#only then will he drag johnny back up to the surface

[s0fter-sin]

something happening on a mission, something personal that has soap spiralling; panic and rage making him reckless, thoughtless, and ghost has to draw the line

“you’re compromised johnny; you know what that means?”

“you’re not pulling me out,” soap immediately snarls. he turns on him and ghost barely recognises him; venomous fear turning his eyes to unyielding ice. "you're not sidelining me; i need to be in this-!"

but ghost has never been afraid of venom; spat or dripped straight from bared fangs.

he snakes out a hand grip the back of his neck, jerking him in a rough shake. "if you can't think, you can't be a soldier," he growls and he flinches like he's been struck.

his lips quiver as they twist in a sneer and he wrenches, trying to free himself of his hold.

ghost doesn't let him.

"it means you give your body to me because your head ain't fucking attached to it anymore."

soap stills, body trembling beneath his hand as he sucks in shaking breaths.

he tightens his grip, pulling him closer and digs his forehead hard into his. “it means you give yourself to me so i can have the weapon that you are and use you the way you're meant to be used."

the ice in soap's eyes fractures.

ghost’s voice drops to a whisper, spoken only to johnny, not this facade of vengeance and pain, and wills it to reach him through the glaciers.

“so i can keep you safe ‘til it’s done and i can bring you back.”

[lundenloves]

fatherhood

This happened. *Holding a fist to my mouth, biting on them knuckles.* This happened as a combination result of an awful sleeping schedule and unemployment. Banged this out in an hour. Don’t tell me it’s obvious, i’ll fold. Happy reading, kids.

↳ no warnings | 1.1k | f!reader

part two | dad!simon masterlist

the way his eyes make me want to howl in tears while digging my own grave isn’t actually canon. sigh.

Ghost stood still for thirty-two seconds, standing in near open fire on enemy view. One that was only guarded by a particularly large tree, saving his life when Soap had dragged him down to cover by his tac vest. “What the fuck, Lt.” He’d shout over the fire, his brows tightened in a frown toward his lieutenant. “Eh?”

Ignoring the sergeant, Ghost would continue the rest of the assault half-heartedly. Which was disconcerting to say the least, and so, so unlike him. Only mumbling over the comms when required, saving the already minimal chit-chat and failing to hear the multiple requests for backup from Gaz.

Johnny had been bold that night. Hitting his lieutenant on the shoulder and fucking grabbing his mask, turning Ghost’s head toward him. Well, for the mere two seconds Simon had allowed for it before pushing him off. “What’s wrong with you, Lt? For fuck sake. You’re scaring me ae.”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“Naw. You focus, sir.” He placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, before standing up and checking round the corner. “Let’s move, yeah?”

Simon’s jaw tightened under his mask, begrudgingly following Soap. Comms fucking yapping on in his ear, and he barked back at them while gesturing Johnny keep walking. It wasn’t ideal, yet so poignant to see him so different.

You.

You had gone into labour with Simon’s baby. The issue was, he had found out before going out on the current assault. His military mind raced with every possible travesty to do with childbirth. He feared you weren’t going to make it without him for unknown reasons, he felt it.

Soap didn’t know. No one knew.

He was good at that, keeping things to himself. Especially the things that ate at him — never did they ever come out aside from when Johnny forced them. Even then it was a battle.

So when they arrived back to base in safety, all trudging back to a meeting room. Gathering thoughts and sharing collected information, it was odd that Simon hadn’t shown. Not just odd, but almost scandalous as Johnny would say.

No messages. Nothing.

He hadn’t heard from you and in his head that meant fucking death at this rate. The balaclava came off for a split second, looking at himself in the lens of some sunglasses sat on a shelf adjacent to him. The stubble he had left was itchy against the fabric, smoothing his hand across his jaw he put his head into his hands.

Although, the balaclava was back on in under a minute for the subconscious feeling of vulnerability creeping in. And he was right to feel so when the door to his office had been knocked on, so light that he knew it was Soap before even opening the door.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, standing in front of his desk with arms crossed. Johnny entered and shut the door behind him, his hands flat on the surface.

“Lt. Are you alright, sir?” The way his eyes narrowed was enough to make Simon’s roll.

“Just grand.”

Although the tough facade was almost dropped when his phone had pinged from the desk. Jaw tensing at the sound, he was sure his fingers had twitched at the need to reach behind himself for it. Soap stared pointedly at the way the heel of his boot tapped against the floor, his fingers now looped in the pockets of his tac vest.

“Check it then.” The Scot nodded toward the desk.

“Do you need anything?” Simon asked. The dead stare he gave was piercing, shifting his feet to lean forward from the desk a little.

Johnny pointed to the desk, “It’s ringing, sir.”

For a moment, Simon did consider kicking Johnny out but figured. Fuck it. Reaching for the phone behind him to find it were a FaceTime from you, his own masked face staring back at him. This was probably it. The worst or best news of his life only a swipe away. With fucking Johnny MacTavish only feet away from whatever reaction Simon would undoubtedly suppress.

And well, it wasn’t so bad, Soap knew you. He knew you well. Well enough to the point where throughout your pregnancy he had been labelled ‘uncle Johnny’ by yourself much to Simon's demise

So when he swiped to answer, and was virtually face-to-face with a newborn it was a… chaotic feeling in his stomach to say the least. One that dropped to the floor when the baby had cried loud, a strangled babble that turned into a scream.

“Shh, shh,” Your voice mumbled over the line, zero energy throughout but just enough for Simon. “Daddy is there. Look baby, he’s here.” You had framed both yourself and the tiny baby on your chest, voice wavering with the last few words.

Johnny couldn’t save himself from the steps he took forward, planting a hard grip on Simon’s shoulder and shaking him slightly in glee. “Congratulations, mate.”

Simon took the balaclava off, his hair strewn across his forehead and spiking in every which way. He had no idea what to say, holding the fabric close to his chest and staring in awe.

“She’s beautiful, Si.” Was all you had said, obviously exhausted but confirming the gender for the first time.

Simon felt his knees buckle at the thought of having a little girl in the world, the familiar feeling of worry was completely wiped. The image of the little person enough to change his whole mindset, no longer was he scared but ready.

Ready to give his little girl whatever she wanted.

He was still lost for words when the call had ended. A promise of another at the same time tomorrow was the only thing that kept him upright, pulling the balaclava back on and looking to Johnny who cracked a grin.

“You’re a fuckin’ dad, Lt.”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes before holding the door open for the two of them. “Can I tell ‘em?” Soap continued, gesturing toward the group they were walking to.

“If you must.” Simon let a small smile take his face, content in the fact it was well hidden.

“Oi!” He’d called out, jogging ahead of his lieutenant and slamming his hands on the information table, sending many papers flying off edges. “Lt has stepped into fatherhood.”

The men erupted into deep voiced cheers just to wind their lieutenant up, all shaking his shoulders and drawing the attention of the whole fucking camp toward them.

It was the first time he had felt himself smile properly in months. His ears tinted a deep red although not visible, neck likewise.

Fatherhood it was.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

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[eilidh-eternal]

Today I’m thinking about reader who owns a café/restaurant/bakery, and when you fuck up the recipe for something you accidentally summon Demon!Simon who decides you’re coming back with him to share with the rest of the 141.

(Cw for dub con)

He is, of course, mildly annoyed that he’s been so rudely pulled away from his afternoon tea with Johnny, and just as baffled as you are that he’s standing there with you, covered in flour, looking like you’re about to pass out.

“Messed up the recipe, didn’t ya?” You nod, incapable of words at the moment, and he sighs, dragging a shadowy hand down his face. “The salt?”

“Uh-huh…” All you can do is stare at this thing that’s just appeared in your kitchen in a smoky cloud, slack jawed and frozen to the spot because, apparently, adding too much salt to pound cake results in summoning sinfully attractive demons. “W-what do you want?” You tell yourself the wobble of your voice is because of the whispering tendrils of shadow and smoke that slither around him, crawl and twine up his arms like serpents before dissipating into the velvety darkness that floats around him, not because of his chiseled fucking jaw or the cut of his Adonis belt disappearing below his waistband.

“Me?” He scoffs, tilting his head to peer more closely at you. “You summoned me, little witch-”

“I’m not a witch,” you interject, but he pays you no mind.

“The only thing I want is to get back to my tea.” Johnny would have pouted had he been here to hear that, offended by the notion the tea is the only thing he’s missing right now, but the image of pouty, puppy-eyed Johnny, whining about Simon not paying enough attention to him, has his lips curling and cock stirring.

“Tea?” Such an innocent thing, blissfully unaware of his wandering thoughts.

“That not a thing here anymore?”

“Um… yeah, it is. I just… demons drink tea?”

“Among other things.” He revels in the way your eyes widen, lips falling open in shock again, and you take an unconscious step back. He takes a step forward and watches your throat work to swallow, thinks you’re rather pretty when you’re scared and confused as he prowls ever closer. “Well, since I’m here,” he braces his hands on the work bench opposite of you, leans forward and you stumble back into the counter behind you, “how about we make a deal?”

“A deal?”

“That is how these things tend to work.” Your hands grip the counter behind you hard enough to dent the smooth metal surface, knuckles blanched and fingers trembling.

“But I… I didn’t mean to summon you! It was an accident, I-” You don’t get to finish your protests, stunned into silence by the sudden closeness when he’s suddenly chest to chest with you, slipping through some fold in the fabric of space and reality to crowd you further against the counter, bracketed between two impossibly muscular arms.

“Doesn’t matter. ‘M here now, and ‘m not leavin’ without one. I’ll even let ya choose which part of ya I take with me.” He can feel your poor little heart beating frantically against his own chest, can see the confusion and fear on your face as you struggle to parse out the meaning of his words.

“P-part?” He hums, tilting his head again and letting his gaze drag over you, leans further into the plush swell of your breasts and bends down to brush his nose against the column of your neck, breathing in your lush scent. His hips are pressed flush to yours and he can’t help but notice how soft you are against him, even rigid with fear as you are, how perfectly you fit there, and he grinds into you, pressing you further against the counter.

You whine against the metal digging into your back and it sends a shudder snaking down his spine, draws a low, throaty growl from him, and he draws back just enough to peer into your stricken face.

“P-please don’t… don’t hurt me.”

“Only if ya ask me to.”

“I’ll give you whatever y-you want.”

“I want you.”

Your eyes are so wide, irises a speck of color against glassy porcelain, an errant splatter of paint on an empty canvas, and you shiver beneath him, bite your lip so hard he can smell the tang of blood in the air when you break the skin, and his tongue darts out as he imagines tasting the sweet ichor staining your lips.

“You… you mean my soul?” There’s a cautious optimism to your voice, as if selling your soul to him and his ilk is preferable to the other possibilities, all of the wicked scenarios, floating around in that pretty little head of yours. He hums in thought, drags a finger from your elbow up to your shoulder, and his lips peek back in a sharp-toothed grin when you tremble at the sensation.

“I do. Or I could just take you, soul and all.”

“But I’m a good person, I can’t go to-”

“Hell? Oh lovie… all the good girls go to Hell.” He croons and chucks you under the chin, forces you to stare up into the dark depths of his gaze, and grins down at you.

“No, no that’s not true-“

“Lucifer was an angel, Gods favorite, before he fell.”

“He fell because he defied his orders.”

“He was damned because he fought for freedom.”

Your face twists into a frown, brows drawing together and eyes narrowing at him, and he chuckles at the spark of defiance growing in you. He finds it amusing how you suddenly find your wit caged between his arms and pinned against his chest, like his mere presence draws out the rebellion in you.

“If you take me back with you, what do I get out of this? It is a deal after all, that’s how these things tend to work,” you throw back at him, puffing up your chest and standing a bit taller.

Johnny is going to love watching you combust, and Gaz is going to absolutely adore you, lives to compete with Johnny for pretty moans and whimpers of their names. Price will revel in taking you apart, piece by piece, and Simon… He’ll be there to stamp out the flames, to put you back together and show you the real difference between Heaven and Hell.

“Come with me and your little restaurant will only ever know success from this day forward, will never see another month in the red.” Your brows pull tighter and you bite your lip again as you consider his offer, ask yourself if it’s worth it, and he can see it in your eyes the exact moment that you decide it is. “Wha’d’ya say, lovie? Do we have ourselves a deal?”

“Yes.” Your voice is small, hesitant despite the determined set of your jaw, and the moment your assent leaves your lips Simon’s swooping down to capture them with his own, swallowing your gasp as he tastes the iron on your skin—sealing your deal with him.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.7k / 21 / soap soulmate au, part 2

...

Unfortunately, Ghost finds you before Soap does.

Ghost yanks you by the elbow, cuffs around your wrists, dragging you to an unmarked military vehicle, pistol in hand.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask him.

He shoves you into the back seat and slams the door, gets in on the other side and starts the car up. You right yourself, having been shoved hard enough for your ribs to bounce off the leather seats.

He answers without looking at you. "The base." Curt, cold, and pissed. He drops the gun barrel-down into the cup holder.

"We just left the base."

"Huh. So we did." He keeps his eyes on the road. "Ain't that funny."

There’s a chance he’s not 141. As if there’s some other brick shithouse of a man who wears a skull balaclava around.

You shift in your seat. "What do you want from me?"

“Nothin' that'll feel good, I can tell ya that." He rests his elbow on the center console. “We’re gonna have a long talk."

"And then what?"

“Dunno. Maybe a bullet. Depends on how much you piss me off. Got a lot of questions to ask you first.”

Great.

You look around. This isn’t a police vehicle. Barely a military vehicle. There’s no barrier between you and that gun in the front seat cupholder. But you’re not an idiot. He knows you won't go for it, too, but he wants you to try.

You lean back, looking out the window at your side. "You can still turn yourself in. You don’t need to resort to hostages.”

“I made my choice. Not a difficult choice, considering how corrupt Shadow Company is."

“Orders are orders.”

“You always follow orders to arrest your friends, no questions asked?”

“When there’s good reason to.”

"Good reason, my ass. You're just a mindless dog, doing whatever Graves says. You think he'll protect you from the consequences of his actions? He'll toss you to the wolves in a heartbeat if it means saving his own sorry ass."

"That's not true."

"It's the mercenary way, innit. Sell yourself to the highest bidder and tell yourself orders are orders."

You brace one boot on the other, slowly working one foot free from inside. "Military’s the same. Only difference between us is you're salaried."

“I fight for a cause. Can’t say the same for your line of work. All you know how to do is gun targets down for cash and a little approval from your boss. Pathetic.”

Your heel slides loose. “No cause is clean. You can’t tell me you’ve never seen corruption in your line of work. Or a bad call. Or an unnecessary death.”

He grips the wheel, glaring at you in the mirror. “Doesn’t make it right. Sure as hell doesn’t mean you turn a blind eye to goddamn betrayal in your own ranks.”

“Some bureaucrat in a suit fumbling the bag and trying to right wrongs doesn’t make us corrupt. Graves knows what he’s doing—"

"So you knew."

Your jaw snaps closed mid-sentence. Shit.

He's staring right at you in the rearview mirror, eyes so cold they could freeze the breath in your lungs. "You knew about Shepherd. Didn't you?"

You swallow, looking away from the mirror and out the window. Your left foot finally comes free, and you shift subtly to brace your heel on your right boot, beginning to work your right foot loose next. "Doesn't matter."

“You followed orders to turn on your own allies, knowing they came from Shepherd. Knowing all he cares about is covering his own mistakes." He grips and re-grips the wheel slowly, as if he's thinking hard about picking up that handgun and ending your life in a ditch somewhere. "Welcomed us into a slaughterhouse for a fistful of cash. Bet you sleep real easy at night."

You trust Graves. He’s never steered you wrong. You were doing the right thing by following orders. That mantra is stuck in your throat. You want it to be true, but then there’s Johnny.

Ghost hasn't mentioned him by name. The Shadows never found him—he got away—but you don't dare let yourself think about the implications of him being alive and knowing about you. You put it out of your mind as soon as the thought surfaces, even. You made a deal with yourself that you'd never dwell on it again. Much less ask his very hostile squadmate about it. You’re not about to offer your arteries up to a butcher.

"Shepherd is in your chain of command, too."

"Not anymore. You and yours made sure of that."

"You didn't have to defect. Commander Graves asked you to come quietly. You would've been fine. You didn't do anything wrong, right?” You hear an edge in your tone and blunt it back down. "You didn't have anything to hide. But you turned it into a firefight."

"You realize you’re defending the bastard that sold out me and my team. You think I'd lay down, let him put us in some jail cell to rot for the rest of our days? I've seen too many people follow orders, trusting that everyone above them has their best interests at heart. Seen more than a few of them get punished at the hands of men like Shepherd. I'm not giving him another chance to betray me.” You still feel his eyes on you in the mirror, but you don't look. "You never once stopped and questioned what you were told to do? Or did it not matter because your loyalty was to your company, not the right thing?" His voice is flat. "That's the difference between me and you. I don't look for excuses to feel better about my actions. And I damn sure don't turn my gun on my allies.”

Your stomach curls with discomfort. "You had a choice. You knew how this would end for you."

"Rather be a wanted criminal for the right reasons than a gun being pointed at whoever Shepherd wants dead. And wouldn't you know it--I'm in damn good company, too. Turns out sticking to a moral code earns you a little more loyalty than payin’ cash. But you want to know what the best part of being a criminal is?" He taps out an odd little tune on the wheel, but there’s nothing warm or cute about it. The loaded gun would be friendlier to contend with. “I don’t have to follow Shepherd’s orders. I’m free to deal with this little problem as I see fit, and no one can tell me I’m wrong. If I kill some mercenaries who would arrest me on sight, that's just the unfortunate collateral damage that comes with my newfound freedom and your buddies following orders."

You consider that for a long moment. “So when do you plan to kill me?”

"Depends on whether or not I like what I hear in the next couple of hours. Might change my mind in that time. Might not." He takes his hand off the steering wheel to lean back a little. The road is empty, stretching long into the horizon. "The more I hear you talk, the more I feel like shooting you just for the sake of it. But I've got too many questions for that, so..." He lets the implied you live for now hang in the air, then taps the wheel again. "We'll see how the rest of this convo goes."

You manage to slide your right heel free. You glance up to see him looking at you in the mirror again. Your heart skips. You think he's caught you. But he doesn't say anything, and you realize he's just examining you, mulling something over.

“I don’t know what you think I can tell you, but I don’t know anything,” you say.

“Why don’t you just stay quiet and think about all that stuff you don’t know. Maybe we’ll starve you until you talk; maybe we’ll grease your palms. That’s how you operate, hm?”

He’s trying to make you angry, make you take the bait, but you don’t. You know what you are.

You keep both feet carefully lowered into your boots so as not to rouse suspicion. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you and your buddy got hurt.”

That seems to catch him off guard. He frowns. A beat passes where he doesn't say anything, just watches you. Not angry or suspicious, just... calculating. "Not worth much. And his name is Johnny. But you knew that, didn't you?"

You look away. Ghost's cell phone rings.

The sound pulls his attention away from you. He glances down at the display with a frown.

"On with Ghost." A short reply. "Yeah, I got her. About three hours out." He glances at you once as the person on the other line says something else, but after a few more seconds, you can tell he's more concerned with what they're saying than with you.

This is your chance.

With his eyes fixed on the road, you silently pull your cuffed arms under you, lifting your feet deftly through the loop of your arms.

You glance down at the gun one more time. He’s holding the phone with his left hand; driving with his right. Still, even with your hands in front of you, you’re cuffed. You won’t have a chance if you go for that gun and he gets it away from you. It won’t end well.

Plan B, then.

You push your feet back into your boots and slide yourself behind his seat.

"Hey!"

Drill Sergent voice. Busted.

He hits the brakes, drops his phone, and reaches for the pistol.

You slam your feet into the back of his seat, sending him crashing forward and trapping him between the seat and the wheel. The horn blares. The car jerks and runs off the road.

