#141 x grim

[blingblong55]

Macarov, Grim, & Nikto in a room together:...

Grim, turning to Nikto: hey, if I kill him will you be angry?

Nikto, confused:...why would I be angry?

Grim: cuz he's a fellow Russian

Macarov, hoping to God Nikto says yes:...

Nikto:...nah, I want his spine though, heard you have soap his oldh

Macarov: Not my replacement!

-----------

Price, pacing around with his nose punched like a dad:...grim

Grim, flinches in their seat: ...y-yes?

Price, sighs and turns to them finally: what did I tell you not to do this mission?

Grim:...fuck things up...

Price: correct! And what did you do?

Grim:...fuck things up...

Price, loudly clapping his hands together which causes grim to flinch again: right! Now, your gunna go in your room and think, okay?

Grim, sniffles and nods: I'm at

Grim leaves and price watches them go, after a moment he turns and opens a side, letting out the rest of the 141

Price: Ghost, you were right somethins off

Gaz: christ, grim don't flinch like that. What happened to her?

Soap stays silent and ghost elbows him in the ribs

Soap: ow!...okay, I might've accidentally, by chance, maybe...told her she was....terrible at keeping focus? And then added that it might cost us a mission?...

Price:....you FUCKEN-

spoiler, Makarov did loose his new spine...womp womp

as per the last bit, it took three days, cuddle pile, snacks, lots of cheese, horror films, rants, tears and absolute utter love to cheer Grim up

Ghost gave up his hoodie, Gaz his lucky hat, Soap....well...he lost more than the rest skull mask, as a punishment, Ghost and Gaz shaved his head, like actually shaved it all off

Price even let grim drink some red bull to cheer them up(previously banned from base)

[callsigngrim]

Taskforce 141 cuddle headcanons

Warnings: none this is just pure fluff.

Hope you enjoy.

I'm also taking requests if anyone wants to send some(or if you just want to say hi).

Price: this man loves skin on skin. And having you basically draped over him like a warm soft blanket? This man is in heaven. Definitely likes playing with your hair and just basking in the warmth you radiate. More often than not the both of you will fall asleep like this while watching a movie together.

Kyle: Kyle loves spooning you. He tucks your head under his chin and crosses his arms over your chest so he can feel your heartbeat. It reassures him that you are safe in his arms. He always jokes about your hair tickling him. But he loves being able to smell your hair and pepper your neck with kisses.

Johnny: Johnny is always moving one way or another he just can't lay still so he fidgets a lot when the two of you cuddle. He likes it when you sit on his lap because he can wrap his arms around you and squeeze you like a teddy bear,or play with your hair. He loves playing with your fingers too with ,one hand gently rubbing and toying with your fingers and the other arm is wrapped around your middle holding you tightly against him.

Simon: He is more reserved at first but the more tired he is the more cuddly he gets. He will straight up pin you under him and latch onto like an octopus. His entire body has to touch you. He likes talking during your cuddle sessions as well the both of you use this time to unpack and unwind. Simon likes it when you run your fingers over his arms tracing the outlines of his tattoos and scars it relaxes him like nothing else. This is one of the few times he actually drifts off and gets a full nights rest.

[cas-backwards-tie]

The Graveyard

TF141 x Reader

Summary: A discussion of the Base’s upcoming Halloween celebration leads to the suggestion that Ghost actually participates this year. The question is… will he?

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: None(?)

A/N: for @vikki-tikki-tavii 💕 thanks for the request! This definitely felt appropriate for this time of year. I also meant to keep it on the shorter side but ahhh!!! I got so caught up in their back and forth, and the whole vibe of it all! 🙈 I hope you like it! Divider by @kodaswrld ❤️

“Any hints as to what you’re goin’ as?” Kyle asks Johnny from across the room.

“I’m not tellin’! No doubt you’d try an’ copy me,” Johnny responds.

“Maybe he just doesn’t wanna show up wearing the same costume,” you joke. Watching the way Kyle’s eyebrow quirks in that telltale way you just know he’s getting annoyed, meanwhile Johnny’s got a wicked smirk on his lips that can only mean he’s up to no good.

“Yeah, right,” Kyle scoffs. He turns back to his paperwork, the three of you in the Command Station respectively doing your menial work. It seems whatever conversation Kyle had tried to stir up about Halloween was fruitless, the room quieting as everyone refocuses.

