#ghost/soap/reader

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[clareguilty]

Ghost/Soap/Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink

This fic was written for Kinktober 2024! Let me know what you think <3

Ghost/Soap/F!Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink, strength kink, dacryphilia Rating: Explicit | WARNINGS: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: ~3400

The last thing you expected when you answered the knock on your office door was the sight of two uniformed soldiers, both broad enough to fill the entire doorway each, expressions grave. You ushered them inside your small, cluttered office tucked away in the biochemistry wing of the university building. Being the head of the pharmacology department did not come with a sprawling mahogany desk and glorious window views. You were lucky to have a desk and a window at all.

Still, you were the best in your field, and that had granted you tenure and funding to continue your research as well as a small team of graduate students and postdocs to boss around as you pleased.

One of the soldiers introduced himself as Captain Price, the other a corporal under his command. You cleared off space on your desk as the corporal opened a locked case and pulled out a laptop.

“Anything you are about to see is highly classified information,” the captain warned you. “Our intel pertains to ongoing operations to stop a dangerous organized terrorist group.”

You nodded along, but your focus was on the footage being played on the laptop. The drone shots and shaky handheld cameras, clips of lab workers handling samples while suited head to toe in protective equipment. There was footage of soldiers experiencing a variety of symptoms: aggression, paralysis, psychosis.

The corporal opened a file for you to scroll through. Pages and pages of reports.

“Biochemical weapons,” you murmured to yourself. “Inhalants?”

“Gas,” the captain confirmed. “Your security clearance is still in the system from your field work on that operation in Andorra. Our people are using your research as the blueprint.”

You were the leading expert on biochemical weaponry, much of your research was centered around synthesizing field antidotes. It had been a few years since you were last out in the field, taking samples from warzones and the sites of attacks.

“You need me out there?” You asked. But you already knew the answer. They wouldn’t be here in your office otherwise.

“You’ll be working with our top tactical operations team. The best men we’ve got. Whatever they’re making in these labs, we need to put a stop to it, and then we need to figure out how they’re doing it.”

You looked at the footage again - civilians this time - and felt your stomach turn at the sight.

“When’s the earliest we can leave?” You asked, closing the laptop to hide the horrifying images.

-

The body armor on your last field operation had been simple: a bullet proof vest with a mask and helmet. You had worn your civilian clothes and brought along everything else yourself.

“Alright, Dove, arms up,” the special forces sergeant, Soap, grinned as he dropped a heavy vest over your head. You dutifully raised your arms so he could fasten the tangle of buckles until you were secured.

“Thanks,” you glanced down at the overwhelming amount of gear that was now covering your front.

“You’ve got your radio,” he tapped the top left pocket, “Compass, shears, three mags of extra ammunition, scopes, batteries, and torch.” You watched him point out each item. “On your belt here you’ve got your pistol, knife, and canteen.”

Soap put his own gear on much faster than it had taken to kit you out. He carried even more equipment, but he somehow made it look easier.

You had been staying at the temporary base with Captain Price’s 141 task force for days now. Without access to quality lab equipment, you were working tirelessly to find answers about the biochemical weaponry using whatever was available. As impressive as your makeshift setup was, it wasn’t near precise or thorough enough to save lives.

It felt a little ridiculous. A researcher surrounded by a bunch of special forces giants. They were welcoming and friendly - except for the terrifying lieutenant with the skull mask, but you knew you were out of your depth surrounded by cases full of rifles and grenades. Sleeping on a cot and eating rations cooked off a gas burner.

Captain Price had done whatever he could to make you more comfortable. The encampment was a few secured buildings and several large tents. And while you were accustomed to the conditions after your previous field research, they had afforded you as much privacy as possible. 

Underneath the teasing and jokes, Soap was kind and friendly. He’d nicknamed you their ‘peace dove’ on the first day, and you hadn’t been able to shake the moniker since.

Even Lieutenant Ghost had been considerate as you tried to keep up with the heavy military jargon and unfamiliar protocols. He slipped you candy bars that were definitely against regulations and sat with you after the countless briefings to explain all of the commands that had flown over your head rapid-fire. He was still scary.

The last military squadron you had worked alongside had mostly ignored you, frustrated with your inexperience and occasionally downright cruel. They hadn’t respected your expertise or your research despite your attempts to explain how vital it was to their safety.

There was none of that here.

After several days of monitoring intel and surveillance, Price had finally made the call to infiltrate the terrorist labs. The only way to stop these weapons would be to secure the materials themselves.

Soap and Ghost were assigned to clear out any hostiles, and your mission was to gather anything in the labs that would help to stop production of the weapons and synthesize antidotes.

It was difficult to keep up with them as they closed in on the lab. You had been instructed to hang back a ways while they engaged, but even then you were struggling to match their pace.

You had never known anyone who could make an assault rifle look small until these men. Like they were holding a toy. Despite their size, both the sergeant and the lieutenant were exceptionally fast even with all their gear.

As you approached the location of the terrorists’ labs, Ghost signaled for all of you to halt. He grabbed you by the shoulders and pressed you into a crouch inside a copse of brush where you would be able to keep cover.

“Stay here. We’ll engage the hostiles and bring you in as soon as the site is secure,” he ordered.

Both he and Soap immediately made to move in, but you managed to catch Soap by the hand. “Be careful,” you warned. “We have no clue what kind of shit they’re cooking up in there.”

“Don’t worry, Dove. We’ll do just fine,” Soap promised with a grin.

And then they were gone.

The silence that filled in after their retreating boot steps was excruciating. The sharp cracks of gunfire that rang out in short bursts were somehow even worse. You couldn’t radio in without risking the operation - the noise could give away their position - so you were left waiting until Ghost signaled the all clear. As the minutes dragged on since the last round of shots, you prayed you wouldn’t have to fall back on your contingency extraction: if you didn’t hear from either Soap or Ghost after two hours, you were to make your way to a designated pickup spot.

Your radio crackled.

“You there, Dovie?” Soap’s voice came through. He sounded uninjured.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” That was Ghost this time. “We’ve eliminated all hostiles. Give us ten more minutes to secure the site, and then I’ll send Soap to come get you.”

“Copy that.” An unbelievable amount of tension seemed to melt out of you at that, and you let out a heavy sigh.

Not even a minute later you heard a distant bang. Not gunfire. A small explosion.

“Lieutenant?” You immediately called over the radio. “What was that?”

“Fucking hell!” Soap shouted. “The lab was rigged!”

“Lieutenant?” You were already pushing to your feet, rushing out of the safety of your cover and towards the labs.

“We tripped something,” Ghost finally responded. “They had canisters set to burst if the lab was tampered with.”

“You mean you got dosed?” Your fingers were numb with fear as you fumbled with your radio. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? I’m on my way now!”

The radio was silent for a few moments, but you were sprinting as fast as you could toward the site. If you could get there quick enough, maybe you could find an antidote somewhere in the labs. They wouldn’t know what to look for, but if you could find out what was in those canisters, surely you could fix this.

“Wait, Dovie,” Soap’s voice was rough, breathy. “Stay where you are. Don’t come near here.”

“I’m the only chance you have at finding an antidote,” you shouted into the radio.

“Hold your position. Do not approach. That is an order,” Ghost snarled, but you were already at the entrance, flying through the path of carnage Soap and Ghost had left. The satellite images in the briefing had given you a rough idea of where you needed to go, and the trail of bodies confirmed you were on the right track.

As you came up on the entrance to the labs, someone tackled you into the wall, pinning you in place. You screamed, but a gloved hand covered your mouth.

“It’s just me,” Soap assured you. “But you shouldn’t have run in here without your weapon drawn. Shouldn’t have come in here at all.” He pulled his hand away so you could gulp down a breath.

“Whatever you were hit with, they might have an antidote. If I can get to it before it’s too late-“

Soap cut you off. “You’re worse than me at following orders.”

”Let me go.” You tried to squirm out of his hold.

