturally, he gathers more of her blood and some of his, stares down at her, and pushes his thumb in her mouth.

Her protests dying on the stip of her toungue, lips that not-so-eagerly wrap around his thumb, and a tongue that licks his glove clean make him groan. Her eyes, now fluttering shut, snap open when he pushes his thumb further in. Inspecting her mouth. Feeling her tongue, and testing her gag reflex. "Hm. Now you're quiet. Can't be loud when you're sucking my thumb like a cheap whore, can you?", and her widened eyes tell him everything. Only when she chokes does he pull his thumb out and, with his gloved hand now dripping with her spit, he gives her two easy slaps on her cheek and stands.

She was frozen on the spot, staring up at him with a sort of desperation and hatred he had only seen in movies. Kind of turned him on, if he were to be honest. How her eyes were so big, lips lightly parted as if begging to be pressed against his. But no, what he does instead? His eyes flicker over her body in disgust and he wipes the tip of his boot on her crotch, watching her shiver and buck as he walks away, chuckling to himself.

"Fuck you!" was all he heard before the door slammed shut, and grunts of anger were heard. With the mugest expression and the proudest bleeing nose, he walks away. Price, who stared at him confused, was surprised when all Simon did was smile at him, rather than offer an explanation.

Later that night, in the shower, he watches as blood from the fight runs down his nose and down the drain. Pride swells in his chest, and a wave of lust hits him. How she sounded. How she had whimpered. How she sucked his finger like such a good slut. And before he knew it, he was hard as a rock. Biting down on his bottom lip, he curses himself before fisting his cock. His knees buck underneath him, and his free hand slaps the wall, trying to grasp at it when he pumps his cock once.

His eyes flutter down, and he strokes himself yet again, beads of precum already running down to his fingers. His eyelids set shut when his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he could all but replay her whimpers and ttry to recall the sensation of her hands around his neck. The filthy noise of him pumping his cock filled the air, along with his heavy breathing and the occasional moans leaving his lips.

Her hands around his neck, until he couldn't breathe. His hands on her hips, pulling her down on his cock as she whimpered and begged for more. Her lips messily meeting his as his cock spurted cum inside of her warm, wet, cunt. Her lips parting for him to spit in her mouth. Him smearing his cum all overher face using his cock. Her gargled moans when he fucks her throat like a slut. Her teary eyes when he nibbles at her clit. The sensation of her thighs around his head as he rut himself against the bed, and-

The white-hot sensation of an orgasm crashing through him pulls a loud groan from him, cum spilling from his cock down his abs, and all he could do was watch as water cleans away the filthy images his mind has conjured. Shame filling each corner of his soul, and he washed his hair before forcing himself to sleep despite the images swarming his mind.

And of course he had the luck to land a mission with her not even a week after whatever that had been. As much as he hatesher, he can't lie: he admires her abilities. How, for even just five or six hours where they need to get along, they manage to. Running shoulder by shoulder, ducking shots and him having to drag her along while her leg had been injured. All examples of when they managed to get together and set aside their mutual hatred.

He had been waiting in position as she scurried off to clear the building, and he hated to admit the pit in his gut whenever he heard gunshots, it only letting loose when he heard her high-pitched tone come across the speaker. Clutching his gun to his chest, the task force run to where they should find their main goal: a shit ton of civilians and some assholes who has decided to terrorise them. Soap, who slapped him on the back and flashed him a smile, and Gaz, who bumped his shoulder against his when he had stood still for a bit too long. A bit dissociated, maybe? Who knew.

And after some hours of careful analysis, they had managed: only a couple injured, maybe one or two deaths, and a sucessful mission. His heart felt light, and he let out a shruddery breath when they got to base. Price, who skipped formalties and gave each of the soldiers a tight hug, had also announced: "We're going drinking, people. Let's fucking celebrate, because all of you, and I mean all of you-", he had noticed Price's eyes were on him, "-did a hell of a job. In two hours, does that sound good?"

He didn't want to go. Not only was he tired, but he was pissed off. y/n's snarky comment hadn't missed him: "He even needs validation. Ugh. Reeks daddy issues." She had muttered, and his fists clenched, eyes flickering to hers. She had a glint in them, a sort of defiance he wanted to punch out of her, or fuck, maybe both.

And asthe night progressed, he could only take so much. The alcohol was rising in his head, and so was in hers. Her snarky comments getting louder, and his comebacks matching hers. Her shoves harsher, and his slaps more real. Thank God, he was still sober enough to drag the pair outside to at least leave the rest of the task force alone.

"Won't you shut the fuck up?" He snaps, and her pushing him away was his last straw. "You fucking bitch-" he murmurs, pushing her against the wall. She somehow didn't stop snapping at her, and her mouth was running a bit too fast and too drunk, and before they both knew it, he had his lips on hers. "Won't you shut the fuck up already?" he says against her lips, and her teeth sinking into his lip made his breath stutter, before a deep inhale through his teeth and his hand went around her throat.

"Little bitch. That's all you wanted, eh? To be-" cut off by her tongue shoving into her mouth "to be treated like a whore? Yeah? Wanna be fucked against the wall?"

Somehow, that didn't shut her up, either. Instead, her hands had gone to the back of his neck and tugged at the strings there. He hisses at the pain, andhis his knee shoves itself between her thighs, rubbing at her clit through her clothes. Her mewls make a fire be lit in his eyes, his cock twitching to life. "Hmm. That's what you want, isn't it? Ooh, look at how needy that cunt is... I can feel it through our clothes, you know? This desperate cunt begging to be stuffed?"

That's how they ended up here, her splayed across her lap as his hand came down on her ass, again, and again, and again- "That's it... Hmm.. Count." When she got off track and started babbling, he had to stiffle a moan. "No. Bad whore. Bad." An idea struck his mind, and he pushes her panties aside. "Oh fuck, that pussy is fucking drooling" his voice sweet as honey, fingers plunging deep into her warmth. "Holy shit, you're so fucking tight." He mutters, landing a slap to her clit.

Pushing the whimpering woman down on the bed, his hands push her thighs back as he watches her squirm and try to get away from his hungered gaze. A line of spit dripping from his lips and onto her puffy folds, before he laps at her cunt. His eyes roll back and a moan leaves his lips when she lets out a moan that really didn't match her voice. Her thighs trying to snap shut, calves shivering on either side of his head as her back arches and her hips buck into his face. His forearms go around her waist, and pushes her down, forcing her to stay still and take it. One of his arms go up, and he shoves two fingers in her mouth, smiling against her cunt as she whimpers and her hole clenches. "Shut the fuck up, y/n, can't a man eat?"

As she moans around his fingers, her cunt gushes out against his tongue. He lets her ride out the orgasm against his mouth, and once he's done, he sits up on his knees, tugging her by her calves as she whimpers and complains. "Even after being fucked silly ya can't shut up, eh?" He smiles down at her, and groans when he feels her slick against his cock. He teases it up and down her slit, bumping it into her clit over and over. "Fuck, y/n, you're fucking dripping for me." When she shook her head, he dipped his cock into her folds, only to pull out. He does it over and over, until he's satisfied with her pleas.

Slowly sliding into her, stars grow behind his eyes as he feels her warmth around him. His head tips back, and his hand wraps around her neck, in a grip. Her bulged eyes and throaty moans made him smile. When her mouth opens to try and breathe, he leans down and spits.

"Swallow. Like a good fucking whore, you're going to swallow my spit, won't you?" He murmurs, bottoming out inside her. "Won't you?"

made by ledder4

[gh0stswh0re]

simon "ghost" riley x virgin reader, pt1

warnings: loss of virginity, alcohol usage, implied f! masturbation, imagined public humiliation, inappropriate relationship with a superior, soap throws up in the corner, author definitely had some better moments but it izzz what it izzz, word count: 2,2k

a/n: happy to announce i finished all five fics, this just happened to be the first one i edited, so enjoy <33 posting two parts cuz i like literarily edging y'all

...

you have no idea how it even started – you were just talking, chatting, killing some time. sure, his fingers brushed against yours as he poured you another drink, sweet and savory with a musky scent, and you nearly dropped the glass. "not holding your liquor so well now, are you, dove?" he chuckled at your efforts of hiding the playful tone of blushy red that painted your cheeks, as he placed the bottle down. sure, soft warmth gathered around his irises, as his eyes bore into yours and you smiled, locking the gaze - your hand quickly covering your lips, hiding the grin that crept by the corners of them. "don't-" he remarked, "you look gorgeous". sure, he shot up a deadly glance at soap when he walked over, inviting the lieutenant to join the group of men drinking at the bar top – he spoke over you, his voice clumsy and slurred. "sergeant-" it was a firm warning, simon's voice low and hoarse, the unwelcoming tone a total opposite of how he spoke with you not even a minute prior. despite being clearly intoxicated, johnny wasn't tone deaf – he stuttered a quick response, alongside an annoyed muffle of "whatever, lt." sure, he moved even closer to you, as you started speaking again – picking the conversation back up as if you were never rudely interrupted. patches of goosebumps threatened to cover the surface of your forearm as he placed his hand against it – fingertips mischievously dancing on the skin. sure, your cheeks burned red as a shy stutter appeared in your voice – messing with the flow of your sentences – and you realized the new sniper tactic you made up with price isn't the hottest topic of the evening.

but it still happened all so fast – the next few words dying in the back of your throat, as his lips brushed against yours, tentatively, the dizzying taste of the harsh liquor spreading throughout your mouth as he dipped his hot tongue inside – slipping past your lips, completely silencing you. his hands were on you in a moment, fingers entangled in your hair – tilting your head to the side, allowing him to deepen the kiss, as you were grabbing handfuls of his jacket.

he nudged his nose against yours, as he pulled back – his lungs burning, begging for oxygen, but you lured him right back into your touch – nobody's ever kissed you like this before and you craved it. sure, you got your moment of butterflies and shy whispers of ''are you sure?'', anxious hands stilled by either side, with lots of teeth bumping – your own perfect low-budget teen movie moment, the one you'd giggle with your friends about – but this, this was different – both sacred and profane, nasty and primal. it weakened your knees, and made your hands tremble, as you tasted the intimacy of the shared breath – it also lit up a desire deep within your core, arousal pooling down your stomach, tingling inside your already dripping cunt – a feeling you weren't yet familiar with. it silenced all the unpleasant noises of the stinky bar – the shitty music, the offbeat singing, the cynical laugh of every idiot that tried his hardest to impress, that fucker soap puking in the corner.

for a moment – just for a split, short moment some sense got to you, and the realization hit – the admiration for your lieutenant, your superior, grew into dark, perverted lust and it was now set on the display for everyone to see. vulnerability spread through your body, as adrenaline mixed with desire ran through your veins – you already felt so naked and just urged him to get out already.

his height is undoubtedly a textbook definition of an advantage – it's intimidating, fear-inducing, leaving his opponents quivering as lumps bob in their throats and fear seeps through their bones. and now, as he holds you in his arms, with your legs closed around his waist, as he slams a door open without ever needing to drop you down on the floor – he feels utter pride in his strength.

oh, and how he simply adores the way he towers over your fragile, petite frame – nearly scared of breaking you in two, as he presses himself against you, physically kicking the air out of your chest and swallowing your guttural cries - his calloused hand gently applies pressure, toying with your cunt through your soaked panties, his fingertips endowed with curiosity – embarrassment is eating away at you, as the lewd, wet noises of skin-on-skin fill the room, your cries echoing off the thin walls – 50/50 there's going to be a noise complaint waiting for you at the front desk in the morning.

he never stops his merciless assault, except for when he gently tugs on your bottom lip, sucking on the red, swollen flesh. "simon-" he hums into the kiss, a needy hand grabbing at your chest, cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your button-up shirt, his fingers ghosting over your hardened nipples; electric waves of pleasure shooting down your spine as you arch your back into his touch. "sim-" his movements grow faster, quicker, and more desperate each second, as his impatience grows – he's forced his entire hand in your underwear, his palm laying flat against your wet folds as two of his thick digits tease the slit, making you clench over nothingness.

placing both hands on his chest, you slightly pushed him away as you whispered his name – he backed off immediately as if the touch of your skin stung his hand. "shit, i-" he started apologizing, his heart sank deep in his chest – has he misread the situation? has he just forced himself onto you? has he-

placing your right hand on his cheek, fingertips brushing over the skin, caressing it. "simon, i haven't done this before" your unsure voice did nothing to hide the anxiety which filled your mind, as every word barely left your lips – making the entire sentence sound like a question. "what? fucked in a hotel room? it ain't even that dirty, you fancy th-" gods, he was oblivious and you were just about to die – having to admit that you were, in fact, a virgin – never touched or fucked by a man. "no, simon, i haven't done this-" you shut your eyes closed, so tightly you saw white stars sparking in the blackness of your vision, a hand covering your expression of embarrassment, and humiliation – you were just about to get down and dirty with your lieutenant, after months of delicious teasing and endlessly torturous flirting and now was your time to confess? to a man - towering above you, completely shielding you from the outside world – whose hand was glistening wet from your sweet arousal – a pathetic proof of how your cunt clenched around him, taking him in despite him barely inserting the very tips of his fingers. he just wanted to get drunk and nasty, blow off some steam, fuck somebody's brains out and pretend like it never happened in the morning- shit, you could already hear the rumors awaiting you back at the base – "you heard what happened?" "yeah, she fucked lieutenant riley" "no no, not just that-" – that was, of course, if you were to remain in the position – if you were to find a good enough excuse or a decent piece of proof as to why the rumors aren't true – you are a good soldier, fit for the army, and above all aware that having inappropriate relations with your superiors is, well, not appropriate.

"oh-" his response hung in the air, which became heavy and your lungs might have just collapsed under the pressure – but it, at least, brought you back to reality, breaking your train of thought that threatened to derail, killing all the passengers onboard. "oh"

he'd sat you on his lap, one hand resting on the curve of your hip as the other laid flat against your naked chest, fingers carefully kneading the soft flesh – by this point, he already undressed you – carefully, slowly as he studied your expressions with each movement he made; as he popped two buttons of your shirt open, instructing you to do the next one as his sharp gaze pierced through you. as he buckled his hips forward, readjusting his position into a more comfortable one, completely ignoring the growing bulge inside his pants – right now, all that mattered was the pretty girl in front of him, and how she unknowingly rolled her perfect little ass against him, driving him rabid with anticipation. fuck, he'd tell you how long he's been waiting for this, but he's utterly scared he'd make a fool of himself – it would come out cheesy and cliche, no matter how hard he'd try or how many times he'd repeat the dialogue in his head – maybe it would clear your head up, make you realize he's undeserving of this, of you; you'd get up, picking your clothes up and taking them with you, leaving him alone – the taste of you lingering inside his mouth, his heart aching and his dick twitching. he'd dread the idea of waking up the next morning – the monstrous hangover hitting him, wrecking his insides as pain crushed his temples – the worst part? - having to make himself presentable, half–decent for all the eyes that'd stare at him, as whispers shared between bitter mouths and curious ears – "ya heard what happened?" "yeah, he tried to fuck the new girl – heard he couldn't even get it up"

"c'mon, be a good girl 'n show me what you want me t' do" his ridiculously big, and ridiculously intimidating hand was sprawled across your chest – feeling your heartbeat on the tips of his fingers he knew you were anxious – a bit eager too, perhaps? he took your right hand, placing it on the top of his. he quickly looked you up and down – peculiar eyes urging you to move.

which you did – slowly gliding his palm down your stomach, his unmoving fingers fondling your flushed skin – suddenly, you chuckled – bubbly, brightly, all those nice things that make him melt on the inside – you are ticklish? what a pleasant surprise – one he'll certainly make a mental note of. you kept moving lower and lower, uncertainty and hesitation growing visible the closer you got to your –

"such a good fucking slut already" he blurted the words out, his ability to think clearly has long been gone - his brain function reduced down to nothing but shortcuts. feeling the words in your cunt long before your mind would process them, you felt the wetness dripping down your thigh, pooling onto his pants.

you'd yelp at the sudden contact of his index fingers grazing your clit – "you liked that, birdie?" you nodded, silently agreeing as you steadied yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders. repeating the movement, he placed his thumb flat against the swollen, warm numb, dragging out small, slow circles – strangled cries emmited from your vocal cords, as pleasure bloomed deep inside your abdomen, and pure, ecstatic bliss ripped through your core. "feels nice, huh?'' he cooed, watching you take your bottom lip between your teeth – threatening to burst a blood vessel – right before he gripped at your waist, risking to bruise the delicate skin.

it didn't take long for you to cum – barely a minute, surely it couldn't be two. of course, you had touched yourself before – many nights while on duty, mostly thinking of him – how big his frame was as he stood behind your back, carefully examining each step of you putting your gun back together – how firm his voice was, making his orders loud and clear for everyone to hear. how he always stood his ground – even if it meant getting shot at, even if it meant taking a smoke bomb directly in his face – there was hardly anything he wouldn't do to keep his men, and you, safe. you knew, in the depths of your heart and soul, that you weren't supposed to feel that way, but on nights like those; it was hard to keep your thoughts from racing. though, you'd barely dare to softly whisper his name as the orgasm washed over you, let alone dream your lieutenant, the man in the command of your squad, would ever be the one to take your virginity.

yet here you were – cheeks flushed red, chest heavy as you panted for air, a thin layer of sweat glimmering on your forehead, your body collapsed - turned into mush, your muscles stiff as you felt your heartbeat pulsating in every part of your body. mostly feeling pissed that nobody ever told you that being tired could feel this damn good – that this is what you've been craving each and every one of those nights – that the way your fingers fit inside your pussy was simply pitiful compared to his – leaving you undone, and aching in seconds.

sitting up straight, your hands would start to roam – starvingly grabbing at his erection. "getting eager, are we?" he'd taunt you and you'd nod, silently agreeing. you'd slowly slip away from his touch, down onto your knees, gently pushing his thighs apart. he'd lay his back, exhaling with a low, breathy groan, as you worked on the zipper. "i ain't having you doing this, not the first time" he'd stop you, tightly grabbing your wrist.