The familiar sound of heavy footfall matched with the faint squeak of sneakers signals who’s approaching. “LT!” Kyle perks up. The work-related focus didn’t last long, you think. God only knows when the paperwork will finally get done. “You celebrating this year?”

“What? Halloween?” Ghost questions, turning to offer the Captain, who’d only just entered with him, a look. The Lieutenant shakes his head.

“I take it you’re looking forward to this year’s party?” John asks, placing down his water bottle on the counter by the doorway. His brow is still covered in sweat, the two senior officers having been scheduled for their quarterly assessment earlier this afternoon.

“What’s not to like? Handing out candy to the kids, seeing their little costumes-” Kyle leans back in his chair starting to list off all the reasons he loves this holiday.

“Still can’t believe I’m the only one who got Chase from Paw Patrol,” Johnny interrupts, muttering under his breath as he crosses his arms and turns to face the doorway, officially joining the conversation.

“Not all of us have nieces,” you quip, sending him a sarcastic look over your shoulder.

“-The costume contest, and the games? I’ve actually been practicing my apple bobbing the past few days. I’m going to win this year, guarantee it!” Kyle continues.

“Scaring the wee ones takes the cake though,” Johnny chimes in. “Surprised you haven’t signed up to volunteer in the graveyard, LT. Figure you’d like dressing up, all considering,” he jokes.

Every year the Base puts on a Halloween celebration for the community, and while there are different stations where volunteers hand out candy, there’s games, contests, and of course, the makeshift graveyard. It’s akin to that of a haunted house, only, it’s outside, and decorated in mostly lame attempted cardboard headstones, plastic ghosts, and bats. The fog machine certainly adds an eerie element, but what makes it are the volunteers who sign up. While it’s technically only another station to hand out candy, some of the soldiers like to add to the ambiance and scare the people walking through. Johnny definitely seems the type.

Unconsciously, a shocked look crosses your features. Johnny might not be wrong to think so, but to say it?! To Ghost’s face? Oh, hell no. While you look back at Johnny over to Ghost, you find you aren’t the only one shocked. John’s eyes are a little wider than usual, but no one comments.

“Yeah, and what should I go as?” The response from the LT elicits a quiet sigh of relief. You’re glad another physical blowout hadn’t ensued.

A visage of curiosity displays itself across the group’s faces, but it ultimately only takes a moment for people to pitch in.

“Ghostface?” Johnny proposes before shaking his head. “No… too on the nose?” A chuckle follows.

“Thor?” You offer something different.

“Shrek!” Kyle comments.

“I’d rather keep the mask on, if possible,” Ghost mentions.

“Devil?” The Captain questions.

“Death?” Johnny adds, to which you all look at him before looking back at the Lieutenant.

“The Grim Reaper!”

“Grim Reaper,” both you and Kyle voice at the same time. A jovial look is shared before you turn back to the Lieutenant waiting for a response.

“That’s actually quite good,” John approves, arms crossing as he leans against the counter.

“We’ll see,” the Lieutenant responds, not offering up any morsel of rejoice as he takes off his tac-vest and heads over to his locker.

It’s only a week or so later when Halloween finally arrives. And while it’s not the most commonplace celebrated holiday in Europe, it’s one that many have chosen to adopt in favor of its fun and creative festivities. You’d decided to dress up as a cat because it was easy. Draw on some whiskers and a nose, find a headband to go with it, and you’re still abiding by dress code even during the festivities.

Stationed on candy duty with Markowski from the Foreign Intelligence Committee, you both sit by the garage which had been opened up, cleaned, and civilian-proofed for the event. While you’d been chatting with your buddy in hopes of catching up, you spot movement from your peripheral. “Let me guess,” Markowski says, turning on his stool to eye the incoming pair of children. “Rapunzel, and…”

“Pasquel!” The other child shouts excitedly. A smile envelopes your lips as the family approaches and you hand out the candy. “You’re a kitty,” the little girl says to you.

“I am,” you reply. “Have you been having fun?” You ask her in response, yet still attempt to engage the whole family as well.

“Yeah!” Both little girls respond, thankfully. You don’t know what you’d do if they weren’t.