Cuffed hands in front of you, you throw your weight against the driver's side door and grab the handle. He reacts, but not quick enough, his gloved hand snatching at the space where yours were a second after you get the door open.

You dive outside, crash to the ground, roll ungracefully away from the back wheels as they roar past, and use the momentum to get back to your feet. The car keeps rolling, driver's side door still open. It's still moving fast, and you landed hard. That's going to hurt in a minute. Not yet, though.

You run.

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

[babydollmarauders]

MARSHMALLOW — JOHN MARINO

john marino x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n and her boyfriend get up to no good at the Devils christmas party

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, alcohol, cussing, extreme domination, heavy degradation, oral (m receiving), p in v (unprotected), i think that’s all? (3.6k words)

notes: welcome to day 4 of the 12 days of kinkmas! this is quite possibly the most degrading smut i’ve written so far, so if you ignore the warnings and go ahead and read it anyways, don’t come crying to me if you didn’t like it <3

“oh c’mon Johnny!”

Jack’s grating voice floats over the rest of the noise that bounces throughout the captain’s apartment, his hands gripping John’s shoulders as he shakes the boy from behind.

“you don’t wanna take a body shot off your smokin’ girlfriend?”

John’s head whips around to look at his teammate, a scowl resting on his face, “don’t call my girlfriend smokin’.”

“is she not?” Jack laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at the older boy.

“of course she is,” John states, shrugging Jack’s hands off his shoulders, “but you don’t get to think so.”

i roll my eyes at my boyfriend’s possessive nature, slinking closer to his figure, which stands besides the empty kitchen island.

“alright, alright,” Jack caves, “but if you won’t take the shot, someone else will.”

i can practically see the gears turning in John’s head, his eyes flickering between me and Jack.

“no, they will not.” i chime in. my hands come to rest on the defenseman’s chest, slowly traveling up to his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

“nobody else’s lips or tongue are coming anywhere near my body, baby.” i assure him, pulling his head down until his lips are mere inches from mine. “if you don’t want to, that’s okay. but you’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

“damn right, i am.” John gruffs, his eyes darkening as he pulls away. he pats the empty counter. “hop up, beautiful.”

a sultry grin pulls at my lips, hastily following his orders and pulling myself up onto the counter.

the kitchen full of hockey players cheer, any wives and girlfriends whistling as i pull my tank top off, leaving me in only a dark red bralette.

John’s hand connects lightly with my collarbone, gingerly pushing me backwards until the heated skin of my back makes contact with the cold marble countertop.

a shiver rolls down my spine, one side of his lips quirking up into a smirk. he takes hold of the ziploc bag of crushed peppermint candy cane from the counter, sprinkling a small bit on my sternum between my breasts.

Jack hands me a mini marshmallow from the bag in his hands, whilst Dawson hands his friend a shot glass of luke-warm cocoa with peppermint vodka.

“THREE!” the crowded kitchen counts down and i stick my tongue out, placing the mini marshmallow near the tip of my tongue.

“TWO!” John readies, shaking out any nerves as he prepares to down the muddy brown liquid.

“ONE!” i blink up at my boyfriend.

“GO!”

John clinks the shot glass against the counter before throwing the cocoa back into his mouth in one big gulp. his head dips down, his wet tongue dragging up my cleavage, collecting the crushed candy cane.

a shaky breath passes my lips, resisting the urge to throw my head back in pleasure at the feeling of his tongue and hot breath against my skin.

his face pops into my view as his tongue presses against mine prior to capturing it between his lips, sucking the marshmallow off of my tongue.

my eyelids flutter closed, eyes rolling back in my head. he releases my tongue, hastily transforming the movement into a deep kiss, his lips locking with mine before he pulls away.

Jack and Dawson shout, shaking their friend around as he smiles goofily.

“fuck yeah, Johnny!”

John rolls his eyes playfully, shaking his friends off. he steps back over to the counter while i sit back up, my legs hanging over the edge of the counter.

his hands wrap around my hips, lifting me off the surface and placing my feet back on the ground. he swiftly grabs my discarded tank top off the counter, shoving it into his back pocket as i press my chest to his.

“Johnny.” i breathe out to grasp his attention. he looks back down at me, his sight ripping away from Jack to find me gazing up at him.

my eyes are dark, pupils blown and breathing heavy as i sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

“baby,” he drags out, voice dropping in warning.

“that was so hot.” i whisper, lust dripping from my words as my hips push against him, his semi-hard bulge pressing against my pelvis; letting me note that the experience was just as sexy for him as it was for me.

“we’re at Nico’s.” he reminds me quietly, his lips grazing my ear.

“he won’t notice.” i state, my head nodding over to where his captain stands, immersed in conversation with Timo.

John scans the kitchen, finding everyone minding their own business, talking amongst themselves and paying no attention to us.

“fuck.” he curses, his hand grasping my own. he yanks my arm, pulling me out of the kitchen, down the hall to Nico’s guest room.

he shoves me into the room, slamming the door behind him. he steps closer, fingers digging into my waist as he spins us around, my back harshly meeting the door. his lips crash against mine, my hands holding onto his shoulders, straining on my tiptoes in order for my lips to meet his.

his tongue swipes across the seam of my lips, one hand sliding down to squeeze my ass, pulling at one cheek and making me gasp. he takes the chance to shove his tongue past my lips, tangling with mine while he uses his grip on my ass to pull me closer, his quickly hardening erection brushing against my heat.

i can feel my dampening panties stick to my core, making me let out a whine at the feeling.

John rips away, red swollen lips brushing against mine. he walks backwards, pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor.

i follow after him until he stops near the end of the bed, hooking my fingers into the front of his jeans.

“on your knees, sweetheart.” he demands, taking pleasure in the way i immediately drop down in front of him.

his eyes darken, biting his bottom lip as he stares down at me. his fingers drop down to the button of his jeans, slipping the metal through the hole and unzipping before he pulls them down, his boxer briefs falling down with them.

his cock springs free, nearly slapping against his abdomen, tip red and angry, precum beading at the slit.

my thighs clench together, my mouth salivating at the sight.

“look at you,” he tsk’s, shaking his head. “such a fucking whore, clenching your thighs together.”

his hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back to look into his eyes and drawing a gasp from my lips.

“so horny, just from a fucking body shot.” he gruffs, “bet you’re fucking soaking. aren’t you?”

i mewl, nodding my head shortly.

“that’s what i thought.” he huffs in disapproval. “such a slut, i bet you would get worked up like this if anyone did that shot, wouldn’t you?”

he gives me no chance to answer before he speaks again.

“hmm? you’d get this worked up if fucking Nate did that shot, wouldn’t you?” he yanks at my hair again, my jaw falling open as my eyes roll back, shaking my head. “words, slut.”

“no.” i whimper, “no, no. just you. only you, Johnny.”

he hums in approval, his grip loosening in order to pet my fallen hair out of my face sweetly.

“yeah? prove it.” he croons, “suck my cock.”

my hand wraps around the base of his length, squeezing, and i begin to pump him slowly. my lips fall back open, my tongue lolling out as i lick up the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging vein that rests there.

when i get to his tip, he shoves my head down lightly, urging me to take him in.

“shit.” he curses as i slide him into my mouth, my warm tongue flattening on the underside of him as i relax my throat, bobbing my head. my hand stays wrapped around him, jerking what i can’t fit.

with each bob, his tip hits the back of my throat, coaxing a gag out of me amidst his moans.

the sound of christmas music and loud conversations still float through the crack under the locked door, covering our noise from the world outside of this room.

i peer up through my lashes, finding his chin tilted down, his eyes set on me. his jaw is slack, and i run my free hand over the ridges on his abs, feeling them tense under my fingertips.

a mix of saliva and precum drools from my lips, providing lubrication for his cock to slip farther with each head bob.

i pull off of him with a pop, my tongue darting out to lick his tip before my lips close around it, sucking gently while my tongue swirls.

his gasp is like music to my ears, his grasp on my hair tightening, pulling a moan from my throat. the vibrations travel up his cock, making it twitch, and he lets out a loud groan.

his hand slides around to cup my cheek, forcing me to look up at him again as my hair falls to frame my face.

“you think you can take it all, baby?” my lips leave his tip, my hand still jerking him, and i nod. his thumb traces my bottom lip as he speaks again. “yeah? you think you can be a good girl for me?”

i nod again and he takes my consent. his hand goes back to holding my hair up in a makeshift ponytail as he pushes my head further down, and i relax my throat, letting him thrust in until my nose touches his pubic bone.

i focus on breathing through my nose as he stills, basking in the feeling, but the moment quickly falls when i begin to gag. he uses his grip on my hair to pull me off of him, watching me as tears roll down my cheeks.

“again.” i whisper, my voice hoarse from the abuse of my throat.

“you sure?” his eyes are soft, but as i nod, they darken once more. he guides himself back into my mouth, making quick work of thrusting this time. rather than stilling, he begins to fuck my face.

moans pour from his lips, his head falling back in pleasure.

“you’re so good.” he hisses. “just a cock hungry little whore for me, aren’t you?”

i hum in agreement around his cock and his hips begin to stutter, his guiding of my head quickly stopping as he pulls me off of him for the last time.

i look up at him and his hands lock at the nape of my neck, tugging me up into a bruising kiss.

my body falls against his, my lips parting, and he slips his tongue in, tangling it with mine. my hands explore his body, smoothing along his bare chest and up to his shoulders.

“tell me what you want.” he speaks against my lips, his tongue flicking across them. “you want me to fuck you like the whore you are, right?

“you want me to use you for my pleasure; fuck you dumb until all you can scream is my name.”

his words go straight to my core, only making me wetter. a whimper resonates from my throat, a smirk growing on his lips at the sound.

“i need you to say yes, baby.” he lays kisses up my throat, leaving wet marks in his wake, until he reaches my ear. his lips ghost my outer ear as he whispers. “i need to know you want it before i treat you like the dumb, drippy little cock whore that you are.”

a shaky breath passes my split lips, my jaw relaxed as he continues his attack against my neck.

“i want it.” i tremble at his touch; his hands trailing up my hot skin. “i want it so bad, John.”

he pulls away, leaving goosebumps littering my body at the loss of his touch.

“strip for me.”

John takes a seat on the bed, staring at me with watchful eyes, and i’m suddenly insecure under his gaze.

my hands shake as i pull my bralette over my head, my pebbled nipples hitting the cold air and causing chills to wrack my body.

his eyes lock on my breasts for a moment before dragging down my body, watching as i pull my skirt down my body, my panties being dragged down with it.

his hand reaches out to pull me toward him, between his spread legs, and my hands thread into the hair at the nape of his neck.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to my stomach. he trails up my body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. his lips follow a path between my breasts, agonizingly slow until he reaches my neck.

he nips at my skin, sucking and dragging his tongue over the spot before he pulls away, blowing cool air against the spot and making me squirm in his grip.

he stands, twisting me in his arms before spinning us around so my knees hit the edge of the mattress. he gives me a shove, bending me over the bed, and i brace myself on my forearms, my ass brushing against his dick.

“you’re glistening for me.” he remarks.

i jolt as his fingers swipe through my slick folds, spreading my wetness around my cunt, and he chuckles lowly when i cry out as he thrusts a thick digit into me suddenly.

“Johnny.” i sob out, rolling my hips down against his hand.

“god, you’re so fucking needy.” he grunts, pulling his hand away and making me groan in want. “i’m gonna ruin you.”

his hand closes around the front of my throat, his other wrapping around the base of his cock, guiding it through my moisture. my back arches when his tip hits against my swollen clit, a broken whimper dropping from my lips when he shoves into me.

“shhh, be a good girl and take this dick.” his grip on my throat tightens, his other hand grasping my waist.

he uses his touch to anchor himself as he pounds into me, his tip hitting repeatedly against my g-spot.

he swiftly hooks an arm around my leg, bringing it up to kneel on the bed in order to open my pussy even further for him.

tears already prick my eyes but this new angle brings a high pitched moan from my lips, my face falling forward and hair dropping down. my arms feel weak, shaking underneath me.

“this pussy was made for me. made for me to use; to get myself off in.” John’s voice is tight and strained, his hips slapping against my ass as he speaks. “say it.”

“i-it-” i stutter, struggling to speak over the sounds of his cock thrusting into my wetness.

“i-i-i-” he mocks me. his hand from my throat drops down to roughly squeeze my breast, “have i fucked you dumb already?”

“it was made for you.” i squeak out, back arching again as he twists and pinches at my nipple, “my pussy is yours to use.”

he drops down, his sweaty chest pressing against my back, his lips pressing against the nape of my neck before he brings them to my ear.

“good girl.”

he stands back to his full height, hands on my waist, using his grip to push me forward and pull me back onto his dick, moving me with his thrusts; manhandling me like his own personal sex doll.

“touch yourself.” he orders, “rub your clit like the needy little whore that you are.”

my hand dips down between my legs, making my upper half press into the mattress, and my middle finger slowly begins to rub the puffy bundle of nerves.

John gives my ass a harsh smack, coaxing a scream to bubble up my throat, and he hastily leans forward, shoving his fingers in my mouth.

“unless your screaming my name, you shut your damn mouth. do you wanna get caught?” he hisses.

“i- no- i-” i babble around his fingers, and he shoves them slightly deeper against my tongue.

“jesus, i really have fucked you dumb.” he spits, “i said to shut your mouth, do you understand?”

i nod my head as best as i can with it pressed into the mattress.

“good.” his thrusts speed up, urging my finger on my clit to rub faster, and i can feel a familiar pit forming in my lower stomach.

repeated murmurs of his name frantically form in my mouth around his fingers, my eyes rolling back and my body twitching as i clench around him.

“don’t come.” he demands, and i whimper as i try and hold back. “i’m close. don’t you dare fucking come.”

the pressure builds, tears falling from my eyes and onto the bed sheets as i try and hold back my release.

he fucks into me rapidly, losing his rhythm as his hips stutter, his dick twitching inside of me.

“come.” his one word spurs me to finally let go, my toes curling against the carpeted floor and my breath hitching in my throat as i finally release on his cock.

his cum spurts out in ropes, covering my insides and making further squelches as he fucks me through our orgasms. his fingers dig into my waist, surely leaving bruises, and a grunt leaves his clenched jaw.

he thrusts a few more times before pulling out, the empty feeling making me whine.

his hands begin slowly caressing up and down my back in comforting lines.

“hey.” he coos, using his strength to lift my frail figure off the bed. my legs wobble as i stand and he spins me around to face him.

his eyes are soft, filled with love and the familiar sense of home that i’m used to.

“are you okay, baby?” his hand cups my cheek, his thumb dragging to wipe the drool from around my mouth. i hum, nodding my head softly. “did i hurt you?”

i shake my head and he shakes his in return.

“i need words, beautiful. reassurance.” his voice is gentle, and he presses a light kiss to my forehead.

“you didn’t hurt me, Johnny. i’m okay.” i assure him and a small smile plays at his lips.

“how are you feeling?”

“good,” i start before adding, “sticky.”

he laughs and a grin spreads across my face at the melodic sound.

“let’s clean you up, and then you can decide if you wanna go home or go back out to the party.”

he guides me to the en-suite bathroom, gathering a few cottonelle wipes from the pack on the back of the toilet, and i bend over the counter, wiping the mascara smudges from around my eyes as he cleans me up from behind.

“you’re so beautiful.” he whispers, my still bare ass pressing against him as he leans forward to drop kisses along the tops of my shoulders. “i love you. you know that, right?”

i nod, peering back at him with puckered lips. he locks his lips with mine, twisting my body around mid-kiss in order to wrap his arms around my waist, locking them at the small of my back.

“i love you too, John.” i utter against his lips and he pulls away to give me a wide smile. i scrunch my nose at him, his head dropping back down to rub his nose against mine.

“let’s get dressed.” i nod, leading the way back to the bedroom, and we get redressed, John finally returning my tank top from earlier in the night.

“do you wanna go home?” he asks me once we’re fully clothed.

“no.” i shake my head, my hand resting on the wrist of his hand which cups my cheek. “let’s go back out and celebrate the holidays with our friends.”

“and then, when we finally do get home, we can take a bath.” i add, making him nod.

“whatever you want, love.”

his hand slips down to hold mine as he unlocks the bedroom door, opening it up and slipping back out into the still wild party.

“ayo! there you are!” Jack cheers as we find him in the living room, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders. “was beginning to think you guys left with an irish goodbye to go home and fuck.”

John chuckles with Jack, shaking his head.

“nah, we’ve been around.” he assures his shorter teammate.

he slings his arm around my shoulders, my hand still holding his, and i peek over to look at Nico, who stands quietly next to Dawson, who speaks a mile a minute in his captains ear.

Nico finds my gaze, raising his eyebrows and smirking over the top of his beer bottle. my face flushes in embarrassment and fear that he knew what happened in his guest bedroom, but then his eyes dart to the side towards Dawson and i realize he’s giving me a ‘get a load of this guy’ look.

i giggle, burying myself further into John’s side, who gazes down at me mid-conversation and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“so, y/n,” Luke sidles up next to me, a spiked eggnog in his hand as he escapes the never ending flow of words that come from his older brothers mouth. “have fun?”

my head whips over to look at the young defenseman, a smirk resting on his lips. i tell myself that he’s just making conversation, asking if i’m having fun at the party, but then his eyes flicker between me and the hallway that houses the doors to the bedrooms and blood rushes to my cheeks.

fuck.

[ambrozjas]

the gang x reader who loves makeup ꨄ︎

the outsiders x reader (separate)

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

guys i swear i’m working on your requests i just wanted to use this as a filler to feed you guys while you wait, but trust me, i’m workin on it 💕 thank you for all the likes and reqs !! love you all xoxo

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

some curse words, makeup, reader is compared to “a girl in a magazine” in johnnys part, kissing?? i dunno 😭

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

DARRY’s thumb rubs along your thigh. he lay on his bed while you were sat at the desk besides him. you placed your vanity mirror on the wooden surface and had been working on your makeup for about half an hour.

darry had seen his mother put on makeup whenever she’d go out with his father, so he had a better idea of makeup than someone like steve or two bit. he liked whenever you asked him questions like ‘this or that’.

“which one? peach or mint?” you asked as you held up two lip glosses, the peach gloss in a soft pink tube and the mint in a sage green one.

darry seemed to think for a moment, humming in thought. “th’peach one.” he finally said, nodding his head in the direction of where you were holding the peach tube.

“thanks, dare.” you mumbled, your lips forming an ‘o’ shape, ready for application.

“why do you always put on makeup?” he asks, eyes fixated on you. a satisfying pop of your lips before you look over to him and shrug.

“dunno, makes me feel pretty.”

“you’re always pretty, darlin’.” darry continues, moving his hand from your thigh to your hand, interlocking both your fingers and squeezing.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“how d’ya get that thing so close to your eye?” SODAPOP asks. you’ve been doing your makeup for about ten minutes, soda watching you like a hawk.

“i just raise my eyelid and put the curler to my lashes, piece’a cake.” you shrug, mouth open as you apply some mascara. “really?” he asked, taking a glance at your drawer full of makeup products, an assortment of pretty colored tubes, he would guess were either for your lips or eyes.

“yeah, why? you want some?” you laughed, expecting a ‘no’ in return but got only silence. you looked back at him. soda had just shrugged exaggeratedly.

one thing let to another and you ended up perched on sodapop’s lap, his eyes closed as you decorated his lids with blue eyeshadow.

“soda—! don’t crinkle your eyes!” you exclaimed, your boyfriend simply chuckled and gently grasped your wrist. “‘s not my fault it tickles, babe.”

soda opens his eyes to look at you, pulling your palm to his lips for a soft kiss.

“you know, you just ruined the eyeshadow, right? your eyes are hooded so the shadow will get—“

“shh, i’m tryna be romantic ‘ere.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“oh, PONYBOY!” you squealed, dragging out the ‘y’ in his name and running down the hallway already carrying your makeup bag.

you poke your head in through the doorway to find pony laying on his bed, nose buried in another one of his books. he glanced at you, already suspicious of the fact that the rest of your body isn’t visible.