[python333]

what's a noise to an eardrum? — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis you've been on a mission for a while, and instead of going back to your quarters after coming back, you head to ghost's.

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters simon "ghost" riley.

word count 2.2k

warnings ghost's pov, 2nd person pov [you/your/yourself], sleep deprivation, bad cliches, bad writing, might be ooc

note hey gang!!! i think i got all the warnings since this is pretty lighthearted considering what i usually post, so enjoy :) lmk your thoughts!

Ghost was sitting at his desk―in his own sleeping quarters, since it’s technically past curfew and he doesn’t need any trouble from recruits about him being in his office after hours, the annoying little shits―typing away at his computer, trying to get a report on his latest assignment done before going to bed.

He’s had a little bit of trouble sleeping lately. Not to say that it’s your fault, but it’s definitely your fault. He doesn’t necessarily need you around to go to sleep, but since you volunteered for a mission a week ago, he’s been a little on edge. Originally, it would’ve been Soap and a few other sergeants heading out to a small town in some country down in Central America, but you took the place of Soap after Price had explained the mission. 

It could technically be done by one person, he’d said in short, but it’s quicker to send out a squadron than a single soldier.

You weren’t the best sniper they had, but you had enough experience with it for Price to approve of you going with one other person to keep watch of you. The long duration of the mission was really to be blamed on how often your target had been moving, leaving you with little room to take any shots. It wasn’t too important of a mission, however―as long as you didn’t miss your target in the end―so Ghost is sure Price is glad that he only had to send out one soldier instead of around six or seven.

Still, despite how there was little to no chance of you coming out of this mission in multiple pieces, Ghost found himself worried; something he, admittedly, feels for a lot of the soldiers here. His worry for you is different, though. Maybe it’s an age thing. Maybe it has something to do with how he’s seen you grow over the years that you’ve been here, and how close you’ve gotten to going from a Private to a Lance Corporal. It’s a relatively low rank for someone in the 141, which only makes him―dare he admit it―prouder. A weird feeling lingers in his mind when the word proud comes to mind as he thinks of you, but he ignores that feeling, instead opting to focus on the report he so desperately wanted to finish.

Despite his usual sleep aversion, he finds himself wanting to sleep for once.

Just as he gets to the middle of his report, he hears a knock at the door. Before Ghost can even say anything, he hears the door open, and his head whips around to see who would decide that it’s a good idea to enter his room without his permission. Though, all of his confusion and building anger dissipates the moment he sees that it’s you. Fresh from medical, he can safely assume, seeing the various bandages and bruises on you, and that odd too-clean smell that’s sticking to you. You look so exhausted, it’s almost funny. Almost. 

You close the door behind you and Ghost turns his head back to his laptop. It’s not that he doesn’t want to look at you, but it’s a little harder to when you look so disheveled. He hears a few footsteps, then the squeaking of bed springs, and a sigh before the rustling of bed sheets. In the faint reflection of his computer screen, Ghost can just barely see you getting comfortable under the covers of his bed, seeming to fully disregard his presence. He doesn’t mind, though. He gets it; that feeling after being on guard for so long, not sure how much of it you can let down even though you’re back on base, and that strange structureless feeling where you wish you had bones but only feel like flesh. 

It’s odd, put simply. When Ghost thinks of the feeling, he thinks of the age-old question, if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? The feeling is like a constant questioning of what you’re experiencing, the wonderance of whether or not you can feel safe if the safest you’ve ever felt is a feeling lost somewhere beyond you. If you lose a feeling, was it ever felt? If you lost safety, were you ever safe, or, as Maslow would put it, were you always missing that basic need? Ghost knows plenty about missing safety. He knows that his mind blanks when he tries to think about the last time he felt safe before the 141. 

He knows that you know plenty about missing safety, too. Not a lot, because you never say enough to clue him in on just how much you’re missing, but he has his suspicions. Some are confirmed, others mere theories, but still―he knows you well enough. That’s why you’re in his room, not saying a word, just breathing heavily into his pillow and trying to garner warmth from his blanket. He can see you staring at him from the bed. He’s sure you want him to say something, and because it’s you that’s looking at him, he does.

“Back already?” Ghost asks dryly, drawing a small huff out of you. 

“Soap said y’missed me,” you reply, making Ghost scoff, “when he visited me in the infirmary.” 

“Too big of a mouth on ‘im,” Ghost saves the draft of his report, deciding to just save writing it for another time, instead closing out of the program and hovering his finger over the power button on his keyboard, “don’t know how y’managed to understand him.” 

You hum and sit up in Ghost’s bed, the blankets rustling again, and as Ghost’s screen goes black, he turns around to see you sitting up with the blankets wrapped around you like a jacket. He blinks at you, before raising an eyebrow at your position.

“Ruinin’ my blankets?” he asks, though sounding barely offended, “After walking in unannounced besides that little knock?”

“Ruin’s a pretty strong word,” you argue, “and it wasn’t a little knock. It was loud. Practically echoed off the walls.”

Ghost can sense your sarcasm from a mile away, but continues to play along, leaning back in his chair. You look a little more tired covered in blankets, he thinks, those dark circles under your eyes are a little more pronounced. He sees them a lot. Those darkened semi-circles that he used to think were just a part of you, some kind of skin condition, but later realized they were a product of your sleep deprivation. It would’ve been his first thought had he not always seen you with the bags under your eyes, but after going on leave with you―a few months ago, back to his small house, after you had admitted that you preferred staying with him to going back to your dingy apartment―and witnessing you getting proper rest, seeing those circles get a little lighter, he knew that it was more of a sleep issue. 

He’s gone through his fair share of sleeping problems. He still goes through them; everyone in the military does, he’s sure. Ghost used to think that he took the brunt of it, compared to the rest of the task force, not because of the missions but because of what came before the missions. He’s changed his way of thinking since then, has opened up his mind a little more beyond the idea of suffering more than someone else in a specific sense, but he still had that feeling that he took on the majority of nightmares. The word “nightmare” feels a little juvenile for him, but until someone creates a better word for the repulsive things he sees after closing his eyes and just barely drifting asleep, that’s what he’s stuck with. 

“You better hope y’didn’t wake anyone up with it, then,” Ghost hums, “I doubt anyone wants to be awake right now.” 

He sees a small smile grow on your face and small spots of blood arise from beneath the cracked skin of your lips. 

“Everyone here sleeps like a rock as far as I know,” you reply, before pausing, considering, “maybe except for the guys who came in a few weeks ago.”

“I’m sure they’ll be gone by next month,” Ghost tells you, his tone almost reassuring, “I don’t think they can handle any of… this.” 

“You don’t think they can handle your bullying?” you scoff, making Ghost huff out a small laugh, “Weak.” 

“Not everyone’s as strong as you, unfortunately,” Ghost hums sarcastically, getting up from his chair and walking the short distance over to his bed where you’re sitting. Automatically, you move so that Ghost can sit down next to you.

You’re both silent for a little bit. Ghost can see the few healing bruises on your face a little clearer here. Small dark yellows and reds on the sharper points of your face, the parts where the bone is a little closer to the skin, particularly your cheeks and a few over your jawline and near your chin. They’re a bad look on you, not because Ghost doesn’t think you can handle yourself, but because he knows that you can handle yourself, so the only way you could’ve gotten those bruises is if you were forced into a corner. He would consider that they were an accident, somehow self-inflicted, but he knows better than that. 

“Are you tired?” Ghost asks, even though he knows the answer.

“I haven’t slept in a few days.” There it is.

“And for the few days that you did sleep?” He thinks he knows the answer to this too.

“I don’t know if you can really call it that.” Bingo.

It’s not surprising to him. Not only has he been on enough missions with you to know how hard it is for you to sleep outside of the base, but he’s managed to get you to actually tell him about your sleeping struggles. He knows. He watches you subtly kick off your boots, letting them fall over onto their sides, as if you could read his mind and know what he’s going to request next.

“Lay down,” Ghost puts a bare hand on your clothed shoulder and lightly pushes at it, prompting you to lean back onto your side, settling into the bed with the blankets still wrapped around you.

Ghost doesn’t mind the lack of blankets he’s getting. As long as you’re the one hogging them, he finds it easier to go without them, strangely enough. He lays down onto the bed next to you, his head naturally above yours, and neither of you bother to change positions. He doesn’t attempt to pull the blankets from you, and you don’t try to move away from him, the both of you simply existing together in one small space with nothing interrupting you two. A thin layer of air, similar to the blanket covering you, seems to cover the both of you, not trapping you together but instead comforting the both of you. The air feels woven from Ghost’s thoughts, yarn strewn from his cerebral cortex, emotions run through an invisible loom to create the beautiful quilt that covers the both of you. 

Ghost’s hand comes up to thumb at the edge of his balaclava, and he pulls it up the tiniest bit, but then pauses to think.

He knows that if you just turn your head up the tiniest bit, you’ll see his face. The blonde stubble peeking out from under his skin, the small dent forming in the middle of his nose from the constant wearing of his balaclava, and possibly the most embarrassing of all, that small smile he wears that pulls at his already cracking lips that draws blood on occasion. Despite all of this, he pulls his face covering all the way off, and tosses it onto his desk. Your face doesn’t move an inch despite how obvious it is that some kind of fabric has hit the desk. 

He considers saying thank you, but Ghost doesn’t deem it necessary. You’re so close to sleeping that he doesn’t want to risk ruining your chances by talking to you. So, instead, he just brings his arm over your side and lets his hand reach up into the nape of your neck to toy with the small hairs tapering off there. They’re short enough that he’s essentially just brushing his fingers against the skin of your neck, but he assumes you don’t mind, considering how you continue to not move. You stay still peacefully, soft breaths leaving you as your body starts to actually relax.

So you weren’t lying about your lack of sleep, he thinks, his own eyes slowly closing, not that I thought you were, anyway.

Your breathing creates the perfect white noise to him. The vibrations emitting from your larynx that escape your mouth reach his ear canals, where they bounce off of his eardrums, and move down from his middle ears to his inner ears where the nerve endings that live there turn the vibrations into electrical impulses and are translated by his brain into actual sound. The translation sounds like more than just a simple sound, though; it’s like your breathing is translated into actual words rather than breathing, words like safe and guarded. Those small vibrations bounce around in his ears and turn into syllables, then eventually whispers, then firm speech. 

Those words are like music to his ears, as cliché as it is, and he cherishes every word he hears―more than he’ll ever let you know.

[g0ose-bumps]

Soap Gets a Visitor

Soap and Ghost but cat edition™.

There was a cat staring at him from the halls of their base. It was sitting in front of his door and it's fur was a striped tawny brown. The size of it threw him off; it was shockingly massive for what looked to be a tabby. There was a hard glint in it's eyes that made it look remarkably human in its distaste.

Soap stares back. He rubs a hand over his eyes tiredly. It was a strange day when he was hallucinating indifferent cats right outside his doorway. Soap should really wake up now.

He wipes his face more vigorously and closes his eyes. Counts to ten and opens them. The cat was still there. This time it looked even more unamused at him. Feline features showing a minute displeasure in the way it grimaced.

Soap boggles for a second. If he wasn't dreaming then that meant there actually was a cat on base. He couldn't believe the balls on whoever brought the cat in. They were really pushing their luck. Aside from working dogs, animals weren't allowed and even then, Soap tried his hardest to avoid them. Dogs and Soap had never gotten along. The scars from his last encounter were just another reminder of that.

The bushy ringed tail of the cat swishes on the ground, thumping loudly at the flooring. The sound shocks him from his stupor and draws his focus to the black tip that was waving jerkily by his feet. The cat seemed to be annoyed at Soap's lack of attention on it and was handily showing him its ire.

Soap makes a quick decision. It wasn't every day he got to pet a cat, and despite Soap's poor relationship with dogs, he liked cats. They were more prone to giving him space and walking away when they had enough. And he couldn't help but have a fondness for them; they reminded him of a certain lieutenant of his afterall.

Soap furtively checks for anyone around. It would be best if there were no witnesses. He didn't want to get sent to latrine duty if he was caught. Soap just knew Price would do it if he had any inkling that he was going to let the cat stay with him till he found its owner.

It was only going to be a couple hours anyway and it was better for everyone if he had the cat in his room. He couldn't let the animal roam around the base unattended.

The sergeant crouches down and offers a hand. The cat only wrinkles it's nose and backs away from the hand.

"Yer a tough customer." He chuckles softly. "Ye remind me of someone I ken." He tells the disinterested animal.

It pauses, yellow green eyes tracking him curiously.

Soap grins and withdraws his hand. "Curious now?" A tail swishes impatiently. "Aye, ye are aren't ya." He replies back teasingly.

The cat gets up and stretches, it's mouth opening to show off its teeth in a large meandering yawn. Soap felt he could relate. He'd been wakened by scratching at the door. According to his beside clock, it was 0400 hours. Too early for anyone not on a night rotation to be up.

Ghost would be up though—albeit on duty. Soap was a little tempted to go and find the man. See how he'd react to the animal. Soap wasn't sure if they'd get along. Ghost liked dogs, but that didnt mean the reticent man would like cats too. Maybe the cat and Ghost would get into a cat fight and hiss at each other; it was a possibility.

Soap widens his door open and scoots back a few steps, crouching down low to encourage the cat to come in with low pss, pss, noises. He holds out a hand just in case the cat decided to rub against it for pets.

The cat only wrinkles it's whiskers and saunters through the door, pass his outstretched fingers. It had the sort of feline grace that was inherent to all cats (and a ghost) that made it seem like they owned the place and was only deigning to come in cause they felt like it and not because you wanted it to.

Soap was already halfway in love.

Despite the dimness of his room, it jumps neatly on Soap's bed, nudging around his sheets for the best spot to lay in. The cat seemed eerily focused on the bed. Soap couldn't help but find it a bit strange. Not that he had any experience in this exact circumstance, but usually animals tended to investigate new areas first. Though it did made sense if the cat was someone's pet and thus, was already used to the general layout. The sergeants room was just a basic copy of every other private room available.

The cat wiggled around some, deciding to lie in the exact centre of the bed. Soap snorts. "You're a demanding one, aren't ya." He sighs, a little helplessly. Warmth spread across his chest like weeds sprouting in pavement. God help him but he always did like the hard to please type.

Soap closes the door quietly. He carefully creeps up to his bed, wanting to see if he could pet the cat. With each step closer, the cat straightens up from its sprawl. It's ears flicks back for a moment and then eases. "I'm nae gonna hurt ye." Soap murmurs softly.

For all that the cat invited itself in, it seemed to be wrestling with itself in whether to flee or not. Closer up, he can see the fine scars that ran the bridge of its nose. It's eyes appeared to be set in a permanent glare. Soap was struck by the resemblance.

"Ye really do remind me of Ghost." Soap tells it wonderingly.

The cat freezes and it's ears flatten out showing the white spot on the backs. Soap manages to get one step away from it and lays a hand out near its mouth. He knew he was gambling. Leaving his hand vulnerable to bites was something only a fool would do. But some instinct of his told him he just had to be patient and outwait the cat.

It's white jaw twitches as if it wanted to bite. Soap waits. The cat bores a hole into him. There's a weighty pause, both of them seemed intent to wait and see what the other did first.

Soap thinks. It seemed to like hearing about Ghost, maybe talking about him would help.

"Ghost was like this too with me." He says.

The cat's orange tinged face scrunches up. "He was!" Soap argues. "He didn't like me talking to him at all." A wry grin forms on his mouth at the memories.

"But I wore him down." Soap inches closer against the bed, one finger touch away from the cat's scarred face. It's long whiskers twitches and it's eyes were dead set on him.

"Yer a bonnie one." He whispers to it.

The cat freezes. Soap takes a leap and strokes the side of its striped cheek. It was so soft Soap wanted to cry. At the touch, the rigidness of the cat melts away. It's tensed muscles unclench, visibly relaxing.

Soap does it again. A deep purr erupts from its chest, eyes closing blissfully as Soap rubs the base of its spotted ears.

"Yer just a big softie underneath the scars." He whispers, more to himself than anything. The words pour out like the fingers that ran a line down the curve of the cat's spine. It's back arched to follow his hand. He could feel the thick muscle and scars that hid beneath the striped fur. It's purrs going deeper still, vibrations shaking the white tuff on its chest.

The cat's striking eyes shut, caught on the bliss of Soap's careful hands.

Soap shifts despite himself, a pained exhale coming from his throat as he moved. His kneeling position by the bed was starting to hurt. The cats eyes open at the sound of Soap's pained grunt.

It got up shakily and walked to the far corner of his bed, away from Soap. "No, don't go." Soap pleads. He wanted to keep on stroking it's soft fur, but if the cat didn't want him to then he'd better give it some more space.

He gets up onto his feet and makes to move away. A plaintive meow stops him in his tracks. He turns to see pleading yellow eyes stare back at him. The cat seemed to want him to get on the bed and pet it some more.

"So demanding. Just like The Ghost." He grins. "Don't tell him I said this, but he's just a needy big guy like yerself. Ye both soak up attention like yer starving for it." Soap muses.