“It’s definitely a lot spookier than last year,” the dad chuckles, “Becca here almost cried because of that Skeleton in the Graveyard,” he teases.

“I thought that was the Grim Reaper,” the mother states, and you laugh despite not knowing exactly. You hadn’t seen all the decorations that the Base had put out this year, but while they never spent the most on extracurricular things like holidays, you know they do tend to upgrade things when the original gets damaged and needs a replacement.

Nevertheless, the family thanks you for your service and heads off to the next group of soldiers stationed at a candy point. It’s only once the night’s getting later that the people start to die down in numbers that you’re able to tag off with Markowski and have a break. Wandering through the grounds you spot people lining up for the costume contest, the cookie decorating station, and the apple-bobbing table.

You decide to go there since you know Kyle happened to get stationed there. Even if he’d been preparing for a few days in advance, you wouldn’t put it past him to keep trying when the line died down. To your surprise, the Captain is there too. “What’re you doing here?” You question, smiling up at the old man. Sure, he didn’t necessarily enjoy these events, but you wondered why he was here instead of watching the game on the telly at home. It’s only so often you all get time off, anyhow.

“I thought I’d pop by after I was done to see what my team’s been up to,” John answers, smiling behind the cup of—no doubt *spiked*—cider in his hands. Part of you wants to chastise him for working on a holiday, while the other part is simply glad to see him. Choosing the latter, a smile graces your features. It’s momentary to, however, as his words dawn on you.

“Wait, Riley’s here?” You ask. It was rare that the Lieutenant would show up to an event, at least that’s what they’d told you. Once you’d joined the team he seemed to make more of an effort, according to the guys. And it was sort of true from what you’d seen. Any time an event would come up, especially a formal one, you’d all have to beg Ghost to join you all. With the promise of free food, drinks, and an early getaway was the only way you’d be able to get him to go.

“You didn’t hear?” Kyle asks excitedly, with a shake of his head. He’d clearly just been dunking his head in the pails considering water flicks off his hair in droplets, hitting your forearm. His eyelashes are wet, and there are still a few beads of water dripping down the side of his face. “He took our advice and volunteered for once!”

“Apparently he’s quite the hit,” John muses, subtly shaking his head at the Sergeant’s silliness. “Did you even manage to get one?” He eyes the pails tacitly.

“Actually, yeah. Won the contest, just like I said I would,” Kyle confesses, holding up the little plastic trophy he’d gotten.

“Guess those kids need to practice more,” you joke, eliciting a laugh from the men. As the quiet settles between the three of you, the sun finally dipping under the horizon leaving you all in the relative dark, your thoughts wander back. “I thought we were meeting at your house to catch the end of the game though?” Even if it isn’t your favorite thing to watch, you enjoy the guys’ company.

“We are, the boys said they’d meet us back here once they cleaned up,” John informs you. With the sun having set, the festivities were definitely coming to an end. It shouldn’t be too much longer.

“I’ve already got it all cleaned up here! Just need to put these back in the garage, if you two wanna go ahead and find them?” Kyle encourages. Considering your station really only had a candy bowl, you’re more than sure Markowski can handle it. Kyle’s partner joins you all, and with the quick emptying of the three pails and a collection of the apples into one, it’d only take the breaking down of a foldable table for them to clean up.

A quick glance at the Captain tells you he’s waiting on you, his brow quirked in that questioning way. He has his answer when you peel off, heading toward where you know, at least, Johnny is. The fog machine is still clearly on as you have to wave your hand in front of your face, the weird somewhat chemical smelling fumes emanating from it turning your stomach. The small plastic fencing is still in place, and while there are maybe one or two fake headstones still sitting around, it doesn’t take long to find Johnny.

“Nice costume,” you compliment, unable to help the teasing smirk from settling on your lips. Eyeing him up and down, he really did put a lot of effort into his costume! He’d clearly cut off the bottom of a pair of jeans, the frayed edges giving it away. Besides the homemade shorts which he’d stuck a tail out the back, he’d left his plaid flannel halfway undone exposing his unruly chest hair, adorned a headband of ears, and a snout tied around his face with a string.

“Why, thank you, Lass,” he responds, sitting the decorations he’d picked up on his hips. “Weren’t we supposed to meet you at Kyle’s though?”

“Yeah, but we got done early, so the Cap’ and I came to get you,” you relay him in on the information. “How was it? Scare a lot of kids this year?”