Soap made a choked off sound in your ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s the gas. I swear. We didn’t know the lab was rigged.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Jesus, Dove, you have to forgive me. Promise? I can’t fight it.”

“Whatever it is, you’ll be okay. Just let me go, Soap.”

He was pinning you in place with his entire body weight, panting against the back of your neck as he easily kept you still despite your attempts to break free.

Thankfully, you heard the sound of heavy boots approaching. That had to be Ghost.

He rounded the corner and you cried out. “Lieutenant! Please, sir!”

Ghost snarled when he saw you trapped beneath Soap. He crossed the room in three easy strides and ripped the sergeant off of you. Soap hit the floor with a groan, and you tried to back away.

Except the Ghost was closing in on you, knife drawn. He cornered you easily, and the fear had you freezing in place. You weren't a trained soldier. You weren't equipped to handle these kinds of situations.

You flinched as Ghost grabbed for you, squeezing your eyes shut and preparing for the worst, but there wasn't any pain - just the sound of tearing fabric and the sensation of your body armor falling away to a heap on the floor.

“Gotta get these off you,” he growled, crowding even closer against you. His voice wasn’t nearly as rough or as breathless as Soap’s. When you finally worked up the courage to open your eyes, Ghost was leant over you with his face in your neck taking deep inhales. Was he… smelling you?

They’d both been dosed. You had never seen symptoms like these before, but it wasn’t a typical toxin. Surely you could find an antidote if they just let you go.

And then Soap was back, pawing at the space between your bodies. “Please, Ghost,” he was begging, “feels like I’m about to die. Fuck. Need it so bad.”

Ghost pulled away from your neck, reached out to grab Soap by the jaw, holding him still. There was a moment of quiet save for both yours and Soap’s panicked breathing. “Alright, Johnny.” He finally assented. “You gotta go easy, you hear? Don’t wanna break her.”

You didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but struggling was absolutely useless when Ghost was holding a knife. You knew what he was capable of.

It was too quick for you to even register. Soap was fast. He snatched the knife from Ghost and cut your clothes away, taking you down to the ground with some sort of wrestling maneuver you were never going to escape from.

“I’m so sorry, Dove,” Soap was apologizing again. “Can’t fucking help it.”

He shoved his own gloves and gear away, fumbling to open his trousers before freeing his cock. He was achingly hard, and dripping. He was also fucking huge. His eyes fluttered shut in relief as he wrapped his hands around the length and gave a few lazy strokes, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that would be all it took.

“Please,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Don’t fuss,” Soap placed a finger over your lips to quiet you, then he shoved it inside your mouth. You weren’t sure if biting him would end well for you. He grabbed your legs by the knees, raising your hips until your pussy was on display for him. “That’s a good girl.” He spit on his fingertips and began rubbing at your entrance, as if that would be enough lube.

He pressed two fingers inside of you, but you were so terrified that it didn’t feel right at all. It hurt. You screamed, and suddenly Ghost was there.

“This is the only way to help,” he said, and you noticed he had a silver canister in his hands. “I promise this will make it easier.”

You didn’t have enough time to react before he crushed the canister with just his gloved hands. A deafening hiss drowned out the sounds of your own sobs and your vision went white as the contents of the canister filled the air. You couldn’t hold your breath at all, not when you were sobbing with gasps of pain. The gas settled over your skin, inside your mouth and nose. You instinctively swiped your tongue against your teeth and cheeks. It tasted powdery and sour.

“Give her a second, Johnny,” Ghost ordered.

You were almost glad they had cut your clothes away because your skin was suddenly too warm. Too clammy. Your mouth went from bitter and dry to watering with saliva in a matter of seconds. Every sensation felt sharper, and the pain disappeared. Soap was just as warm where you were pressed against him, and his fingers inside you were now drenched in slick wetness.

How were they even able to think like this? They’d been dealing with these symptoms for longer than you and somehow still had control of themselves. You had been exposed to the gas for less than a minute and all rational thought had left you.

“That’s a good girl,” Ghost’s voice reached you through the drunken haze and you whined. “Spread yourself nice and open on Johnny’s fingers.”

Oh. You were fucking your hips against Soaps’ hand. He was watching the sight with his pupils blown wide as he pressed a third finger inside of you. The stretch felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” you begged. “More. Please.”

Soap curled his fingers inside you and you cried out. He held your hips still with his free hand so he could fuck you harder on his fingers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had you gushing over his wrist in a matter of seconds.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He settled between your thighs. All you could do was beg because his finger hadn’t been enough. “Gonna breed you full, alright, Dove?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” you panted.

You would never have been able to take his cock if Ghost hadn’t dosed you with the gas. Even after the rough fingerfucking you still cried out at the stretch. But it didn’t hurt this time. You loved the way he filled you, the sensation of him sinking deeper inside.

He was too impatient at this point. Had been holding himself back for too long. The moment his cock bottomed out inside you it was like his final thread of control snapped. You were long past him, having never once stood a chance after Ghost crushed that canister.

“Jesus, Dove, you’re so tight. Feel so good on my cock,” Soap was panting against your skin as he fucked you. You were much less coherent beneath him, just a stream of sobbing and begging. You understood what Soap had said earlier: you felt like you were going to die if they didn’t fuck you. If they didn’t ruin you on their cocks. 

“I’m already close.”

You were surprised Soap had lasted this long, considering how quickly you had come on his fingers. It was definitely the toxins in your system, but you needed him to claim you. Needed to be bred full. You must have begged for it, because Soap was soothing you as he picked up the pace.

“You’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Just take it like a good girl, right Dovie?”

He forced his cock as deep as he could when he came, rocking against your hips to make sure it would take. You could feel it, so hot and sticky inside you, dripping out around his cock as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before a huge shadow filled your vision. Ghost. He shoved Soap aside, taking in the sight of you beneath him.

“Johnny made a mess of you didn’t he?” A gloved hand trailed over your tear stained cheeks, through the string of drool hanging from your lips. He forced your thighs apart to see Soap’s come dripping out of your used pussy. “Look at you, pretty girl,” he teased.

“Please,” you whined. The strange panic was taking hold of you again. You were scared what would happen if Ghost didn’t fuck you. “Please, sir. I need it.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Ghost swore under his breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to fight it off. Poor thing.”

He tossed his gloves aside, running warm, calloused hands over your sticky, sweaty skin. “I’m bigger than Johnny,” he warned. “But something tells me you’ll like that.”

All you could do was beg. How did Ghost have so much control? It was almost like he wasn’t affected at all.

He took mercy on you, dragging his cock against your pussy to slick the length of it before pressing inside. He was slower than Soap, more careful. And even under the effects of the gas, you needed it. Fuck. He was huge.

“You’re fucking noisy,” Ghost grumbled. And then there were two fingers pushing past your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits to chase the salt and the sweat, and the relative quiet seemed to appease the lieutenant as he finally bottomed out inside you.

You had never been so full in your life, split open on the lieutenant’s cock like this. He groaned beneath the mask as he fucked you, rhythm faltering as you squeezed tight around his cock.

Even with his fingers in your mouth, you must have picked up your whining again because he leaned in to shush you. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up again. Breed you just like you need. We won’t let you go until you’re full of us.”

It should have sounded threatening, but all you could focus on was the promise that they would take care of you. That they would leave you dripping with their come.

The initial rush of the toxins had given way to a sort of timeless haze. You couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of Ghost fucking you and his fingers in your mouth. It could have been hours. You just needed to be full.

“Here it comes, Little Dove,” Ghost warned you. “Better take every last drop.”

He pulled you so far onto his cock that a glance of pain managed to reach you in the haze, but it only left you craving more. You could feel his cock twitching inside you as he came, filling you even more than Soap had.

“Such a good girl.” He only pulled out after he was sure he had fucked his come into you as deep as possible. And when a few drops began to spill out, he swiped them up with the fingers he had just pulled from your mouth and forced them back inside your pussy again.