“huh?” he questioned, his eyes flickering between the words of the book. “you wanna be the best boyfriend ever and do me a favor, pony?” you grinned as you dragged out the syllables in his name.

“what’re you doin’?” he inquired. you started to step slowly into view, your bag held behind your back. “i just need’a see somethin’ real quick.” he sat up a bit as you got closer to him and placed the book on the desk next to his bed, careful to mark the page he was on with a bookmark.

you finally bring your hands around to your front, unveiling the small makeup bag filled to the brim with products.

“oh, no.”

“oh, yes.”

“no! you ain’t touchin’ my face!”

and before he knows it, ponyboy has a face full of makeup on and you’re finishing it off with some sparkly highlighter on his nose.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

you had a date with JOHNNY at the drive-in, planning to see one of elvis’ new movies.

you had done your makeup, using the multitude of products you had in your room, and you looked snatched. your hair was cute, whether greased up or not, it never failed to look effortlessly gorgeous, johnny always thought so.

he was already waiting at the drive-in, accompanied by dallas who unfortunately was “chaperoning” him for the night, probably just trying to keep a lookout for drunk broads.

when you had arrived though, boy, was johnny astonished. his eyes widened at just the sight of you, it was like you were a princess walking up to him in slow motion.

once you had caught up to him and dally, johnny couldn’t help but mutter, “y’look like one of those ladies from the magazines..”, he gawked at just the utter sight of you.

“thank you?” you giggled and gave a quick peck to his lips. “i’ll get us a coke!” you jogged over to the concessions area with a bunched up wad of money in your hand. johnny watched you walk away, mouth still parted a bit in shock.

dallas, being the shithead he is, rudely tapped johnny’s cheek, making him close his mouth. “you’ll catch flies, johnny.” he said, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette.

once you two had actually sat down, dally chatting up some girl a few feet away, johnny turns to you. “s’that a new lipgloss?”

“yeah, you like it?” you asked, blowing him an exaggerated air kiss after.

“tastes sweet.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“c’mon, doll, it’s been like twenty minutes.”

“hold on, DALLY, i have to finish this wing!” you affirmed, your words altered with the way you opened your mouth so your skin would stretch, giving you the perfect opportunity with eyeliner and mascara. one struggle almost everybody goes through, is getting the other eyeliner wing to match the other.

“you’ve been at this for a while, just draw a line ‘n call it a night.” dallas insisted, he didn’t much like waiting, and he never understood why people took so much time just to do their makeup.

“no, you don’t understand. it has to be perfect.” you said, enunciating the ‘p’. you look at dallas in the reflection of the mirror and see him sigh in defeat and hollow his cheeks with another inhale of a cancer stick.

“you better not be smokin’ that thing in here, stinkin’ up my whole room.” you wrinkled your nose, the smell of cigarettes never leaves your room as long as dallas comes over.

“you do it too.”

“i smoke outside, not where it’ll penetrate a whole room full of cute things.” you rebutted.

“whatever you say, doll.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“do i look like a pretty princess?” TWO-BIT asked as you applied blush on his cheeks. you and his kid sister giggled at the sight. two’s eyes covered with all sorts of bright pinks and yellows and blues, colors that his little sister suggested.

“yes keith, you look like a pretty princess.” you said, watching two’s nose scrunch at the brush tickling his cheeks.

“what next?” you asked to his sister, turning to her as she held a finger to her chin in thought. then, it was like a light bulb went off inside her head. she grinned at you, a catlike smile that you returned, one that made two-bit worried about what would come next.

“lipstick.” was all she said, and immediately she handed you a bright red lipstick. you let out a soft laugh as you looked at two-bit’s expression, cocking an eyebrow as usual.

“you ain’t doin’ what i think you’re doin’, right?” he asks, then you wiggle the tube of lipstick at him, getting it closer as he shifts away. he placed his hands up in defense, “baby—! c’mon, you wouldn’t do that to your wonderful lovely boyfriend, would you?”

as he tries to scurry off, you hook your leg around his waist and keep him in place while his little sister laughs hysterically in the background. you grip his cheeks so his lips could purse, giving you the perfect access to apply his lipstick.

he ends up looking like a scrapped lisa frank design and that lipstick ends up in kiss marks littering your face, accompanied by ‘eww’s’ in the back provided by two’s sister.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“shit! it burns!” STEVE yells, his lips a cherry red with irritation.

“why’d you put it on your lips?” you threw your arms up, representing a ‘what the hell?’.

“thought it was your lipstick thingies!”

“why would you put it on your lips in the first place, steve?” you laughed and rushed over to get a paper towel and a few ice cube. “i thought it’d taste good.” he muttered, his lips a comical plump as he glared at the tube, feeling silly how he didn’t read the white letters on it saying ‘duck plump’.

when you came back, you sat down next to steve, gently wiping off the gloss before he snatched the napkin and wiped it off aggressively himself, desperate to get it off.

you both looked at each other before he looked down at the ice cube. “wha’s ‘at supposed to do?” he asked. you stammered, “i don’t know you were in hysterics! ‘pleasee! oh please get it off! it burns—!’” you cut yourself off with a laugh, laying back on the bed.

“yeah, yeah. whatever..” he grumbles, throwing another glare at the lip plumping gloss that lay abandoned on your desk.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ thank you all so much for all the love n requests, i swear i’m writing them just give me some time 🫶

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ ���𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.1

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; new recruits, questions, and a bag of tricks

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n; my toxic trait is starting a new series before finishing my other ones 😊 | chasin chaos masterlist

“Sergeant Mactavish, Werewolf.” The brunette held his hand out clawed fingers reaching about for the lieutenant who barely spared it a glance before looking back towards his sergeant and captain who smirked or started back at him smugly your presence lacking completely which was uncommon even if you weren’t meeting the eye he could feel your presence today it was gone but he temporarily stopped himself from dawning on it while words spewed from his lips

“Where’d you find this guy?” The gruff voice drizzled over the sassy reply made Gaz bight back a chuckle

“At the end of a rainbow” The harpy replied smartly his arms crossed over his chest feathers lying delicately over the surface of his forearms slightly lighter than the ones on his back where his wings sat it’s trail coming curtly to an end when it reached his the front of his wrist that damned fitted cap resting around his head in its common home ground talons tapping one of the many quills the sound almost sounding if he were thunking a table having his feathers harden on command just for the sake of it a quirk you could say

“Worth his weight in gold mind you” Price offered eyes not looking up from some type of notes he were reading over thick pear and moss mixed green colored horns sitting adorned on his well kept hair curling slightly forward and up Ghost could tell he was wearing an older shirt since there were two holes cut out instead of one for his stray wing that still sat strong spar bones matching the color of his horns and furless tail while the mainsail resembled a more dirty rag cream color

“They said it not me” Soap grinned mock waving off the compliment quirking the damned thick bushy brow of his the only one with a slit slicing right through the point of the arch while the hulking man sighed heavily dragging a hand over his covered face balaclava with a simple print of his actual hard mask a skull

“Fuckin’ hell… you follow orders?” The muffled voice was not a mere obstacle for the hybrid to hear the slight pointed ears on the side of his face doing their job well to listen

“I well trained if that’s what you’re asking. Sit, stay, paw, jump, roll over, I know ‘em all.” The brunette looked off mocking a ponderous expression counting off on his fingers the canines in his mouth slightly showing even though they were retracted

“Real bag of tricks, aren’t you?” The instinct in the sergeant perked up as you suddenly trailed beside ghost surprised that he hadn’t been able to pick up your presence or at least your scent quicker like he had with Ghost especially since they were so… different not having a face to match with your cooled voice since it seemed you also favored a balaclava yours simply plain black yet he didn’t mind just gave him two sheets to play at once…

Raking eyes over your figure the man determined you were a looker for sure yet he didn’t miss how the other silently agreed

“My apologies miss, I dinae get your name” Soap stated a now gentle smile resting on his face that you seemingly ignored accent seeping through a little more and as more time went on the more he could smell the authority coming from you and Ghost it was a little less than Price yet more than Gaz and the other recruits around base

“Depends who you ask. What’s the role you’ve had in your pack?” You questioned eyes low that he could see through the gap in your mask where your sight shone through staring him down almost as if you could see right through his soul yet he kept his quirky grin Mohawk stopping just below the base of his neck a small piece of stray hair lying against his forehead thick fluffy tail perking up slightly swaying against the back of his thighs cargo pants dipping in the back just below his tail

“I’ve been in a few packs could be an alpha, beta, omega if you wanted me to… but I seen you have your roles sorted. I’ve got no problem bein’ ah pup miss” You roll your eyes at that while the brunette winks you swiftly trail away dragging Ghost away with you picking up Price on the way while both men let you drag them along their hulking figure’s towering over your back boots slightly thumping against the floor before your figures disappear within the halls he turns to the crow who’s fiddling with the screen of his phone

“You ever feel left out of somethin’?” Soap questions and Gaz suddenly stands a small smirk on his face as he rakes his eyes over the wolf before shaking his head

“There’s enough for everyone to get their fill, you’ll be next soon enough” Without an explanation the sergeant was already trailing away opposite of where you had gone leaving him alone

But never for too long

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“It’s rude to stare sergeant” Ghost grunted gruffly after jamming his janky locker shut barely giving Soap enough time to look at his shadows slipping from under his glove some looking like it was traveling farther up almost resembling veins while the rest began to make a small cloud on his wrist until he shoved his sleeve over the sight unapologetic about the whole thing barely looking over his shoulder to acknowledge the wolf as he stood behind him

“Just tryin’ ta figure you out, Lt.” He grins tail becoming livelier as it perks up behind his back before it reluctantly lowers still up and lively

“I’m well traveled, seen a lot of things, met a lot of people. Never smelt anythin’ like you… or Flatline for that matter” A slightly clawed finger rests curled on his chin tail gently flapping up and down it had been a little over a week since he was recruited it didn’t take long for him to find out your name or call sign that might have well been your name since no one seemed to know it just by the brief description of eerie, bold eyes, and a mask to cover you face, he got the answer of either Ghost or Flatline

“Hell of a compliment soldier” The blonde resorts almost sarcastically finally looking over his broad shoulder to lock eyes with the brunette and he waves him off finally stepping closer to the skull mask wearing man deciding by his side was the best place to stand and if he noted the smoke trying to spill from his pockets where he had his hands shoved deeply he didn’t say anything about it

“Och, you know I dinnae mean it that way. Can’t blame me for bein’ interested, I never packed with a wraith hybrid before… or a phoenix thought they were bedtime stor-”

“Not hybrids” Ghost cuts off the scott before he can dig any deeper and he furrowed his eyebrows questioning if he had heard right if his ears were failing him or not with a small ‘what’ spilled from his lips

“We’re not hybrids.”

“No shit? What the hell is tha’ like?” Swiftly Simon was in front of him eyes bold yet precise slicing right through him while Johnny’s gaze slightly widened at the quick movement his boots not even so much a squeaking against the ground a bit of the air currents flowing against Soaps slight shorter form

“You ever shut up Mactavish?” He somewhat seethed and the wolf was back to sly grin in less than minute, the grin that showed his canines in the full well kept facial hair adorning his structure even more, the grin the wraith wanted to wipe of his fucking face to be exact.

“Only when people make me.” Soap implied looking up slightly to address his superior with a voice that would make other feverish or peely in his terms that damned drunken grin still on his lips while Ghost practically stared him down eyes slightly squinted thoughts brewing behind those sharp, precise eyes of his that the Scott couldn’t wait to hear of tail swaying behind him with a bit more speed than before but of course his Lt. was a tease and put all his weight on one foot to turn walking out of the locker room without so much a grunt but he liked the chase

And so did superiors

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“It’s an in and out mission that I’m sure you could do on your own, however I don’t need higher ups on my ass about favoritism. You’ll grab a few normals and head Midwest in the states to Chicago. One out of three missiles resigns with one of the biggest weapons busts in America that’s supposedly on its way over to Russia package delivery for a friend of ours… Makarov.” The air in the room shifted at the name drop of a once friend fallen foe even though You and Prices shoulders were up at the mere mention of Russia itsself you had a love hate relationship with meeting room as you got passed a file over things you truly didn’t need to go over things that a rookie could even fill in the blanks for

“This will either be the easiest sail of your life or your standing on the line of death, you all know your first priority even though I know you don’t want to hear it. Push come to shove the normals go first.” The older short cut haired woman looked at You, Price, and Ghost especially Soap noticed it confused him at first the wraith and phoenix at least, two lieutenants in such a small base or at least a small base that wasn’t Air Force but it made sense to him shortly after when he peeked in on occasional training sessions thought out a week You and Ghost switched groups between normals and weaker hybrids both favoring one group more than the other deep down and then at the end of the week bring them together to spar

“Wheels up at 04:00 tomorrow I’m sure you’ll have your picks by then.” Laswell sighed looking around the table for any objections your sitting between Soap and Gaz while Price and Ghost are sitting on the opposite side of the rounded table one of your legs are crossed under your form while the other is propped up you have your arms wrapped around it and your covered chin is lying on your knee and without another word she grabbed her laptop and exited room something about a ball and chain to her desk

The wolf and harpy are first to get up from their seats and the winged hybrid doesn’t go before gently brushing his fingers against your arm migrating towards the exit even though he’s stopped shortly by a shit eating grin and swaying tail conversation quickly taking place between the two

“So, what do you think?” Price hums both him and Simon approaching your seat as you began to stand rolling your shoulders eyes low beneath your mask it was still early in the day only 13:27 you had a training group normals at 14:15 sharp anyone who was a minute late got to run laps around base even if they weren’t hybrids or the ‘superior’ race in the field you couldn’t determine if you were fighting a hybrid or a normal and if you babied them because they were weaker than a super they wouldn’t have a fighting chance against one.

“He asks a lot of questions” Ghost responds curtly while the older man takes no offense to it producing a chuckle from the back of his throat taking out a cigar from his breast pocket in his vest holding out the thick brown lump filled with nicotine out to the blonde who responded by taking out a silver lighter snapping the cover back quickly as it produced a flame its front covered by an ace card with its main attraction being a skull the drug lights aflame a small hissing sound coming from it when the salt and pepper haired hybrid took a drag

“Comes with the package. Wolves don’t like uncertainty in the pack dynamic.”

“He knew you and Gaz before he transferred, didn’t he?” You spoke up squinting your eyes at your captain eyelashes mere meters away from kissing your cheek standing the only way he could get a read on you and Simon he usually says ‘those eyes can tell you everything and nothing all at once, just gotta watch em.’

“Yes, but you’re both hell of a new variable” Price admits before smugly nudging your shoulders with his strong single wing while Ghost crossed his arms over his chest you roll your eyes stepping away from the pair

“Save your verdicts until you see him in action, he’s a vision in the field.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Hey… how yall doing 😅

I haven’t posted since October I missed you writers!

Ermm I’m a year older —Nov 8th— happy belated birthday to me

And that’s about it 😭

[sky-is-the-limit]

It's pretty simple, really. Don't get romantically involved with a fellow soldier. The task force is a unit, a second family. Any other relationship developing could create unnecessary, dangerous complications and you know damn well you cannot afford that. You worked hard to fit in, you worked hard to prove that you, a woman, can do as much as the next man in line for the job. Hell, in your case, even better.

"Weakness."

CW: F!reader x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick +18/NSFW/F!Masturbation

P.s I'm not a writer!

Rules, rules, rules.

Your Captain's words ring in your head every time one of these unwanted thoughts creep into your mind. "One of the best sniper shooters I've ever got to work with." You're proud of your accomplishments, of your resilience and brain when it comes to work, always giving your best self to get the task done, to make sure you have your team's back, to never let anyone down and above all, yourself.

No one can be perfect though, right? Everyone has an Achilles' heel, a weakness strong enough to take the bravest man down, to make someone forget all the important attributes that make an obedient soldier and that's exactly what he was to you. A weakness. The name that answers to all your desires, a thought engraved permantently in your brain, never disappearing no matter how hard you've tried. And you have.

Countless nights when you had given in the advances of a drunken stranger, hoping that it will be enough to forget him, to get lost in the moment with someone whose name or face don't even matter. The only reason you let another man kiss you, taste you, touch body.. is so you can feel something real. Something that isn't your imagination where he's the only one always present.

The worst part of this? It's not just you indulging into this madness. Perhaps if it was one-sided, it'd be easier for you to bury it in the depths of your mind. Only allowing yourself to feel it late at night when you're alone in your bed, the only witness to your secret being your fingertips and his name leaving your mouth softly, like a desperate prayer for salvation. It's not just you though.

/ / /

"That blondie over there is practically undressing you with her eyes, Garrick."

There it is. That uncomfortable feeling in your stomach that makes you want to disappear from the surface of the earth. It happens every damn Friday when you and the boys hang out at the nearest pub. Always the same scenario, always a different girl, never you.

You should be used to it by now, and yet the way Soap nudges him to go over and leave with someone else tonight still stings. You want to punch that smirk off of Johnny's face but it's not his fault. You wish for that woman to fall on her ass, embarass herself but it's not her fault. You crave for him to finally snap, forget about the rules and drag you back to his car so he can fuck you with all that desperation that has been building up inside both of you. He won't though and it's not his fault.

"Nah, not my type mate." Any other woman would feel relieved to hear this. Hear the man she wants so badly turn down the chance to leave with a pretty girl for the night but not you. Maybe it'd be easier if you got to see him flirting with a stranger, his hand finding it's way to her waist, flirty whispers foreseeing a promising night between them.. Maybe something would crack, maybe jealousy would work it's trick and get you to stop thinking about him. Not Kyle though.

He spits out that sentence like it's no big deal, his piercing brown eyes staring into yours, never breaking eye contact as the words leave his mouth. If Soap wasn't so distracted, mumbling with frustrated jealousy that Gaz always gets the attention of the prettiest girls, he'd be able to see why he always turns them down.

He knows damn well what he's doing. Like there's an unspoken bet between the two of you, of who's gonna break first and he has to win it. The look in his eyes, confirming your suspicions that he also thinks of you when he's alone, the way his lips part slightly every time you stand up to go get another drink, the sight of your barely covered thighs right in front of him.

He wants you and that's the worst part. Just like every night, this one ends the same. With you two parting ways in the cold corridor, your only company his presence in your thoughts. At least his room being next to yours could mean that you fall asleep facing each other and that's adds some sense of comfort to your loneliness.

/ / /

Another sleepless night finds you alone in your sheets, the moonlight being the only thing illuminating your room as the soft sound of the rain pours down outside, reminding you that Autumn is finally here. It has become your habit, a lonely, desperate routine where you just lay there, thinking of him. Quite frankly, you don't even care that his room is right next to yours, that if the walls are thin enough maybe he can hear you touching yourself to the thought of him.

It's a deluded way to cope with all the desire filling up your body, feeling your core pulse and twitch as your fingertips find their way down to your clit and you wonder. How would his touch feel, how would he do it..

"Fuck, Gaz" a soft whine escapes your lips, your movements picking up the pace, making your hips back up and down against the bed, craving friction, craving him.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick is a passionate man. Whether it's a mission, a workout, hanging out with his friends.. He always lives in the moment, full of energy and a tremendous thirst for adrenaline. Always so eager for action. There's no doubt in your mind that that's exactly how he'd do you.

"I need you, fuck-" You admit to yourself breathlessly, sucking on your own finger before slowly bringing it down to wet your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine as you drag your fingertips through your own slick arousal.

You're a mess. Suddenly the cool temperature of the room turns into unbearable heat, sweat dripping down from your forehead, hair messy against your pillow as you buck up your hips against your palm, biting down on your bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt to be quiet but as you get closer to your climax, you can't control it.