Johnny chuckles before his eyes light up at the mention of the evening. “Yeah! We actually-”

“Ready?” The Captain’s voice cuts off Johnny’s story as he’d finally caught up. You’d supposed he’d been admiring the details in the decorations.

With a split-second glance over your shoulder you respond. “Yeah! Just gotta find the LT first and then we’re good to go.” Refocused on Johnny and wanting to hear the stories from tonight, his eyes aren’t on you, but over your shoulder on the Captain.

“Found him,” Johnny announces nonchalantly.

“Where?” You ask rhetorically, turning. It’s then that the closeness of a body looming over you sends you reeling back, stumbling, almost falling on your butt. While Johnny tried to catch you, and an embarrassing yelp had left your mouth, you can’t help but purse your lips out of embarrassment as the three men before you cackle.

“Behind you,” the Captain finally answers, coughing in between big breaths of laughter.

Johnny had dropped the cheap decorations, bent over with his hands on his knees as he wheezes in laughter.

However, it’s the loud boisterous laughs coming from the hunched over Grim Reaper before you that does it. The Lieutenant really had taken your advice and dressed up. He’s got a hooded cape on, a plastic scythe, and dawned his usual mask. It’s amusing, really, the way you’d never seen him laugh this hard before, and you can’t help but join in.

“Sorry, I just had to,” the Lieutenant finally apologizes, to which you accept immediately.

“It’s okay, Riley. I’ll just have to get you back,” you taunt. There’s a pat on your back, and you look over your shoulder.

“Good luck with that,” Johnny says down to you before taking the lead on continuing to pick up the last of the decorations.

It’s only as you’ve just helped them get their decorations ready to haul back to the garage when Kyle shows up. Despite it still being a bit foggy, it was easy enough to spot the lot of you. “Did I miss something?” He asks, turning to watch the Captain carry some of the headstones past him.

“Nope,” the Grim Reaper says just behind Kyle’s ear. This elicits the same response it did from you, and you can’t help the laughter that tumbles free.