“Hey, LT,” Soap grinned where he was slowly stroking his cock. “Does this mean it’s my turn again?”

[bluefalcon-cod]

Ghost: "I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, MacTavish."

His nostrils flare, but he sinks to his knees, knuckles pressing into the ground.

Ghost: "Better. Now, Corp—tell 'im what he did wrong."

(You hesitate. Soap’s head snaps to you, jaw twitching, his breath harsh. Ghost waits. You know what he wants.)

You: "…He’s careless. His kit’s a mess. His shots were off because he doesn't check his weapons like he should."

A sharp inhale, like you struck him.

Ghost: "And?"

Teaser - Blue Falcon Fanfiction (COD) Reader X Soap X Ghost Revenge Arc.

AO3

[living--on--coffee]

The Hunt

Part 1/2

Hunter becomes the hunted.

vampire hunter!reader x vampire!john mactavish x vampire!simon riley

Tags: vampire!john mactavish, vampire! simon riley, vampire hunter!reader, pretty much the hunter becomes the hunted trope tbh, vampire bites, reader is a hunter but also kind of like a detective, gore, blackmailing, predator/prey, vampire bites are aphrodisiac

"Teenage girl, seventeen years old. She was found dead in her room by her family. Nobody saw anyone, nor heard anything. At first they didn't think it was a vampire, the scene was so gory that it was hard to believe a vampire would waste so much blood like that." Blonde woman paused to take a sip from her tea. You watched her slender fingers fiddle with the edge of her mug, waiting for her words to settle. You took a deep breath, Laswell's office always smelled so nice, oak tree and tea with a hint of cigeratte smoke.

"What do you think?" she shifted back in her chair.

"Well, so much to unpack here. Those are not usual vampire behaviours. Vampires only care about blood, not where it comes from."

They don't follow a girl to her house and wait for the right time to break into her house, you think.

When a vampire fails to suppress their feeding urge, they usually go after easy preys. People they can easily snatch away from an empty alleyway, bar bathrooms, places where very few people can see them. They don't become mindless creatures the moment they haven't sunken their fangs into something squishy in days.

"The girl is different. Why else would one of them fuck her first and kill her in the worst way possible? She clearly had something going on with them."

Laswell is nonchalant, cold-blooded all the time which makes her perfect for her job. She's a fast thinker, always good at bringing the pieces together. You've barely seen her take on a case and not know what to do, sit empty handed with a puzzled expression.

This time was an exception.

Fourth murder of the year, and you still haven't even gotten a fucking name.

Laswell's patience was wearing thin. And at this rate, you didn’t have it in you to blame her.

"They all did. That's why we're looking for the suspects that had connections with the victims, not some random vampires that happened to be passing by."

You wanted to defend yourself saying you had already checked their contacts, went through their electronic devices countless of times, searched for the smallest piece of evidence in the crime scene-

"What about the crime scene, anything new?"

Oh, the crime scene.

Blood scent was thick in the air. That was your first impression. The room was filled with sickening smell of rotten flesh and something else that got you bringing your arm collar to your nose.

There was blood, too much of it. That was the second. It adorned the room, not leaving a corner uncovered. It splattered across the walls, some of it onto the band posters on the walls to make deformed patches on the squeky paper. A big amount of it dripped down the bedframe so much that it managed to make a puddle thick enough to make vibrant red stand out on the dark parquet floor.

It was everywhere except for where it belonged, the cold body that rested on the soft bed sheets.

You approached the body with slow steps. The closer you got the worse it got. Once blurry sight turned into a gory mess of broken bones and ripped flesh. Brittle bones jutted out of a carved open chest. If you looked closer you could see the organ that once pumped the essence of life through her body for years, only to be drained off of all it's purpose along with it's owner.

You wanted to graze your fingers on where flesh was torn the most, the rugged edges that had been too weak to withstand the cruel swipes of fangs and claws. Maybe that way you would be able to feel all that glorious force yourself, see what exactly a determined vampire could do, see what you're getting yourself into. You cling dearly to bring together what little remains of the vampire's presence, desperate for the tiniest sign that could help you piece the puzzle together.

Finger-shaped blood stains made a trail leading to her navel. Scrapes and bruises littered her soft thighs. Deep nasty groves making a stark contrast on silky skin. Between her legs was an even bigger mess. Dried blood and semen clung to the curls between her legs.

Blood and grime caked under her fingernails, a futile attempt to harm her attacker. You could form an image, though the barely there certainity held your imagination back it wasn't hard at all to get goosebumps at the slightest thought of the savagery. Being invaded both body and soul and against all your best attempts all your defenses which you trust the most failing you, they're just not enough-

She had fought nail and teeth, literally. She tried to use her blunts nails against them. With no assuration she'd still fought for this was all she could do.

What a horrible fate she must've went through,tou thought. She deserved to be alive, fine with a hopeful mind that was fortunate enough to not experience any of these. You wanted to mourn over her life, her youth, everything that had been taken away she never got to enjoy. Maybe with a want that stemmed from wanting to find a companion to your emotionally state you turn your head up, to where her face sits over a battered neck.

Your eyes rake over her bloody neck, mouth. Dead, sunken eyes with deep purple marks around them. It was sad really, at such a young age-

Something was off.

It was some kind of a thought coming from the basest part of you. Like you just noticed something you hadn't before. When you did, you knew it was uncanny, something wrong.

Her face, as a whole, had a serene expression. You wondered if it was your imagination or an optical illuson from how little you slept. You looked closer, to the subtle curve of her lips, to the keen light that still managed to stay behind there. It was trying to tell you something, someth-

"Her face..." words leave your mouth before you could stop them. "She...looked serene."

Shock and judgement contorts her face. She looks like she can't decide whether to scowl at you or simply seek therapy for you. Before she can say something cutting you step in.

"We can't keep doing this."

Laswell gives you a faltered expression. You continue. "We just wait for a new murder to happen and do the same things we did in the previous cases. We need something different."

"What should we do then? Enlighten me."

You take a deep breath.

"Let me do my job. Send me to that club."

"We don't have enough evidance to have a permission to organize such mission."

"That's right but what about I go there alone, as a civilian? You won't need to sneak in any teams, I will just gather information and-"

"Send you inside alone? No, absolutely not." she interrupts.

"I was trained for this. I will be fine." you try to convince her.

"The moment they find out who you really are they will tear you to shreds."

You close your mouth at that. You both know that there's truth to her words. You pause.

"I can't just wait here doing nothing."

It sounds like pleading. You could feel yourself work up the courage to ask for that permission again. Somewhere inside you where your sense of duty and fear clashes.

"I will think about it"

You don't know if you're content or terrified by the possibility that lays behind that sentence.

You're sitting on your bed, facing the wall.

If a vampire was to come into your room and decide to kill you, could you put up a fight?

You have a gun in your nightstand's drawer, loaded with silver bullets. A knife under your pillow. A silver dagger in your pocket at all times.

If they were to come into your room, would you be able to pull out your knife and stab it into their heart? Watch them bleed and writhe in agony before they can get to you?

Probably not.

You're only human, after all. A bait in best case scenarios. Even when you've spent years training to fight vampires, that only makes you harder to kill for them. Your training only delays the inevitable. Never the hunter, but a stronger prey. It eats your mind.

All your work, your hopes, your ambitions. Do they even matter? You feel like you're a child and everyone around you is trying to keep you occupied with less important things to avert your attention away from the real problems. It's like they know what having your job means, like they are trying to protect you. You find their efforts insulting.

That doesn't mean you don't find some truth about their concerns. You wish you could.

The club is loud. Walls are painted red and black, they turn into navy blue and purple when exposed to blue lights. Your form blends in with the crowd, blue lightning highlights your form, your skin. In your mind It seeps right through you, showing how transparent you're, just like you intended.