The cat's tail lashes at the remark. "Ach, don't be so mad." He shushes, coming closer to the bed and sitting on the side. "It's not's a bad thing—" Soap swings a foot carefully on to the bed. "Being needy that is." He finishes softly to the cat.

"I wish Ghost needed me more." Soap confides.

The cat's paw raises as if it wanted to push him away. It's all tensed up again, a hunch rising on its back. "It's okay." Soap croons. A hum grows from his throat. He shuffles closer, sheets ruffling up under his movements.

"We all need some love in our life." He lets a couple fingers hover near the cat's face. The cat stands dead still, it doesn't even appear to breath.

Soap rubs the top of its head near some of the scarring. Motor boat purrs stutter and start, sounding more like an engine than feline. It was shockingly loud. Even the cat looked surprised at the intensity.

He was beginning to think the animal wasn't anyone's pet, or at least not any longer. The cat didn't seem used to physical affection. It was scarily alike Ghost in all ways. Soap could tell that just like his lieutenant, those fine scars on its face and body went far deeper than the physical. It seemed simultaneously too confident and skittish with human contact.

Soap continues his mission to have the animal melt into mush. He carefully massages behind its ears and strokes underneath its chin. It seemed to like it. It's purrs taking up the whole room. The cat relaxes even more, going from solid to liquid. It resembled a lazy puddle more than an alert predator. Soap's heart swells until it feels fit to burst. The cat liked him!

Soap gets comfortable on the bed, fully enraptured by the animal sprawled out on it. The cat yawns again, it's eyes drooping in its apparent tiredness. Soap felt tired too. It was just so nice—having company right next to him, so warm and alive that wanted his affection.

His hand falters. He yawns. His eyes shut close. Everything felt like a hazy dream. If only Ghost was here, it'd be perfect. Soap could already imagine it: a nice cottage out in the countryside, a cat slinking around, going as it pleased and a gravely voice and an even more gravely body to cuddle up to. "Wish Ghost was here." He rambles to it tiredly. "I'd think you'd fall in love with him too." Tiredness draws heavy eyes shut.

"Just like I did."

Darkness chases his eyes. The sound of purrs drowns the rest.

Soap sleeps.

—

Soap wakes up. He was lying on his bed over the covers. Strange. Wait. The cat. Where was the cat?

He looks around, trying to catalogue any sign of that bushy black tail but to no avail. He gets up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and checks his closet and underneath his bed. Still nothing. He checks to make sure the door was closed. Yup. Closed. His clock beeps at him shrilly. Shite. He had to go.

Soap readies up to go, making sure he got his boots on right and his sheets tucked properly. The cat would have to wait. If it was even there at all. It might have been all some dream of his. Though if it really wasn't a dream, the cat wouldn't have been able to leave his room without being able to suddenly open a door knob with no opposible thumb.

Regardless, he was going to be late if he dawdled longer. He rushes out of his door, not wanting a lecture from Price. Soap only got three metres from the doorframe before slamming right into something solid, large and black. Ghost.

"Sorry Lt." He chokes looking up, embarrassment colouring his cheeks pink. Ghost looks at him oddly. Something about his heavy gaze made the man appear vaguely embarrassed to Soap. Perhaps it was the visible squint in the lines around his eyes. Ghost had decided to forgo eyeblack this morning.

Ghost grunts at him.

"Ye happen to see a cat anywhere, sir?" Soap rubs a hand back his neck nervously. "Big tabby with a black tip?"

Ghost stiffens. "No." He barks agrivatedly and leaves. Soap is left watching the rapidly retreating back of his lieutenant.

Soap blinks. He could've sworn he saw the man blushing at what he said in the brief look he managed before the man beat a hasty retreat. There was a heavy red on the visible patch of skin. It was a noticeable departure from the sallow colour of the man's skin.

Did Ghost somehow know the cat?

One thing for sure, Ghost knew more than he was saying.

Soap was going to find out what.

+

[gazspookiebear]

Ghost hcs mostly him having autism

Has compression socks and gloves bc they help keep him regulated, but he HATES tight clothing anywhere else. He strictly wears loose and baggy clothing, like oversized hoodies

Hates flavored water unless it's tea. Green tea? Sure. Any kind of sparkling water? Nuh uh

Likes mud and rain puddles. Don't ask me why

Can't stand the smell of coffee in the morning, it overwhelms him. He can and will leave the room if someone just made coffee

Doesn't like hugs, or really just being touched in general. (Mostly due to trauma, but the autism isn't helping either)

That being said, when he does get hugged, he prefers it to be firm. Heavy knuckles running up and down his back is the quickest way to make him melt in your arms. Soap is the only one allowed to do this, but Price and Gaz will very occasionally be offered one of those awkward one-armed half hugs if they need one.

He masks most of the time (literally and figuratively) so it's not very obvious that he's autistic from first glance. If he's comfortable with the people around him, or if he's alone, he might stim

He does jazz hands as a stim, and can occasionally be found tiptoe walking

He also knocks his knuckles together and rasps them on desks. He likes the noise.

He prefers rough or smooth textures over soft/fluffy ones. Denim, mesh, leather, linen, and polyester are the only fabric types he'll be comfortable in.

He keeps his hair buzzed, not just because he's in the military, but because he pulls on it and ends up tearing it out of his head when he gets sensory overload from it touching his face (me too bro, me too)

He listens to metal songs on max volume when he's sensory seeking (you can hear that shit through his headphones)

He doesn't like having things in his ears, so he prefers headphones over earbuds. He won't complain if he has to use earbuds though.

Surprisingly enough, he can't stand weighted blankets. Unless that weighted blanket is Soap 😏

He gets aggressive when he's excited, so he'll often go to the gym to blow off some steam. Rookies see him going to town on a punching bag and assume he's pissed, but really he just doesn't know how else to express his feelings.

He hyperfixated on komodo dragons for a while (he now has several random facts in his arsenal)

His special interest is weapons. Any kind, he just thinks they're interesting. Especially crossbows. (He knows just about every weapon under the sun, ask him literally anything)

He steals Soap's phone to play neko atsume (he has become emotionally attached to the cats, but you didn't hear me say that)

He prefers to sleep with blankets under him instead of on top because it makes his skin crawl if they're not the right texture.

He's always cold but radiates heat like a motherfucker, definitely has an electric blanket at his place

He has a favorite pen that he carries everywhere, refuses to use anything else.

He eats the most random food combinations. Tomatoes with sour cream? Delicious. Avocados with cream cheese? Absolutely divine. A normal fucking sandwich? Hell no.

He struggles with hygiene but hates feeling dirty. He'll often force himself to shower even when he knows it'll drain his energy.

He has to buy a specific type of eyeblack because of the texture. He doesn't like any kind that feels too greasy. Not that it'll stop him from wearing it if that's all that's available, but he won't be happy about it.

He used to bite his hands as a kid. Hard. He has a few small scars because of it

He enjoys heavy bass. He likes low rumbling/knocking noises. He may or may not be considering buying a bass drum...

Alternates between sleeping in a hammock and a bed at his place

Loves chairs that spin, though you'd never catch him spinning 😔

Everything he says sounds sarcastic, even when he's being genuine. This has caused many people to get annoyed with him.

He tends to grind his teeth, so he chews on tree bark to keep his mouth busy

He used to climb trees as a kid because he liked the way the wind felt from up high in the leaves

He isn't a fan of the way paper feels. That being said, He loves old books. He spends most of his downtime at the library since it's quiet and peaceful, plus it gives him a way to get out of the house and busy himself.

He still wears a mask off duty for many reasons. For starters, he's never been the best at facial reactions. He thinks it's easier to just hide it altogether than to try and contort his face into the "appropriate" reaction. Secondly, he has stims and occasional tics where his mouth moves, and he doesn't want people to stare. (Snapping his mouth like a shark... so real to me) Also, he just thinks it should be common practice. He's never understood why people don't cover their mouth and nose, or at the very least cover it when they cough/sneeze.

He will actually fan the air in front of him if someone he doesn't like just walked by. He doesn't want to breathe "their air". (Graves was very confused as to why Ghost kept waving the air every time he walked by)

He wears sunglasses in public, regardless of whether or not it's sunny out. He just doesn't want to have to make eye contact with people if he doesn't have to. He can make eye contact, but he much prefers not to.

He punches his legs or the walls when overstimulated.

He has dromophobia (fear of crossing streets) and tends to speedwalk across roads

Has the biggest vocabulary known to man because he used to read dictionaries as a kid. (He can and will abuse this power when someone is annoying him)

Prefers non-fiction. That's it.

He cleans doorknobs daily. He specifically keeps a pack of wipes with him to clean doorknobs- who the fuck knows when they were cleaned last. He can't stand the idea of touching something that dozens, if not hundreds of people (who may or may not have washed their hands) have touched prior.

His favorite color is orange. He always avoids touching anything orange because he's worried he'll ruin it somehow.

He washes his hands before and after everything he does (when he can)

He has a crowbar. He keeps it beside his bed, and he's very fond of it.

He can stay completely still for concerningly long amounts of time. Useful for missions, unnerving the rest of the time. Can and will be seen in the corner of a room staring at people.

@waiting-so-long I'm so glad someone wanted to hear my nonsense lmao

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,790

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

You groan and squeeze your eyes tight as you snuggle into the pillow you’re holding, too comfortable to be bothered with whatever is trying to disturb you. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

The noise grows louder, and you scoff as you peek your eyes open, muted sunlight shining behind the curtains of your room. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper as you push yourself upright, pressing a hand to your head as you feel the reverberation in your skull from having a few too many glasses of wine last night. 

After Lisa’s message and your inability to find a backup rental, you definitely drank more than you intended as you attempted to relax on the broken-in couch and tried to focus on the cheesy Hallmark romance you had found on Netflix. But you had failed and drank until you felt sleepy enough to effortlessly pass out in the bed that would be yours for the next month. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” You throw the covers off and storm to the door that leads to the bedroom porch. You peek behind the curtain and see the owner standing there, his foot tapping with impatience as he raises his fist to the door again, the morning sun shining bright behind his broad silhouette. 

You grunt and shake your head at the sight before you grab a hoodie and step outside, your toes curling underneath you as they make contact with the frozen wood of the deck. You cross your arms over yourself in an attempt to keep the morning cold from stealing any body warmth as your jaw tightens.  

“Can I help you!” You shout, raising a hand to cover your eyes from the sun as your warm breath appears in front of you. The man turns to face you, seemingly surprised to see you on the opposite deck. He hurries down the steps and takes a few long strides before stopping in front of your porch. 

“How much’s it gonna cost?” He demands, his spiked, brown hair reflecting in the rays sneaking through the bare branches of the trees around you. You squint your eyes at him.

“Excuse me?” You bite back, confusion and disgust deepening your voice. You have no idea what the hell this guy was on, and you take a step back towards the door, ready for a quick getaway if need be. 

“To get you out of here.” He clarifies. “How much?” 

You close your eyes and shake your head. It was far too early for this and you were a tad hungover. It takes a moment for his words to make sense.

“You’re offering to pay me to leave the rental?” He just responds with tight lips and raised eyebrows, seemingly annoyed that you’re just now catching on. The action draws your attention to his eyes, and for the first time, you notice his strikingly green irises, dark like the forest around you in warmer months. 

You cross your arms and think. You wanted out of this situation just as much as he seemingly wanted you gone. Problem was, you had looked into other listings last night, with it being such short notice, prices were high and options were low. Even if he paid off your rental, it was still going to cost you a pretty penny to change spots since Lisa had priced the rental at such a steep discount. 

Which you now knew why. 

Not to mention you wouldn't have access to your apartment until your little “vacation” was over. 

But between the rude wake up call and his bad attitude, you had enough. 

“Look,” You snap and point a finger at him. “I’m not here to be the pawn in your divorce game. I came here to relax. Problem is, every other place I’ve looked at in the area is either sold out or way more expensive than here, and I can’t afford it. You wife-”

“Ex wife-” He interjects curtly. 

“Whatever,” you snarl at his interruption. “Rented this place for a good deal, and considering I don’t have a job right now, I can’t really afford to go somewhere else.” 

“If you don’t have a job, what the hell are you doing here then?” He challenges, crossing his arms and matching your stance.  

“That’s none of your business.” He tsks his tongue and throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. 

“Look,” You lower your voice, hoping a calmer tone will help ease the situation. “Unless you need this house for anything, I promise I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t bother you, and you’ll barely know I’m here. But I already paid Lisa and I don’t have any other options, so you’re stuck with me.”

The man takes a deep breath through his nose and purses his lips.  

“Fine.” He snaps. “Enjoy your freakin’ vacation.” He huffs before he storms away from the porch and back to the main house. You shake your head at his antics.

Like a toddler having a temper tantrum. 

Between Lisa’s bitchy attitude and his man-child behavior, it’s a wonder how those two ever actually liked each other enough to get married. 

But that wasn’t your problem. Since he begrudgingly agreed to let you stay, you decided it was time to finally settle in and actually unpack.

You step inside, your body uncoiling in the warmth of the bedroom. You wander over to your nightstand and tap your phone awake to see it’s 6:54am. 

Actually, you could unpack later, for now, you were getting back into bed.

Dean huffs as he flies back into the house, slamming the door behind him. He really didn’t like the idea of someone staying on his property, especially a complete stranger sent here by his vindictive ex-wife. 

But unless he was willing to shell out cash to get her out of here – cash he didn’t really have considering he was in the middle of a two-year long divorce – he was stuck with her. 

For fuck’s sake. 

Dean runs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. At least she said she would stay out of his way. He never used that house anyways. 

The last time that house was used, Lisa was sneaking in her now fiancé, Gavin. Since then, Dean’s had no real interest in stepping foot inside the guest house, and he wasn’t one for solo hot tubbing. He’s used it a few times with some women he’s brought back in an effort to make himself feel better, but he always took them back to the main house before things progressed.  

Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts and grabs his coffee tumbler and keys and heads back out the way he came, this time locking the door behind him before jumping into his truck and peeling out of the driveway. 

Dean grinds his teeth as he drives through town, his mood effectively soured by the bullshit Lisa decided to throw at him this week. It wasn’t enough that she imploded their marriage, she couldn’t let him live in peace. 

When he pulls into Singer’s Auto Repair, his knuckles are white as he takes his usual parking spot and he slams the truck door shut with more force than necessary, but he doesn’t care as he stomps over to the faded navy building and unlocks the front door, the first one to arrive for the morning.

Which wasn’t a surprise. When Bobby Singer finally decided to retire, he offered Dean a managing partnership in the shop. Dean had been working for Bobby since he was sixteen years old, and after Dean’s father had unexpectedly passed a couple years later, Bobby filled that gap in Dean’s life. So Dean wanted to make sure he made Bobby proud. He was regularly the first one to arrive each morning; setting up the shop with coffee and making schedules for the day. Dean enjoyed the quiet mornings. It gave him time to settle into the day, and also the opportunity to control the radio. 

But this morning was not a usual morning. Instead, Dean trudges around the shop, doing his usual task list but not finding the relaxation the routine typically brings him. 

He decided to get a head start on the first car for the day, giving himself something to focus on that wasn’t Lisa or the woman holding his guest house hostage. 

“‘Mornin’, boss.” Benny’s voice rings out through the quiet garage not long after Dean gets started. “Radio not workin’?” He asks as he settles his belongings into his locker, hanging his newsboy cap that he has an affinity for as he notices the absence of the morning rock show that Dean typically starts the day with. 

“Don’t really feel like music this morning,” Dean grumbles from underneath the car he’s working on, tightening the last bolt on the oil pan before wiping his slicked hands on his coveralls and wheeling himself out from underneath the Nissan Altima that was due to be picked up this afternoon. 

“Let me guess,” Benny smirks down at Dean as he zips up his monogrammed jumpsuit. “Lisa?”

Dean just responds with a shake of his head before heading over to the work sink and washing away the rest of the oil. 

“What she do this time?” Benny continues his own routine, taking a look at the schedule to see where he’s needed first. 

Dean shuts off the tap and rests his hands against the basin. 

“She rented the guest house out on AirBNB or something.” Dean shakes his head. “Some girl is staying there.”

“Whacha mean she’s renting it out?” Benny grabs his toolbox, not letting the conversation distract him from the work that needs to be done as he starts to get set up in front of a Kia Optima that’s almost as old as his tween daughter. 

Dean breathes out a deep breath and turns in his spot, resting against the sink as he crosses his arms, the navy coveralls crinkling at the movement.

“She’s not letting up about getting the property, so she’s decided to annoy me into giving it to her by renting it out. And some fucking lady is renting it for a month!” He throws a hand off his bicep, emphasizing his frustration. Benny just nods his head. 

Benny was a homegrown boy, he was a few years older than Dean – his salt and pepper beard betraying his age – and he’s been around long enough to remember a time when Dean and Lisa were heart-eyed newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He was also there as things began to sour; Lisa stopped coming by the shop more and more, Dean complaining about Lisa almost every day, and when she hammered the final nail in the coffin of their marriage when Dean got home early one day and found her and her boyfriend in bed. 

He’s heard firsthand how petty their divorce proceedings have become, and it didn’t surprise him that Lisa was turning to more creative tactics to get her way. 

“Can she do that?” Dean shrugs.

“No clue. I gotta ask my lawyers, but she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying to run me dry until I’ve got nothing left and have to give in.” Benny sighs, shifting his jaw left to right as he scratches his beard.

“Dean, you sure this is the path you wanna go down?” Benny’s shoulders drop with the question. Dean just licks his lips and looks away. It wasn’t the first time Benny’s tried to convince him to just walk away. But Dean was stubborn and pigheaded. They both knew Dean was going down a bad road dragging on this divorce, but he was refusing to back down. 