“He did it to me too, don’t worry,” you finally manage to get out. It’d almost caused you to drop the fog machine you’re carrying in one hand. “Johnny! You’ll never guess what just happened!” You shout after the men a few feet ahead of you, trailing after them. The sooner you’re all done, the sooner you can head to the Captain’s and the usual festivities will ensue. All in all, though, it was a pretty good Halloween, you’d say. It’s not everyday Ghost dresses up, let alone scares half the team.

~~~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo , @ohdamnadam , @penelopepine

[meatonfork]

A Change

————————————————————————————————————————

pairings: platonic 141 x grim; grim x oc

warnings: none

summary: maybe visiting your apartment actually had some benefits aside from the impending loneliness

————————————————————————————————————————

they’d noticed a change.

you had finally decided to go home after a mission. there was no point in you even renting the apartment out if you never even went to it.

it was dusty and cold. the heat was off due to you never stepping foot in the place for months. the bare minimum of furniture accompanied by a lack of items that claimed someone did in fact live there.

setting grocery bags on the counter, you huffed out a sigh. your eyes drifted over the liminal space, feet trudging to the light switch. spoon sat on the counter, gnawing at the plastic bags.

a buzz on the counter called your attention to your phone sat face down on the smooth surface.

opening it, you were met with a message.

you doin good kid?

soap.

yeah! all good, bud. thanks xx

and you left it at that.

you could lie over text; it was easier. they couldn’t see your tells, or the way you tensed a bit before throwing on your best smile.

it was hard. coming back to an empty apartment when your squad, aside from simon, all had someone to go home to. you felt guilty for leaving ghost there alone, but you knew you needed to tend to your own apartment.

you leaned your elbows on the counter, head in your hands. it felt wrong. tears welled in your eyes, the sting being all too familiar. you could feel your cheeks heating up. you missed having someone to go home to. you missed your siblings. sometimes, you even missed your awful parents, because at least they were there.

maybe i should’ve asked price to go home with him instead.

the tears traveled down the apple of your cheeks and down your neck, getting lost beneath the fabric of your shirt.

shaking your head as if to push away the thought, you wiped the tears and you started unpacking the grocery bags. you didn’t buy much, just enough to make due on your leave. you probably wouldn’t be back in a few months anyway, it didn’t really matter. but, when you inevitably did come back, you didn’t want rotting food in your pantry.

putting the plastics bags into a little cubby, a knock sounded at the door. it was soft, but it had purpose behind it.

your back tensed, no one knew where you lived. none of your boys knew, and it was for a reason. you feared they would hover. and that was the last thing you’d needed. sometimes, you needed time alone.

on high alert, you moved towards the door. slow steps lead you to the frame, and you shifted to look through the peephole.

confusion clouded your mind as you saw a girl on the other side. she wasn’t particularly tall, but she was still taller than you. dark hair with curtains bangs hiding a bit of her face, and round glasses sat upon her nose.

with your head cocked to the side, you opened the door a crack.

“uh.. hi? can i help you?” you cleared your throat. she was pretty. dark brown, peach blossom shaped eyes looked back at you.

“yeah! i just moved in a couple months ago, and i’ve never seen you before. do you live here?” she offered a small smile, shifting on both feet.

it clicked. you actually had neighbors. you always assumed you did, but never went out of your way to meet them.

hiding your shock, you answered, “oh! uh, yes. i do. i’ve just been at work. i haven’t really had the time to come back i guess. i kinda just stay there instead of coming back.”

“well, that seems like a tough job. it’s nice to meet my absent neighbor. i’m mei, by the way!” she smiled and stuck her hand out.

grasping her hand in your smaller one, you gave it light but firm shake.

“you too, mei. don’t get used to seeing me around.” you offered a sad smile, eyes during just a tad bit down. “i’ll be gone again soon.”

“oh! uh, okay! i better get back. my cat is probably wondering where i went. see you around, neighbor!”

“yeah. see you around, mei.”

and with that, you shut the door softly.

a soft meow from behind you pulled a small gasp from your mouth.

“spoon! you scared me.” you laughed out.

spoon sat there, staring you down.

“what? i didn’t even do anything. i just told her the truth.” an exasperated sigh left your lips at the realization of talking to your kitten. “whatever, man.”

———

it was two days later, lounging on your couch and finishing off a report you had to drop off in a few days, that another soft yet firm knock at your door sounded through the apartment.

you opened the door quicker this time, assuming it was maintenance or an odd solicitor.

“oh! hey, mei.” you smiled.

“hey! i know this is weird, but i was wondering if i could use your bathroom? they shut the water off to my apartment because a pipe broke in the kitchen.” she was in comfy clothes. sweats, a t-shirt, and a pair of converse.

“oh. um, sure. come on in. sorry, it’s pretty boring. again, i’m never really here.” you side stepped, and let her in.

“it’s okay. i don’t mind. thanks so much!” she shuffled passed you, and you pointed out the bathroom to her. thank god you stocked the bathroom, or that would’ve been awkward.

you followed behind her when she stopped.

“you okay?” your head tilted as your eyes focused on the back of her hair that was thrown up in a bun, similarly to yours.

“what’s this?” she pointed out the report splayed across the coffee table.

“oh, just work stuff.” you chuckled before turning to put it all in the manila folder.

“still working on your time off? man, your job sucks.” she laughed before making her way to the bathroom.

you sighed, looking to spoon who now sat in your seat.