You put effort to look this way, to look casual. Opposite of eye-catching. Your hair is resting on your shoulders, your pants hugging your legs nicely but still comfortable enough to let you use your legs freely. Your leather jacket hiding the silver dagger strapped to your side.

You slice through the crowd, smell of stale alcohol and sweat fills your senses. You watch people come and go, each one of them telling a different story. You check them out if they're vampire or not mentally as a result of working for years in your field. Even though differentiating vampires from humans is almost impossible just from the looks, your eyes linger on a few who don't bother with hiding themselves.

Bright, platinium blonde hair of the vampire curtains her ivory fangs flashing behind red, luscious lips. You watch, hypnotized as they arrive at their destination, to the frail neck of some brunette girl. Sharp tips brushed against vulnerable flesh, leaving red trace in their wake. Manicured nails clinging to her hair only encouraged them more.

You feel a shudder shoot up your spine. Junkees, you think.

A familiar face shows up in the crowd. Graves, who is your partner for the night.

You never liked graves. You'd tried to get along with him as your coworker, have a respectable relationship together, you really did, but it never worked out. Not when the guy is acting like a literal creep.

When you were at the funeral of a fallen comrade he dared to make a senseless comment about how glad he was it hadn't been you because it'd be a shame for someone as pretty as you to die so early. Still he's experienced in his field and better than nothing.

You flinch when Graves' hand snakes down to pet your ass softly.

You glare at him in a way only he can see and dance out of his reach with slow steps.

Two steps back, turn around, stare at people, read the room. Answers are hidden in the plain sight. They can be in the aphrodisiac that drips from the vampire's fangs 2 metres away from you or in the eyes that never ceased their stare since the you stepped into the club, always on your back, always watching.

Some man comes into your view, blocking your vision. His eyes fixated on you as you swing to sides. It takes about 2 minutes until his focus shifts, clearly displeased at your lack of interest. When it does you look for Graves wanting to keep on dragging the two of you to the spots in the club that you've yet to see. That's when your stomach sinks, he is nowhere to be found.

You feel cold all of a sudden. All the sweat that gathered on your skin from the humid air turned ice cold, leaving you shivery and faint. You check the crowd, turn your head to your left and right, draw a big circle around the room. But he's just gone.

You round a sharp corner that leads you to a dark corridor, only lightened dimly by a light source coming from somewhere your vision can't quite reach.

Here you are, standing in an eerie corridor in a building surrounded by vampires all by yourself. Your hand itches near your pockets, you tell yourself it's to grab your weapons if necessary, not to reach your phone and call Laswell and beg her for backup.

You don't know where you're going, and certainly not what's waiting for you on the other end of this corridor. But you have a gut feeling that you're about to find out soon.

Your ears perk up at the sound of squeking boots coming behind you. Your hand readily finds the silver handle in a swiftness born from years of experience and training. Though you react a little too late because strong arms come out of nowhere and slam your back against the wall. You let out a stifled groan.

The man gets closer, his facial features highlightens and it's hard to not notice two longer fangs jutting out behind his lips.

Panic rises in your body, your blood vessels tightens, forcing the liquid in your veins to run faster. Your hands are useless, unmobilized by vampire's hand.

It's over, you think. You're completely at the man's mercy, if he decides that he wants have a little more blood than usual he can suck you dry right here and now.

To your unfortune, by the looks of him, it seems about the right time you start begging for mercy. You have never been bitten before, and with the experience you got over the years from your job, you know what happens once you do. You swallow your pride

His fangs elongate, a strange glow blends into his irises. A characteristhic feature about the nature of vampires that have had the lab workers in the base fussing their head over to figure out what the hell it is. It's known to manifest visions, snake the vampire into vulnerable human brain. You close your eyes and wait for what's to come. His breath ghosts near your ear.

"You should've never came here dumb, little human." his cracked voice murmured into your ear.

There's a grunt, a rush of air hits your face. When you open your eyes you're greeted by the brawl of two men on the ground and a not so stranger face.

Mactavish.

He's a vampire, one of the stronger ones that shows with how quickly he knocked the man to the ground. In a blur of motion he has the man by the scruff of his neck. Before the man can make a move to defend himself, he punches the man's teeth in with such force that you hear bones crunching.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You must be more shaken than you thought and it must show to your face because when you don't answer he closes the distance between you and gently holds your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

You're hesitant at answering him. Your eyes feel heated and there's a bump in your throat. Making you feel like you'll start bawling like a child if you were to say a word.

So you just nod shakily, averting your gaze away from him as you try to force your racing pulse to slow down. Your breath events out, the presence of another vampire in the room is hard to dismiss in your shaken state, but you kind of manage. What the fuck were you doing here, really? This place is the last place a lone human should be, instead you-

Graves. You were looking for Graves.

How long time had you lost standing here? With a newfound panic, you look up to him with wide eyes.

"Graves, he was with me in the club but then he just disappeared. I need to find hi-"

A blood curling scream interrupts you. Instictively you both turn your head to the end of the corridor, to the direction the sound came from.

You thoughtlessly start to run. A thousand possibilities fill your mind as you sprint through the corridor.

It ends in a dark alleyway. The kind of alleyway people makes sure to avoid walking.

There are blood drops on the ground and Graves is nowhere to be found.

He took him.

First you hear sirens, then screams coming from inside of the club and shuffling of footsteps. You turn around to check on Mactavish. You find him gone.

Your name echoes in Laswell's office, snapping your attention back to her. You feel so big, vast, hard to miss in the small room. Like a whale put in a small pond, nowhere to run from the piercing glares and stinging words.

You want to shrink into yourself, curl up on the floor and die. But you don't because you're in no position to be embaressed. That'd be too merciful for you. Not what you deserve for your actions.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Laswell condemns. Her voice is loud by her standarts, if you were a civilian you would've jolted in your seat.

You don't jolt, you don't flinch. Your irresponsibility caused this. You don't open you mouth for even once to correct her or to defend yourself, instead you take her words, suck them up.

It all turns into a blur. Far away you're wandering in different places, present in the room and not at the same time. You understand every word yet you're content with just throwing them away. So rooted in yourself that you're convinced you're already aware of what she has to say to you.

"You're taken from this case."

One sentence is enough for your self-controlled dazed state to shatter into pieces. The pieces burst through your ears making a hoeling sound, they flow through your blood vessels with their icy edges, making your skin go cold.

"I arrested people for less."

Raindrops pitter patter against the windshield of your car. Autumn air is set heavy, trying to get into the warmness of your car yet failing. All it can do is to manifest itself as foggy remains on the car windows.

You've been sitting in your car and drinking. After two beers and some wine that got into your system you're still thirsty, your need for a calm mind is more evident than ever.

You're not drunk yet, maybe a tad tipsy. You waryly eye the bag of groceries in the backseat. The vodka bottle peeks out from the bag, looking very inviting at the moment.

A man walks past the parking lot. Even when drunk, your senses are alert. Corner of your vision catches his imposing figure, wide shoulders.

His eyes give him away.

Even after figuring him out his eyes spare you from actually observing him. They just grasp your attention like a thread and make themselves known even from such distance. They're so captivating that you feel exposed even though you're the watcher here. The safety of your car doesn't stop your imagination from creating phantom sensations of someone watching you.

You don't think much about it. You're out of the car following him in an instant.

You put a considerable distance between. When he enters some pub you wait for fifteen minutes before stepping inside.

The pub is mundane, a place nice to be around. People's chitter-chattering fills the room, laughter flows freely. You take a seat near a bar counter and casually order a beer.

You rake over the tables while sipping your beer. When your eyes land on your target you smile.

He's sitting there, chatting with someone you can't see past your blocked view.

You can't help but once again be charmed by him. His energy is enchanting, It's radiating off him. You nearly gasp when he flashes his perfect smile to whoever lucky person is sitting across him. His presence almost offends you, almost.

You go back to sulking in your chair. "Just get on with it." you think. You turn around to give him an inviting smile, a flirty one, maybe. You have a short-lived panic when you can't find him where you left.