“What about the woman staying there?” Benny decides to shift the conversion. “Does she know Lisa?” Dean shakes his head.

“I don’t think so. She thought I was breaking in when I confronted her yesterday. Told me she was gonna call the cops.” Dean huffs in a half laugh at the memory and Benny snorts. 

“I woulda love to seen Jody come down there and try to arrest your ass for trespassing on your own land.” Benny chuckles with a shake of his head and Dean joins him, the tension in the air dissipating. Exactly what Benny was hoping for. 

The side door opens and Linda hobbles in, offering nothing but a grunt and a wave as she makes her way to the front office. Dean and Benny wave back, even though she doesn't bother to face them. She’s just as, if not, grumpier than her younger brother, Bobby. She’s retired five times over the past few years but always manages to find her way back to the office when she “doesn’t feel like sitting on my ass just to wait around and die” anymore. 

As the rest of the crew begins to trickle in, Dean and Benny return to their work and let the day begin.

The clock on the microwave reads 12:59 by the time you finish unpacking and settle into the quaint cabin. You thankfully fell back to sleep for a few more hours, this time awakening to the sounds of the local forest, and not some manic divorcé at the ass crack of dawn. You also managed to sleep off your “wine headache” as your mother referred to it as, which you were grateful for as you weren’t planning on hanging on the couch all day. Sure, hangovers were a hell of a lot worse at 29 than they were at 25, but you were grateful they weren’t totally putting you on your ass just yet. 

As you shove your emptied suitcase into the hallway closet, you decide it’s a good time to head into town and one, explore, two find a good lunch spot, and three, pick up some groceries. It was also a good time because you were starving and had no food other than the morsels of leftovers you had brought up with you that you had pretty much finished for dinner last night. 

You throw on some jeans and a warm sweater, the weather app on your phone showing a meager 27 degrees. You give your hair a quick brush and swipe on some concealer, blush, and mascara before you grab your keys and coat and head out the door. 

You hum along to the local classic rock station as you pull into town, parking spots along both sides of the street only partially full on this Tuesday afternoon. You take the first spot at the edge of town, wanting to give yourself the opportunity to walk the full length of main street.

You tuck your hands into your gloves and pull your beanie over your ears before you venture out, zipping your coat tight against the wind as you begin your stroll, spotting the shops you noticed yesterday when you first drove through. As you continue down the near-empty sidewalks, golden letters hanging onto the red-brick façade catches your eye: BILLIES DINER. The English snob in you scrunches your nose at the missing apostrophe, but it’s the only restaurant you’ve seen so far, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore your growling stomach. So you hurry across the street, taking a quick peek through the store-front window, surprised to see it fairly full, before you step inside, rubbing the cold out of your hands as you wait at the hostess stand. 

The diner isn’t very wide, but it is deep, with booths and tables along the left side and your typical breakfast counter along the right. 

“Sit wherever ya want, hun.” The curvy woman behind the counter calls out to you. Your eyes roam the room, most booths already taken so you wander over to the counter and take a seat at the corner, closest to the door. There are a few barstools between you and the next person, an older gentleman with a stack of newspapers. He catches your eye and you give him a smile, which he returns before continuing his reading. 

A glass of water and a menu appears in front of you, the woman behind the counter greeting you with a smile. 

“Specials on the board,” She points to a chalkboard towards the end of the diner, various colors of chalk spelling out fleeting fares. “Just give me a wave when you know whatcha want.” 

You give her a nod and flip open the menu after she heads to the opposite end of the counter, grabbing the coffee decanter as she goes. You bypass the breakfast pages, heading straight for lunch. For a small place, they sure had a lot of food options; pages of appetizers, sandwiches and lunch entrees to choose from.

A balsamic chicken panini catches your eye and you wave down the waitress, putting in your order with a side of fries and a Diet Coke.

As you wait, you drum your fingers against the laminate countertop and purse your lips, taking in olive walls, walnut furnishings, and upholstery that matches the paint. The walls are decorated with a mix of nature paintings and framed news clippings, mismatched together in no apparent design. Your eyes continue to scan the room when you catch sight of the side profile of one of the patrons; a distinct jaw line, covered in scruff that matches the spiked hair on top of his head. 

Oh shit.

Just this morning you said you would stay out of this way, now here you were showing up where he was having lunch. He was going to start thinking you were following him, or maybe even colluding with Lisa to bother him.

You’re about to turn away, but the bearded man sitting across from him catches your eye and offers a soft smile as he says something across the table. You swallow, quickly turning in your seat just as the homeowner begins to face you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, listening as heavy footsteps grow closer. You feel someone move next to you, and as you peek one eye open, the homeowner is sitting on the barstool next to you, arms crossed on the countertop. 

“Thought you were going to stay out of my way.” He drawls, his features impassive as his full lips rest in a tight line. As the afternoon light shines in through the front, the green of his eyes 

shimmer and his hair looks blonder than it did this morning. As he sits a mere foot or so away from you, you realize just how strikingly handsome he is. 

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable from his proximity now having realized that the homeowner was actually a babe. God damn. 

“I meant it.” You start quietly and quickly clear your throat. “I was just taking in downtown and it was the only place I saw that had lunch.” His green eyes narrow and you almost miss the tick up in his lips.

“And the only place worthin comin’ too.” The waitress appears again, her bright smile a deep contrast to her umbre skin as she places your meal in front of you. Once her hands are free, she rests one on the counter and the other on her hip as she leans in. 

“Dean, are you bothering the tourists?” She smirks at him and the man, Dean, straightens up in his stool and returns her smile. 

“I’m hoping if I bother her enough she'll up and leave.” He quips with a raise in his brows. The woman frowns at him.

“I’m staying in his guest house.” You clarify, picking up a fry and taking a bite, not being able to resist the smell as your stomach cramps in hunger. “His wife rented it out to me.” You say over the potato.

“Ex-wife.” Dean corrects you again. This time you raise your brows and shrug at the waitress as you enjoy another fry. 

The waitress then turns her gaze on you, and you lower your half-eaten fry under her hard gaze. 

“You’re friends with Lisa?” She asks incredulously, a layer of anger simmering beneath her tone. 

You quickly shake your head.

“Not at all. She just rented the house to me on AirBNB.” You pop the rest of the fry into your mouth, ignoring the hard gaze hitting you from your periphery. “I only know about their relationship status because he keeps telling me about it.” You twist in your seat and meet Dean’s gaze with a lazy smirk as you chew on your fry. His eyes narrow and you watch as his shoulders tense. You may have felt intimidated by him just a minute ago, but now he was ruining your nice afternoon out. He could have just ignored you but he went out of his way to make a scene, so you were happy to give him one. 

The waitress just stares between the two of you slack jawed before throwing up her hands.

“Okay I’m staying out of this. I’ve got a restaurant to run.” She drops her hands. “Nice to meet ya, hun.” She gives you a smile before heading towards the end of the counter.

“Really though, why are you here?” Dean starts again once it’s just the two of you. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious.” You point down to your plate with raised brows and Dean mirrors your annoyance. 

“Look,” You put your thumb up. “First you wake me up at the ass crack of dawn by banging on my door like a lunatic, and now,” A second finger goes up. “You’re disturbing my lunch. I meant when I said I would stay out of your way, but you keep getting in mine.” You just shake your head. If anyone should be annoyed, it’s you. But your mom always told you to be the bigger person. So if it meant wiping the slate clean and having some peace with your pseudo landlord, so be it.

“How about we start fresh?” You smile tightly and reach out your hand. “I’m Y/N. Sounds like you’re Dean. Nice to meet you.” You relax your features, hoping to convey the genuinity in your gesture.     

Dean stares down at your hand, lips ajar before his eyes flick back to you. His tongue darts over his lips as he looks away for a moment before sighing.  “Fine.” He grunts before he pushes off the barstool and returns to his table, your hand still hanging in the air as he takes his seat. You just roll your eyes at his childish antics and turn back to your food, finally digging in as you think, what a fucking grump.

Keep Reading

NEXT TIME:

Dean went to high school with Nick. Grade A douchebag then and grade A douchebag now. He may have even broken Nick’s nose once senior year.  

He’s chatting with someone, definitely a woman.

Poor girl. Dean thinks as Jacob returns with the pitcher, and Dean thanks him. 

Dean heads back to the table, dropping the pitcher right in the middle before, for some reason, he takes a glance back towards Nick. And from this angle, he can see exactly the poor girl he’s talking to. 

Shit. 

It’s Y/N. 

Dean turns away, shaking his head. 

He should stay out of it. He and Y/N hadn’t crossed paths since their lunch run-in a few days ago, and he had planned to keep it that way. 

You’re an adult, and free to chat with whomever you want. Even if he’s a complete dickbag. 

But then he thinks back to a few days ago. How he was a total asshole to you, and he had regretted it. He was better than that. This wasn’t the guy he always was. 

Maybe this was his chance at redemption.

Tag List

Forever 

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My Sladick Fic Rec

(aka an ongoing list of all my fav fics)

safe harbor by greeneyedfirework

He’s in a hostile city, with a bounty on his head, injured and alone. He needs a place to hide.

slipping by greeneyedfirework

Nightwing wants information off of a mobster’s phone. Deathstroke wants a flash drive. Both are located in an upscale BDSM club. Dick has a bad feeling about this.

extraction by greeneyedfirework

Taking over the rival operation was so much easier with Deathstroke the Terminator.

captor by greeneyedfirework

Dick wasn’t expecting Luthor to arrive for his daily gloating with a guest.

plunder by greeneyedfirework

The ship Dick’s being held prisoner on is attacked. By the Deathstroke. Right before Dick is supposed to go into heat.

eye of the storm by greeneyedfirework

Watching them is like observing a hurricane.

unmarked by greeneyedfirework

Dick has some run-ins with a family of hunters.

silver bird by greeneyedfirework

Dick didn’t know there was a werewolf pack nearby, and he certainly didn’t expect them to stumble upon him gathering wolfsbane.

caught by greeneyedfirework

Dick is the new leader of the dragonriders and his dragon has to take a mate.

heavy lies the head by greeneyedfirework

“Hello, little bird,” Slade Wilson smiled down at him. “Or is it Your Grace now?”

parry me by greeneyedfirework

Dick is brimming with restless energy.

bargain by greeneyedfirework

"Get us out of here, and I'll spend a day in your bed."

crumpled paper by greeneyedfirework

Five times Adeline Kane disapproves of Nightwing, and one time she understands.

as though i had wings by tospreadthewingsofthesoul

Bruce is back from the dead, and Dick isn't coping well. In fact, he's barely coping at all. It feels as though everything in his life is falling apart. So of course that's when Slade decides to reappear in Dick's life and turn everything upside down. A story about learning to ask for what you need, how to hold your boundaries, and how to trust that the people you love love you enough to help.

light and frolicsome by tospreadthewingsofthesoul

Glimpses into Dick and Slade’s relationship. (companion piece to “as though i had wings”)

hold on to let go by roipecheur

The first time Dick met Deathstroke the Terminator, he was twelve years old, and the mercenary broke his leg and tied him up on a rooftop. In retrospect, Dick thinks it started there. Or, Slade keeps tying Dick up over the years, and Dick can't be blamed for getting his wires crossed.

for the right price by roipecheur

The morning after Dick's life falls apart (again), he wakes up to Slade's gun in his face and a ten million dollar contract on his head from an anonymous client. Searching for the culprit might just take them closer to home than they thought.

trails like smoke by wednesday

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Dick asks, curt, because the shoulder that got the worst of the damage is a constant low thrum of burning pain. Trying to wrap the wounds is proving to be exactly as annoying as he expected. More, actually, since he now has to do it with an audience. “Here in this room I rented. For me. My room, in fact.”

take the offer that wasn’t made by wednesday

“That’s not what my contract is about.” Slade sounds out of breath, but not angry; if anything, he sounds smug. Dick’s thoughts screech to an unexpected halt. The arm around his neck tightens, making him lightheaded. And for the first time since Dick found out Deathstroke had taken a contract in his city, Dick feels real panic, like white noise spreading through his veins. There’s a sting right above the collar of his costume, and Dick spends the last ten seconds before the tranquilizer knocks him out drowning in waves of fresh fear.

Night Is Young by wednesday

Dick imagines a little chime when that final timer ticks down to zero and the file transfer finishes. He almost sighs in relief. And before he can pull the drive out, a soft click at exactly his six o’clock stops him.

Break the Fall by wednesday

Getting rescued does not make Dick's situation better, not at first.

Black Gold Blues by wednesday

The gut punch is what gets him. Dick knows all the ways to tense and relax correctly to take any kind of hit with the least damage to himself, but that only works when he’s prepared, when he sees the hit coming. He does not see it coming, when one of the henchmen in this drug operation turns out to be on some Venom knock-off.

in every end (we start) by wednesday

At first, when he gets dragged downstairs and towards a metal door that screams cell, he’s relieved. They’ll leave him alone and he’ll be out in no time. Easy. Then the badly suppressed fear and nervousness of the alpha guard a few feet away from the door registers. Followed by the impressive blood splatters on the floor and walls.

no stopping (’til I break every rule) by wednesday

Dick can hear Deathstroke lazily walking down the line of handcuffed, terrified hostages trying to shuffle back even closer to the wall. He already knows where this is going. There’s not enough time to decide which would look less suspicious—looking up or not. Slade grabs Dick’s hair and pulls him up, leaving him no choice but to move forward until he’s kneeling at Slade’s feet. He can hear shuddery sighs of relief from the other hostages and can’t blame them.

with your best shot by wednesday

Dick and Slade, sitting in a cage. Decidedly not doing anything as pleasant as kissing.

ain’t lived if you’ve got no regrets by wednesday

Around the time he’s trying to decide if some friendly chatting would make his chances of escape better or much worse, something smashes through the roof of the warehouse. Someone, he realizes just a moment later. Before that someone even hits the ground, Dick recognizes him and regrets the lack of a panic button an order of magnitude harder. Because he can definitely feel some panic right about when Deathstroke starts shooting while still airborne.

Safest Place in the World by Skalidra

Being an international spy is a dangerous job, but not nearly as much as hunting those spies down is. When Dick needs a place to lay low for a little bit, and bandage a few wounds, there's really only one place he knows of that's far enough off the radar. Luckily, he's got a key.

Deals in the Desert by firefright and Skalidra

On the eve of the Garage's final battle with Luthor, Dick spies a familiar face out in the desert. Someone who could be enemy, ally, or something in-between, depending on how he plays it. Lucky for him, Slade turns out to be in a talkative mood.

Resolute in Resurrection by firefright

It's rare that a new immortal is born. Rarer still, that they already have a prior relationship with an existing one at the time. Dick has no idea what it is that's happened to him, but Slade is absolutely going to make sure he finds out.

I’ve Killed Very Many Fathers, You’ll Have To Be More Specific by walkerofthestars

Nightwing is kidnapped by an enemy of Deathstroke because they’ve noticed the two teaming up a few times- enough times to think they must at least be friends. However, unfortunately, they’re a bit more than that, so they basically just signed their death warrant.

truce until daybreak by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)

It's dark in the room, but not dark enough that Dick can't make out the familiar splash of orange, the distinct shape of Deathstroke's armor, taking up more than half the bed.

I want to lay here (lost and bitter) by withthekeyisking

Dick doesn't know why his marks vanish so quickly, what that means for the wounds his soulmate carries, but his mama (and then Alfred) tells him not to worry. Slade doesn't know what made his soulmate go from regular bumps and bruises one day to actual injuries the next, but he's going to kill whoever's responsible for it.

Hidden Treasures by withthekeyisking

Nightwing gets kidnapped by a group of people who intend to sell him to the highest bidder. Much to Batman's surprise, Deathstroke comes offering him a way to save his boy, apparently free of charge. The question on everyone's minds, however, is why?

Jarring Inertia by withthekeyisking

Nineteen years ago, the mercenary Slade Wilson came to the aid of King Bruce Wayne, a partnership that ended in the winning of the Great War. His price for this help? Someday down the line, Slade would ask the king a question, and the king would have to say yes. King Bruce, a man of his word, begrudgingly agreed. Prince Richard, now just celebrating his twenty-second birthday, comes face to face with the fact that even in deals he wasn't a part of, everything has a price.

By Vigor and Resolution by withthekeyisking

When King Bruce agreed to an arranged marriage between one of his children and King Slade of Grevemort to form an alliance, they all assumed the chosen child would be an omega. None of them knew that King Slade's tastes ran far more towards alphas, and that lack of knowledge is really biting Dick in the ass.

all the fire i've swallowed by wingdingery

After the dragon Ravager died attacking Gotham, Dick knew it was only a matter of time before others came seeking vengeance. He also knew what he had to do when they arrived. Trading himself in exchange for Gotham’s safety is the easiest choice he’s ever made.

a safety net of thorns by wingdingery

Dick’s night is already a nightmare—Blockbuster’s learned his identity, putting Dick’s friends and family all at risk, and Dick is desperate to find where he’s hiding before it’s too late. The last thing he wants to do right now is deal with Slade Wilson.

a knife, baby, edgy and dull by cheju

Slade’s presence should be unsettling, and it is – don’t get him wrong. But it’s also finally something happening, a chance for Dick to work off some of this tension. He’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t itching for the fight he knows is coming.

listen to teeth by cheju

Dick's failing his mission, can't get out of his handcuffs, and guess who walks in the door. Just fucking guess.

somebody's going to emergency, somebody's going to jail by perissologist

Dick’s mouth is dry. He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. It isn’t like he didn’t know that Slade is a contract mercenary. A killer, to the fullest extent of the word. It’s just that—while Slade might have been the bane of his existence when he first struck out as Nightwing, recently…Dick can count more times that Slade’s helped him than hurt him. And he thought Slade was better than this.

your marks on my skin by Ana_Writes

And there- there was a mark, on the inside of Slade's hand, one that Dick never noticed- No. It's not that Dick didn't notice it. It just wasn't there before. But now- Now, after they touched- "No." Dick breathed out, breath leaving his lungs in a rush as if he got punched. He dug his nails into the skin of his neck and barely felt it through that weird burning sensation that didn't want to stop. "Why-"

leash by envysparkler

Dick is sold to a werewolf pack.