"Gaz-" Your mind travels back to earlier in the afternoon when you walked in on him working out at the gym, a pair of black shorts hanging low from his hips with a matching bandana on his forehead to keep the sweat from dripping down on his face. He caught you watching, your eyes were glued on his defined arms, occasionally wondering off to his chest then down to his abdomen. How can you not when he looks like that?

"Alright there, Y/L/N?" God, that smile will be the death of you, the sight of his fangs driving you insane that you can't help but wonder what they'd feel like sucking down on your neck. It'd be funny to think that you could ever scarcely deal with the attraction you feel towards him.

Suddenly it's hard to breathe, your thighs start to tremble whilst your fingers stroke your clit faster, you can feel it coming. God, his hands, his fingers.. The thought gets you to bring one finger back to your mouth, wetting it with the tip of your tongue. Would he do that? Stuff his fingers in your mouth while he's buried deep inside of you? A soft moan fell from your lips at the thought of it, pinching your nipple as your eyelids flutter to the sensation.

You're so lost in pleasure that you can barely hear the first knock on the door, thinking that it's your imagination playing tricks on you. The second one is louder making your hand jolt away from your thighs, a swell of embarrassment rising inside you.

"Shit." You mumble quietly before throwing on the oversized t-shirt that you normally sleep in before checking the clock on the wall. It's way too late for social calls unless it's an emergency. Another knock on the door snaps you out of it and without making sure that you're presentable, you open it.

"Gaz?" He doesn't look distressed, quite the opposite with his arms crossed over his chest, head titled to the side as he takes in the sight in front of him with the same smirk that makes your knees want to give in every time. So, no emergency then.

"It's late, what are you doing here?" You try your best to appear as if you were asleep, that would justify the-

"God, you're a mess Y/N." He may have his usual playful look on his face but his tone suggest something different. He's not teasing you for your state, not this time. It's like he's trying to catch his breath, eyes travelling down to your bare thighs and back to meet yours before he takes a step forward, leading to you taking one back.

"You're not as quiet as you think you are." Oh.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You mumble quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. Though your alone time was cut short before you could finish what you've started, the anticipation and thrill fill your body once again, like you never stopped touching yourself. This is what he does to you.

"Thing is, Y/N.." Kyle takes another step towards you, closing the door behind him without breaking eye contact like his life dependent on it.

"When you start a game.." His hand reaches out to caress your wrist softly before taking it into his hand, lips parted as his suggestive voice spreading a warm heat on your cheeks.

"Be brave enough to finish it."

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: foul language, brief symptoms of PTSD, brief self-pleasure, obsessive / possessive Simon, suggestive themes

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Part Four of Ink & Needle

Simon searches for you after you flee from Riot Room. Three years later, and your memory still has him in a chokehold.

Chapter Three // Chapter Five

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Then (Three Years Ago)

Gently, Simon guides you over one thigh. Once settled, he removes the condom and ties it off, tossing it into the nearby bin.

He is satiated. Happy. Every inch of him vibrates with pleasure. You are new and fresh, but so perfectly comfortable. Simon could stay like this forever.

Simon’s arms are around your waist, and his hands move in slow circles, caressing your body in gentle comfort. You are warm beneath his palms, and Simon focuses in how your skin feels against his.

It’s nice. Lovely. He could get used to it. He could get lost in you.

He nuzzles your neck, and discreetly inhales, imprinting your scent onto his memory. The two of you will linger here in this room for a bit. Once the euphoria of pleasure passes into calmness, Simon will suggest the two of you leave together. He wants you alone. Truly alone. He wants to take his time, and understand all the ways he can make you scream for him.

When you rip yourself out of his arms, it comes as a shock. Like a blow to the face or the burst of a hollow point on impact.

You stand on wobbly legs, facing the mirror. At first, all Simon can see are the backs of your thighs, and he has an intrusive desire to drag you to his mouth to suck on your supple skin. But he does not move toward you, he simply holds there, his arms extended like you’ll fall right back into them at any moment.

You tug on your skirt, putting it back into place. You adjust your top and smooth out the winkles. The movements are strange, and Simon doesn’t understand at first.

It’s like…

Are you leaving?

You slide a hair tie off your wrist and put your hair up into a messy bun. “I need to go,” you say sharply, grabbing your jacket off the floor and tugging it on.

Simon is silent for a moment, completely thrown off by your sudden declaration. Then it all comes roaring forward, and everything catches up in that moment. He tucks himself back into his jeans, quickly grabbing at his belt as you snatch up your purse and start to tug the folding chair away from the door.

“Wait,” he says, starting to stand.

The folding chair gives and you shove it aside. Your hand is on the handle in moments, pushing it open, striding through.

“Wait!”

You don’t pause or look back.

“Fucking hell,” says Simon as he almost catches some skin in the zipper of his jeans. He adjusts himself, and then his jeans are secure. He works the balaclava back into place and takes off after you.

By the time Simon rounds the corner, the basement door is slamming shut. He doesn’t make it there before it closes. Bursting through it, Simon takes the stairs two at a time, coming to a stop at the top. Scanning the crowd turns up nothing. The crowd has swallowed you up like a dark monster.

This is not what Simon planned out in his head. The two of you should be walking out of the club right now and to his flat. Once there, he planned on bending you over every surface and worshipping your body until the only thing you understand is his name.

Simon scans the dancefloor and does not see you. He doesn’t see your friends either which is just as irritating. You could be at the exit by now. You could be sliding into a cab at this very moment.

The thought of you leaving spurs Simon to action.

“Lt!”

Simon doesn’t falter. He ignores Soap, but the Scotsman steps into his path.

“Out of the way, Johnny,” snaps Simon with irritation.

Soap’s eyebrow arches slightly. “We’ve been looking for you. Where’d you go?” Soap’s mouth turns downward and he leans in, inhaling deeply. “Why the fuck do you smell like pus—”

“Piss off, Johnny,” mutters Simon, pushing past him and heading toward Riot Room’s front entrance.

Simon shoves himself through a dancing couple, not caring that they both give him nasty looks. He could give a fuck. Simon wants you. He needs you.

“Lt!” Simon ignores Soap. “Simon!”

He keeps going, descending the stairs even as Soap chases after him. Distantly, Simon hears Gaz and Price calling after him, but he doesn’t turn around to look.

“Simon,” says Soap, grabbing Simon’s shoulder in an attempt to stop him. It doesn’t work. Simon shakes him off, his gaze fixated on the cab that’s pulling away from the curb.

He watches you through the window. You’re looking right at him, and Simon suddenly feels incomplete, as if without you, his story is unfinished.

Simon rejects this outcome.

You. Are. His.

In the light, Riot Room is a bloody joke.

Simon observers the club from across the street, leaning against a light pole while he pretends to read the morning paper. Riot Room closed hours ago, and a few hours before that Simon was having it off in its basement green room.

You ran from him, and Simon didn’t even have the chance to secure your number. A first name and a face can go a long way, but if you’re not in a system somewhere, he might not be able to find you, and Simon is good at finding people.

He takes a long, final drag of his cigarette before putting it out and depositing it in the correct trash receptacle. Curling his fingers under the edge of the balaclava, Simon returns his mask to its proper place.

Tucking the morning paper under his arm, Simon glances both ways before strolling casually across the road. He does not walk up to Riot Room. Not directly. Instead of the front door, Simon heads for the alley where you made your confession.

The alley entrance to Riot Room is shut. The gate is in place and it’s all chained up, but that won’t stop Simon. Executing his mission and securing his goal drives him to break a few rules on occasion.

And you are the exception.

Moving like his namesake, Simon slides into Ghost, becoming one with the shadows. He hauls himself up and over the gate, landing quietly on the ground. The stairway to the basement is right there, and Simon takes it. When he arrives at the door, Simon tests the handle.

It’s unlocked.

Simon smirks behind the balaclava. The chained gate is a delusional sense of safety that makes people careless. And whoever closed last night is certainly that.

When the door opens, the overhead light flicks on. Removing his tools from his pocket, Simon starts picking doors until he finds what he’s looking for.

The security room is small, only big enough for the monitors and a small desk. Simon boots it up. But the moment it warms up, and its information is revealed to him, all his confidence goes out the door.

Over half of the cameras in this place don’t work. The ones that do all have grainy, almost indecipherable video. Simon checks each working camera feed, rewinding until he finds you entering Riot Room.

From there, Simon tracks your steps, but there is absolutely no fucking way he’s going to find a clear image of your face. In all the crowd shots, you are one with the masses. Unfindable.

The only other working camera is the one in the basement hallway, but even that is grainy. The few seconds your face is on the screen is when you were running from him, and your face is entirely blurry.

“Fuck,” mutters Simon. Then, louder. “Fuck!”

Growling, Simon downloads the videos. Once done, he goes back and erases all record of you from their achieve.

Simon holds the data in his gloved palm. He curls his fist around it, silently hoping that this will be the piece that leads him to you.

Now (Three Years Later)

When Simon opens his eyes, the wood panel ceiling of his bedroom grins back at him. The boards warp into a vicious, mocking smile and the nails are the teeth. Simon cannot look away. His gaze is glued to the ceiling, fixated as if obsessed with the slowly melting image.

Against the tips of his fingers, Simon senses something warm and wet. There’s a snort—a sound that seems so distant even in his room. Instead of the wood, Simon focuses in on the sensation against his fingers. It burrows, sliding all the way to his palm. His hand is lifted from the bed, and feeling returns.

Slowly, Simon’s fingers bend.

It’s a snout. A familiar one.

Bravo.

As if reading his mind, the all-black German Shepard whines. Simon blinks a few times and the wood panels in the ceiling return to normal.

“Hey, Bravo,” murmurs Simon, the raspy gruffness of sleep still clinging to his voice.

Using his head, Bravo positions Simon’s hand between his ears. Simon laughs and scratches the spot behind Bravo’s left ear that he loves so much. Oddly enough, it’s the same spot Riley always liked.

But Riley is gone. Has been for many years.

Simon hits a spot that sends Bravo’s tail into a whirlwind, spinning like a helo’s blades. The swirling tail kicks up the air and Simon shivers. He lightly tugs on the tip of Bravo’s ear which earns him a lick and a pathetic whine.

Shaking his head, Simon slowly sits up, groaning as he does. Everything fucking hurts. It always does in the morning. He sits up completely, leaning against the bed’s headboard. Simon runs his hand over his face before threading his fingers through his hair, tugging absently on the ends, reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand.

“Fuck,” he groans, and it’s for various reasons.

It’s early. Too. Fucking. Early. There’s still another hour before his alarm is set to go off. But that isn’t the only thing holding his attention.

Simon opens the unanswered text messages and frowns.

I had fun the other night.

We should do it again.

Below the texts is a half-naked photo of the woman he fucked a few nights ago. It’s a goddamn good picture, but Simon isn’t interested in her. They agreed on it being a one-time thing. It’s not like her or anyone else’s touch could ever replace what Simon truly wants.

It’s been three fucking years and yet Simon can’t get the fuck over it.

Simon locks his phone, deciding to deal with it later. He’ll politely—but forwardly—say that he isn’t interested. Because he isn’t. There are certain needs, specific urges that occasionally need to be satiated, but Simon never takes it further than that.

His right shoulder and upper bicep throb as if the burn scars aren’t scars at all but fresh wounds. They’re two years old now, and they healed well, but the nerves underneath still act up from time to time. The doctors told him the damage there might be permanent.

Other than his shoulder, his right leg is stiff and slightly swollen. It almost always is in the morning. This injury healed like shit, and Simon deals with it every day. He could take pain medication for it, but Simon isn’t interested in consuming narcotics.

Simon knows what that can do to a person. He’d rather be in pain than consume the things that made his father who he was. He refuses to be anything like that man.

Bravo’s wet nose pushes against Simon’s bare thigh. Simon tilts his head to the side and smiles. Bravo taps him again, the dog’s dark eyes nearly blending into his black coat.

“Ready to start the day?” Simon asks in a murmur, reaching out with his good arm to scratch between and around Bravo’s ears.

Bravo leans into the scratches, his eyes closing slightly with contentment.

Ever since Simon’s forced retirement, Bravo has been his constant companion. It’s not like Simon wanted to leave. Price, Gaz, and Soap didn’t want it either. But Simon took a beating—a bloody fucking awful one. He was out for months, and by that point, SAS was pushing for retirement.

The upside to that goddamn fucking mess is the tattoo parlor. The retirement package SAS offered Simon, along with a hefty incentive, finally convinced him to step back. SAS not only paid for the parlor and Simon’s flat, but the entire building.

He owns it. The property is his. And that has given him purpose again.

Simon tosses the blankets off his body and then immediately covers up the rager pointing up at him. “Fuck,” he mutters, slowly shifting to the edge of the bed.

Everything pops and cracks against each other. The crunching sound of his joints is loud in the quiet of his bedroom. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, both feet flat on the floor, hands on the edge, and his head down.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, not wanting to stand but knowing he has to.

Bravo jumps off the bed and pads to Simon’s side. He sits, head and ears indicating his alertness. When Simon doesn’t immediately stand up, Bravo lifts his paw and sets it on Simon’s good knee.

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches in a hint of a smile. “I’m ace, Bravo. Promise.” Bravo removes his paw but stays by Simon’s side.

Simon sits up, hands on his thighs, and rolls his shoulders until they pop, releasing tension. It’s instant pleasure, and Simon repeats the process until the muscles in his arms move without issue. He does the same thing with his elbow and wrist joints, finally reaching above his head to pop his spine.

Once his muscles are warm and relaxed, Simon pushes up off the bed. At first, he limps, but once he’s in the bathroom, everything is fine. It’s a temporary blip. Simon scrubs his face and then grabs his toothbrush, popping it into his mouth along with toothpaste.

He’s so absorbed in it that when he straightens abruptly to stretch a spasming back muscle, Simon accidently smacks his erection against the porcelain rim.

“Fucking hell,” barks Simon, bending over slightly, clutching his toothbrush in one hand.

Bravo barks from the bedroom, and Simon sticks his head out the bathroom door.

“You don’t need my permission to take a piss.” Bravo’s front paws tap repeatedly against the floor, the nails clack clack clacking away. “You have a fucking door, Bravo. Go.”

Bravo bolts from the bedroom. Simon waits until he hears the flap of the dog door before returning to the bathroom. Sighing, he leans against the doorframe and palms himself. If he clears his mind, this will be over quickly.

Several minutes later and Simon is gripping the toothbrush so hard he might just snap it in two. He spits into the sink and returns the toothbrush to its home inside the medicine cabinet. What Simon is about to do is a last resort. Not that it’s shameful, but that he wishes for the real thing and not the simple trinket.

Simon steps back into the bedroom, his gaze falling on the dresser in the corner. Slowly, he strides across the floor, pausing once he’s there. His hands hover just shy of the handle of the drawer before he yanks it open.

What Simon seeks is right there, staring back at him. Simon reaches in and lifts the shredded, lace underwear. The image of it tearing away from your body as he pulled lives rent free in his head. He plays it on a loop.

The woman it belongs to is long gone, and not finding you again is one of the biggest regrets of his life.

Simon had one night—no. One night is incorrect. The two of you had only a moment together. An hour or two at the most.

No. Not a full night. If the two of you actually had a full night together, you would be in his bed right now. It would be your hand stroking him and not his own.

That is what Simon intended when he was inside you. In his head, he planned on taking you away from Riot Room and the crowd. To get you alone. To go somewhere private where Simon could fuck you properly without the fear of being interrupted. He wanted to understand your delicate lines, and where they ended. He wanted your harshness. Your attention.

The moment you bumped into him; you were his.

Simon still feels that way. In the dark, when sleep is an absent companion, Simon imagines what it would be like to possess you. To know that you alone belong to him.

But you are not his woman.

And you are not in his bed.

You are…wherever you are.

You ran from him, and Simon remembers every detail of that flight. The shaking of your hands as you adjusted your skirt bothers him still even after three years. In the moment, Simon thought he hurt you, but right before you left the green room, you glanced at him. And Simon knew—he knew—you wanted to stay with him.

But why didn’t you? Why did you run?

Simon rolls the delicate lace between his fingers. Your scent is long gone from the material. That is of little significance to Simon. The memory of you brands him. Like his scars and tattoos, you are amongst them, but under them, buried deep within his body. Every angle, every curve, every soft sigh and sound are their own ink.

Defeat is bitter. He tried. Really, he did. And maybe that’s what hurts the most about it. Not that you left him but that Simon couldn’t find you after. You evaporated like rainwater.

Simon will never be rid of you. You are a ghost. A haunting that dwells within himself.

He returns to the bathroom and leans against the doorframe, clutching that lace underwear in his fist. Simon recalls the encounter like it was only yesterday. He licks his lips, imagining your taste, and how he learned your flavor from more than just your mouth.

The groan Simon lets out as he finishes into his hand should only be for your ears. But you’re not here, and the reality of that settles over him as he washes off his hand. He dries off and pulls on a pair of gray sweatpants.

Simon exits the bedroom just as Bravo comes back in through the dog door. Simon’s flat is right above the tattoo parlor which makes his trip to work a short one. Bravo follows along behind as Simon enters the second bedroom. The space is now a personal gym, and this morning, Simon needs to rage.

Using his phone, Simon engages the Bluetooth speaker. Shredding, heavy metal comes blasting out of it and Simon sets to work on the boxing bag. When that doesn’t quell the burn under his skin, Simon takes Bravo for a run.

None of it helps. Not even in the shower when Simon has to jerk one out again.

Simon lies to himself. It’s the picture on his phone that has him worked up and not the remembrance of you. That is what he tells himself as he enters the kitchen and pauses at the dining table.

Resting on top is a small box. Simon received it yesterday. It’s open, and Simon reaches inside, smiling down at the note he holds in his hand.

Looks like you got that brag rag, Lt. Congratulations, you’re a winner.

“Cheeky bastard,” smirks Simon, tossing the plain, white notecard onto the table.

Inside the little box Soap sent is one of those cheap coffee mugs that you can get engraved with whatever you want. On this one, it’s a photo of Soap and Gaz doing a very serious thumbs up pose next to a snoozing Price.

At the bottom of the box is a magazine. UK Ink it reads at the top. On the cover is Simon. But not Simon. No. It’s Ghost on the cover. That’s the face of 141 Ink. Simon’s customers don’t know him by any other name.

In the photo, Ghost wears all black everything except the balaclava. The skeleton mouth at the bottom of the fabric is the only splash of color on him, but they have enhanced his eyelashes a bit, highlighting the paleness. Simon doesn’t mind the creative freedom.

It’s a special edition of UK Ink, and Simon won top prize of “Best Tattoo Artist.” It’s certainly deserved—Simon has worked hard over the past two years. While Simon appreciates the recognition, it’ll only add to his already busy schedule.

Stuck to the bottom corner of the magazine is a sticky note with another message from Johnny.

Make sure to sign this for me, Lt.

Simon carries the mug to the kitchen counter and makes himself his morning tea before setting Bravo’s breakfast out. The German Shepard munches contentedly while Simon chugs down a protein shake. The texture is shit and he doesn’t understand how anyone could enjoy it, but he has to drink them now.

Technically, Simon’s body is still healing. It’s a fucking shame, but at this point it’s simply a fact of life. He spent the first couple months of recovery trying to figure out where the fuck it all went wrong. It only got worse when SAS started pushing for retirement.

Simon believed he fucked up, and that they didn’t want him anymore. He passed all the psych evals and even some of the physical tests. But he didn’t pass all of them, and some he couldn’t do at all.

It was Price that convinced Simon to finally put his service aside and do something else.

My job is to look after you, Simon. Listen to me on this.

Simon rinses out the mug and heads back to the bedroom. He dons his persona, slipping into Ghost like a second skin. Bravo waits patiently in the hallway until Simon emerges, the two of them taking the back stairway into the parlor’s backroom.