"Are you following me?" a deep voice says from the chair next to you. You nearly crawl out of your skin. You missed he's as skilled as you. Still you force yourself to reciprociate. Snap back with the same fever.

"That's my line."you protest.

He gives you a blank stare, weighing your words. His eyes lit up when he finally gets it. His previous cockines slowly vanishes into understanding. He's taken back, you see the oppurtunity and attack.

"What were you doing in that club?"

You can feel it, his uneasiness. His grimace is a defence shield, a useless attempt at appearing cool but failing. Or so you hope.

"Sometimes I think you forget that I'm an officer too, lass." he mocks. You want to punch him in the face.

"Graves died and you were there."

"Laswell was worried you were up to something stupid."he explains calmly while ordering a new drink. This sentence is enough to shut you up. Laswell trusted another person to complete the holes in your case.

You shift back into your seat in defeat, though you're not about to reveal this to him soon.

To your dismay, he seems to pick on your mood. "Laswell was thinking about involving me in this case for a long while."

You open your mouth to protest but you look up to see that smirk.

"Don't be so judgeful yet, you haven't even tried me."

...

You've been well acquainted to the rumors, gossips about Mactavish.

At first everyone had taken him with caution, with the disbelief that he was even allowed to exist here. Your superiors had convinced you that having a vampire by their side had been the best decision ever.

He's like a machine, more durable than any vampire hunter they've had.

After all, only a vampire can withstand the force of one of their kind.

Their words had been stinging, but they had some truth to them. As much as having him was the same as having a fox in a coop full of chickens, he'd proved himself with killing tens of his kind. After this point whatever critism one had for him would beg the questions to their performance as a hunter.

His position as a vampire hunter is a contrast to everything you had to learn.

Vampires cannot be trusted. They could be anyone, anything and you wouldn't even notice until it's too late.

After all, humans have very valid reasons not to trust vampires. Vampires literally evolved to hunt humans.

They adapted to being a parasite species, they used evolution to their advantage, letting it shape them into being what they're in the present day.

They come from the deepest pits of hell. Their power is serpentine, it unravels through their eye sockets, wriggles it's way through feeble human mind. Carves a nest in the brain, seeping into every little crevice and curve, rotting the brain from inside to the point of no return. When they finallyTheir eyes lurk

In most scenarios the victim becomes dependent on them. Obsessed, being left with no chance but having their mind high on their venom. The victim obliviously becomes addicted to them, letting them feed on their blood, body, mind for the smallest amount of venom. The life is slowly being sucked dry off them, yet they still beg for more.

A dangerous obsession that in most scenarios ends in death.

It's a cloudy tuesday. The exhaustion from the past month slowly wears off like autumn leaves falling off the trees in your yard.

You have some phone calls from Graves' family, rightfully worried about his case and how will you handle it. At first you got rude comments and blamings for not being enough. The time seemed to soothe their hate a bit.

You arrive at your home and step through the doorstep. You're prepared to slip out of your shoes when you notice something odd about your house. It smells like... roses? Rose scent is not your pick for the room sprays. It doesn't take you long to notice a bouquet of roses sitting on the floor a few steps away.

There'd been someone in your home.

There's a trail of rose petals. You pull out your gun follow the rose petals like it's a path of blood trail. You walk past your kitchen, climb the stairs. All the while you check out the other rooms.

Rose petals end in your bedroom. They lead to a big box laying on your bed. The packaging looks expensive, decorated with a tasteful manner.

You go to the bathroom to grab some plastic gloves. You slip your fingers through the powdery rubber. You wield the box, keep it near your ear, shake it and try to figure out what's inside. Whatever is inside it sounds soft, like ruffling of fabric.

You decide it's not a bomb or something dangerous and start to work on the packaging. The thick ribbon unfurls like water under your hands. After other materials of packaging are gone you peek at the things that greet you from the box.

At the top is another package from a luxirous clothing brand. You twist your face in disgust when you unfold the fabric and see it's a red pair of lingerie. You try to ignore it. Under it is a small fancy jewellery box with a golden necklace in it. You test it's weight in your palm and gawk at the size of the stone at the end of it. You're not sure if it's real or not, but the workmanship alone must've costed hundreds.

There are smaller items stashed in the box: A red lipstick, a bottle of wine and a smaller box.

The small box is different from the others, it doesn't have a brand name written on it. In fact, it looks more like the handiwork of a middle school kid. The packaging is neatly done, but minor flaws succeed to show themselves. You imagine slightly shaking hands from excitement wrapping it.

Surprised to find such personal touch after all the expensive brands in the box, you open it with the caution, unsure what to expect.

You touch over the velvet fabric draped on the thing. It has sturdy, hard ridges that give away when pressed on them. Covered in some squishy, fleshy material.

Your blood goes cold when you understand what it is. To test your assumption you smooth your hand over the fabric, feeling the perfect shape of a human hand underneath.

Your hands shake as you lift the fabric and peek to the hand that was cut from the wrist. You almost throw the box to the across the room while you hyperventilate and once again be face to face with the reality of your job.

You notice a note at the bottom of the box. Crooked letters littered around the thick paper that says:

-I want to see you in those.

They took the hand, gave the rest of the box back to you after investigation. Probably didn't know what to do with the lingerie, you thought.

Crime scene investigators had stormed in when you explained what you had found. They inspected every corner of your house that they probably know more about your house than you at this point.

You leaned back in your office chair as you fiddled with your pen. You hear a knock on your door.

"It's me, Johnny, can I come in?" Johnny asks. You tell him to come in. He brings a file with him.

"I found something. Some residants reported a man wearing a skull mask. It's worth to take a look into." he says as he makes himself home with dragging a chair in front of your desk.

A skull mask. You remember the night Graves was taken. You nod slowly. "He might be our guy." you approve.

Johnny hands you over the files. He eyes you as you rake over the files. He looks like he has something to say and he would burst if he couldn't say it.

"What?" you try to urge him on.

He looks somewhat confused. "Did you find some kind of note in the box? Or a letter? He obviously wanted your attention, at that point why not leave an explanation?" he asks innocently.

You feel like you've been caught red-handed. How could he know? You didn’t tell anyone about the note.

"No, there was nothing."

Johnny nods understandingly.

"So, are you going to stay in your house? It must be uncomfortable knowing a killer just got into your house. If you need a place I can help." he offers.

"Thank you but I'm staying over at my friend's. You're right It would be very uncomfortable." you half lie. You told your friend you'd stay for a week, but you know after three days you'd find a hotel to stay, reluctant to overstay your welcome.

"The box, I heard our killer has a good taste in presents. The girls are still talking about the lipstick." Johnny makes an attempt to soften the conversation.

"Oh yeah, I was shocked when I first saw it. I don't understand why would he go through this. Not to mention the pric-"

"Well, after spending all that money he better has chosen some pieces that suit your taste." he interrupts. Then he frowns like he tries to remember something.

"Uh, like the lingerie."

Your eyes widen.

"What?"

He looks at you like he doesn't understand why you're surprised at such casual question.

"The lingerie, as example. Did you like it?"

The drive to the motel is silent.

You have to admit, it's better than you expected. The dust makes itself known as soon as you pull the curtains to sides to let some light in, but still that's better than staying back home.

You change into your sleep clothes, do your skincare, comb your hair. You do anything to make it feel like home, to feel the blissful ignorance.

You pull the sheets over your head and you realize that you forgot something.

Your pillow feels too soft, as if lacking something hard, something with a weight under it. Your hand itches to grab the cold metal, desperate to feel the security that comes from it's sharp edges, the glint of silver that dance over it.

You end up putting a silver knife under your pillow, another on the nightstand.

At least now you don't feel as vulnerable.

There are hands roaming your body. Large palms pawing at your hips, a warm breath ghosting over your neck. A deep voice whispers words into your ear you can't quite decipher.