Bite Down Into Me by EveryDarkCorner

Vampire!Slade is a seductive menace. Unfortunately, he's also the only one who can protect Dick from Ra's al Ghul.

Bitch and Moan by EveryDarkCorner

The new Vigilante Reform Act has made superheroes illegal. Luckily, Slade can protect Robin. Unluckily, he has stipulations.

You All Over Me by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly

“I had it handled.” “Really? ‘Cause from where I was standing, it looked like you were getting your ass kicked.” “Yeah, well, you’re blind in one goddamn eye, I’d expect you to miss a couple details.”

melancholy (snap out of it) by Anonymous

Dick knows that voice. He recognizes it even before Deathstroke helpfully turns the lamp on with a loud click! and allows himself to be seen, casually lounging on the cot, legs crossed at the ankle.

Everything He Should Never Be by TimmyJaybird

Slade comes home early from a job, and a simple "I missed you" is enough to make Dick rethink everything they are- and whatever he had first thought they would be.

I'll continue to add more to this list as I gain more favs!!!

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

Slipping Through my Fingers (2)

Summary: When a married woman catches the eye of Bucky Barnes, he is determined to stop at nothing to get to know her better.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Not Beta’d. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Summer 1941

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Steve groaned, massaging the sleep from his eyes. He had always been an early riser, so without checking the time, he knew it had to be before sunrise. The knocking became more insistent. Steve would have worried about the noise angering his neighbors had he not thought the person on the other side of the door was in danger. Shoving the thin sheet to his feet, Steve raced to the door. His drowsy state was long gone, adrenaline taking over. The second Steve opened the door, his eyes rolled, taking whatever adrenaline he had built up with them.

“You can't keep randomly showing up here whenever you think Y/N is going to drop by,” Steve complained.

Pillow in hand, Bucky pushed past his shorter friend, entering Steve’s space. The younger man sighed, shutting the door behind him. It had been nearly a year since Bucky met Y/N. Despite his claim to be friends that day, Bucky hardly saw her. Annoyed with Bucky’s constant nagging, Steve accidentally let it slip that her husband was shipped overseas during the colder months. He only had himself to blame for his best friend showing up at all hours of the day.

Bucky fluffed his pillow, tossing it on the worn-in couch across from the door. “Yeah, but this time, I have it on good authority that she will be here,” Bucky casually defended his invasion. Lying on the couch with his arms propped behind his head, he smiled at Steve who was leaning his back against the door. It was the perfect spot to watch the door if she showed up.

Steve crossed his arms, watching his friend get comfortable in his home. If there was one word Steve could use to describe Bucky, it was dedicated. Pushing himself off the door with a backward kick, Steve crossed the room. Stopping at the end of the couch, he asked, “How do you know?”

Bucky’s smile turned into a devilish grin. “I checked your cabinets last time I was here. You’re due for a refill on your medication.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He wasn’t surprised. Bucky always looked after him. If Y/N didn’t bring his medicine, he knew Bucky would find a way to get it.

“Well, if you’re gonna be a watchdog in my home, I expect breakfast when I wake up,” Steve teased, heading the short distance to his bedroom.

When Bucky woke that morning, he started on breakfast. With the war on the rise, prices had been on a steady increase with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Regardless, Steve needed all of the protein he could get. Bucky decided he would work a double shift and replace the eggs he was cooking.

Bucky frowned as he nearly finished breakfast. Steve’s home was small enough to hear any noise inside the house. Steve had yet to make a sound from his bedroom and the thought startled Bucky. Sure, Steve was low on medicine, but he wasn’t empty. Setting the pan on the unlit stove, Bucky stalked toward the bedroom stopping in his tracks when the blonde’s laughter sounded in the opposite direction.

Yanking the front door open, Bucky’s lips parted. Standing next to his best friend was the very woman he had been dreaming of for the past year. Both sets of eyes on the other side of the door were wide, staring back at Bucky. One hand held the door handle; the other caressed the back of his neck as he spoke, “I uh, thought you were still sleeping.”

Steve shrugged. “I woke up early. Walked to get a paper.” He waved the newspaper in his hand. “I ran into Y/N on the way back.” He then waved the brown paper bag filled with his medication in his other hand. He turned to Y/N. “You remember Bucky don’t you.”

Her eyes skimmed Bucky from head to toe before meeting his gaze. “The baseball player, of course. Nice to see you again, Bucky.”

The brunette’s chest puffed up, satisfied she had remembered his performance. Before he could respond, Steve spoke, “Bucky’s just made us breakfast, you’ll join us, won’t you?”

Surprise crossed Y/N’s face. “Oh, I don’t know. I have a lot of things to do.”

“You still have to eat,” Bucky insisted, but he knew she wasn’t convinced. Bucky stepped outside, still towering over the two, but closer. “Look, the truth is, Steve’s not all that great at keeping the conversation going in the morning. He gets crabby in the heat. Sasses me around to the point where he’s got me cooking him breakfast in his home. I'm a hostage here, doll. You’d be doing me a big favor staying for breakfast. He remembers his manners around a pretty face.”

Y/N blushed, staring down at her feet. Had she been staring at either man, she would have noticed the intense stare-off going on, a silent argument.

“I’ll stay, but I really have to leave after we eat.”

Bucky grinned, stepping aside. His left hand extended to the open front door, his right hand froze palm up, an invitation to help Y/N up the small step into the house. She accepted it, missing the tongue Bucky poked out at Steve behind her back.

“No funny business, Buck. I mean it. She’s still married.” Steve warned lowly.

Without saying a word, Bucky waltzed into the house, pulling out a chair for Y/N.

“Oh, thank you,” she squeaked.

Bucky smiled, rushing to plate the food.

Steve deposited his medication in the bathroom cabinet before finding Y/N. Steve slumped into the chair beside her, wasting no time to catch up with his friend. He was also interested in learning about the war overseas. “How’s Harry?”

Her hands folded in her lap. “He’s about as good as any soldier preparing for a war, but he’s right where he wants to be. He’s doing the right thing. He’s protecting his country. Us.”

Her vacant stare told Steve she didn’t believe that. He wondered how much time she spent curating an answer to that question.

Bucky snorted, setting the plates down on the table. “Sounds like a fool to me.” He couldn’t keep the comment from slipping from his lips as he sat across from the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t comprehend how a man could willingly leave his new wife behind, especially alone. A yelp escaped Bucky bringing him back to the conversation. Steve’s glare was enough to know who had kicked him. Ignoring Steve, Bucky explained, “All I’m saying is, a man’s duty is to his wife first. Ya’ know? If I was married to someone as gorgeous as you, they’d have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming before I left my wife behind.”

Y/N wanted to scream. She wished Harry felt the way Bucky did.

Noticing Y/N’s fork had been playing with her food, Steve asked, “Are you okay? With Harry being gone this long?” He was genuinely concerned for the woman. He knew what it was like to be alone. He didn’t have any family, and he could count all of his friends by the number of seats occupied at his dinner table. Even when he had no one, he had Bucky.

She sent Steve a soft smile. “I manage. We write to each other, but it can take weeks, sometimes months to get a response. I started to keep a copy of the letters I’ve sent him just so I can remember what we talked about.” Now that she was saying it out loud, she realized how lonely it sounded, how lonely she was. “The girls at the volunteer center are kind, but there’s a lot going on. A lot of people need medicine, and with the war heading this way, resources are going to be harder to get.” She eyes Steve warily. She prayed it wouldn’t come down to that. “We’re all so busy, there isn’t much time to talk. I miss having someone to greet at home.” Her longing stare didn’t go unnoticed by either man.

Steve chewed slowly as the gears turned in his head. Bucky on the other hand was quick to respond. “What about taking care of the house?”

Y/N brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Harry makes sure the bills are paid every month. The neighbor's boy comes by sometimes and gives me a hand around the house, but he’s heading to his grandparents’ house for the summer. I was actually hoping to catch him today before he leaves.”

“Let the kid have his summer. I’ll help you.” Bucky offered, taking the last bite of his eggs.

Y/N cracked a smile in between bites of her food. “Are you sure? I missed the usual spring cleaning. It’s a lot of work. Surely, you’d rather spend your summer playing baseball or hanging out with Steve.”

“And leave a dame to clean her house alone? Absolutely not.” He pointed his fork at her. “You know you have to move the furniture to actually clean, you can’t just clean around it.”

She chuckled, “I’m well aware that you have to move the furniture.”

Bucky grinned leaning forward. “Well believe me when I say I’ll be much more help than a kid.” 

He playfully flexed his bicep. “I’m also great company.”

Steve rolled his eyes hard. “You’re also a pain in the-”

“Wow,” Bucky held his hands up. “Forgetting your manners already, Steve?”

“I was going to say neck, but now I’m thinking something else,” Steve grumbled.

Y/N smirked at the banter. “Okay, Bucky. I accept your offer.”

Bucky lost count of how long he had been visiting Y/N. Some days they cleaned, just as Bucky had offered. Other days they became too distracted, laughing over lunch, sometimes even dinner. Those were Bucky’s favorite days. Not that he minded cleaning; he just enjoyed her. Cleaning left too many distractions and talking to Y/N allowed him to focus on her and only her.

Bucky huffed, slamming a cardboard box on the floor. Using the end of his once-white t-shirt, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He had spent most of the afternoon bringing boxes up and down from the attic. It was nearly lunchtime, and he was exhausted. When the shirt slipped from his fingers, he panted, his hands finding a home on his slim hips. His eyes trailed along the window beside him where Y/N stood on the other side staring back at him. Bucky smirked, waving a single hand. She returned his wave with a bright smile. Her other hand clutched an envelope to her chest. Her feet then slammed on the concrete steps as she raced into the house as if she were a child returning home from school to catch the latest program on the radio. Bucky not so gently, despite his best efforts, shut the attic door just in time. Y/N swiftly pushed past him, nearly knocking him on his rear.

“What’s got you all excited?” Bucky asked with a teasing tone. He couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow as she slammed her hands on the kitchen table.

“I’ve got a letter from Harry!”

Her nimble fingers made quick work at tearing the letter open, but before she could get far, a large hand covered her own. Y/N’s eyes shot to the man standing beside her, ready to give him a piece of her mind. Bucky retracted his hand with a chuckle, revealing a sleek letter opener in his other hand.

“Wouldn’t want to give yourself a papercut. Those things can be nasty.”

Y/N gently took the letter opener from his grasp with a sharp nod. She could feel Bucky’s presence hovering over her shoulder, but she didn’t dwell on it. It’s not every day someone receives a letter from someone overseas. Chalking it up to curiosity, she sliced the letter open.

Bucky grimaced as he watched her eyes scan the letter. Steve was right, she did seem happily married, in love even, but he willingly left her behind. He left her alone. That wasn’t love.

Pinched between her manicured fingers alongside the letter was a black and white photograph. Y/N smiled, showing the photograph to Bucky. “This is Harry.” Bucky studied the man in the picture as Y/N observed Bucky. “I wish you two had met before he left. I think the two of you would have gotten along well.”

Bucky snorted, glaring daggers at the other man’s picture. “Oh yeah, how’s that doll?”

Y/N twirled away from him, reaching for a pen to write her husband back. “I just know.” She sat at the table pen in hand, but her response wasn’t good enough for the brunette. The table pressed into the back of his thighs as he slammed his spread palm on top of the paper.

He peered down at her beside him. “You think or you know?”

Y/N’s forehead creased, her hands attempting to pluck Bucky’s hand off the parchment. “You just remind me of him sometimes. Now can I write to my husband?” Bucky eyed her for a moment, analyzing her words. Silently, he pushed off the table allowing her some privacy.

He found himself wandering to the last box he had brought down from the attic. If she was busy, he’d entertain himself. He dragged the box along the wooden floor into the kitchen. Y/N perked up at the sound of the cardboard grinding against the wood. Bucky could feel her eyes on him as he slumped into the chair across from her, but remained occupied popping the flaps of the box open. Shaking her head, Y/N returned her attention to the letter before her as Bucky rummaged through the box. She didn’t mind. He had gone through nearly all of her stuff at this point.

“You’re a photographer?” he asked, waving a camera around.

Y/N shook her head. “It was a wedding gift. Harry used it mostly. Do you take pictures?”

Bucky nodded. “Occasionally. My parents had one.” He pointed the camera at Y/N. “Steve was the artist, but technology was always fascinating to me. I’m better at pressing buttons.”

Y/N palmed the lens, hiding her face. He was skilled in pressing more buttons than the ones on a camera. Bucky pulled the camera back. Y/N wrinkled her nose. “Harry was always taking pictures of me. Not you too,” she whined.

Bucky laughed, setting the camera on the table. “Anyone with a camera would want to capture your beauty. They’d have to be blind not to.”

Y/N felt heat crawl up her neck at the compliment. Rather than replying, she dipped her head back to the letter she had yet to write. Before the pen could touch the sheet, Bucky let out a low whistle. Her interest shifted back to the man across from her as he pulled a dress from the box. It wasn’t an everyday dress like the ones he’d seen Y/N wearing.

“That’s for dancing,” Y/N offered.

Bucky hummed. “Your husband takes you dancing?”

Y/N twirled the pen in her hand. “He used to.” She paused. “Do you dance Bucky?”

A wolfish grin spread along his face. “You want to find out?” When Y/N didn’t respond, Bucky whispered, “Put on the dress.”

Y/N gasped, the pen slipping from her fingers. “Bucky I-”

Setting the dress on the table between them, he leaned forward. His voice laced with honey, “Let me take you dancing.”

Caught in the sticky sweetness of his voice, Y/N’s own was shaky, “Harry.”

Bucky frowned. “You’re always busy, always volunteering, bringing Steve his medicine, or taking care of the house. When was the last time you did something for yourself? You can’t stop living your life just because Harry isn’t around.”

With a shake of her head, she wanted to protest, but what was she protesting? A dance? A night out with a friend? Fun?

Sensing her hesitation, Bucky added, “It’s just dancing, doll. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Okay.”

Bucky would have leaped out of his chair if she hadn’t been watching him. He flashed her one of his charming smiles, poking the dress. “But you have to wear this dress.”

Releasing a shaky breath, she replied, “You better be a damn good dancer, James Barnes.”

“You’re taking her dancing?” Steve exclaimed, choking on his milkshake.

Bucky passed him a napkin pinched between his index and middle finger. When Steve gathered himself, Bucky rationalized, “It’s just dancing. No need to get your feathers ruffled.”

Dancing was never just dancing when it came to Bucky. Steve watched as Bucky swept a new woman off her feet while dancing night after night. It didn’t help that his friend was charming. Young or old, it didn’t matter. They all swooned after James Barnes. Steve doubted Y/N would be the exception.

“I know you Bucky. It’s never just dancing.”

Bucky snorted, grabbing a fist full of frenchfries from the basket between them. “Y/N’s different.”

“She is. She’s married. She’s also my only other friend. If you ruin her marriage, I won't have a friend left.” Steve’s mouth was set in a hard line.

The threat in Steve’s tone was loud and clear. Still, Bucky refused to back down. With a hand over his heart, he asked, “What if I’m different?”

Steve let out a loud laugh. “You’re my friend, Buck. I won’t lie to you to stroke your ego.”

Bucky sipped his milkshake with a shrug. “So come with us and see for yourself.”

“You’re inviting me to third wheel on your date? You are different. Maybe I should ask a dame out and see if I’ve changed too,” Steve sassed.

“Come or don’t, it won’t make a difference. It never did before.” It was a low blow, but Bucky was tired of Steve’s lack of faith in him. Just because Steve struggled when it came to the opposite sex, didn’t make Bucky a womanizer. He liked Y/N. She just happened to be married.

The weekend came too soon for Y/N. She hadn’t been dancing since Harry was home. It felt strange to get dressed up to dance with another man. She hadn’t danced with a man since Harry. She pondered if he was dancing with the women overseas. Her eyes drifted to the photograph lodged in the side of the mirror on her dresser.

“Y/N?”

Y/N hurriedly emerged from her bedroom and made her way to the living room where Bucky was waiting. He looked dashing in his well-tailored suit and his hair was neatly slicked back. Despite being a married woman, Y/N couldn't help but notice Bucky's striking good looks. She couldn't deny the fact that he was an attractive man.

“Well, don't you clean up nice,” she teased.

Bucky smirked, circling a pointed finger. “Give me a spin. I wanna get a good look at this dress you kept hidden away.”

Y/N whirled around, her skirt fluffing out in the process. When she stopped facing Bucky, he shook his head. Grasping her hand to turn her slowly. When he let go, he released an appreciative sigh. “Looks even better on you.”

Y/N’s hands fumbled with the skirt as she avoided Bucky’s eyes. Noticing her embarrassment, Bucky announced, “Steve is picking up a date. They’re going to meet us there.”

“Oh.” The surprise in her voice was evident. It was just dancing, she reminded herself. Steve wouldn’t be joining them if it was a date. Steve had a date though. Y/N’s mind whirled wondering if she had unknowingly agreed to a date. “I didn’t know Steve dated.”