Simon flips on the light and then steps through the curtain that acts as a partition between the backroom and main parlor. He disengages the alarm system and unlocks the three deadbolts. Once done, Simon opens the door, guiding the doorstopper with the toe of his boot. The shop is often stuffy in the morning, and the fresh air always seems to add a bit of lightness to the space.

When Simon steps away from the door, Bravo promptly makes a home in the early morning sun.

The aroma of coffee, freshly baked bread, and sugar form the bakery two shops down floats in from outside. It tingles Simon’s senses, and he briefly considers going down there to snag a chocolate croissant before they’re all gone. Bravo can watch the shop.

Opening his work laptop, Simon checks his calendar, taking note of all the clients he’s seeing today. Simon is the sole artist and piercer for 141 Ink. He’s been booked up for months, and him on to cover of UK Ink is only going to make that schedule even more cramped. A second artist or two would be helpful, but Simon doesn’t trust easy, and the process alone to hire someone is already a daunting task.

Simon opens up his business email and grimaces. The number of emails in his inbox doubled overnight. It’ll easily take him a week or more just to sort through it all, especially if more pile up on top of it.

Sighing, Simon pushes off from his desk and starts to set-up for the day. He checks through and tests all his guns, takes a quick inventory of his needles, and sanitizes all customer surfaces just in case he forgot the night before. He never does, but at this point it’s a habit.

Standing next to the tattoo chair, Simon sets a metal tray on top of his rolling cart. It clanks loudly and Simon winces, the sound sending a momentary spike of adrenaline through his body.

“What the fuck is wrong with me today?” mutters Simon, the agitation still lingering on his senses.

As if answering his question, the air in the room shifts. Simon freezes, his hand hovering just above one of his tools. Slowly, Simon turns, checking out the rest of the parlor, unsure of where this unease is originating from.

Bravo moved but that’s it. The dog is calm.

Frowning behind the balaclava, Simon pivots fully and the entire world comes thundering down around him.

There is a woman standing in the doorway. She clutches a coffee cup in one hand and a brown bag in the other. Simon can smell the butter from across the shop. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

He knows those lips. He’s kissed them, tasted them, watched as they opened to swallow him down.

It’s you. And that is impossible. Of everyone it could be, how could it possibly be you.

Fuck thinks Simon. Bloody fucking hell.

You take one step back as Simon takes a step forward. His hands fall to his sides and his back straightens. Every muscle within him is coiled like a serpent ready to strike. If this is you, he’s not letting you go again.

Simon won’t allow it.

Everything about you is the same. The only difference Simon notices is the slight tiredness under your eyes. He wants to rub it away, to chase away whatever it is that kept you up in the night.

You shake your head and take another step backward.

Ghost takes two.

You turn on your heel, and bolt.

The moment you disappear, the moment you sprint past the door, Simon is off like a shot. Sliding onto the pavement, Simon pauses, the hunter in him focusing on his prey. Bravo barks but Simon ignores him.

Simon’s gaze zeroes in, and then he’s running, even when his bad leg screams out in protest. You round a corner, and Simon is closing in.

When he comes around the curve, Simon slams into someone. He ricochets off, the force of it throwing him into a nearby flower bush.

“Watch it you FUCKING WANKER!”

Simon growls and hurls himself to his feet, snarling as he brushes off leaves, flower petals, and tiny twigs. The person he ran into, the man who hurled the insult, immediately pales upon seeing him emerge from the flower bush. Simon doesn’t even apologize.

He searches the street in the direction you ran.

Nothing. You are nowhere.

Simon turns on the man and grabs him by the collar. “Did you see a woman?”

“What?”

“Just. Now,” growls Simon, growing agitated.

The man shakes his head and Simon drops him. Before the man’s feet hit the pavement, Simon is already jogging down the street, searching for any sign of you.

All he sees are houses, cars, and strangers’ faces. You have vanished yet again.

Bravo’s cold nose pushes against the palm of Simon’s hand. He glances down at the German Shepard. “You’re supposed to be watching the shop.”

Bravo whines and Simon turns his back on the street, questioning whether he actually saw you at all.

Chapter Three // Chapter Five

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @sharkbitesblog @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666

[pythonees]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ GUTS — johnny slaughter

WARNINGS: 18+, you're shorter than johnny in this (wiki says he's 6ft), f!soft-bodied!reader, sadistic!johnny (this man thrives off of other peoples pain he would enjoy it in bed too), light knife play, blood play, kidnapping, coercion, crying, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, typical tcm shit

A/N: please do not flag this for no reason, just block me. flagging my work as mature means it isn't seen by as many people in the tags when searched. Also!!!!, this is really long for no reason (4k words) AND I already have a multi part no slasher!AU in the works that's gonna be bordering on 10 chapters, knowing me it'll eternally be a wip tho...

Taking in a shaky breath, you hold it, willing the pounding of your heart to calm down as you listen for any movement around you. All you hear is the sounds of the forest, but still you sit and wait. You had been separated from the others that you had escaped with, though you suppose separated is the wrong word to use in this situation.

One of the girls that had been captured with you, a tall girl with matted brown hair and milky, bruise covered skin, had shoved you the second she had heard a noise from one of your kidnappers as they gained up on you. You had fallen down a pretty steep slope, thankfully lost in the heavy foliage that covered the ground and shrouded you instead of becoming the bait she wanted you to be.

It takes you more time than you would like to admit to get your bearings back, unable to see anything from under a bush. It hurts to breathe, and your vision is hazy from hitting your head on the way down. There's the sound of a too close chainsaw revving up above you, making the pounding of your head worsen, followed by the screams of the traitor that shoved you down the slope.

"Please, please, don't do this. I haven't done anything wrong!" She cries, as if she didn't just try to trade your life in for her own. You wince when you hear her scream again, drowned out by the chainsaw cutting through her flesh and blood splattering onto every nearby surface. The sound has your stomach curling, but a part of you feels that she had it coming for what she did to you.

When the stomping of the mask wearing man's feet are a distant, you allow yourself to breathe more comfortably, loosening up your death grip on the old piece of pipe you had grabbed as a weapon when you got out of your restraints. Your fingers ache, knuckles popping as they relax for the first time in what has felt like hours.

"That's what you get, twig ass bitch," you mutter under your breath. When your heart beat finally goes back to a more normal level, and you don't feel like you're about to shake out of your skin, you slowly drag yourself out from the brush, looking around the slowly darkening woods for a way to go.

Readjusting your grip on the pipe, you slowly make your way away from the chaos, hoping that they don't look down here for you.

You don't know where you're going or how far you've gotten, all you know is that you greatly regret putting on a skirt yesterday morning. Not only has it gotten caught on just about everything while you've been running for your life, but the humid Texas heat has caused your thighs to chafe something fierce, and it's starting to sting more than the cuts that litter your arms and torso.

Eventually, you find a shallow stream, and you quickly stumble your way to it. Dipping your fingers in, you sigh at the cool water against your sweaty skin. You carefully scoop some up into your hands, not wanting to make any noise as you press your face into your cupped hands.

There's a faint ribbon of red that you watch slowly get mixed into the water, and you dump it into the stream, watching it quickly disappear. You scoop up another cool batch of water, careful to keep any from spilling through your shaking fingers. It's as you're bringing your hands up to sip from the water that you feel all the hair on your body stand up on end, heart racing.

Looking into the trees, you slowly stand up, turning in place. You can't really see anything, but you know you're not crazy. You also know that you're absolutely fucked. The forest is not something you find yourself in often, or at all, really, and considering it borders onto these crazy fuckers property... they probably knew where you were the whole time.

You want to yell, to scream out your frustrations onto whoever it is that's following you. But your voice is dry, and even breathing has started to feel like too much, your voice cracking around the whispered words, "I-" you swallow roughly, eyes frantically looking around, "I know you're there."

You hear nothing around you, but you know. There are eyes on you. Just how close... you have no idea.

The next breath you take is shaky, eyes watering as you hop over the little stream. Taking another look around you and still finding nothing, you continue on your way.

Crickets jump around you as you carefully make your way to what you hope is safety, spooking you every time they jump in front of your vision. You're struggling for air as the mounting panic starts to cloud your senses, breaths coming in rushed puffs. Your heart is pounding in your ears, so loud that you don't hear the sound of someone walking behind you.

You let out a scream when the back of your shirt is grabbed and yanked, thrusting your elbow back as hard as possible and hitting them in the stomach. There isn't any give, a hard plane of muscle that probably hurts you more than them.

"Well! Look who we've got here!" The man says, a laugh coating his voice. His hand twists in your shirt, the collar of it tightening around your throat. With a rough yank your back is flush against his chest, and you catch the glint of his knife as he presses his fist into your stomach, the tip of the blade nicking the underside of your breast.

You hiss in pain, flinching away from the blade and bumping into his chest. The nearly too tight grip he has on your shirt disappears, but you aren't able to take a breath before that hand has come around to grip at your throat. The thick expanse of his calloused fingers press into your smooth skin, the pressure your neck a warning that has you freezing on the spot.

His fingers flutter, pressing into the sides of your throat, and the breathy sound you let out has both of you freezing in place. His chest pushes against your back as he takes in a deep breath, the exhale painting goosebumps along your damp neck. The man's grip loosens just slightly, before squeezing again. Another moan is pulled from you, and you can feel the man laugh against your back, the low tone sending shivers down your spine.

"Oh, am I gonna 'ave fun with you." The man drops the hand from around your throat, using it to grip your upper arm, steering you back the way you came. The tip of his blade is still scraping your skin, the constant pain seeming to send shocks all over your body. He takes a sharp turn that you aren't prepared for, a gasp leaving you as he shoves you up against a particularly thick tree.

The blade in his hand is dropped to the forest floor, his left hand cupping your cheek roughly as he directs your face up to his. His brown eyes are impossibly dark as they take you in, free hand palming your waist. He’s hiked up your flowy, flower patterned shirt, his big hand sliding up your torso to thumb at the cut under your breast.

You hiss in pain, but that only seems to excite him, the man bringing his blood covered thumb up to his lips, tongue poking out to guide the appendage into his mouth. The low moan that escapes him has you clenching your thighs together, eyes wide as you watch his thumb slide out of his mouth, traces of your bright red blood left on his tongue.

“Fuck, best thing 've ever tasted,” he mutters, hands moving to collect more of the slow trickling blood. Your hands are shaky as they grip onto his blood stained tank top, watching his face as he stares down at his hand, thick fingers disappearing into the meat of your breast instead of swiping up more of your blood.

He dips his head down to mouth at your neck, teeth unforgiving against your skin. His tight grip on you and the tree at your back keeps you from flinching away, at his mercy as his teeth work at your flesh. He doesn't break skin, but it's a near thing, a bruise no doubt starting to form already.

“Ah, hurts,” you whine, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. Despite the pain, you don't try to push him away, hands steadily holding his black tank. Hot puffs of breath dance over your damp skin as he laughs, running his tongue over the bruised flesh before pulling back to look at you.

“That so?” Hesitantly, you nod, heart pounding as you let your weight fully rest up against the tree, breathing shaky as his previously idle hand starts to palm at your breast. His large hand seems to engulf you, and you can't help but push into his touch. He's rough with this too, as you suspect he is with all things, groping you while he watches on with a satisfied look on his face.

Slowly, your fingers unclench from his shirt, and you press your hand flat against his chest. You can feel his warmth even through his shirt, hands trailing absently over his defined pecs. You watch your hands move as he chuckles, eyes flicking up to find him smirking down at you.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he starts, thumb running along your cheekbone, “bet you're sweet all over, ain't ya?"

The next breath you take is shaky, eyes wide and glassy as you stare up at him. He hums, head tilting as he observes you.

“Wanna know what I think?” He whispers, head dipping down again. This time he doesn't bite you, though there's still a twinge of pain as he sucks over the bruises his teeth had made. Your response is lost in your gasp, knees buckling at the unexpected current of pleasure that wracks through you. If it weren't for him pressing you against the tree, you would probably be on the ground right now.

“Think I'm gonna keep you all to myself. You'd be my good girl, won't you?” He moves up to mouth at your jaw, wet open mouthed kisses following his path to your mouth, “Whaddya say, think you could be Johnny's good girl?”

Through the fear pumping through you at the thought of what would happen to you if you said no, there's a part of you, a sick and twisted part, that really, desperately wants to succumb to this sadistic man's whims. You know saying yes would be just as bad as what will happen if you say no. There's no knowing what he would do to you, but that part of you frankly doesn't care.

“Please,” you whisper, letting your hands wrap around his broad torso, palms flat against his back as you press his muscular body against yours, as if he could get any closer, “so good. I'll be your good girl.”

You don't fight the hand on your face as he guides you, eyes fluttering at the close proximity of your faces. Johnny's eyes are crinkled at the corners, his smirk pressed against the corner of your mouth, “Good.”

Johnny's lips are aggressive as they press against yours, seeming to consume you as his tongue bullies its way into your mouth. There's nothing you can do but endure the attack, moaning and gasping into his mouth as his other hand continues to grope you.

Overwhelmed by the force of his kiss, you can't keep yourself still. Tree bark scrapes your skin with every shudder his skillful tongue pulls from you, but you barely feel it. All you feel is him, his all encompassing presence that looms over you and threatens to consume your very being.

Through his jeans and your skirt, you can feel his erection pressing into your lower stomach as you shift against him. The feeling of it seems to awaken something in you, a primal urge you've never felt before, your hands dropping from his back to pathetically fumble at the bottom of his tank. Once you get your hands on his skin you can't keep them still, running them up and down the warm expanse of his back.

You can feel slight imperfections on his skin, long lines of damaged flesh that match the scars on his face. You trace over them, letting your nails trail over his skin in your exploration. There's barely enough space between you to breathe, but somehow you're able to wedge your arms between the two of you to trace over his stomach.

The skin there is soft, though you can still feel the faint definition of the muscles beneath. You continue to run your hands up, though just as your fingers dance along his pecks the hand groping you is instantly grabbing your wrist, yanking it out and pressing your hand roughly against the tree next to your head.

“Not yet, I ‘ain't had my fun,” he mumbles against your neck, giving your bottom lip a little nip before he pulls away completely. He lets go of your hand, the other dropping from your face to pull up the bottom of your skirt. His big hands palm at your ass, fingers harsh as they squeeze.

All too soon he's stepping back from you, arms crossed as his eyes drag over your form. You feel squirmy under his gaze, fingers fidgeting with each other as you wait for him to say or do anything.

“Y’look like you have too much clothes on,” he says, and you can hear the hidden command in his words. You're quick to ruck your shirt over your head, the thin lace bra sticking to your sweaty skin. Trembling fingers take longer than you'd like to work the button of your skirt, though once that's open you're able to shove it down over plush thighs, letting it fall to the forest floor.

“That's it darlin’, why don't you get laid out real nice for me, huh?” He's leering at you, watching the way your body moves as you sit down on the forest floor. He seems to enjoy watching you follow his every command, hand absently palming his erection the whole time.

You're careful as you lay down, making sure to stuff your now dirt covered clothes underneath you as some sort of padding. There's still rocks and sticks that make it uncomfortably uneven, but at least they won't be cutting into your skin. Once you're settled, thighs clenched tight and hands fidgeting on your stomach, you look up at Johnny as you wait for instructions.

He hums, taking the few steps needed to stand at your feet, “Good girl.”

You can't keep the pleased hum down, watching him with wide eyes as he start's unbuckling his belt. He doesn't bother to take it off though, undoing the button and zipper before he's kneeling at your feet.

He plants both hands on your knees, pushing them open to stare down at you. You know you're wet, you can feel the fabric of your panties sticking to your skin uncomfortably. There's probably a wet spot too, and you turn your head away when you notice the smug look on his face.

A thick finger presses right over your hole, going as deep as the fabric can allow. Your pussy clenched at the intrusion, desperate for him to fill you. Rolling your hips up, you try to force the finger deeper, huffing when he pulls away.

“What a desperate little thing, hmm?” He slips a finger through the crotch of your panties, pulling them off of you roughly. You lift your hips to help aid the process, hands falling between your legs to cover yourself up.

"Thought you wanted to be my good girl," Johnny says, hand coming up to gently cradle the side of your face, a sharp contrast to his mean glare and condescending tone that he directs at you. Your heart pounds in your chest, legs falling open to allow him enough space to shuffle forward.

"I do. I- I am," you manage to choke out, slowly pulling your hands away from where you were covering yourself. Instead you fist them in his dirty shirt to try and bring his mouth down to yours, whining when he doesn't budge at your insistent tugging.

The smirk that spreads over his face sends a shiver down your spine, and his thumb glides down your cheek to prod at your kiss swollen lips. He tugs the bottom lip down, pressing the pad of his thumb roughly against your tender flesh.

"Open," he commands, and you do so without a thought. He's slow as he eases his thumb into your mouth, letting you lave your tongue over his calloused skin before it's easing further into your mouth. His thumb, thick and long and big like the rest of his fingers, teases at the back of your throat, and you feel tears collecting as you fight back the urge to gag at the intrusion.

He takes pity on you, slowly pulling his thick thumb from your mouth to then harshly press it against your clit. The rough pressure has your hips bucking, not knowing if you want to roll up against the touch or pull away. Johnny doesn't give you an option either way, thick fingers practically disappearing into your thigh to keep you still, gripping so hard you're surprised they haven't torn through your flesh.

You can't stop the desperate sounds that fall from your lips, your pleas garbled as your legs fall further open. His blunt nails scrape the delicate flesh above your clit as he abuses your sex, drawing loud, drawn out whines as you writhe on the forest floor. Johnny only seems to thrive on your suffering, shifting so that he can press two fingers into you at the same time. You're embarrassingly wet, so they easily slide in despite how thick his fingers are, relieving the empty feeling that has settled over you.

“Fuck, woman, you're wetter than all hell,” he's sat back to watch the way your cunt greedily sucks his fingers in, hips rolling down to match the thrusting of his fingers. Wet squelching fills the forest, your soft, breathy gasps barely heard over the sound.

Johnny crowds into your space, leaving a trail of bites up your neck and to your lips. The kiss is rough, teeth clicking together from the rough treatment before he comes in at a better angle. It's dirty and sloppy and wet, teeth biting at your bottom lip every time he pulls back to take a breath.

It's too much, a sensory overload that has your brain turning to mush. His fingers curl aggressively inside you, thumb rubbing painful circles on your clit. Slowly, your hands release the death grip they have on his shirt, unsteady as they move to thread through his short hair. The tight grip you have on his hair has him growling out a warning, the nip he gives to your lip drawing blood.

You hastily grab onto the back of his shirt, tears blurring your vision as you pull back from his lips with a desperate gasp. Heaving breaths escape your lips, moans and whines tumbling into pleas as you beg him not to stop. He presses a kiss to your forehead that's more teeth than lips because of his wide grin, a dark chuckle following soon after.

Hips rolling desperately into his touch, you chase the orgasm you can feel building.

“That's it, give it to me,” his voice is low, and the command sends a shiver down your spine, cunt clenching around his fingers. Your gasps get stuck in your throat, high pitched whines drowning out the sound of your arousal as you cum.

Johnny doesn't let up even after you've cum, fingers working at you at a brutal pace, bringing another orgasm that hurts as much as it feels good. You try in vain to pull away from his touch, but he just holds your hips down with his free hand, fingers working ruthlessly as you twitch and cry.

“Good girl,” Johnny finally lets up, pulling his soaked hand from between your legs. He licks a long stripe up his fingers, chuckling at the fucked out look on your face, “sweet as honey.”

You can't do much more than lay there watching him as he sits back on his heels, quickly pulling his tank top up over his head. His chest is littered with scars, and you can't help the way your eyes trace over each pale line that decorates his skin. They look like they were painful, and you're brushing a hand over one before you can even think.

Thankfully he doesn't get mad at you touching him this time, silent as he lets you explore. His skin is warm and surprisingly soft, a light dusting of hair trailing down from his belly button and disappearing into his pants. You let your nails trail through the hair, relishing in the deep sound that rumbles in his throat.