Your mattress shifts under the weight of a second person. You feel the cold all over your body now. Whoever, whatever it is, the thing is huge. It blankets your body with it's massive frame. Your body twitches, desperately tries to jolt you awake so you can face the danger, or run away from it.

You hear footsteps that are not of the person above you. There's a third person in the room with you. You open your eyes.

You try to push the bulk off your body, try to squirm free but fail. You turn your head to the side to see who's the second man, but your head is roughly yanked to the side. Your eyes meet with cold, soulless eyes, dark like the pits of hell. You slip back into your sleepy haze, but still fully awake.

Fangs glint like knifes in the dark, you try to scream loud enough to rattle the motel, but instead only pathetic whimpers get out. Someone hushes you, pets your hair when tears stream down your cheeks.

A wet tongue laves over your pulse, your breath is shortened to hiccups now. A maw attaches itself onto your neck, and finally it bites into your neck, drawing your blood from your veins.

Your mouth opens on a silent scream, the mouth that's not biting you closes on yours.

You wake drenched in sweat and dread still clinging to your bones. There's coldness in your chest, as if your heart is pumping ice and not blood.

Pain ghosts over your neck. You shoot you hand up to feel it, your hand comes back clean.

You wriggle out of your sheets, trying to let your sleep sweat dry off first to warm yourself. Your hands are numb as you check the time from your phone.

It's seven in the morning. There's a notification you need to squint your eyes to read. Your heartbeat almost stops when you see it's from Laswell.

-See me when you're here.

You stare blankly for one minute, trying to understand if you're in trouble or not. You weigh the possibilities and let your dream slowly dissolve into thin air. When you try to remember what it was about darkness and carnage are the only things that paint your mind.

"They caught someone, a vampire. His DNA matches with the samples we've gotten from all three murders. However, we suspect that he doesn't work alone, you might want to interrogate him." She ends with an exasperated sigh.

With a nod you make a move to get out.

"Wait." Laswell says. When she has your attention back she continues.

"He wanted to talk to you. He said your name. " She says slowly, tentatively. As if she can't even trust her own words. It's your turn to be surprised.

"What?"

"We tried interrogating him while you gave your statement for the night. He said he won't talk unless it's you who's interrogating him."

There are a lot of things you want to say. Instead you just give her a shaky nod and close the door behind you.

The room they keep vampires is not like your usual interrogation room. It is sound-proof. There are two doors next to each other to deal with the lackness of human eye that can't catch up with super vampire speed. Handcuffs are thicker, made of a stronger element than iron, so is the mirrored glass in front of you.

You approach the mirrored glass. The vampire is tied to a metal chair. Even with his hunching posture he looks imposing, threatening. The fact that he's restrained by heavy chains doesn't silence the small part of you that shys away. There's blood all over his hands and up to his arms, corners of his mouth. The chains look a little too tight around his bulging muscles. He's muscular everywhere, his arms, his thighs, his neck-

"Are you going to just stare or do something here?" The man says without turning his gaze at you. His voice was dark, just like what you had expected from this monster of a man. It was unexpected, he wasn't supposed to see you. It makes you jolt in where you stand. Maybe he felt the vibrations of your footsteps, you think. You decide not to move until he thinks you're gone.

"I can smell you, you're still there." he chuckles darkly. It's merely a chuckle, too dry and raspy to be considered one. Actually there are hints of mocking in his tone.

You sigh and decide there's no meaning in hiding. You open the first door with scanning your card, and then the second one. When you're inside the door clicks shut behind you.

The man stirs, he tilts his head to your direction, though you know it's more of a show.

You loudly drag the metal chair and situation yourself in front of him with putting a considerable distance between you and him.

"How do you know my name?"You ask.

He doesn't answer, just like you thought.

"Unbind me."he demands.

His useless attempt almost makes you laugh.

"Why would I do that

"If you cooperate we might consider making you some favors." you try again.

He tilts his head.

"What do you want?" his voice is gruff, low in pitch, yet it still manages to seep into your brain.

"A location. Tell me where is Phillips Graves."

He huffs amusedly at your demand.

"I don't want to spoil the surprise, love. Figured you'd want to find whatever is left of him all by yourself."

His words make you sick to your stomach. The implication hidden behind them is enough to make you worry about your position in the eyes of your coworkers. You try to regain your authority over him.

"You're sentenced for-"

"Did you like your present?" he interrupts.

"I picked out the contents very mindfully. I even asked your friend for help, it was kind of him to lend a helping hand in." he ends his sentence with a dry chuckle. You don't find his joke funny.

"Where is he?" you say sternly.

"What am I getting out of this?"

Nothing, you want to say.

"The court will grant your cooperation positively, I can say." you explain.

He shakes his head.

"Will you wear the lingerie I bought you? Spread your legs, and bare your neck for me?"

His lewd comments makes your cheeks warm. You're glad he can't see the shocked expression on your face.

"That won't happen."

"Or should I do it myself? One of those nights I can just come through your window and prove you wrong."

After witnessing how easily he broke into your house you know very well that he can. That's why his words send chills up your spine.

But now is different. He's chained, restrained, you're safe.

It's your turn to chuckle.

"You're chained to a chair in a high security room, you will rot for the rest of your life in a prison cell. You're not going anywhere."

The man in front of you shifts in his seat. You hear the creaking metal, clinking of chains. It's okay, you think. That seat was made to withstand hundreds of pounds of force.

The metal bends, something in the air snaps.

He's on you in an instant.

Broken chains dangle from his limbs as he lounges at you. You shout at him to get away. You don't make it to the door when he lays all his body weight on you, caging you between the ground and his bulk.

He huffs like a beast above you. His breath hits the back of your head. When you try to shout for help he grabs you by the scruff of your neck and shakes. You whimper when he buries his face in your neck, right above your pulse point. He inhales deeply.

"You smell different, not like you do when you're sleeping." you thrash harder at his words. You can feel his smile against your neck, his fangs scratching the skin there.

"My big, scary hunter, are you afraid?" he says mockingly.

It doesn't take long after that and armed guards storm in the room, haul him off your body. They half-drag you shocked form out the room.

In your stumble you manage to get a glimpse of him behind you, calm as ever, showing no signs of struggle as guards restrict him once again. Like he got what he wanted.

There's a content smile on his lips. A wry, awful thing. Like he just accomplished his plan.

You park your car near the warehouse.

Birds chirp in the background, the sun gleams bright over the rusty planes of the warehouse. The warehouse is sturdy, still thriving in a way but looks like It hasn't had a touch up for years.

You idle around the building for a while. You check its surroundings, the houses around that looks like nobody lived in them in the past five years.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. A message pops up in your screen. It's from Johnny.

-Sorry, just had a change in plans.

You roll your eyes at the message. You're about to march back to your car when you suddenly have a strong urge to go on. Something deep in your senses tells you to move on, keep going until you find your target.

You're not the one to ignore your sixth sense, not when it hasn't failed you yet.

The door creaks when you push it open. The room is not very dark, just light enough to make out your surroundings.

The first room is mostly empty. There are supplies scattered on the floor, they have a thick layer of dust gathered on them from years of disuse.

You pass through the corridor and center a new room. It's smaller and smells like chemicals. The room has no windows, It's very dark. You turn on your flashlight.

It's shocking to see so many pictures on the table, on to the walls and everywhere. You squint your eyes to get a better look. When you realize the face in the pictures is actually yours your blood turns ice cold.

Pictures taken of you at work, out in a Cafe, in your house. Pictures of you talking, laughing, crying. Your breath hitches when you notice they're not only photographs but also classified informations none outside of work should know. Personal information of the victims, your coworkers, you.

You almost jump out of your skin when your phone rings. It's Laswell. You answer it with shaky hands.

"I-"

"Now listen carefully. There's been a situation." Her voice is anxious.

"What situation?"