Bucky led Y/N onto the street where they walked side by side to the dance hall down the street. He didn’t want to embarrass Steve in front of Y/N. He had found Steve a date, but Y/N didn’t need to know that. “Steve doesn’t mind dancing with a pretty face after a long week. Can’t find a man around who would complain about that.”

A laugh escaped Y/N. She knew his statement to be true after many nights dancing with Harry. It didn’t matter if she arrived with a gentleman, they all wanted to dance.

A poster in one of the shops caught her eye. Bucky slowed to a stop, allowing her time to look.

“She’s gorgeous,” Y/N breathed.

Bucky eyed the scantily clad pin-up model. He enjoyed the image as much as the next guy, but he wouldn't express that to the woman he was pursuing. So, he did the only other thing he could think of, he rationalized it. “They’re putting all kinds of pictures up like this. Men have been buying them up like crazy before joining the war.”

Y/N flinched; her eyes trained on the model. Did Harry buy one? She cocked her head, “Would you buy her picture, Bucky?”

He bit his lip, rapidly shaking his head, “Don’t need to. I’m going dancing with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N faced him with her hands on her hips. “Don’t give me that. I want an honest answer.”

Bucky made an imaginary cross with his pointer finger over his heart. “Honest, I swear.”

Y/N bit her lip peeking back at the model. “You really think I’m prettier than her?” If she was more attractive, then perhaps her husband hadn't bought the stranger's picture.

Bucky bent his knees and threw his head back dramatically. “Any man would kill to have a poster of you on their wall.” Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tugging her toward the dance hall.

Bucky’s words danced around her head. If men were buying up pictures of a woman they’d only ever seen through a camera lens, then why couldn’t she send her husband one? He had sent her a picture of himself.

“Bucky,” Y/N called, catching his attention, “How good are you with a camera?”

Bucky shrugged, “Good enough. I used to-”

That was good enough for Y/N. She interrupted him, “I want you to take my picture.”

He side-eyed her, “You didn't want me taking your picture the other day.”

Y/N shook her head, pointing her finger to the poster behind them. “I want you to take my picture like that.”

Bucky almost tripped over his own feet. They stopped outside of the dance hall. Steve stood along the wall with a short redhead. One look at Steve and Bucky knew he had spotted them. Steve frantically waved them over, his date uninterested.

Bucky grabbed Y/N’s bicep as she inched toward Steve. “Hold on.” He didn’t question her motive, but he needed her to be sure. “Are you sure?”

Y/N grinned up at Bucky. “I thought you said any man would kill to have my picture on their wall?”

He did say that, but he hadn’t expected the outcome. “Yes, but-” A finger pressed to his lips silencing him.

“Let’s have a nice night and we’ll talk about it later. You have yet to prove you can dance.”

Bucky laced his hand with the hand she had pressed to his lips seconds ago. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Y/N and Bucky had a great night at the dance hall. Even though Steve’s date left with another man, he had fun as well. Bucky had been an exceptional dancer. Steve, not so much. He had stepped on Y/N’s feet all night, even when they weren’t dancing. Steve was a good sport and laughed it off.

Bucky hadn’t forgotten Y/N’s request before the dance and neither had Y/N. Over the week, Y/N explained she wanted to take pictures for her husband. By the end of the week, Bucky stood awkwardly in Y/N’s living room, camera in hand.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky asked, “So, where do you want to do this?”

Y/N’s bare feet padded along the floor, leading Bucky to her bedroom. Taking in her robe-covered figure, Bucky cursed Harry for meeting her first.

Y/N plopped on the bed. “Is this good?”

Bucky bit his lip and sent her a nod. Y/N unknotted her robe letting it pool on the bed behind her. Bucky averted his eyes to check the film. “There's only enough film for 8 shots.”

“Do you want to take a test shot?” Y/N asked.

Wordlessly, he pointed the camera at her catching her off guard as he took the picture.

Y/N’s eyes widened as the flash went off, blinding her momentarily. She quickly regained her composure and scowled at Bucky. “You were supposed to tell me when you were ready,” she said, her frustration evident in her voice.

Bucky shrugged, “It was just a test shot. The camera still works.”

Y/N huffed falling back on her elbows. “You’re a guy, what should I do?”

Filthy thoughts invaded his head, but he pushed them away. “I don’t know. You’re already beautiful; the camera will pick it up. Just be yourself.”

Y/N kneeled on the bed to be level with Bucky. The flash went off. Y/N pouted. “I wasn’t ready.”

Bucky mentally disagreed. She trusted him to take her pictures. He hadn’t lied when he said she was beautiful. It was the candid shots that were alluring to him. Caught in action, turned the photo from a picture to a video. If Steve knew what he was doing, he would lose his mind.

Y/N crossed her legs, letting them dangle off the edge of the bed as she shoved the skirt of her silk nightgown to her ankles.

“Up.”

Y/N wavered, eyeing Bucky. “What?”

“Pull the nightgown up,” Bucky suggested.

Her hands hesitantly dragged the bottom of the nightgown up, exposing her calves. “Like this?” She peeked at Bucky when the skirt passed her knee.

Flash.

Bucky couldn’t deny the thrill that rushed through him. He had seen her legs plenty of times in dresses she wore, but there was something more intimate in her revealing her legs to him. The intimacy of the two of them alone in her bedroom only added fuel to the fire. 

“What would you like to receive from your wife if you were in the war?”

Bucky shoved her bare shoulder gently, propelling her back to hit the mattress. The strap of her nightgown slipped. Her hand moved to fix it. Bucky hovered over her to grab her wrist. His large hand glided her hand between her breasts. “Leave it.”

Flash.

Y/N imagined the images would be lewder than the pin-up poster she saw, but she preened under Bucky’s attention. Maybe she was starved for attention since Harry left, but she did this for her husband. She just hoped Bucky was right and her husband would appreciate the photos.

Chapter 3

Taglist: @yeahright0h @buckysouvenir @cloudykoookie

[princess-library-dead-account]

The Price of Love

Part two

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg X Gn!Reader

Word count: 1288

Genre: Smut, kinda angsty

Warnings/tags: Hate sex, degradation, bottom Karl Heisenberg, yandere Karl Heisenberg, top reader, afab reader, pegging, Karl being a loser, it says yandere but he’s actually really gentle, established relationship, reader is mean

You do this because you hate him. Lord fucking Heisenberg, decided he had the right to steal you from the village. Your family, your life, your job- gone. Just like that. You hate him. Everyday, every damned day- you’d think it was all just a bad dream, that you’d wake up in your own bed.

But no.

You'd wake up in bed together some days. Most days you would wake up on the couch, not able to bear how he’d cling to you in your sleep. You’d make your own breakfast- he never ate any, instead opting to chug a mug of coffee. Then he’d fuck off to the lower levels, working on his experiments. Leaving you alone with your thoughts. You tried to keep yourself busy, you really did- you’d clean the living area of the factory, you’d read, draw, you’d do anything- just to keep your mind off him. But it never worked.

You hated him- and the worst part was, he’d let you. He might raise his voice occasionally, but he’d apologize awkwardly right after. He’d be… sweet, or as sweet as someone that played around with corpses as a hobby could be. He’d murmur about how much he loved you on the rare occasion you lied in bed with him. He’d try- and fail- to make you dinner, the chicken burnt and blackened, completely unseasoned, and the carrots only slightly warm, still hard and raw. He’d awkwardly give you a small kiss on the top of your head before he headed down to work on the soldats.

But- you couldn’t like him, could you-? He’s sick- he kidnapped you- he took you from your life. No. You hate him. You want nothing more than to cause him pain, to destroy him. And he’d let you. And he’d… like it. And you would too, as much as you hated yourself for it.

You sigh, looking down at the gray haired man on his knees below you. You stood on the carpet floor of his bedroom, wearing a harness with a purple dildo. The toy rested in Karl’s mouth, and he looked up at you with pleading eyes. He wears nothing but a pair of raggedy boxers, and you wear just a baggy shirt. Something in you snaps, and you roughly grab a handful of his scraggly hair, forcing him down on your cock. He splutters, wet sounds coming from him as he chokes on your length. You grin slightly at his noises, and he desperately bobs his head on your strap. You pant, watching as he squirms, a tent growing in his boxers.

“Pathetic.” You spit out, your voice a low growl. Karl whimpers against your cock, squirming slightly as he tries to keep up with the brutal pace you’ve set. You continue fucking his mouth, taking in his soft whimpers, watching as he grows increasingly restless. He rubs his legs together desperately, squirming under you. You pant, watching with sick satisfaction as his eyes begin to water, and a little drool spills from his mouth. You continue using him, before his hands come up, pawing at your ass, trying to get your attention. He murmurs, trying to speak, but it’s muffled by the toy. You don’t really care what he has to say, opting to thrust harder into his throat, relishing his gags. He attempts to speak again, this time a little louder. You pull him off your cock with an annoyed expression, and he pants slightly, his face flushed from a mix of arousal and humiliation.

“What?” You hiss out, grabbing him by the hair.

“I-“ he chokes out, his throat scratchy and abused.

“Speak, you stupid slut”.

“I- p-please fuck me-“ He whimpers out, his voice small. He looks so pathetic, his hazel eyes tearing up from your merciless use of his throat.

“Please fuck me-?!” You mock, your face contorting into a sick grin.

“Sweetie-” He starts softly, before you cut him off.

“PLEASE FUCK ME?!” You laugh loudly in his face.

“Sure, Karl.” you respond, saying his name like it makes you sick.

“-but you asked for this” you murmur, eyes narrowing. You grab a handful of his gray hair causing him to cry out, and you throw him onto the bed. He lays down on his back with glazed eyes as you rifle through his nightstand. You find what you’re looking for, a small bottle of lube. You squirt some on the strap, spreading it around with your hands, before crawling on top of Karl. He whimpers softly, rubbing his thighs together to try and stimulate himself.

“You’re pathetic.” You murmur, practically ripping his underwear off as you throw it onto the floor. He whines at your words, shifting on the bed. Your hands grip his thighs tightly, spreading him open, and you prod the strap against his tight hole. He moans softly, bucking his hips into you. You enter him slowly, filling him up with just the tip. He moans needily, his hands coming up to gently paw at your back.

“Ah— m-more- ”he whimpers softly against your ear, his beard tickling your face. You growl, sinking the strap into him until it bottoms out inside him. He moans loudly, his hard cock rubbing against your stomach as you thrust into him. He whimpers as you increase your pace, his hands gently scratching at your back. You groan at his submissiveness, holding yourself on one arm and moving your hand to ghost over his dick. He cries out, bucking his hips into you. His face is flushed, a sheen of sweat on his tanned face. You lean down, slowly licking a stripe up his cheek, groaning at the salty taste. He makes a sound in between a moan and a whimper, pawing at your back adorably. Your fingers run teasingly over his cock, before fully gripping his length, jacking him off. He mewls, squirming as you thrust into him. You pant, watching as he falls apart on your strap. He cries out, tucking his head into your neck as he cums with a cry. He spurts sticky white ropes onto his soft stomach, some hitting you. His cock twitches against your stomach, softening. He lets out a low whimper, holding you tightly as he pants.

“Ah- buttercup- mm-” he murmurs softly. His blissed out expression turns into a guilty and embarrassed one as you look down at him with a mix of disgust and shame. You pull out of him slowly and he whines softly, chasing after the toy. You look down at him, before getting out of bed.

“Buttercup- ‘m sorry-” He starts, beginning to apologize for how fast he finished, shame turning his face even redder. You take the harness off, and slam it on the nightstand before leaving the bedroom.

“Y/n, please-”. He starts, moving on the bed so he sits up. You look over at him as you stand in the doorframe. His face is still slightly flushed, his eyes watery. His expression is pleading, like he wants you to stay. You sigh.

“Goodnight, Karl.” You say flatly, before leaving and shutting the door. You walk a few steps over to the living room, before flopping onto the couch, exhausted. You yawn, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. You shift the couch, unaware of his muffled sobs as you try to drift off to sleep, your heart heavy. The couch is uncomfortable, but it's better than having to sleep in bed with Karl. You try to purge the image of him from your mind, him sweaty and flushed and covered in his own cum. His eyes pleading adorably, his body so soft and malleable.

Because you hate him.

Right?

[misdeliria]

DEVIL IS A LIE; SIMON RILEY Hell is Other People 1

“Satellite readings show that the target is still in the building,” Laswell affirms through the comms. “Window is closing, boys. She’ll know you’re there soon.”

Ghost is positioned on the roof across the street with his rifle. However, his captain had ordered him to check fire. Their objective was to capture—not kill.

“Entering from the roof,” Soap relayed to the team, and Ghost could vaguely see the silhouette landing on the roof.

“Gaz and I are through the doors,” Price announces soon after. “No visible alarms or threats so far.”

“She’ll have access to the security cameras,” Laswell chimes in, and Ghost searches for any movement through the open windows—but most of them are covered. Smart girl.

A loud crack rings inside the target building, and the aggravated noise from Ghost’s captain sounds over the radio static.

“Target is on the west stairwell, Soap!” Price shouts. “Cut her off!”

Silence follows in Ghost’s position. There was no gunfire or shouts from the building, as he expected from Soap’s comms. Until—

“Looks like you found me, John.” A woman’s voice, identifiably not Laswell, purrs through the radio. “Knew you wouldn’t handle this solo. You’re nothing without your band.” The woman taunts what Ghost suspects is Soap’s stolen radio.

There’s movement again on the roof. A smaller silhouette raced across the rooftop and worked quickly. A grappler shot over to Ghost’s roof, and he dropped low to avoid compromise. A distant whizzing grew nearer as the woman fell onto his position from the zipline.

With her back facing him, Ghost took the opportunity to apprehend her, but she caught his movement before he got too close.

Swinging her leg back, Ghost narrowly evaded the strike to his face. She huffed irritably and crouched low, wearing a mask over the lower half of her face. Her hair was wild and unkempt.

“He thought of everything, didn’t he?” There was a lingering bitterness in her tone. “The famous 141 deployed just for little, old me.”

Ghost doesn’t say a word, glaring at her through his balaclava.

“Well, have a go then, big boy.” She leers back at him, tilting her head to the side. “Come to mommy.”

A flare of frustration rises in Ghost’s chest, hyperaware of her annoying strategy. Hateful it’s working, he pulls out a blade to intimidate her.

She charges him, and he’s prepared, blocking her first jab and swinging his blade to nick her arm. He misses. The target’s next punch lands on a small area on his torso, between his protective gear.

The hit stings, but it only riles Ghost up more, shoving her back to force her off her feet. Only, it doesn’t work. She uses the momentum he’s given her to spin and kick him in the face.

His intel told him she wasn’t combative. She was supposed to be a desk jockey—tech-intelligent and physically unfit. His intel was clearly outdated.

Ghost recovers quickly, but she’s out of reach again, eyes lit with amusement. The girl’s having a laugh at him.

“This has been fun, but I might be out of your league, Pretty Boy.” Pulling out tiny marbles, she stands out of her stance. “Tell your captain to go fuck himself.”

“Tell me yourself,” Price’s voice is loud and without static across the roof. His rifle is up and aiming at the woman. “C’mon, Harpy, don’t be difficult.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the folks and be easy, do I?” She throws the marbles at the captain, little balls rolling at his feet before detonating and releasing vast amounts of smoke.

Ghost’s attention is trained on Harpy, the mercenary-for-hire John sent for the team to capture. But she’s no longer bothered by him. Harpy’s eyes are focused on his captain.

Taking her distraction as an opportunity, Ghost rushes her like a train, bulldozing her into the ground.

She’s winded under him but slams her elbow into his skull mask. He grabs her arm and slams his gloved fist into her face, making the back of her head hit the cement with a sickening crack. Harpy immediately falls limp, and Ghost is left straddling her petite figure, panting softly.

“Great work, Ghost,” John coughs, shuffling from the smoke screen. “Restrain her and take her with us. Laswell, target acquired. Requesting immediate evac.”

Laswell confirms their heli is en route through the radio as Ghost makes quick work of restraining Harpy.

“Soap, Gaz, we’ll see you at the evac location.”

Ghost lifts the woman over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and eyes his captain.

“She’s a spitfire, Captain,” he comments, jostling her into a more comfortable position. “Think she’ll be useful to us?”