Lips pulled between your teeth, you can't help but admire the way his arms move as he works on pushing down his jeans. The muscles move under the flesh, arm as sturdy looking as the rest of him. You tug on the band of his jeans, inching them down over his legs, eyes laser focused onto his cock, no underwear in sight.

Your fingers wrap around his erection easily, swiping your thumb over the angry red head to collect the wetness there. The groan he lets out is heavenly, but he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand from him.

“We don't have the time for that right now, darlin’,” he says, shoving them down the rest of the way and kicking them off to the side. He pushes your legs up and open by the underside of your knees, shuffling forward to fill the empty space, “Now you be a good girl and hold these legs open for me, an’ I'll be makin’ you scream in no time.”

He lets go of your trembling legs the second you reach for them, grabbing the base of his dick and rubbing the tip through your folds, left forearm resting on the ground next to your head. It catches on your fluttering hole with every pass, a tease that has you whining for more, rocking your hips as much as you can.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but has only been a few seconds, he slides into you, letting go of his dick to rest his arm on the other side of your head. The stretch is painful, and you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He doesn't stop, merely laughing at your wince as his hips settle against yours.

There's no grace period given. His hips are pulling back before you can adjust to his girth, drilling into you with a deep and brutal pace that has you wailing. You can feel the sharp sting of your nails from how hard you're clenching your thighs, the pain seeming to heighten your pleasure.

Johnny's grin is wide and full of teeth, you can feel it against your neck. Then he's digging his teeth into the flesh, abusing the bruised flesh. You can't feel it though, lost in the haze of his cock pounding into you. You feel the breath being knocked out of you with every thrust, eyes blurry with the onset of tears.

Your throat hurts from your wailing, pleas barely distinguish whenever you're able to attempt speaking. Johnny either doesn't understand you or doesn't care enough to figure it out, laughing at your babbling. When he pulls back you can see blood on his lips and teeth, and then you feel the sting of the bite he left on you.

Johnny presses his lips to yours as your face scrunched up in pain, the coppery taste of your blood lingering even after he pulls away. You chase the taste off your lips with your tongue, unable to follow his lips as he sits up.

“Fuck,” he drawls, the voice drawn out as he bottoms out in you, watching the way your hips twitch to try and get any sort of friction, “fuckin’ soaked through that pretty little skirt you got layers out under you, best pussy I've ever had.”

Then there's a large hand fisting the hair at the back of your head, yanking your head back. Your yelp of pain is drowned out by the obscene sounds coming from your pussy while Johnny uses you as if you were a toy. Pace bordering on brutal, you hold onto your sweat dampened thighs as he chases his high.

He licks and nibbles at the still bleeding wound on your neck, drinking from you as his thrusts shift you across the forest floor. The salt from your tears sting as it hits the bite marks that cover your neck, a loud moan following when the taste of salt hits Johnny's tongue.

Thrusts becoming erratic, your only warning is his teeth clamping down on the side of your neck before you feel the liquid heat of Johnny’s cum filling you in bursts, pushed deeper into you by tiny thrusts. It's only when he finally stills inside of you that you are able to breath, taking big gasps as you gather yourself.

“Mmm, what a good girl you are,” Johnny mumbles against your neck, pulling back to look you over. You probably look a mess, hair frizzy from the heat and being yanked on by Johnny. You're also covered in blood, though Johnny probably relishes in the fact that he put it there. It's when his gaze settles on where you're still connected that you feel your face heat in embarrassment.

As he pulls out you can't help the way you whimper, desperate for him to fill you back up despite how tender your abused sex feels. The trail of cum that follows is quickly stuffed back into you by two thick fingers, plugging you up with his cum.

Large hands slide under your ass, tacky with your arousal. Your hands fall away from your thighs in surprise as he lifts your lower body off the ground so that you're resting on your shoulders.

“Probably tastes even better mixed with me,” he mumbles more to himself than to you. As Johnny licks a long stripe up from your fluttering, dripping hole to your clit, you find yourself melting into the pleasure that he is giving you, no longer caring about what will become of you when he's had his fill.

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 14

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Lloyd eases you back against him. You feel awkward, naked, your back flush to his torso, in the large tub. There’s more than enough room for both of you but it’s crowded nonetheless. He drags his hand up your side and grazes the curve of your chest. You feel the twitch beneath you.

He nudges your head back to rest on his shoulder. The tension tapers away from his body as he reclines beneath you. He keeps his hand just below your chin as his other walks up and down your figure, from thigh, to hip, to waist, to tits. You can’t help but be on edge.

You grip the side of the tub, too nervous to let all your weight down on him. His breath rocks you subtly as he purrs with each breath. He’s getting harder for the minute and entirely unashamed of it. He dips a hand beneath the surface, lifting you slightly to let his dick pop up completely.

He lets you back down, his erection firmly against the small of your back. You try not to shudder. You’re not necessarily revolted, not by him, more disappointed in yourself. You feel your pelvis burning already. You’re too weak, you can’t take anymore.

His hand crawls over the top of your thigh as his other hand hooks under your arm. He gropes your tit, meanwhile his other hand finds its way to your vee. He taps on your tender flesh and you squeeze your legs together. It’s a poor show of resistance as he pokes between them and you splay open to his touch.

You whimper as he delves between your folds, his warmth revealing the cool slickness there. He tuts and bites the shell of your ear. He centers on your clit, spreading your lips with ring finger and index, as he roll his middle finger over your bud. He draws tight circles that quickly have you quiver.

You heave and clutch the porcelain tighter. He follows the line of your arm and unclasps your hand from the tub. He guides it up and over your head, nestling it against his own. You can’t help but grip him tightly, hips rocking under the water as you goad him on.

How does he do this to you? You don’t understand. You don’t love him, not like you do Johnny. He’s barely more than a stranger, yet that thought alone is enough to spark a spatter of heat through you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, babbling and begging as Lloyd’s fingers dance frantically.

You clamp his hand between your thighs and buck, cumming with a splash of water as he chuckles. The pique is short lived and leaves you to your shameful afterglow. You forged the tugging need that drove your body over your mind and turn your head to dwell in regret.

What would Johnny think? Maybe he was right all along. You were loyal to him but look how quickly you became… this?

“Don’t think about him when you’re with me,” Lloyd warns as his hand trails down further and he curls his fingers inside you, “or I’ll have to make you forget.”

He moves his hand, pressing against your clit as he builds the pulsing pressure. You croak and tear your arm down to grip his wrist. It hardly deters him as he wiggles his hand faster and faster. You ache hotly around him, overworked but desperate once again for another release.

“The only thought you should be having about that cuck,” he growls against your head, “is how I’ve already fucked more orgasms out of you than he ever could.”

You gasp and spasm, his words driving your climax as much as his touch. You shake atop him, wrapped up in his hold and the pleasure he deals. Your eyes roll back and all you can think of is that moment and the blinding heat that overtakes your being.

👄

The path from the tub back to your bed is hazy. You only know that the maid must have taken the opportunity to intrude. The bed is made neatly and your belongings are in the corner with the basket of goodies. Lloyd sits you against the headboard and you pull a pillow between you and the hard frame.

Before he can pull away, you catch his wrist. He looks down at you with half a scowl, staring at how you clutch his wrist. You look at the bruises around his eye, the swelling in his nose, and the small split along the bridge. You frown.

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” you murmur.

He tugs but relents, turning to you completely with a crooked smirk, “Let me say the asshole isn’t so tough when his punching bag hits back. Trust me, he looks worse.” He gently slips his arm from your grasp, “always has but now he’s hideous as fuck.”

“Oh,” you swallow.

“Don’t take it to heart, babe, I’ve had worse–”

“Did you put ice on it? It’s starting to flare up–”

“Look, sugar tits, I’m fine–”

“Do you have witch hazel? Those bruises are only going to get darker–”

“Christ almighty, I’m fine. Why don’t you take a look in the mirror before you worry about my face?”

“But… I owe you,” you frown, “and it has to hurt.”

“The only thing you owe me is a good fuck once you’re back on your feet,” he scoffs, crossing his arms as the towel droops low on his hips, “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, but…”

“I’m not a baby.”

“I didn’t say that either. I just… want to help.”

His brows furrow and he huffs. He shakes his head and stomps away. He goes to the bag he hastily packed and takes out the lamp, setting it to the side as he searches the depths. He pulls out a long tee, the striped one you wear on your period.

He nears you again and drops it over your legs. You thank him but that alone makes his wince.

“Like I said, we fuck and we go on our way,” he backs up, “you should get your shit together. You got work tomorrow.”

He spins on his heel and swiftly leaves the room. You sit puzzled, groaning as you reach for the tee shirt. His sharp shift in demeanour reminds you of Johnny in some ways; one moment sweet as pie, the next cold and distant. Similar but not the same.

[queeenarii]

Based on someone's post saying Johnny would love the lotus position.

Gender Neutral reader.

🔞 Minors Do Not Ingage

In this : Johnny, Kun, Hendery

CW: choking(John,reader reciving) Hendery(hen reciving). Squirting (reader) Oral (Hen reciving) Slight Orgasm control(John,Kun, reader reciving,) . Mentions of Edging (Kun, reader reciving)

If missed any lmk!!

Johnny

You sit on his lap, swiviling your hips, hands gripping the head board for stability. A moan escapes from your lips as his tip kisses the deepest parts of you.

"Johnny" you whine in desperation. It feels so good. But it's not enough

"Keep going for me beautiful" he croaks out. Eyes hooded and locked on yours. His large hand wraps around your neck, pressing slightly. The slight pressre provides a gentle jolt to your system causing you to throw your head and moan loudly, rutting your hips desperately to chase your high. He plunges deeper filling you up so nicely it drives you insane, and pushes you to take more of him.

"That's it my love" he encourages, voice low and hungry. Johnny rewards your enthusiasm by attaching his mouth to your left nipple, biting softly.

"Fuck" he pants "You look gorgeous on top of me" a new spark picks up from your right nipple as his hand elctrifieas every inch of your skin making you shiver.

There's a rustling, but you pay it no mind, your realise dwelling just under your surface. Buzzing fills the air but before you can react it's attack your clit/tip.

The moan that rips from you is vicious. Booming and drawn out. Once again it's too much. Your skin buzzes in tune with the toy, you pulse at random sucking Johnny in more.

"Look at me" he commands "you know I love to see you loose control" the vibrator diggs harsher onto you boarding on painful. He resumes the assault on your chest, enveloping the left nipple sucking harshly.

"Johnny..." you wail "...Johnny I can't" nails sink into his shoulders. You carve valleys in his dewy skin marking him as yours once again. He inhales at the sting, reveling in it. Reveling in you. His eyes dart down to where you two are joined.

"Fuck. for me pretty. All for me" he groans out bucking his hips up. He turns the settings on the vibrator up once more. It rattles against you in an intoxicating manner. You squeez Johnny harder, your high steadily approaching. His hand grips tighter as he mutters a simple command.

"Cum for me baby"

That's all it takes. Your resolve breaks. You let go.

"That's right make a mess for me" . Johnny ruts up into you helping you ride out your high and chasing his. You whine higher as your orgasm drags on, drenching Johnny's abs and the sheets.

You feel fuzzy like your floating. Your finger tips are on fire as you continue to clench around him.

His hands climb to your waist. Keeping you moving. When your senses are about you, you straighten up, hazy eyes staring into his. Soft lips meet yours as your body unknowningly follow your mind. Dying to have his lips on yours. The over stimulation settles in your bones, your nails dig harder into him.

He grunts "hold on for me baby" his lips barely leave yours "I'm close"

After what feels like an eternity, a hearty groan rings through the air. His teeth sink into your lips, his dull nails provide some solace. A teether for your floating being.

Kun

You don't know what track he was working on. Only that he said he needed you. He needed his muse.

The chair squeaks and the arms press into you, itchy and irritating. Kun leans back from him computer.

But then pleasure rushes your veins. Kuns lips, raw , pink and bruised from his anxious bitting, attaches to your neck drawing out a moan.

"Beautiful" he gasps "such beautiful moans. So Perfect, so pretty. " You hum in content at the praise wiggling in his hold.

Kun sits up. The clacking of keys driving you crazy. You can barely see his face from here, but the furl in his brow ignites your curiosity. Then you hear it. Your voice booms from his system.

He sits back before you can shrink yourself into him, embarrasment washing over you. The desperation in your voice feels raw and unfamiliar. But kun. Kuns hips jolt up at the sound. The sound of home, of peace, of pure beauty. The sound of his muse. Sounds that only he can compose, the master of your body, directing your pleasure like an orchestra.

You're barely moving, but his stare goes right to your core. Your hips rock upwards.

"Please do anything babe" you please growing more desperate by the second.

"Go on beautiful, play me" with his permission you crank your hips. The rough movements sharp and uncoordinated. Kuns skin rubs against yours, the chairs handle digs into your skin more rubbing it raw. You don't know how long you've been like this. An hour? Two?

How long has kun been playing with you? Commanding beats of silence after winding you up so close to your release.

The clacking is back. Kun starts tinkering away again. Frustratation beats in your chest at the sound.

"Kunnieeee, please" you whine, desperate.

" I was just ensuring that it saved" he claims. He leans back again. Taking in your form on top of him, groaning.

"Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me" he says gripping your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh there. His corse hands trail up your thighs and scrape against you teasingly.

"So good for me, my muse" Kuns heels dig into the floor allowing him to thrust hardly into you.

His hands return to your hips, forcing you down on him.

"So good, so pretty, all mine" he almost sings, lost in the vevelty wetness of your walls.

Releif, like finding water in miles of dessert, crashes into you when his hand presses against your clit/dick. It's almost too much, the 3 other orgasms that were stolen from you come back to life. Kun moves his hand quickly , your orgasm a crescendo, begging for a release.

"Come on pretty, you can cum" the sweet words leave his mouth alongside pants and groans. All of his efforts quicken determind to fulfill your desires.

You slump against Kuns body, spent, exausted. The arms of the chair chafing your skin as your legs morph into lead weights. Dealing the ground in search of stability.

Kun scoots closer to his desk, tinkering away again.

About 10 minutes pass before another word is said, kun occasionally searching your face, rubbing your back and legs.

"Are you able to get up?" he asks. You hum, brain still fuzzy and limbs less heavy.

"Maybe" you reply smushing your face further into kuns neck. Kuns chuckle fills you with warmth, pushing you back to look at your face. A chast kiss placed to your lips

"Let's get you home, my muse".

Hendery

"Awe man" Guangheng gasped in defeat, gesturing at the screen.

"This is what... " his voice trails off as you home in on how gorgeous the man in front of you is.

His goofy anger, his frustration makes him hotter. His legs speread, sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. His loose shirt hung off his shoulder exposing the canyons of his collarbones and the delicious skin that covers them.

You set your phone down and saunter over to the couch that he inhabits. Straddling his lap you cease his seemily endless chatter, collecting his lips with yours. The room falls silent , peacefulness returned , nothing but the hum of his game in the background.

"If you wanted me to be quiet all you had to do was ask(/j) " he smirks playfully pulling you closer into him. Of course Guangheng couldn't stay silent for long.

"I want you. Quiet or not" you whisper into his ear, grinding down on him teasingly.

"Well all you had to do was ask(/j/sx)" he repeats again. His hand finds your head, pulling you together for another heated kiss. Your cold hands thaw against the hot skin under his shirt, coaxing it off of him.

You push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees. Hendery lifts his hips to free him self for you. You nuzzle up against his dick, slotting it into your mouth, hands on Hendery thighs.

"Fuck" he pants, his tip skims the back of your throat, your body both refusing and encouraging the action. The hair at his base tickles, your nose scrunching in response. You pull off of him and sneeze.

"Your so cute" his infectious laugh fills the room once more. the crack of a slap following as you retaliate against his bare thigh. Your mouth returns to him coaxing him to full hardness.

Once your satisfied. You return to his lap, hips hovering over his cock and chest over his face. He can't help but to press his face into it with a satisfied hum, kissing and sucking at the skin. Licking along your stretch marks.

"Love your tits" his muffled voice rings. The stretch of his cock is addicting in the way it splits you open. Slowly you fit him inside moaning as he reaches deep inside you.

You start moving your hips to your own rhythm, grabbing your boob in one hand, pinching your nipple. The sting is delicious and your other hand trails down to your core stimulating you there.

Guangheng cant do anything but sit and watch as you use him. His tries to keep his hips under control. Occasionally your thrusts meet the pleasure unexpected yet welcomed.

Your hands stop thier movement frantically searching for Henderys. Your hand lace together and you guide back to your chest. Hendey takes the bait. Fondling and gripping your titts. The sporatic tweaks of your nipples amplify the electricity surging through your body. The soft tugs are soothing but the harsh pinches are electrifying.

Your hand picks up speed as do your hips. Hendery digging his blunt nails into your chest as your velvety walls squeeze him.

"Shit" you gasp out. Your free hand climbes up Henderys torso. You stop at his nipples flicking them slightly. Hendery groans in response, his fluffy hair meeting the back of the sofa.

Your lips find his neck, his hand your core replacing yours. Your free hand reaches its final destination, curling around his thick neck the best your hands could.

Guangheng goes wild. His eyes roll back, his hand picks up speed on your clit and his other had trades your nipple for his own. His hips move on their own accord. Out of tune with your movememebts but delightful none the less.

Your bodies ruffling is all you hear, until his loud moan ripples through the air.

"Cum with me princess" he begs looking back at you, his eyes commanding the attention of your own.

His face soon contours in pleasure, his moan loud and deep. His hips piston into yours, driving you to your high.

Eventually the cord snaps. Your coming on his spent dick and the last drops of his release mix with yours. Your hips circle languishing in the pain that resides after your orgasm.

"I should loose more often huh" of course Guangheng couldn't stay silent for long.

[natelia-aldelliz]

"Are you busy right now?"

Gaz lifts his head towards Soap, a curious look on his face. "Wow, that's the first time you actually ask me before kidnapping me, actually yes, I'm-"

"Perfect, come here I need your help."

Roach snorts as he watches Gaz's exasperated face as Soap grabs his arm and pulls him up, pushing him towards his room.

"Yeah, that was too good to be true, should've known," Gaz grumbles.

"No, no, no, you'll see, it's way more interesting that whatever you were doing, I swear!" Soap beams back at him, overflowing with energy. He's so excited that he slams his door closed behind Gaz, not noticing that Roach wasn't in yet.

Five years. He's been dead for five years but he still flinches when things rush his way, as if they were gonna hit him. "Rude," he complains as he walks through the door, shaking his head at Soap's apologetic look. He can't be mad at him though, not when he's behaving like an excited puppy.

"What the fuck happened-" Gaz gasps at the state of the room. There's tinkering material everywhere, hardware on all surfaces, and strange objects scattered around.

"Oh, I'm building my own ghost communication equipment, that's why I need you. You need to tell me if it works!"

"And you couldn't see if it works yourself?"

Roach actually laughs at that. Johnny hesitates, mouth gaping as he tries to find a reason.

"No, I get paranoid, I need a second opinion."

"Not bad, not bad," Roach grins.

"Ok," Soap continues, ignoring him. "Here's a spirit box I made, try it and tell me what you hear."

Gaz takes the offered radio and turns it around in his hands. "Shouldn't we be in a haunted house or something?"

Soap throws a look towards Roach. "Nah, i'm sure it's fine, try it."

"So you don't want to go to a haunted house?"

That could be really interesting, actually. Roach had always wanted to go ghost hunting, but he hadn't been able to convince Simon to come with him. He looks at Soap expectantly. It wouldn't be the same experience now that he's the ghost, but it's probably still gonna be interesting! Perhaps even more if he's the one being hunted.

"You really want to go to a haunted house that bad?" Soap asks.

"Yes," Gaz and Roach both answer at the same time.

Soap playfully rolls his eyes. "Ok, try the equipment first, to see if it works, and then we can look up some place to go if you really want."