"He broke out. We're still searching how he did it but wherever you are, you're not safe. Find-"

A thump sounded from outside. Your hand holding the phone freezes, you stay quiet as Laswell keeps speaking on the other end. You end the call, turn off your flashlight.

You grasp your knife so tight your knuckles turn white.

Someone is forcing open the door, you can't just wait there in the open. You can't outrun a vampire, but you can hide until the help arrives. So you dive into pitch darkness.

From what little you remember you try to navigate through the room. If only you could get to the back door-

You come to a halt in your steps. The sudden coldness envelopes you. Your eyes are too weak to see in the dark, but your senses paint an enough picture of what could be towering over you right now. The coldness radiates off him and settles deep in your bones. His gaze could drill a hole right through your forehead. You tilt your head up to where you think his face is.

You can't see him, but he can see you.

"Here you are, darling. Did you miss me?" his voice sends chills down your spine.

You make a move to gut him, that only earns you a harsh push into a room near you. You stumble and try to find your footing. You blindly slash your knife through the air, a useless attempt to keep him away. You scream at him to stay away.

For a blissful second, you could almost believe that worked. You're getting cornered deeper into the room, but from what little you could tell he's not around you anymore.

You try to subdue your breathing to normal, taking small steps back.

You scream when you bump into someone, your hand catching on some clothing, a lean chest. After this point, you act on instinct.

You knife lodges into where a heart should lay, in front of his chest, slightly on the left side of his sternum. A painful whimper finds your ears. That's not enough for you.

There's still resistance in his muscles, you take out the knife and stab him again, again and again until his body no longer convulses, until he's nothing but a lifeless body on the ground.

You fall onto your knees next to him. When the adrenaline fades away you break down, a small hiccup escapes your mouth before you can stop it, tears of joy and relief stream down your cheeks.

It's over, it's finally over, you think.

"Very good, good girl." a deep voice says from the entrance of the room.

The lights turn on and you are finally able to see. Your eyes find the blond man by the doorfence first, then they find the man laying motionless on the floor. His face is barely distinguishable from all the blood covering it, but that doesn't stop you from recognizing your coworker you had shared years working with.

Graves, you just killed Graves.

Your eyes flit between the man and Graves as if you can't believe what's happening now is real. You shake your head side to side, put your hands on your head.

"No, no, no." your voice is a hoarse whisper, your voice sound got knotted in your throat.

"I-I didn't, I-"

He doesn't wait for you to explain yourself. He advances on you, pushing you against the wall. When your back meets the wall, he gently grabs your cheek. Your cries are shortened to little hiccups. You weakly push at his chest, try to punch him in the face. He's unfazed at your attempts to hurt him.

"Shh now. Be good for me." he soothes.

He tilts your head up, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. When you understand what he's about to do you struggle with a renewed strength, all to no avail.

He drinks in your smell, his breath tickling the fine hairs on your neck. His fangs graze at your pulse point. You let out a blood curdling scream when they sink into you.

For a moment you think you're being devoured alive.

Your vision is blurry, your legs gave out beneath you, your head cradled by a large hand. You can only whine confusedly when he takes you in his arms and starts walking.

There's one last thing you hear before the world goes black.

"I'm taking you home."

Your neck throbs like a screwdriver is being twisted in it, jolting you awake from your peaceful sleep.

You're cocooned in soft sheets that smell like detergent. The moonlight seeps inside through an open window, just barely illuminating the room.

You sit up in bed and immediately regret it because of the rush of pain from stretching the wound on your neck. You whimper.

Your head feels fuzzy, you can't focus. You don't remember anything. You're chilled, suddenly the room is too cold for you. You look down. You're wearing a black, satin dress. The delicate fabric doing nothing to shield you from the cold. You feel under the straps, there's another clothing underneath. Lacy, dainty-

A lingerie.

You scramble out the bed, scattering the bed sheets to the ground. Standing up so quickly in your weakened state makes your head spin, you stumble forward and someone catches you.

"Easy." Johnny balances you in his arms.

"Simon took too much this time, you'll be fine."he assures. You don't understand.

"What do you mean?" you ask. He doesn't answer.

"Can you walk?"

Like a newborn fawn you try to balance yourself on your shaking legs. He decides you can't and he swoops you up in his arms.

Your head sags as Johnny carries you downstairs. You go into a big room with warmness spreading from a fireplace in the corner. There are two chairs near the fireplace. A man is sitting in one of them, his keen eyes fixated on your form.

You recognize him. It all dawns on you. The memories flood at once into your mind. The terror settling deep in your bones. You trash in Johnny's arms as you approach the vampire. You call him insults, call him a traitor. When he transfers you into Simon's waiting arms you fall silent.

You sit in his lap as he cards his fingers through you hair in a soothing gesture. His breath fans over your head, smelling of blood. Your blood.

"You killed them." your voice waves a little, you tell yourself that's because of your weak state, not because you're scared.

His attention shifts to your words. He only lets out an approving "mhm" sound.

"I got you, you were- how did you even get out?"

His eyes avert to the man behind you.

The hard texture of plastic bumps to the side of your face. Your personal card is being held at the tip of your card holder. It all makes sense.

"I- They will come for me. I'm very important for them." your voice stutters.

"None is coming to save you. If anything, they'd rather have you dead after everything you've done." Johnny calmly explains from behind you. You falter.

"I will just explain everything to them, it was an acciden-"

"It doesn't seem like an accident to me, what do you think Johnny?" Simon asks. What is he talking about?

"No, Simon. It definitely looks like she had been helping us all along."

You understand what they mean very well now. You knew your plan was flawed from the beginning, but you never thought you would fuck up that badly.

You have nowhere to run.

"No, no. I will run away, you will see." you try. It is hard to speak past the knot that has newly formed in your throat.

"You're not going anywhere unless you want to be shot dead. You name is all over the news. Besides," he ducks his head to talk directly into your ear.

"Now that you have my bite, my mark, you can never hide from me. Wherever you're, I will find you."

This sentence makes you feel like your fate just got sealed.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon fixes your sleep schedule

Simon hadn’t realized just how fucked your sleep schedule was until he moved in with you. His birdie.

Waking up in the middle of the night or at the ass crack of dawn only to find you curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone in hand, eyes barely open. Sometimes, you’d be watching a show, other times scrolling mindlessly, and on rare occasions, half-asleep but refusing to actually get up and go to bed.

And then, without fail, you’d spend the next day complaining about how tired you were. You’d drag yourself around the apartment, yawning every five minutes, rubbing at your eyes like a petulant child. And when he told you—plain and simple—that you needed to go to bed earlier, you had the nerve to roll your eyes at him.

“Okay, dad,” you’d say before walking away, completely ignoring his advice.

No amount of reasoning could convince you. If anything, the more he brought it up, the more stubborn you became.

So, Simon took matters into his own hands.

First, he switched out your usual tea for chamomile, hoping it would knock you out easier. Every night, he handed you your favorite mug, tea bag steeping inside, always a different flavor, something new to throw you off. Just in case you started getting suspicious.

You never noticed. Never questioned it. Just sipped at it, curled up in your blanket, completely oblivious.

Then came the melatonin sleep spray. He practically doused the corner of the couch where you always nested, soaking the blankets and pillows in the scent, ensuring that once you settled in, sleep would come whether you liked it or not.

And slowly, it started working.

You began dozing off earlier. The nights where he found you awake at ungodly hours became less frequent. You stopped yawning every other sentence. Stopped rubbing at your eyes like you were seconds away from passing out on your feet.

The dark circles under your eyes faded. Your complaints about exhaustion became fewer and farther between.

He never said anything about it. Never told you. Just watched in silent satisfaction as his plan worked.

But his favorite part? When you passed out on the couch instead of the bed.

Because that meant he got to pick you up, carry you to bed, and watch you sleep peacefully for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead and climbing in beside you.

It was selfish, really.