Price lets out a wry chuckle, adjusting his rifle. “She’ll be a handful to deal with, but—It’s an offer she won't refuse.”

not beta'd lol

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I saw fanart and now I’m doing a thought/prompt dump. Most of these are SoapGhost

1) Soap is a fuckin atrocious eater 😂 like man’s gets food all over his mouth (and on one occasion his hair cause he didn’t realise he had food on his hands) and Ghost finds it both wildly endearing and so so fuckin annoying. He still cleans him up anyway though

2) Soaps a brat. No question, without a doubt, he’s a brat. And Ghost lives for it. He loves pushing Soap to be as bratty as he can be just so he can turn around and teach him a lesson. Soap knows Ghost does this and sometimes he’ll up it just a touch more cause he also loves the game they play

3) Ghost finally figuring out Soap’s been proper flirting with him (and not just as a game) and freaking tf out and Soaps just there like ‘thank you for noticing my heartfelt feelings for you after so long’

4) 2022 Ghost and Soap meeting 2009 Ghost and Soap would be so funny and so chaotic and just- yes. But also, throw 2009 & 2022 Price in the mix to add on the angst of knowing the other two died and shit

5) Soap going around kissing everyone but then when he gets to Ghost and tries to give him a short kiss on the cheek the others dragging him away to thoroughly ruin him

6) Ghost using Johnny’s ass to stabilise his sniper instead of his shoulder or whatever cause ‘Johnny your muscles are getting in the way, turn around’ 🤣

7) Someone else said this once but Johnny stealing one of Ghost’s skull masks and painting it red and then claiming he’s always had it and doesn’t know why his Lt is accusing him of crime

8) Soap using Ghost as a recharge for his social battery. One small kiss or hug from the man and he’s ready to light up a room again

9) Soap’s got a hardcore oral fixation and it’s hard to find him without something in his mouth. Most times he’s got lollipops in his mouth (cause he really doesn’t wanna go through the mess of accidentally breaking a pen with his teeth again) and Ghost is so weak for it

10) Soap using Ghost’s shirts to sleep in cause they’re comfy and bigger than him (Soap loves feeling small sometimes cause he’s a big dude)

11) Alejandro locking Soap in a closet somewhere on base (cause the man wouldn’t shut the fuck up) and then having to deal with the consequences of an angry (scared) Ghost that goes on an absolute warpath thinking Soap’s been kidnapped

12) Soap being an amazing cook but none of the 141 knowing cause they pissed him off and he cooked them borderline poisonous food as revenge. They won’t let him near the kitchen now

13) This wasn’t a fanart I saw but my brain took it to these two idiots anyway. But Ghost squeezing the absolute shit out of Soap’s ass and Soap just letting him cause he’s low key proud his ass made his Lt. Act out of sorts 😂

14) Soap putting on a harsher accent when he’s shy cause he hopes to god that whoever he’s talking to will give up on trying to understand him and leaves it alone

15) Alejandro learnt one bit of Gaelic so he could swear at Soap and Soap lost his fuckin mind at him in Gaelic and Spanish. Nobody’s ever tried doing it again

16) Soap’s so fuckin pale under all that gear that if you shine a light on it directly you will be blinded

17) Ghost catfishing Soap on tinder but Soap knowing about it cause his Lt. is an idiot that’s never put a password on his phone, he’s still rolling with it cause he wants to see how far he can get

18) Ghost marks Soap up to hell and back before he goes out for drinks so people know he’s taken even if Ghost isn’t there to tell them himself

19) Soap makes random noises with literally every little thing he does (it gets worse when he’s bored) and Ghost doesn’t understand it but he finds it funny and will sometimes join in (though denies it if he’s caught)

20) Last one, Soap’s got an entire journal filled with pictures from the end of each mission and they all have little messages or the names of anyone they might’ve lost. It stays on base and hidden cause it holds a lot of value to him

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Lay low and learn

Summary: Trying to pick up the pieces left behind after what happened 3 months ago, Scotty and Task Forces 141 found themselves in a dire situation that requires them to stay low and hidden for a while. But where to go in a country where you don't know who to trust anymore? Well Scotty might have a solution, but... can she reveals her secret to them? Can she trust them?

Warning: None.

Words: 5.9k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: Back to the main timeline with a fic that I have been work on ever since I created Scotty. An idea that I had back then, but I struggled so bad to feel in the gap between some scene, then wrote more fic that I could connect to it and eventually spend so long on the ending. Technically this is like a 2.0 version of it, I rewrote the whole thing after like a year(?) and honestly I'm just glad it's done! Italized text mean that they are speaking French here. For the sake of being used a lot and not wanting to have a character translate everything or such, I just did so.

It started like any other operation. The intel was good, their luck was running high and honestly nothing that made it feel like it would turn sour in a matter of hours. A cover mission to help the BSF after what happened 3 months prior with their ex commander. He apparently had more connection then they thought and even if he had by now been court martial, his allies were still roaming around. So, when the intel came in, they trusted it. They followed it till they realized that a very important detail was missing and now they were on the verge of a diplomatic incident with the French authority. For now the 141 had to cut themselves from everything, lay low till they could figure out a way to fix all of this. This is how they found themselves in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, in the darkest time of the night. 

"That ain't the worst that could happen to us." Soap tried to light up the mood.

"Sure, it's not like Laswell isn't coming for our asses after that." Gaz replied with a hint of sarcasm. "But being alive has its advantages."

"Very funny you two." Price groaned. "Well for now we should probably camp for the night. There’s nowhere to go until we figure out some plan." They all agreed. Despite the risk, they still lit a small fire so they could see what they were doing. After a quick meal from their rations, they made bed with whatever could be comfortable; their bag and some leaves. Wouldn't be the first time the night would be spent like this. Of course no sleeping under stars would be complete without taking shifts. The night started with Ghost on first watch, Gaz second, Price third. 

Price looked at the time on his watch. Three in the morning. It was time to wake Scotty up. He stretched his sore muscles and got up. He softly shook her shoulder. "Rise and shine, lass." He whispered. Scotty mumbled something but eventually woke up. "Everything is calm so far, hopefully it stays that way. At 6 you wake up Soap, understand?"

"Yes sir." She said, rubbing her eyes. Scotty took the spot next to the fire where everyone had been keeping an eye on the surroundings. It was eerily silent. She didn't mind it, but it also made her feel uneasy. Even the bugs weren't making a noise. Which was a little strange. She remembered all those summer nights where some cicadas would be annoying almost till early morning. Maybe the forest was different. At least the captain was right when he said all was calm.

She threw some small branches in the fire to keep some warmth, for a night in June, it was chilling. Her mind drifted for a moment, eyes lost in the dancing flames thinking about everything that happened. There was no real point in trying to understand why, but maybe it could give a foundation to their next step. She wondered if they could even attempt to contact the French authority and make them understand the reason. They were usually reasonable from what she remembered from her days in the BSF. However this time it was different. The team was not supposed to operate in the country without their knowledge and… it is precisely what they did. It would be hard to explain themselves. A rustle startled her. Her eyes scanned the surrounding, hand already on her gun. It was only Soap moving in his sleep. She let out a sigh of relief. However her body tensed up again when this time, it was a shadow she saw in the distance. It moved fast. The sergeant jumped on her feet, grabbing her pistol. As if her worriedness vibrated through the ground, the rest of the task force emerged from their sleep. She advanced toward the last position of the hostile. "Come out!" She ordered. "I know you are there and I won't hesitate to shoot!" 

A man came out, hand raised, and stood there. "I mean no harm." He explained in French. A civilian? No, not by his clothes. He looked different. "I'm with the AGIGN!" What in the world would they do here at night? Her gut feelings made her reach for her upper arm and rip the flag off her uniform before shoving it in her pocket. 

"What is going on here?" Price asked her once he was by her side. 

"GIGN, captain. Technically a sub branch of it." She replied, her eyes and gun never let go of the man. 

"Hey Thierry what is going on?" Another French voice came out. Five other men joined the one named Thierry, also surprised to see the 141. 

"Oh, on peut vous aider?" The probable captain of the group asked. 

"We don't speak French." Scotty said. Price looked at her from the corner of his eyes, his expression remaining calm despite her statement. He could see the frown and her concern. He understood that he should just play along. 

"My captain asked if we could help you." Thierry translated. He lowered his arms. 

"You are special forces? We could use some help to get in contact with our base. We need extraction." Price explained before the Frenchman translated. 

Scotty put back her pistol where it belonged, keeping an ear to what was being said. Thierry and his captain said that it wouldn't be a problem. They had their headquarters not far away, they were welcome there. The 141 grabbed their belongings and followed the men to their cars. Without much more, they climbed in, Soap and Ghost in one, Gaz, Scotty and Price in another. For this one time, Price wanted to keep her nearby. Especially that she was acting odd. 

"I thought you spoke French?" Gaz whispered to her once the engine was on and the vehicle drove off. 

"Let's just say it's better that way." She replied. Price gestured to Gaz that if Scotty thought so, it was better to follow. 

They drove them for an hour before stopping again. This looked like an old village, almost abandoned. The kind of village only locals would know of. "We have arrived at the HQ." Thierry said, getting out. The 141 did the same. 

"What base?" Soap inquired, not seeing anything as usual. Even if it was a makeshift one, he couldn't figure out anything that resembled it. 

"C'est un peu plus au nord, dans la montagne." The driver of their car said, not even caring about them understanding. Him pointing up the mountain gave them the idea that the base was maybe there. Some more walking to do. 

Soap, who was also wondering the same as Gaz approached Scotty as they walked back into the forest. "Why don't you talk with them?" 

"Because something is not right." She whispered. "I could be wrong, but I know the GIGN and I know that none of their branches are in this area." This small information was enough for them to be on high alert. They followed in silence. One thing Price couldn’t shake off since they were found by the AGIGN was how no one questioned what four British SAS officers and one unknown military personnel were doing in France, lost in the forest. He trusted and believed Scotty when she said something wasn't right. Because anyone with the slightest common sense would have been concerned.

While the Frenchmen chatted like they had nothing to worry about. Scotty tried her best to not reveal her secret, but Soap and Gaz wanting to know what was going on made it hard. She shortened the whole conversation to they were making fun of them because they are Brits, making comments on Ghost being scary and other small talk. 

"How long we still have to go?" Price asked. He was getting irritated that they had been walking for a long time without even a sign of being close to any building. 

"I'll ask." Thierry said. He looked nervous himself. "Captain, we should hurry, they are getting impatient." 

"Thierry, tell them we are almost there and everything is alright. Once we are in the clearing, a bullet for each one of them. They won’t even know what’s happening." 

Scotty, who was watching her footing, snapped her head back up and she stopped in her tracks hearing this. Every part of her body tensed up. Her arm flung in front of her captain to stop him, surprising everyone. "Fils de pute!" She yelled. Son of a bitch. All the Frenchmen moved a step back finally realizing what was going on. She took her gun and pointed at the French captain. "Captain, they plan to kill us! There never was a base!" 

"Son of bitches!" Soap cursed, raising his own weapon. It was only a matter of seconds now. The first to pull the trigger would save their team. The 141 reacted fast taking advantage of the Frenchs being shocked that someone had been listening all along. Their bodies dropped dead quickly. A better look at their uniforms confirmed Scotty's suspicions. They had a logo resembling AGIGN, but it was botched. Good enough to trick anyone from afar. After more look around, they connected these men to the terrorist they had tried to take down. If these men could find them in the middle of nowhere, the 141 definitely had to lay low for sure. Disappear. They walked back to the village, finding the cars still there. At least they could now travel easier.  

"Let's get out of here." Price ordered. "Gaz, you drive."

"Captain, with all your respect, I should be the one driving." Scotty interjected. "I probably know the region more than him." He agreed and took the passenger seat while the other three men squeezed in the back.

*****

She had been driving for an hour now. The dark sky was slowly lighting up on the horizon, a sign that the sun was making its breakthrough. Her eyes looked in the rear mirror, to see the three men still sleeping, even Price was softly snoring. The road signs began to look slightly blurry, reading the town and exit’s names was difficult. Tiredness was on the edge of her brain and she knew she had to stop soon. Scotty had two options. Stop and let Soap drive or keep driving till they are safe. There was a reason she decided to take the wheel. Well at first it was mostly a wild guess and hoping she was right. Once they hit the big road, Scotty did figure out they were in an area she knew well indeed. They weren’t too far now, if her brain could let her stay awake just a little longer. She finally took an exit, went through the center of town which was completely deserted at this time of the day, maybe the local bakers were already working, and took an old dirt road. 

His head hit the window after a small bump that made him emerge from his slumber. Price fully woke up when the engine came to a complete stop. Before he could comprehend what was going on, he saw Scotty walk out of the car to the house in the distance. He watched as she knocked at the door, waiting restlessly and when the door opened it looked like she was talking with the owner. Glancing at the radio’s clock, it was already five in the morning. A shifting from the back caught Price by surprise. Gaz moved up between the front seats. “What's going on?”

“We will see.” He pointed at Scotty who was jogging back to the car. 

“I asked these kind folks if we could stay for the rest of the ‘night’ and they said yes.” She explained.

“How did you convince them?” The captain wondered.

“Hmm… You know a simple little lie!” There was a hint of nervousness in her tone that he dismissed. If this place was safe enough, they might as well take the chance for now. The captain ordered everyone out, grabbed their bags and walked to the door.

A woman and her husband welcomed them in. They looked like they just had been awakened from their sleep and weren't exactly sure what was going on. "Bonsoir, we have some bedrooms for you, messieurs. Et madame." The woman said shyly. 

"Thank you ma'am. We won't be staying too long." Price reassured. The husband brought everyone upstairs and showed them the room. With a heavy accent he explained that the kids weren't home at the moment and they could use their room. Apologized for the mess the little ones might have left behind. Once everyone was tucked back in, Scotty made her way back to the kitchen on her tiptoes. Awakened by a second wind, she didn’t feel like sleeping at the moment. The woman was there making tea, and her husband grabbed three mugs. Scotty leaned on the counter as the woman put down the kettle. Her eyes glared at the sergeant.

"I haven't seen you in months, not even a phone call and you just show up at my door in the middle of the night!" The woman berated her.

"I'm sorry, Gabrielle!" Scotty apologized. "We were in the area and we need somewhere to lay low for a while and then we will be out."

"Cam, I have no problem with having you here, but I don't have enough to feed all of them. Have you seen their size! Even Nathan looks small next to them!" The husband raised an eyebrow unsure whether to take this as an insult or not. Camille assured her that it wouldn’t be a problem, she could also help with any extra groceries. Gabrielle sipped on her drink with a snort. “So much for wanting to keep your family out of your job. Who are these guys anyway?” 

Camille realized she had a lot to catch up with her sister. She was sure she had mentioned something about her new career path, but then again so much had happened she might have only mentioned being transferred to another country and didn’t mention the task force. A quick recap of all that happened since the beginning of this year was enough to bring Gabrielle up to speed. Sometimes, she wondered how sister could handle such a life. After their cup was done, Camille finally felt tiredness coming back and decided to give in. 

Later in the same morning, Scotty woke up feeling like last night was a terrible nightmare and wished that it was the case. But reality hit back when she woke up on the floor of a room decorated with stickers, posters of a football team and toys all over the carpet. Her body was stiff from the hard floor, the only spot she found to sleep on when she sneaked in the room. She pushed herself up holding down a groan of pain. Soap was still snoring in the very small bed. Ghost was sleeping on a mattress that was on the floor facing away from her. She caught herself staring at his shoulders that were slowly rising up and down. She approached to check if… Yes he still had the mask on. She smiled, that was crazy to her. Silently, she made her way out, at the same time Gaz came out of the other room. "Mornin'." He greeted her. 

"Morning, slept well?" 

"Oh, not so bad. Better than in the woods. Are Soa-" He was interrupted by her grabbing something from behind him. Gaz was quite surprised by this strange reaction, even more by the forced smile she put up. Was she hiding something? He was curious, however with the lack of really want to know what was going on, he simply let it go. "Are they still snoring?"

"Oh yes, sleeping like babies." The smell of eggs and fresh pastries reached their nose. Their stomachs growled. With a laugh they headed to the kitchen for some grub. Price was already there trying to help to set up the table. If he had to be a guest here, he would at least be a good one. The two others helped around till the last two finally woke up. After a good late breakfast, it was time to take it easy for a lack of knowing what to do. Eventually they discussed how long they should remain low. The consensus was at least a good week or two. Give time to whomever to clear them out of trouble. Hopefully Laswell or the BSF could help. The captain admitted that squatting here was an option, but also felt abusing the kindness of these people.

But Scotty told him it was fine, she talked with the owners and they were happy to have them around. He raised an eyebrow. She already did so? Without him knowing a single word of it until now? It sounded a little odd that some random French civilians would be so inclined to accept English military personnel in their house, but if they didn’t mind then so be it. Ghost didn’t touch much of his breakfast till Gabrielle and Nathan left the table to clean the dishes. Something Gabrielle commented in a whisper to Camille. The sergeant excused her lieutenant saying he usually never shows his face to anyone. If it could make Grabielle feel better she herself hadn’t seen his face yet either.

Later in the day, the couple said they would head to town for some extra groceries. Left alone in the house, it feels like a relief for Scotty. No more reason to play translator. Gabrielle and Nathan’s house was far from the town, maybe forty five minutes drive, surrounded by large terrain and trees. Not a destination anyone would go to by accident… You had to know exactly where they lived. A question Soap was too eager to ask, which she deflected by saying that she was simply looking for some place to stop for the night quickly and it was not unusual to have a house like this when she saw the off road path. The perfect spot to disappear.  

With not much to do, the boys helped around; chopping woods, cleaning the terrain, sparring with each other. Taking advantage that the owners were away to clean their guns and do an inventory check on their remaining gears. Scotty and Soap finished their last lap around the premises a little before the sun had completely set. Ghost was watching them arms crossed. “Takin’ vacation, sergeants?” He smiled behind his mask.

“If running half a marathon is considered vacation, sure.” Soap joked.

“You wish we ran one third of one.” Scotty rolled her eyes. Ghost leaned on the fence and looked at them. For a split second she swore her eyes met his and her gaze darted away quickly. Recently, Scotty didn’t know how to interact with him outside of mission. She tried hard to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the crush she was developing on him. It wasn’t high school anymore, who had crushes in their late 20s! But it was very obvious this was the reason. Scotty swore it all happened since that ops a few weeks ago, but it only became worse in the recent days. She knew the implication and problem that dating would cause, if he even returned the feeling and so she did all she could to keep it secret. Hoping it would one day fade away and it was indeed a small crush, nothing more. At least when the others were around, she was capable of keeping it together and not making a fool of herself.

On the fourth day, Scotty was on the porch watching the surroundings with Gabrielle next to her, enjoying a lemonade. It was rather warm today but that didn’t stop Ghost from still wearing his mask while chopping wood. “At this rate, Nathan won’t have to do anything until winter next year.” Gabrielle snorted. 