They cheer, under Soap's amused eyes, then Gaz turns the radio on.

"Are there any spirits here?"

"Yup," Roach answers.

"Maybe try it with a little more enthusiasm," Soap says, looking at Roach.

"Oh, sorry," Gaz rolls his eyes. "Ooh~ spirits of the underworld, can one of you esteemed beings show their presence by speaking out~ how's that for enthusiasm?"

Roach snickers. "Yes, there is an esteemed being here indeed, and that is me, I'm here, hi."

Gaz jumps. "It said here!! It said! You're not pulling my leg, are you? You didn't record this shit, right??"

Soap and Roach gasp. It works! It has to, he said here and Gaz heard it!!

(spooky sad stuff under the cut)

Needless to say, they almost immediately head to the closest haunted place they can find on the internet. Roach is flabbergasted when Soap drags Simon and Price behind him, happily chattering away with Gaz. They don't exactly look thrilled to be here, but they're here! To be fair, he had only asked Simon in the past, he had never tried not giving him a choice.

It's funny in the beginning. The guide tells them the building's story, something about a criminal fire in the 1890's killing a man's whole family while he was away on business, then he came back and killed himself on the ruins, allegedly from guilt at having been responsible for the fire in some way, Roach didn't understand the reasoning, but okay.

Then the house's debris got covered up by the construction of another building, who had welcomed injured soldiers after WW1, many more people died here, stories about nurses and patients seeing figures in the corridors, children coughing, yadda yadda, very usual stuff.

The building is creepy, that's for sure, but there's no sign of any of the ghosts the guide had told them about. There is one soldier, who looks to be about 40, with his face disfigured, but he isn't active at all, barely follows them with his eyes, and doesn't say a single word. Doesn't even blink when the rest of the ghost hunting equipment beeps in his face. Probably got used to it, the poor man.

Roach is having a great time though. He makes everything go off at the most spooky times, says criptic shit in the spirit box. He's absolutely delighted when even Simon, stoic non believer Simon, starts hanging closer to Johnny, in what he knows is a silent request for touch. He says that to the only one that can actually hear him, and smiles at them when Johnny offers to hold Simon's hand.

It's all fun and games until they head to the basement, that the guide had said was the old house's foundations, and Johnny freezes up.

Roach is confused. There isn't anything here, no ghosts, no interactions, nothing.

"I… I don't feel good," Johnny says and Roach believes him, it's so obvious on his face that he's telling the truth.

"You're cold," Simon frowns, reaching his other hand to brush against Johnny's cheek.

Roach feels… weak. He feels tired. He hasn't had to sleep since his death, and it's like it's catching up to him. It feels draining. Something is wrong, but there's nothing around them still.

A child's voice rises from the radio in Gaz's hands. "I was like you," they whisper hauntingly.

"I don't know, man," Gaz says. "They said 'like' but for some reason I don't think I like that they like us."

"It's not what they said," Johnny whispers, still frozen in place, not even blinking, crushing Simon's fingers in his.

Price grabs his shoulder reassuringly, doing the same to Gaz with his other hand when he huddles closer. Roach tries to shake himself awake.

"Show yourself!" He tries to yell, commanding whatever ghost was playing with them to stop, but it only comes out as barely louder than a whisper. The only answer he gets is the sound of a child desperately coughing, flashes of heat, smells of burning flesh, smoke everywhere. He gasps, the flashes melting into his own memories, the gunshot, fire all around, Simon, Simon, Simon-

"I don't need you to talk, ghost," the child's voice is harder, dismissive, and the flashes suddenly stop. He falls back, panting, trying to catch his breath. "I just need your energy."

"Did they say Ghost?" Simon squeaks out.

"We need to leave," Johnny says urgently, pulling on Simon's hand.

"Don't leave," the child continues. "Talk with me. You need to know."

"Know what?" Price asks. Roach had almost forgotten the others didn't hear the entire conversation.

The child just ignores the question. "This is what happens when we die," they murmur. "This is what we become. But it's not the end."

A hand grabs Roach's arm and he jumps, his head swivelling wildly. It's the soldier from earlier. He looks panicked.

"You shouldn't be here," he says, arm extended far in front of him, apparently refusing to step off the stairs.

Roach sends a look towards Johnny. There are tears on his face and his whole body is shivering. Simon seems to be trying to get him to move back, but it seems like he's stuck in place.

"It's not the end?" Johnny whispers.

The child laughs. "It's not. We can't die, remember? But our body can disappear." The soldier drags Roach out of the basement, and he feels better as soon as he's on the first step of the staircase.

"Johnny!" He yells, trying to get his attention.

"There was nothing left after the fire," the child keeps going, their voice taking a melancholic tone. "I was so weak, but I could still see my siblings, roaming above the ruins. It was the only way to gain some strength back. They wouldn't have been happy anyway."

Roach thinks he's crying as well. He yells again, feeling absolutely useless as the only person who can hear him doesn't move.

"I can't move him!" Simon says, distressed. Price and Gaz immediately join him in trying to push Johnny back.

"But I don't need to feed on ghosts anymore," the child continues. "After all this time, someone like me comes here. I'm sorry. I hope you won't have to wait for so long. You end up losing yourself, little by little… Tell you what, if you don't fight me, I'll search for someone like us myself, to let you find a new body."

"Grab his legs," Price orders, pushing Johnny back into Gaz's arms. It looks hard, but they eventually get him off the ground and rush to the staircase.

"NO!" The child yells, all pressure suddenly dropping like a balloon popping once Johnny is out of the room.

Johnny gasps and seems to come back to life, thrashing in his friends' arms.

"Leave," the soldier says again, grabbing Roach's arm tighter for a second. "Never come back."

Roach quickly nods, tears incessantly falling from his eyes, unable to find his voice. The soldier pats his shoulder and slowly goes back up the stairs, heading back to his original spot. Johnny is sobbing in Simon's arms. They really need to get out of here.

The car ride back is silent. Johnny is lying down on the back seat, curled up, his head in Simon's lap.

"I don't want to become that," he whispers, tears catching on his lashes.

Roach, squeezed between the front seat and the back seat, in front of Johnny's face, shakes his head. He wants to say something, wants to tell him that he won't, but his voice hasn't returned. He tries BSL, not really knowing how much Johnny actually knows. It seems to be enough, because his exhausted eyes close and he seems to finally fall asleep.

Back on base, Simon carries him to bed and sits next to him for a few minutes. He looks shaken. He takes off his mask and beanie, that he uses instead of the balaclava when in civilian clothing, and rubs his hair, sighing. Roach wants to gather him in his arms and comfort him, kiss his hair, rub his shoulders. He also really really wants him to do that for him. He still feels small after that experience.

"I…" Simon says quietly, his voice breaking hesitatingly. "I don't know what to believe." He speaks quietly, apparently not wanting to wake Johnny up. Roach is confused - Simon had never been in the habit of talking to himself - but he just keeps listening. He's always liked to listen to Simon talk.

"This was too real. But if this was real…" His eyes are red. "Then what I saw was also real…" He sniffs, blinks out the tears building up, breaking Roach's heart. "So… Roach… Bug…" his voice breaks on his nickname and Roach starts crying. "If you're actually still here, I don't know what to do. I don't know, Bug. Can you, maybe, give me a sign? That you're here?"

Roach sobs. He loves him so much. He wants a hug. He wants to be held so badly. He folds in on himself in despair, trying to comfort himself, not noticing Johnny's open eyes.

"He loves you," Johnny murmurs, making Simon jump to wipe his tears before turning around to look at him. "He loves you so much. I wish he could tell you himself."

Simon sniffs, lays down beside Johnny and gathers him in his arms, practically squishing him against his chest. "Thank you," he whispers against his hair.

Johnny still looks really out of it, barely awake. His eyes rest on Roach's crying form and the ghost signs his own thanks. They really need to look into this. He can't let their Johnny become this terrible entity, feeding on other beings, waiting on another like them to take their body. He can't let him lose himself like that.

[nrdmssgs]

Can you do a soap fic where a new girl gets transferred and she’s also a sergeant and she’s short and really bitchy, soap flirts with her and she never fails to reply within an insult or a snarky comment?

Masterlist Pairing: SoapXReader TWs: no AN: I took forever, I know, sorry.

The first thing, you thought of, seeing how people gather around Soap, how attentively they catch every bit of phrase covered with thick accent, how eager are they to become part of the next mischief, his mind plotting, is a Kelpie. By no means you were superstitious, but you remember well, what your granny told you: these Scottish demons are nothing but deception, temptation and constant shapeshift, hiding under calm water surface and dragging anyone, reckless enough to trust them, to the depths of cold northern lakes.

You had enough of 'shape-shifters': you were fed up with friendly looking lads, being all sweet around you, only to find out your soft spots and use them against you. So when his smile sparkles too close to your secluded corner of a bar counter - you frown automatically

"Oi, wee-one, what are you doing here all alone, while all the fun happens elsewhere?" That shit eating grin is too familiar. It only portends lies and mockery.

"Daydreaming of your smooches, Sergeant." You know, this man will start flirting with you today sooner or later: after all, he always does. So instead of fearing it coming - you decide on leading this train wreck.

"A'm sa-a-a-a-ae flattered." Johnny can speak British, very much so, when he needs it. But he must be too used to everyone falling for his accent. So he decides to torture your fogged mind with his gibberish.

"And a`m sa-a-a-a-ae lying." You can't hold back a little aping to make this moment even more harsh for him. But that'll teach him.

From your very first day on the base, this man decided, that his holy duty from now on was to haunt you with his flirtatious comments and stupid jokes. You ignored him once, then twice... on his fifth 'strike' you decided, you had enough and fought back. None of Johnny's line remained unanswered by you ever since.

Your rebuffs usually helped for some time. Today it won you fifteen minutes of peace. Because after that Soaps face reappears on the horizon with a jolly 'Anyway, Sg, hae any plans for t`night?'

"Oh, I have one plan, buddy. The first part of it is to not share the other part with the people, I don't want anywhere around me. So lemme guess, this is the moment, you are asking me about the second part?" You talk loud enough, so that not only Johnny, but the whole group of dumbheads enamored by him, hears you.

"I guess, nae, but if you want me to... What's with the second part?" Slowly but surely the damned accent leaves his speech.

"I can't, love, I'm tied up by the first part." Any person, not familiar with Soap would shame you for such a strong reaction. But you knew better, and soon he only proved you right.

"So someone is into restraining? Ah kin just happen tae know a thing or twa aboot this..." You are in mere seconds from snapping right back at him, but he manages to switch your attention to some completely unrelated question.

And just like that you lose concentration for a moment only to find yourself walking down the street with MacTavish and his company. His speech is all honey and velvet with notes of cheerful laughter. Man shouldn't possess so much charm - it is simply unfair. Yet, here he is - all bubbly and so tempting and warm.

Your group turns onto a quiet road, lit by one streetlamp. "Hey, look up!" calls the voice of one of the soldiers, and you lift your head. There is a soda can on the flat lid of the lantern. God only knows how it got there. You're not even surprised when Johnny asks right next to your ear who's ready to knock down the can on the first try. You just turn to him and clarify, “If I do this, can I ask you for anything?”

Soap nods enthusiastically, and before he can add something about the fact that you can always ask him for anything and without any bets, you pick up a pebble from the pavement.

"Watch and learn, Sergeant." You smirk and throw a pebble. The sound of an empty can hitting the asphalt echoes down the street.

Others cheer your victory, when Johnny leans closer and nods with a face of a defeated one.

"Sae what shuid it be, darlin'?"

That smirk. He is trying to look happy even after he lost. Lying scoundrel. Oh, you'll wipe that smirk off his face.

"You seem very proud of your country?" You can't help, but smile, as Soap nods and moves even closer, invading your personal space. So you go on.

"And very proud of that hairstyle of yours... How about we combine your two biggest sources of pride, Johnny." Some soldiers start getting your idea and you hear a few muffled laughs. But Soap doesn't get it till you specify, "Lets paint this mohawk. Blue and white sounds patriotic enough for you, MacTavish?"

If anyone asked you to name the highlight of that day - it was it. Shining smile disappearing from Soaps face, his head ducking, his eyes looking for something under his own boots. He looked lost... But only for a moment.

"Aye. Will need yer help though, wee-one."

For some time, you forget about this evening. Work and duty are quite effective at helping you to put aside any life outside debriefs, trainings and missions. That is, however, only until one late evening, when Soap appears on the threshold of your room with a towel and a pair of tubes of hair dye.

"Sergeant MacTavish keeps his word. Always." These words you hear from a tiny bathroom, where you wash your hands.

He welcomes your return to your room with a bare torso. You try to not look, but one brief glance is enough for his sculpted six-pack, ribs covered with a thin web of scars and tanned broad shoulders to be forever ingrained in your memory. Scoundrel. Seducer. Kelpie. You turn away almost immediately.

"Out of my room. Now!"

"Naw-naw-naw-naw, ye got me wrong! Ah juist dinnae want ma tshirt to get goosed!" He started babbling as quickly as if his life depended on it. So you take a deep breath and nod.

"Ok-ok, calm down!" You come closer to him and brush your fingers through Johnny's dark hair, trying to understand, where should you begin.

It's so strange to see his face not somewhere above, not even on your eye level, but somewhere below. For the first time, you notice the faint freckles on his face, the dark edges of his incredibly blue eyes, the small wrinkles. That all brings you a very strange thought: maybe there are people out there, who know soft and vulnerable Johnny, maybe there are people, whom he will never fail, never betray. You personally can't have a luxury of trusting your colleagues so much as to let them be close to you. But maybe there are people, that trust these eyes and find comfort in these arms.

Your hands fall down. "You know what, Johnny, consider the deed done... To hell ruining your hair, your self-esteem. Forget, we even had this bet, it's stupid."

"Whaaa? Naw, bonnie, it is hilarious! I want this! With ye only! And ah trust ye." He catches your hands and eagerly places them back into his surprisingly soft hair, making sure, your fingers drown in the mohawk fully and touch his scalp. There is not a single note of mockery in his voice - only plea to keep going and trust, endless trust in you - the person, who always had a few sharp words ready for any his attempt to approach you.

You feel guilt stinging you from the inside.

"Ok, I'll do it. But I must warn you - I don't have a single idea, what am I doing. And this will probably turn out ugly."

Soap only keeps nodding, not looking away from your eyes for a moment. His eyes shine with obedience and anticipation.

Not knowing it yet, you are slowly drowning in deep waters, dragged by a Scottish demon. Your very own Kelpie.

[moonbeamwritings]

adventures in braiding

wc: 1.6k

pairing: gyro x gn!reader (and i guess gyro x johnny x reader if you squint)

warnings: none

“It’s so hot out,” Gyro complains, wiping sweat from his brow. “Are you guys not hot?”

“It’s hot as hell, Gyro. Stop complaining,” Johnny chimes in, tugging his hat from his head and tucking it into his saddle bag. “You’re not the only one sweating your ass off.”

Gyro slows Valkyrie to a stop and groans. “I need to take a break.”

He bonelessly slides off his horse and as soon as his feet hit the sand, he takes a long swig from his canteen. You watch as sweat glistens on his brow, water tipping past his lips and sliding down his chin and along his neck. More than just the sun heats the surface of your cheeks, and you find yourself following a rivulet of water as it creeps down the column of his throat and beneath the collar of his shirt.

Seemingly dissatisfied with how the water cools him off, Gyro moves to duck under a nearby rock ledge for some shade, and judging by the way he grimaces, the rocks do little to shield him from the heat.

“We can’t stay long,” you warn him. “If we want to make it to the checkpoint by tomorrow afternoon, we’re gonna have to keep moving.”

Gyro waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just-” Gyro takes another huge gulp from his canteen and sighs. “Give me a minute.”

You watch as he pulls his hat from his head to fan his face, and annoyance washes over his features when it doesn’t immediately work to cool him down. Disgruntled, he tosses it onto the sand and then moves to pull at his hair, lifting it up and down to fan it over the back of his neck.

The movement gives you an idea. Digging through your saddle bag, you find a length of hot pink ribbon you’d taken from the last checkpoint. You don’t remember what compelled you to keep it, but you’re glad to have it now — if only to quell Gyro’s complaints.

You dismount, and join Gyro under his little rock awning. 

“I have an idea that might help. Do you mind if I try it?”

“God, I’d do anything.”

You crowd the space beside him and force him to turn away from you with firm hands on his shoulders, and when his back is to you, you set to work combing your fingers through his hair to ease some of the tangles. When you’re satisfied with how silky it is, you separate it into three sections. Delicately, you weave the hair together into a neat braid, and for the first time all afternoon, Gyro falls silent. As the braid comes to an end you pull the ribbon out to secure it in place, finally moving it over his shoulder and off the back of his neck. 

With his hair out of the way, Gyro lets out a long, pleased sigh as if you’ve just relieved him of a heavy burden. “What would I do without you?”

Emerging from the rocks with renewed spirits, Gyro bends to pick up his hat and straightens his back with a proud hand on his hip. Before mounting his horse again, he fixes his hat into place and fiddles with the ends of his hair, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Squinting in the sun, he asks, “How do I look?”

His cheek is sticky and warm beneath your palm when you move to pat it. You don’t miss the way he leans further into your touch. “You look very pretty, Gyro. Now, are you ready to go?”

“Mhm.”

“Finally,” Johnny groans from behind you, snapping Gyro out of his revelry.

“Do you have to complain about everything?”

“Me?”

The bickering doesn’t stop until well after the sun goes down.

You’ve created a monster.

In the days after, Gyro seems hellbent on incorporating the hairstyle into his daily routine. Every morning, after he’s washed up a little and brushed his teeth, Gyro drags the ribbon between his fingertips and fixes you with this sheepish, almost shy look, so unlike him you can’t help but laugh.

“You want me to fix your hair again?”

He presses the ribbon into your palm then, splaying his hair along his shoulders and dropping into a chair or onto the ground, waiting expectantly for you to braid his hair. And every time, you click your tongue and scoff good-naturedly, teasing him for being so high maintenance, even as you begin to comb your fingers through his pretty blond hair.

Sometimes in the afternoon when you stop to eat, he’ll ask you to tie it again. It needs to stay out of his face when he eats, you know. And you’re more than happy to oblige, setting your silverware aside to collect his hair in your hands. You’ll braid it, or tie it up in a ponytail, sometimes even twisting it into a low bun before digging into your food.

Johnny rolls his eyes more than once at the obvious (but apparently not so obvious to the two of you) display of affection, grumbling under his breath about you two needing to get a room already.

Gyro’s smile is smug when he tells Johnny, “You’re just jealous you don’t have a pretty thing like this playing with your hair.”

It’s a comment meant to get under the other man’s skin, and it does... every time, but you can’t help the way your cheeks light up with its implications. There’s a reason you’re so quick to fix Gyro’s hair, to do anything he asks really, and you suspect it has something to do with the handsome way Gyro smiles or the soft sparkle in his eyes when he’s pleased with the way his hair looks.

The air between you starts to change one night, now weeks after the first braiding incident. Weeks spent playing with Gyro’s hair or sitting close to him at meals or resting on his shoulder during downtime. Johnny had turned in an hour earlier, you and Gyro opting to stay up and savor the dwindling embers of the fire, enjoying the comfortable silence settling between you. The moon hangs high in the sky and a chill works its way through the air, cooling your overheated skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Gyro pick at the skin of his fingers.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His fingers stop, a sheepish smile overtaking his features. “I was just thinking...”

“About?” You press, nudging your shoulder into his.

“Well, I was wondering,” he scoffs like even the thought of the words leaving his mouth is silly, “if you could teach me how to braid. I always get so happy when you do it for me, and I just...” He fixes you with a soft gaze, his expression bathed in moonlight. “I want to return the favor.”

“I-” you can’t even get your words out without smiling, the tips of your ears growing warm as you think it over. “I would like that.”