Because, sure, fixing your sleep schedule was technically for your health. But he couldn’t deny that he loved the way you curled into him when he slipped under the covers. The way you nuzzled into his chest, warm and pliant, letting out a soft sigh in your sleep as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

And, well better sleep also meant more cuddles.

And Simon loved that most of all.

Ik your sleep schedule is fucked. Go to bed.

[partiallysame]

Being Price’s lil wife

-Task force 141 knew Price was married. Man wore his ring religiously, always putting it back on the second they were in the helicopter/plane/whatever after each mission

-He’d come to work with a lunch packed with a cute lil heart note

-To be honest they all assumed you were the same age as Price (old) He always said he’d been “married for years” (3)

-They never knew your name, Price only ever referred to you as The Missus

-Gaz swore Price had a photo of you in his wallet (he did) but they never knew what you looked like untilllllllll

-You called your husband simply to complain. The AC had gone out and the repair man wouldn't be able to get there for a couple days. No no this simply would not do, his perfect lil lady could not be uncomfortable in her own home he wouldn’t have it but fuck he’s out of the country for a few more days. His team however is not and while stupid, they do know how to do maintenance work (why? Just because.)

-He called his team for a very important mission. Gave them the address, accompanied with “I don’t want to hear a fucking thing about you causing any trouble or being disrespectful to the Missus you hear?” The boys were absolutely giddy to finally see the ever so important Missus.

-The second you opened the door Soap was apologizing for having the wrong house and oh so politely asked if you knew where the Price household was. This had to be the wrong one because there you stood, pretty young thing, big doe eyes. Standing in just a big shirt ending at the very tops of your thighs, lashes batting at the three soldiers standing at your door.

-“You’ve got the right place. John told me you were coming, please come in.” You had to hold in a giggle, watching all of their eyes go wide. Gaz immediately looking at the sky, the floor, anywhere but the wife of his captain that he was just undressing with his eyes.

-When you turned to guide them into the house they all saw PRICE printed on the back of the large tshirt just barely covering your ass (this is your own home pants are never required and its hot as hell without the ac). Now it was Ghost’s turn to look anywhere but at you.

-As they worked you’d bring them water or snacks. They now understood why Price kept you hidden from them. The perfect lil housewife. The woman of all of their dreams already taken.

-When they were finished they went to the kitchen to inform you they were done only to find a full meal set on the table waiting for them but worst of all? There you were reaching up to the top cabinet. On your tippy toes, your shirt (Price’s shirt) riding up enough to expose the bottom of your ass and lacey pink panties. Soap had to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. Ghost grabbing the tops of his teammates heads, turning them away from the incredible sight in front of them.

-Price was right to keep you hidden from them

-They might just have to sneak in and break something every time Price was out of town if it meant this is what they got to see.

Price's lil wife Masterlist

[stargildedskies]

Missionary with your fav military man, but his dog tags keep tapping you in the face, causing you to giggle. He scoffs and nips at you playfully before taking the chain in his teeth and thrusting even harder, fucking you up the bed in punishment

[stargirlstabber]

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?

[softaestluv]

next | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Something, something, about the 141 men all being quite obsessed with you, placing bets who could get you first— everyone thinks it’s Kyle, he’s charming, handsome, who wouldn’t swoon at his feet?

Maybe even Johnny, he’s a bit of a dog, but he has a way with women, by some miracle, and he’s smart, maybe it’s his blue eyes.

No one thought it would be Simon, their lieutenant, of all people, anti-social, rough around every edge. A brute, curt, wears a skull.

Then one day, they get a message in the group chat from Simon, a picture attached. Kyle can’t believe it, Price, the dirty old man, saves it to his phone instantly, Johnny has to do a spit-take because there in the photo is you.

But it’s not just you.

It’s you perched on Simon’s lap.

Naked from the head down, back facing the camera, with your face buried in Simon’s neck. Simon gets a low enough angle, gets a perfect view of your pussy, stretched wide over his fat cock. Puffy and swollen, glistening with your sopping arousal.

With a simple sentence:

‘Look who I found’

[7s3ven]

tatted! simon motorcycle shenanigans

TATTED UP! Simon Riley who lets you turn him into a colouring book. He doesn’t care how you colour his tattoos, he just wants to see the scrunched up look of concentration on your cute face.

“What colour do you want?” You murmur as you glance at your numerous eyeshadow palettes. Simon wants to say black or grey but he sees the way you eye the pink palette for a moment too long.

“… Pink.” He finally answers, his gaze focused solely on your bright smile.

You find joy in colouring his arm with various shades of pink and purple as he watches. “Look, so cute.” You murmur, eliciting a low laugh from Simon.

“Yeah.” His voice rumbles, “You wanna colour the rest in?”

BONUS

“Aye, LT, you got your tattoo redone or what?” Jonny can barely hold back his laughter as he looks at Simon’s arm. The previously edgy tattoos were now adorned with feminine colours and glitter.

“No. Just making the misses happy.” Simon doesn’t really care for his teammates’ reactions because the memory of your smile is enough to block out Jonny’s cackles.

[ceilidho]

noncon Uber Pool idea.....

Soap picking you up first so that you can't get out of the car when he stops to pick up Ghost (even though you could've sworn you picked the regular Uber option). has the doors rigged so you can't open them from the inside and immediately cancels the ride after Ghost gets in and says it was an accident but "it's okay, hen, ah know this city like the back of my hand." all while Ghost is just silently manspreading beside you in the backseat and taking up way too much room.

you only realize how fucked you are when you start seeing more trees than buildings.

[quarterlifekitty]

Lately I’ve been getting a kick outta the idea of Ghost having a girlfriend that Johnny is painfully interested in (tale as old as time). But she a lil neurodivergent and selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!). She’s comfortable enough with Simon that she’ll talk to him when they’re alone, but she won’t say a word to Soap (she doesn’t talk to the other guys either, but you know that Johnny chooses to take it so damned personally).

The worst part is that Soap will say shit to her, and she’ll give Simon her little signal so he can bend down and she can talk to him so fucking quietly. It’s like they speak a different language and Simon is the interpreter. And it’s so infuriating to him because shit like this will happen.

“Ain’t you looking a right picture, bonnie— that dress new? Fits ye like a damned glove, sweetheart.”

You tug on Simon’s sleeve so he can lean down. Soap is rocking back and forth on his heels, anticipating an answer. He’s down so bad, he doesn’t even care that he’ll hear it from Simon’s lips and not yours. You whisper for what feels like minutes on end.

“She says thanks.”

“God damn, L.T.— you know she fuckin’ ‘ad to ‘ave said more than that!” He whines indignantly, Simon smirking. Simon knows all about his little crush, and chooses to let the lad suffer. His time will come when you’re ready.

This goes on and on for months on end— and you know what? It’s hard for Johnny to jerk off to the image of you wedged between him and Ghost when he has no idea what you sound like, moaning or otherwise. You can probably see him half hard in his jeans every time he heads home from a movie night with you and Simon.

“G’night, L.T. Night, hen.” Soap’s almost all the way down the walkway when he hears something almost inaudible over the ambient sounds of the night.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Now that’s gonna keep his fantasies fed for weeks.

[bluefalcon-cod]

Blue Falcon – Chapter 1 Teaser

Breaking Sergeant MacTavish was supposed to be revenge. Break Sergeant MacTavish in silence, ruin him piece by piece, and reclaim what was stolen from you. Your name. Your control. Your story. But Ghost saw potential. Now he’s using you. On Soap. For Soap. Sabotage becomes discipline. Discipline becomes control. And control? Control gets complicated when someone starts enjoying it. — Read Chapter 1 on AO3: 🔗 Blue Falcon – Chapter 1: The First Shot Is Silent First time posting. First time sharing anything. This fic is dark, slow, and personal. Full of trauma, control, and the kind of revenge that doesn’t fix anything. If you read it, thank you. If you see yourself in it—hi. You're not alone.

Looking for like-minded COD Fanfic-writers and readers. Message me!

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.