“I’m sure he will appreciate the time off. More time with the kids, unless he enjoys all the hard work.” She teased. Taking a sip of her drink, Camille gaze lingering on Ghost from afar. Only with a t-shirt on, his muscles tensing and being defined at each movement, his tattoo out in the open, the fabric tight on his chest as sweat made it stick to his skin. It was a sight for sore eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off him even if the more she watched the hotter the weather was. Or it was her. A little detail Gabrielle noticed and was too happy to point out.

“Someone is in love.” She teased, nudging her. Camille turned fast to her with a glare and red cheeks.

“I’m not!” 

“Oh please, you have this look you always had when you were looking at your crushes. You can’t fool me. What are you finally settling down after all these years? It’s about time.”

Camille took another sip of her drink to cool off a little.“I’m not like I used to be in the army. I calmed down a while ago, you should know. But even then Gab. It’s not like I could do anything about it for a various number of reasons. There’s rules! Anyway, it might pass.”

Gabrielle nodded, not believing her entirely on the idea that it would pass.. “But seriously from all these men, you go for the one with that creepy mask, who barely talks and feels he could kill you in your sleep. You are weirdo.” Camille laughed at her insult and nudged her. She missed their casual teasing.

After a week, everyone was rather itching to go back into action. Vacations were always welcome, but most of the days were the same because no one could go out to town for a change of scenery. It was getting boring. Till the woman of the house took Scotty aside. Nathan had left earlier this morning without saying why. While the men were talking about something, Gabrielle spoke up about a little detail that was worrying her. “Camille, listen, we might have a problem.” 

“If it’s money, I can help. Just tell me and I can pay for it.” Camille did agree that all five of them did eat their fair share of food with not so small portions. She did feel bad for her sister, however also teased her that this was only a trial to show her how it will be when the kids will be teens. 

“No not that, although I wouldn’t refuse that. But that’s not it! If you wanted to keep us a secret, it might be complicated. Nathan’s parents called. The twins were at their place for two weeks and there was a problem in their house. The boys have to come back home.” The information hit Camille like a rock to the face. Gabrielle and her husband understood the importance of playing along but her nephews? Not a chance they keep it down. She let out a swear loud enough that even without understanding the language, the 141 turned their heads. She gestured that it was nothing. Her sister confessed that Nathan should be back in an hour or less by now. Scotty’s heart sank down her feet. She had barely time to make a choice. Either tell her teammates about her family and trust them or say nothing and hope to catch the kids before they come in. However Gabrielle wasn’t too keen on allowing her children to lie when she always told them it was bad. But was it so bad if it meant to protect them? Gabrielle apologized for putting her in such a situation on short notice, but they themselves learned about it only last night, hence why Nathan left so early in the morning. 

Scotty took a deep breath and joined in the conversation of the boys. However it was easy to see her uneasiness. Price’s mind raced to try to figure out what could cause this. Would they need to leave this place? Wouldn’t be surprising. Did things turn sour and they will have to remain hidden longer? No, he would be the first one to know. “Everything is alright Scotty?” 

“Well, I don’t know how to explain this.” She started. “You know we all have our secrets right… Things we don’t want others to know, like Ghost and his face.” It made them laugh, except for Ghost who crossed his arms.

“Just spit it out, sergeant.” He said, rolling his eyes. Scotty opened her mouth to explain. The door flung open with a man shouting in the back and two small humans bursted in. 

“Auntie Camcam!” They both shouted jumping on her, completely ignoring the four men sitting on the couches. All of them looked at her surprised and she timidly smiled. The kids started to ask her plenty of questions till one of them noticed the 141 and they went silent quickly. The twins watched each man carefully. They looked like giants! One of the boys grabbed at Camille's jeans half hiding behind her, while his brother looked much more enthusiastic. 

"La tête de mort il est trop cool!" He said pointing at the masked man. Ghost tilted his head to look at the boy. It was his usual look, nothing out of the ordinary. But the twin hiding being Scotty started to sob. She quickly kneeled to his level to reassure him.

"Je veux pas que la mort t'emmène!" He started to cry. She hushed him, promising that this was not Death but just a man with a mask.

"Tout va bien Mathéo. Il ne te fera rien." Camille said, kissing him on the forehead. Mathéo stuck his tongue out at him, still upset and ran to his mom. The 141 looked at her eager to know what just happened. Even if they had a little idea. 

"Nicolas found Ghost cool while Mathéo thought you were Death coming to take me. I had to reassure him that that was not the case." Soap didn't hold his chuckles as she translated. Neither did Gaz and even Price had an amused smile on his face. 

"Maybe Lt should take off his mask or the lad won't come out ever again." Soap teased. Ghost shook his head and firmly reiterated that the mask stayed on. Gabrielle hushed the boys to their room, leaving the task force alone. Scotty felt very uneasy at the moment. The silence was heavy.

‘’I took a risk by bring you here, but this was the only safe place I could think of back then.’’ She let out after a while. “I really wanted to keep it a secret.”

‘’Everyone wants to keep their family safe, especially with our job.’’ Price reassured her. ‘’That would explain why they have been so kind to keep us for so long.’’  

Scotty chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. It indeed explained a lot. Even if she knew that they had no issue with that, Scotty was torn between everything. She never planned on revealing the location of her family. It was a calculated risk that she thought of with a very tired mind when it all happened and yes when her sister admitted that the twins weren’t home, it did sound like it would all work out for the best. The sergeant just wanted everyone to be safe on all sides. She barely knew the 141, only for a few months and she knew she could trust them in a way, but Scotty still had this feeling that she did something wrong. Even her old colleagues only knew she had family somewhere and that was it. They never saw a picture, even less met them in person. But what was done was done, she can’t change anything she might as well live with it and hope for the best.

Later that night, they were all around the table for dinner. Scotty didn’t have a second for herself. Flanked, surrounded, ambushed with the twins who kept asking questions about her work and babbling about what they learned at school recently and what they were doing at their grandparents. Gabrielle had to intervene so they would let her eat in peace. The sergeant said that nothing could surpass the children's interrogation which made everyone laugh.

Scotty went to grab a plate that was slightly further from her. Ghost, noticing that she was obviously struggling to get it, kindly helped by handing it. For a second, their fingers touched each other. Scotty thanked him, her cheeks already coloring with a soft pink. A reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by her sister, nor nephews. Mathéo tugged on her sleeve so she could lean and he whispered in her ear. Whatever the little one asked, it was enough to make her face turn red and straighten up quickly. 

“What did he say?” Soap asked amused. 

“N-nothing! Nothing important. No Matt I-I don’t.”

“But you are all red just like when mom gets a compliment from dad!” That remark made his parents chuckle as well. Camille suddenly really wished this dinner could be over already and was oh so glad none of her teammates knew French. At least the rest went without an itch. After dessert, Nicolas tried his best to interrogate the rest of the task force. Mathéo on his side simply stayed in his aunt’s arm in silence, listening. Soap and Gaz answered to the best they could, having some fun along the way. Making their stories more unbelievable sometimes as well as much more kid friendly. Price shook his head with a smile. To Scotty this moment reminded her when her dad would be telling her stories of his deployments. These were the days, the innocence of a child. Eventually, the twins crashed from their busy day. Their energy completely drained and they passed out quickly. The parents picked up their children and brought them upstairs. 

After an eventful day, Scotty needed a break. She headed outside, walked a few meters away from the house and lay down on the grassy ground. It wasn’t comfortable but the view made it all worth it. Being far from any town, Gabrielle’s house offered a clear view of the stars. Left alone with her thoughts a lot of turmoil resurfaced. On one hand she felt like a hypocrite to be demanding to protect her family when she was the one who took the decision, on the other she knew it would all be fine. Did she regret bringing the task force here? A little perhaps. But at the time, it was the only safe place she knew of and they needed it. Would she do it again if a situation demanded it? Most likely. The safety of her teammate was as important as her family. Deep down, Scotty was aware that this need to keep her family secret came from make up scenarios, horror stories she heard again and again in the past years. There was no need to be so mysterious about her loved ones. Most of her work was done in the shadows rarely engaging with any enemies who would make retribution 

But. 

What if? The lingering question that made her so worried. She let out a deep sigh as the turmoil cleared out of her mind leaving her alone with the stars. The sound of the crunching peebles and gentle rustle of the grass caught her attention, but she remained in her position. Whoever it was, it was friendly. The smell of cigar gave away who stopped next to her. Scotty started to push herself to sit, but Price gestured to stay still. With a groan, he saw on the grass, arms resting on his knees. “It’s a nice view.” He simply said. 

“The first time my sister invited me to her house after they bought it, I spent all night outside.” She smiled. They remained silent for a little while. 

“I understand it might have been a hard call to make, but I’m glad you did so. Scotty, you know we won’t betray your family.” Price said casually blowing off the smoke. “No matter what.”

She pushed herself in a sitting position. “Thanks Cap. … Can I speak freely sir?” The captain nodded. “If anything happens to them, you are the first ones I’ll go after, no friendship will change that.”

“A little dark side of yours?” He had a playful grin on his face. She returned the playfulness, but Price knew she meant what she said. “I promise it will never come up to this, lass. No worries.”

As they watched the sky they saw it. A shooting star flew in the dark blue. Jokingly Scotty told the captain they should make a wish. Price scoffed. They stargazed a little longer, till maybe five minutes later, his phone buzzed. The brightness of the device illuminated his face, he had to squint a little the time his eyes adjusted to the light. A heavy frown lowered on his eyebrows. An unknown number had sent him something. You and your team are cleared and can return home. Laswell sends her regards. Tell Kabouter hello, she will understand.

Price read the message out loud to the sergeant who couldn't help herself but chuckle at his pronunciation of kabouter. “Who is that?”

“Someone we can trust, captain. An old friend of mine at the BSF.” Scotty stood up and dusted herself off. “I suppose it’s time to go home.”

“I know some lads who will be happy to.” Price stood up a few of his joints cracking. Years of hard work.

****

When the news was brought to the others about their probable departure, the rest of the task force was rather glad that their unprompted vacation came to an end after only a week! Laswell eventually contacted the captain with more information and where safe areas they could reach to return to England. They would need to find a way to reach any of them which was a little logistic problem but they can figure something out. Gabrielle, although sad to say goodbye to her sister, was also happy to see them leave. There were a lot of people in the house for far too long. The only two who were devastated by the news were the twins. They barely had the chance to see their aunt long enough and they just met these four awesome men! It took a little time to make them understand why they had to leave. 

They finally embarked on a plane in a military base nearby who could provide them transportation back home. In a little more than an hour, everything will be done. The five of them allowed themselves to completely let the pressure down, relaxing at the thought of home. 

“So who wants to join in for a drink?” Gaz proposed as they barely stepped a foot on the tarmac.

“Didn’t we spend enough time together?” Scotty chuckled and threw her bag over her shoulder.

“Aye! Count me in.” Soap replied. “Come on Scotty, one drink and then you can go home.”

She lifted her finger to emphasis on the only one drink. The captain excused himself, rather liking to get on with some paperworks. They shouldn’t forget about it. Ghost was on the same page as Price. Ghost passed behind her and stopped for a second. “You have a nice family.” was all he said in a monotone tone. 

Scotty was a little taken aback by this comment. What did he mean? Why? Nonetheless. “Uh thanks sir.”

Her eyes lingered a little longer on him as he walked away, discreetly biting her lower lip till Soap pulled her out of whatever thoughts that were forming in her mind. Right, drinking with friends now, thinking about her crush, later.

[icecreamcakez]

“Overloading Circuits” Ramattra x M! Reader

Content Warning: Male Reader, Overwatch 2, Overwatch, Ramattra, Size Difference, Robo Sex, Degrading, Praise, Gay Sex, Smut, Finger Fuck,

A/N: This is my very first fanfic I have written. I hope you enjoy it ! :3

It’s been weeks since you’ve been taken in by Null Sector, an extremist organization against the enslavement of omnics and protection against the abuse of humans such as yourself. You’ve learned to accept your captivity and started rethinking your role in Overwatch.

“Maybe I should leave Overwatch…I know they have abandoned me. I bet they haven’t even crossed the thought about sending a rescue team after me,” you mutter low to yourself with grit in your voice.

You softly sigh looking down at the cold concrete floor at your own feet that are attached with shiny metallic chains to ensure you do not escape from your cell despite it being locked well. An echo of footsteps is heard in the empty halls of your cell… Three? Two? No, it was one omnic. The worst of them all, Ramattra.

Ramattra was the leader of the Null Sector. He stood at a grand height of 6’4 with a cold metal faceplate that showed zero emotions. You could only read this man’s emotion through only his voice. His robotic eyes pierce at your gaze under him as he sets his staff against the wall outside your cell. Ramattra unlocks the cell with a hand scanner. It’s successful and retracts open as he takes a step in.

“Greetings, Human. I am Ramattra. You may know me as the leader of Null Sector,” Ramattra says in a low robotic voice, yet it sounded very human to you.

You open your mouth to talk but just as a breath exits your mouth, he holds his hand up to silence you.

“I know your name and why you're here, you do not need to identify or explain yourself.”

“Uh, okay…I was only trying to be polite,” you think to yourself slightly annoyed while gazing up at Ramattra.

He walks up to you and grabs the soft flesh of your chin towards him upwards to keep eye contact with your trembling self. He tilts your face side to side, appearing to be admiring your human features. You can almost tell he's impressed with you.

“You are quite attractive for a male human,” Ramattra says trying his best not to sound insulting

He was very fascinated by you. How your hair swayed, how your eyes glimmered in the rays of light, and how your body fidgeted under his grip on your chin. He lets out a soft chuckle and unlocks the shackles keeping you in place.

You begin to stand up and dust the dirt off your oversized t-shirt the omnic soldiers threw at you to change in. Right when you stand up, he pins you to the wall and leans real close to your face.

“Ah, ah, ah…Where do you think you're going?” Ramattra chuckles softly in a low and hot voice against your ear. "Just because I released you from your chains does not mean you can just get away without a price to pay…”

You blush slightly. “God, he's so giant compared to me, and so…hot?” You hate to admit it in your thoughts. I mean he's just an omnic, how hot can omnics get? “Alright, Ramattra, what do you want as payment?” You say with a small smug smirk. Ramattra seems to be thinking and choosing very carefully.

“I want a kiss.”

“Wait, what?” You blush a little redder than before.

“You heard me, Human. I want a kiss. Now.” Rammatra says in a slightly demanding voice.

Ramattra is enjoying himself seeing a puny little human under him. You sigh and softly kiss his lips under his face plate. He softly groans to your touch.

“You're so…soft…” He holds onto the back of your head and kisses you back passionately with soft gasps when there is an opportunity to breathe.

You softly whimper to the touch of the omnic’s body as he presses against you. This touch causes you to get flustered and a little embarrassed by your noises.

“Such pretty little noises for such a pretty little boy,” He says with a low growl and chuckles.

He makes his way back to kissing you but it seems to now get desperate. The kissing begins to speed up and he plunges even deeper into your mouth pushing his metal tongue through your soft pink lips to reach your own. Your tongues dance with each other hoping to taste more and more. You start to hold onto the side of his cold metal face and he stops mid-way to kiss your hand holding onto him.

“Such a good boy…” he whispers in your ear along with sweet nothings that make you tremble with pleasure. You felt like a little boy with his first school crush.

Your breathing starts to get hot and heavy with each kiss, you have to pull away just to take a breather. He is so lovely and divine, any human could fall for an omnic like him.

“Ngh…” you softly whimper while placing your forehead on his metal shoulder.

Ramattra notices you are hard as your clothed bulge accidently presses against his thigh. He chuckles and slides his hands down your waist towards your pants flicking the button teasingly. That button is keeping the distance between him and your length.

“Someone’s excited for me…aren't you?” He teases.

“Yes…Yes I am” You say blushing trapped in his robotic hold on you.

“Let me see more,” he says as he begins to take off your pants and boxers, dropping them to the floor.

He lays you on the bed in missionary position as he looks at your length with hunger in his eyes. Ramattra begins to take his large robotic cock out. The size intimidates you, covering your handsome face in a worried expression.

“I don’t think it will fit…maybe we shouldn’t,” you say hesitating being much smaller than Rammatra. He positions his length near and teases your hole.

“ I know you can take it, we’ll make it fit,” Ramattra says, massaging your slim warm waist in his metallic palms.

He goes slowly putting the purple tip in and then goes for it, shoving the rest in you. You make a choked whimpering noise. He feels so fucking good its unbelievable. It felt better than what a mere human could do to you. Ramattra groans and starts to quicken his pace in you. He reaches out to stroke your throbbing member bringing both of you to pleasure slowly.

You softly whimper and whine taking more and more of his omnic length in your petite body.

“Ah…fuck…The dirty little boy is all riled up by my touch.” Ramattra says with an evil grin.

He seemed to love your submissiveness. He goes even faster and strokes your cock matching the speed to bring both to your climax.

“I’m going to come…ah…” you say desperately.

“Beg for it” He says with a strained pleasured voice.

“Please, Ramattra sir! I’ll do anything for you…anything…”

Your eyes become teary in pleasure as you continue to moan louder each minute.

“That’s my good boy,” Ramattra shoves his fingers to quiet your moans from the omnic guards outside the prison entrance.

He thrusts both of their cocks at the same speed coming together in sync. Ramattra takes his hand out of your mouth tracing saliva out of your precious mouth. You were drooling over him with your head against the bed as he pulled out of you.

He nuzzles and kisses your neck greedily.

“My Human…” He says in a low and seductive growl.