“Well, you’re the expert.” He unties the ribbon from his own hair and gently holds it in the space between you. “Teach me your ways.”

Just as you had done all those weeks ago, and just as you instruct, Gyro crowds the space behind you; his long legs sitting on either side of your hips. You walk him through the process: separate the hair into three even sections, cross an outside section over the middle and let it sit, repeat it on the opposite side, and keep going until you reach the ends.

He mumbles the steps to himself over and over again as he goes, and you smile to yourself as you imagine his brow furrowed in concentration, lip jutted out into a pout as he thinks.

The braid isn’t perfect, not by any means, and by the time he’s done (after starting and restarting more than once), the fire has long since burnt out. The moon acts as the only light to guide him as he ties the ribbon around the ends of your hair.

“I- It’s done,” he pauses, running his fingers over the braid. “I think, anyway.”

You reach behind you to feel it, and find that it’s a little bumpy, a little imperfect, but you adore it all the same. He’d tried, and that’s what matters. The thought makes your heart feel fuzzy in your chest.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“You can’t even see it.” He argues, a pout on his lips.

You turn to look at him and cup his cheek. “I can just tell it’s beautiful, and besides,” you pinch the apple of it as you assure him, “practice makes perfect, right?”

You catch moonlight and adoration in the green hues of his eyes, and as silence falls between you, you find yourself twisting so you can lean closer. You’re just about there, your lips almost on his, when Johnny pipes in, sleep evident in his annoyed tone. “Are you done? Can you please go to bed now?”

With the moment entirely shattered, Gyro affectionately rolls his eyes and pecks your cheek, fingers running over the end of your braid before he moves to stand. “Goodnight, sweets.”

He smirks, and on his way back to his bed roll, kneels down to plant a wet smack against Johnny’s cheek. Tone dripping with a teasing singsong, he says,  “Goodnight Johnny.”

Johnny grumbles an “I hate you” as he rolls over and tucks himself further into his blanket.

These two, you think as you settle under your own blankets. That night, you fall asleep with a braid in your hair and a smile on your face.

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2023 Day Thirty

Exhibitionism

Nikolai x John Price

(ft. Alex Keller x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley)

Price had almost let himself believe that Nikolai had forgotten about the threats he’d made after John had sent him that lovely video. Nik hadn’t said anything about it when he got back. Instead, he’d been taking it slow with John, as they each appreciated that their husband was still alive and unharmed, and here, in their shared bed, cuddling with them. 

He’d kept the facade up as late as this morning, when Nik had woken John up with some incredible head, and brought their breakfast back to their bedroom so they could feed each other, while John sat in Nik’s lap, his cock warm inside John’s ass. Then, they’d fallen back into bed to cum together, with low groans that resonated in their bodies. It was a perfect picture of warmth, from their sweaty skin pressing together as they clung to each other, bathed in the dim sunlight that was able to break through the curtains, as they had refused to properly open them for hours. It was like it was all set up like that just to be a direct contrast with where Price found himself that afternoon. 

Nik had disappeared after lunch, leaving Price to laze around in their room on his own, until Nik dramatically reappeared, and dragged John from the room. John hadn’t kept track of where they were going, and ended up on his back, tied down to a table in the break room. The overhead lights he squinted into were harsh and unforgiving, designed for a meeting room, rather than a break room. Which, of course, they had been, but over time this room had been repurposed, with couches gathered around a TV, a little used pool table, a fridge for snacks and drinks, and a couple of the original tables from the meeting room. 

Usually, they were kept tucked against the back wall, only used when extra surface space was needed, which was rare. Today, Nik had dragged one out into the middle of the room, and tied Price down to it. His one display of kindness in the process had been to fold a blanket under Price’s head, but that was it. There was nothing else between Price’s skin and the hardwood surface aside from the ropes around his wrists and ankles, that each stretched down to one of the table legs. 

Price had enjoyed the thrill at first, left tied down and helpless as Nik sat on the edge of the table to lean over him, using his vantage point to push that big dildo in and out of Price’s ass. Soft praise fell freely from Nik’s lips, his other hand rubbing soft circles into John’s hip, as he twisted the toy inside John, until he was right at the edge of cumming. Then, Nikolai dragged the toy out of him, leaving Price empty and desperate, the spike of pleasure fading away as he whined and squirmed against the ropes. 

Nik had acted indifferent to John’s pleas, picking up a wand and tracing up and down each of John’s limbs, making him shake against the ropes when he skated the wand away from where John wanted it. Instead, Nik focused on finding the places that made John tense, and open his mouth to actually spit coherent words out, asking Nik to please just make him cum already, until Nik had enough of his voice. He set the wand aside, picked up a ball gag and pushed it into John’s mouth.  

“None of that, now, Captain.” He patted John’s shoulder. “Can’t have anyone else who comes along giving you the thing only I’m supposed to now can we?”

Price shook his head. That was the thing Nik had impressed on him as he had been setting up — he was the one who was going to make Price come today, and he was going to be the only one. 

Price shivered in anticipation as Nik let go of his face, curling his fingers into his hands when the door opened. 

“Hey Nik, hey Captain.”

“Gaz!” Nikolai smiled when he saw him, and beckoned him up to the table. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, Laswell is on the phone for you. I explained that we were… busy, but she’s insisting.”

“I thought she was away with her wife this weekend?”

“She is, but you know… duty calls.” Gaz looked down at Price, who was listening to what they were saying, his face falling. “But, she said it would be quick. Five minutes.”

Nik nodded. “She’s usually good with these things. I’ll go see what it is, and you will stay here, and supervise him.”

Gaz grinned, gazing down at Price as his face brightened. “I think I can manage that.”

“It’s not too complicated.” Nik picked up the dildo again, and pushed it back into Price’s ass, the motion making John drop back onto the table, a whine catching in his throat when Nik turned the vibrations on, but left it at the lowest possible setting. “Just, don’t touch this, and don’t let him come. There’s a bag over there, all of it is fair game.”

“Thanks, Nik.”

Nik knocked Gaz’s shoulder, smiling at Price one last time before leaving the room to see what Laswell needed. 

Gaz leant down over the table, gently patting the side of Price’s face before lifting his head up and undoing the gag. “How are you, Captain?”

“Good.” Price replied, swallowing as he tried to rock his hips down in a way that would catch the base of the dildo and push it deeper inside him. 

“Hey, hey.” Gaz pushed his hips back down to the table. “None of that, thank you.”

“Fuck…” Price tilted his head back. “You’re starting to sound like Nik.”

“Are you trying to insult me, Captain?” Gaz gasped, in mock offence. “Or just saying that we’ve both narrowed down exactly how you like to be treated?”

“Eh… definitely insulting you.” Price grumbled. “Anyway… are you just going to sit there, or are you going to play with me?”

“Well, with you looking this good, how could I say no?” Gaz ran his hand down Price’s body, flicking the head of his cock before turning away from the table, and picking up the bag Nik had pointed to. “Oh, fucking hell! What’s Nik got in here, the bloody kitchen sink?”

For a bag that was full of sex toys, it was a lot heavier than Gaz had expected. He propped it on the corner of the table as he dug through the contents, finding dildos, plugs and grinders, in all sizes and colours; vibrators, from bullets to dildos to wands; cockrings; flashlights; strings of anal beads; as well as many different kinds of restraints and cuffs, all haphazardly mixed in together.

“I hope you normally store all of this differently…” Gaz mused aloud as he dug through the bag. “This is a bloody nightmare for finding anything.”

“Nik is talking me into getting a display case for it.”

“He is? For your office, I hope.” Gaz chuckled, as he found one of the particularly long dildos. “Fucking hell. You can take this?”

“Don’t act so surprised, Gaz. I’m old, not prude.”

“Never said you were either, Captain.” Gaz set it aside, continuing to dig through the bag until he found what he wanted. “Ah… these’ll do.”

“What?” Price asked, lifting his head up as Gaz came back to the table. 

“Oh, look at that…” Gaz completely sidestepped the question, leaning down to readjust the blanket under Price’s head. “That’s not enough, is it… let’s get you a cushion.”

He retrieved one from the sofa, pushing it in place under the blanket. 

“Kyle…” Price hissed as settled his head onto it, “what did you get?”

Gaz chuckled. “I’m getting there.” He shook his closed hand, making something clink inside it. “Don’t get too excited now.”

He leaned down and kissed Price, further blocking Price from seeing what he was doing as he sat on the edge of the table. He skimmed one hand down from Price’s cheek to his chest, rubbing across his skin until he found one of Price’s nipples, and pinched it so it would stiffen up. Price grunted into the kiss, his gut tightening as he realised what Gaz had dug out of the depths of the bag. 

Gaz sat up when he held out the nipple clamps, as, as delicious as Price’s kisses were, he should be looking at what he was doing as he closed the first clamp over one nipple. He tugged gently on the chain that connected them to grab hold of the other, scraping his hand across Price’s chest to pull his skin taut, blowing a breath over Price’s skin before applying the second clamp and sitting back to watch Price squirm. 

“They’re cold, Gaz…” 

“Give it a minute. You’ll warm them up.” Gaz spread the chain out in a curve over Price’s stomach, admiring how it caught on Price’s chest hair. “It suits you.”

Price grunted, pouting when Gaz looked away from him when the door opened again. 

It wasn’t Nik coming back, to Price’s disappointment. 

Instead it was Alex, looking like he had literally just arrived, still with his bag and jacket on. Gaz jumped up from the table, hurrying across the room to greet him, pulling his head down into a kiss, before helping Alex get his bag off, dumping it by one of the sofas. Gaz held onto Alex by his belt, kissing him again and again and again, the pair of them murmuring greetings to each other for several torturously long minutes before either of them thought to look over to where Price was. 

“So… what’s the deal with this?” Alex asked, hanging onto Gaz’s hips and following him when Gaz walked back to the table. 

“Uh… It’s a punishment, I think.” Gaz frowned, and looked down at Price. “What is it for? Nik didn’t say exactly.”

Price swallowed. What the fuck was he supposed to say? That Nik sent him a dildo and a vibrator, and John filmed himself using them, but not in the way Nik wanted, so now they were here?

“I… messed up. Didn’t behave.” 

“Ah, some good old misbehaving. Everyone’s got to get up to that, right?” Alex, chuckled, leaning his head on Gaz’s shoulder.

“You, if anyone, would know.”

Alex rolled his eyes, and ignored the jab. “What’s the bit with it, then?”  

“Nik’s put him out here, and provided quite the selection of toys for everyone to use, as they want to.” 

“Doesn’t sound like much of a punishment.” Alex took in Price’s body. “Clamps and a dildo… bit tame.”

“Well, it’s only just started. It’s really meant to be for the game later.” 

Alex laughed. “Because that’s not good enough?”

Gaz kissed him. “Of course it’s good, but it could be—“

“Oh shut up.” Alex pushed his head away.

“And, the dildo was Nik. I’ve been told not to touch it.” 

“Hmm.” Alex nodded. “Suppose, I should wait for Nik to tell me what I can and can’t do, before anything else.”

“It might be a minute until he gets back…”

“No worries. I can just tell you what I’m thinking of, and have you do it.”

Gaz laughed. “That’s not a bad idea. Rare, from you.”

“Shut it.” Alex knocked Gaz’s shoulder. “Go on, flick one of the clamps.”

Gaz did so, the pair of them marvelling at Price’s response to it, his entire body twitching as he bit his lip. When Alex prompted him, Gaz did the same to the other one, and this time John moaned. 

“Nice.” Alex grinned. “Want to hear you making sounds like that.”

He grabbed Kyle, pulling him into another kiss, pinning his hips to the table, the pair of them ignoring Price as they shoved their tongues into each other’s mouths. 

“Jesus— you two get a room!” Soap almost ducked back out of the room when he entered, Ghost following close behind him. 

“Like you two are any better.” Alex tried to elbow Soap away, but Gaz superseded him, leaning over Alex’s arm to steal a peck from Soap, before Ghost dragged him back by his collar, Soap mumbling a half sincere apology, as they looked at the state Price was in.

“Damn shame Alejandro and Rudy couldn’t be here to see this.” Soap leant down on the edge of the table.

“They’re coming next week. I’m sure we can talk Nik into doing this again.” Ghost rumbled, lingering behind Soap, apparently disinterested, even as his eyes raked down Price’s body. 

“Probably. What’s this?” Soap picked up the bag of sex toys from where Gaz had left it, and started poking around inside.

“Fair game for us to use on him.” Gaz replied. “Nik only said Price can’t cum, and to not touch the dildo in his ass.” 

“That tracks.” Ghost glanced into the bag too. “We should get all that out on a table, sort through it properly.”

Soap nodded, and quickly moved to grab another table, Gaz and Alex following him to help as Ghost leant down over Price, cupping his chin. 

“You good?” Ghost murmured, staring at Price’s eyes. 

“I’m good.” Price swallowed. “I’m green.”

Ghost nodded, smiling under the mask at Price remembering his preferred system. “Okay. You need anything while we bicker?”

“No.” Price shook his head. 

“You sure?” Ghost drifted his hand down Price’s body. 

“Ghost, Simon, I can’t cum yet, what Nik said…”

“I know. Ghost murmured, missing Price’s dick and sinking his hand between Price’s legs, accidentally turning the scroll wheel up on the dildo, knocking the vibrations up a notch. “I know. And… what’s this?”

He picked up the dildo Kyle had set aside. 

“I like it. It’s the largest one we have…”

“Is it your favourite?”

“I don’t have… yes.”

“Okay.” Ghost pushed the mask up and kissed him. “I’ll keep it safe, then.”

Price’s whine died in his throat as Ghost left the table too. 

“What have we got?” Ghost greeted Soap with a kiss when he approached the other table, Price’s Favourite tucked into his hoodie pocket. 

“I don’t think there’s a way to summarise this…” Alex looked down at the collection they’d spread out on the table, laid out in rough rows, sorted by colour order. 

“There isn’t. Nik must own, like, stock in a sex toy factory or something, this is bleeding ridiculous.” Soap shook his head.

“You’re right Johnny, we’re very behind…” Ghost chuckled, as Soap swatted his arm, flushing. 

“Farah’s got all of ours.” Alex sighed. 

“But we’re a long way off too.” Gaz agreed. “Well, what can we do with… all this?”

“Well, if Nik actually wants us to sit down and watch the game, we’ll have to move him off the table, because it starts at five, and if we do that, we’ll need at least one set of cuffs.”

“I mean, this many dildos, maybe we should see how many he can get in his mouth…”

“A wand, each? See if we can overstim him?”

Price swallowed as he overheard their discussion, each of them tossing out more and more ideas. They all sounded really fucking good, but until Nik got back, none of them would dare to do any of them. 

As if he could hear John’s thoughts, Nik opened the door, and smiled when he saw the gathered crowd. 

“Excited, John?” He murmured to Price when he reapproached the table, testing the clamps Gaz had left on him.

Price nodded. “They all seem to be making a lot of plans.” 

“Ah.” Nik sighed. “While I’m sure they’re good, I already have my own. Looks like I’m going to have to set down a few rules.” He glanced at the dildo in John’s ass. “Is… that higher than how I left it?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, John.” Nikolai leant close to him. “Who?”

“Simon… did it.” Price whispered, so only Nik would hear.

Nik chuckled. “I’ll sort him out later. For now…” He reached up and undid the ropes, scooping Price up into his arms carrying him to the biggest sofa. 

“You four,” he called over his shoulder. “Pick out one thing each, bring it to me and make your case for it.” 

There was a lot of furious whispering behind them as Nik got Price settled on the sofa, and turned the TV on, humming as he found the right channel for the football. 

“D’you really think they’re all here to watch that?” Price mumbled. 

“No. But, look at you… so close, aren’t you? They’ll need something after you cum beautifully for us, won’t they? It won’t even compare, but it will be something to keep them busy.”

Price chuckled. “I suppose.” 

He grinned when Nik pulled the dildo out of his ass, and swiftly replaced it with his own dick. Nik grunted as he rolled his hips forwards, as Price’s eyes fluttering closed, letting his ass settle around his husband’s dick. 

Gaz was the first to approach Nik. He came empty handed, and glanced down at Price. “I already did the clamps on him… it might look like favouritism if you let me do another one.” 

“Very good.” Nik nodded and tugged lightly on the chain, making Price moan. “They’re an inspired choice.”

“Thank you.” Gaz nodded, taking a seat on one of the other sofas, keeping his eyes fixed on Price and his bouncing cock.

Alex approached next, holding out a pair of handcuffs adorned with pink fur. “I assume you tied him down for a reason, and don’t see why it should have to be a choice between restraint or comfort.”

“Quite right.” Nik chuckled and took them, bringing Price’s head together, cuffing them over his head. Price pouted, but didn’t comment, still enjoying Nik thrusting calmly into his ass. Alex sat on the sofa with Gaz. They kissed, and kept watching Price, even as the game kicked off behind them. 

Soap approached next, holding out a cock ring. “The game’s a long time. Don’t want him finishing too quickly.”

“Very true.” Nik took the ring and fitted it around Price’s cock. 

Price whined, adjusting his hips. “Wanna cum, Nik.”

“You will.” Nik assured him, before turning his attention to Ghost, who approached, apparently also empty handed. 

“I’ve got something Price recommended. I’d like to save it, to use myself, when he’s close to cumming.”

“Have you, now? And, what are you prepared to pay for that kind of privilege?”

“Pay?” Ghost chuckled. “You make it sound like I’ve done something… wrong.” 

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. 

“How about, I give that to you, and we can work out details later?” Nik caught John’s ankle when he tried to kick his leg behind Nik’s back to make him fuck him harder. 

“Sounds good.” Ghost moved off to join Soap on the other sofa, who immediately tried to find what Ghost was hiding, and pouted when Ghost rebuffed him, refusing apology kisses for a couple of moments. 

Nik looked down at Price, all done up and ready for him, courtesy of the other guys in the room. He gently cupped John’s chin and kissed him again, before he sat up, grabbed John’s hips, and finally, finally, started to fuck him. 

John cried out Nik’s name, drowning out the TV, as no one had brought a gag for him. Not that it mattered, as Price was right. No one in the room was watching the game, as they were all far too busy watching Price, taking in every movement he made, every sound that came out of him, how he tugged on the handcuffs, how a hard thrust and a tug on the clamps made him scream, his cock red and aching, bouncing against his torso as he babbled pleas to Nik, to let him cum, because it hurt, to take the ring off and let him come…

“Ghost… whatever you want to do, do it now.” Nik advised, not taking his eyes off of John as he fucked him. 

When Ghost approached the sofa, perching on the arm of it as he showed Nik what he had, Nik grinned. John’s favourite dildo. Price’s eyes widened when he saw it, even more so when Ghost held his mouth open and shoved it into it. 

Nik snapped the cockring off from around John’s cock, laying it aside as he watched Ghost rest his hand on Price’s throat to feel him swallow around the dildo, as Ghost kept it pressed into Price’s mouth, even as Price started to choke on it, shaking, his eyes rolling back into his head as he came. He spurted his own cum up and down his torso, and only then did Ghost slowly pull the dildo from Price’s mouth, and leave it lying by his head as he retreated to Soap’s arms. 

Nik pulled his dick out of John’s ass and stroked himself, spreading his cum over Price’s thighs, slowly letting John down to the sofa cushions as he tucked himself away, humming at the incredible sight they’d all made of him. 

“… more.” Price whispered.

“What?” Nik cupped his chin as Price stretched his body out on the sofa, the cum on his skin glistening under the lights.

“More. More, cum, cover me… in it.” He swallowed, tilting his head to gaze at the others in the room. 

Nik did so, too. As expected all of them were hard, and concealing with varying degrees of success. “Well, you heard him. Pay him back for the show he just put on.” 

Cumming on someone was an unorthodox form of payment, to be sure, but with  how fast Soap, Ghost, Alex and Gaz got up, clearly they had no issue with it.