you decided to make some tea while waiting for mei to come out of the bathroom.

a squeal behind you made you jump, twirling to look back.

“what!” your heart was racing. being on edge constantly was not helping you in the slightest.

“your cat is so cute! oh my goodness!” you watched as she reached her hand out to the small void sitting in your couch.

“oh, spoon? yeah, she’s something else haha.” your heart calmed, a hand over it as if it to still it.

“she’s very cute. i like the name too.” she peered over at you while still petting the kitten.

“i found her at work, decided to keep her with me. everyone back there loves her.”

“i can see why. very, very cute.” she smiled up at you from her crouched stance, before standing and making her way to the door. “thanks for letting me use the bathroom, i’ll be out of your hair now.”

“yeah, not a problem. have a good day, mei!”

“you too, neighbor.”

and she was gone.

as the rest of the month dragged on, you found that either of you would invite the other over for a movie night almost every other night.

you didn’t like to be alone in an empty apartment, and mei enjoyed having you around.

in time, you found that you enjoyed having mei around too.

she helped you redecorate your apartment. a nicer couch, a new rug, a cat tree for spoon. even wall art, which you never even thought to buy- because why? but what mei said was set in stone, and you put it up anyway.

telling mei you had to go back to work for a while was bittersweet. you missed your boys, they were your family. but, god, you would miss mei.

she was a breath of fresh air when you desperately needed it. like when you go swimming in the deep end of the pool, but you didn’t take a deep enough breath.

———

they noticed the change. the month you were gone had changed you. it wasn’t very noticeable, unless they knew that they were supposed to be looking for it.

ghost noticed first. but seeing as he was your best friend, it was expected.

gaz and price fell in quickly, noticing the slight pep in your step.

and finally, soap was queued in when you laughed lighter and you smiled more.

it was a nice change.

you had also become more careful during missions.

it’s not that you weren’t alert and on edge before, but now it was heightened. you were constantly checking over your shoulder. even on base. you made sure to get hurt less often.

you would still take a bullet or a stab wound for your boys, no hesitation. but, it was almost as if you had a new push for a will to live. to be okay.

that was, until a particular mission where you almost lost your life.

laswell had put your team on a human trafficking task.

“take them all down.” was all she said. and you were damned if you didn’t.

that was how you found yourself watching your lieutenant in a knife fight, his gun thrown to the ground. you were across the street, lining up for the shot, but ghost’s back was to you. you couldn’t get the target without shooting your best friend first. and you absolutely were not doing that.

you were about to inform your captain of your predicament, moments frantic, when i red dot appearing on ghost’s back paused your movements.

you didn’t even think, mind going a million miles an hour. you just ran.

a gun shot rang out, your body falling to the ground as a cry left your mouth. a blinding white pain burst through your chest.

you groaned as you fell in the dirt, blood pooling around your body.

“oh, fuck.”

“grim! what the fuck, kid. we need medical!” your body was flipped around and a pressure was put on your chest, just below your heart.

opening your eyes, you saw a skull staring back at you.

“hey, kid. keep your eyes open for me, yeah? why the fuck did you do that?” he grunted as he put more pressure on your chest.

you groaned, quickly sucking in breath as he applied more pressure, “couldn’t let you get shot, l.t.”

“i was fine. we need medical, now!”

you couldn’t hear very well, the blood loss making you tired. you wanted to take a nap.

“kid. hey, grim. eyes open. c’mon, kid.” he lightly slapped your face, but you could barely register the dull pats on your cheek.

———

a beeping to your left slowly got louder as you gained consciousness.

your eyes started to softly flutter open, only for them to close upon bright lights blinding you.

soft groans left your lips as your finally opened your eyes, squinting until you adjusted.

“what the fuck was that.”

you startled, looking at the giant sitting to your left.

“what? what was what?” your throat was dry, voice strained. water was thrust into your view and you took it shakily. gulping down the water, you looked back to the lieutenant.

“i was fine, grim. why the fuck did you do that.” he crossed his arms, eyes boring into yours.

“you were going to get shot! on top of that, there was someone right next to you. what the hell was i supposed to do? just let you die? i can’t just sit and let that happen to my best friend.” you glared right back at him, not daring to move your upper body in anticipation of the pain that would follow.

“and now you’re shot.”

“yeah, but i ain’t dead. you would’ve been. i’d do it again, l.t.”

“don’t. don’t do it again. you’re being sent home for a bit to rest. not my decision, by the way. it’s price’s.” he sighed as he lent forward, elbows resting on your bed.

you picked at the fabric of the blanket that sat on your hips.

“i figured. taking a bullet to the chest isn’t prime condition to continue, yeah?” you looked back up to him.

he nodded and leaned back, “yeah, kid. glad you’re alright.” he stood and ruffled your hair.

“me too, simon.”

———

being home wasn’t as fun as you remembered.

the reason?

the guys had found your address. someone had to drive you home. that someone being soap. lovely, soap. he was now your number one enemy.

they were hovering, and you’d yet to see mei.

your lack of quiet time was taking a toll on you.

the four men currently sat in your living room, taking up the floor as you sat on the couch with your feet in simon’s lap, his hands holding onto your shins.

“you guys, i’m fine. i really don’t need you all here.” you rolled your eyes as they all turned to look at you.

“kid, you can barely walk, hmm?” price looked down at you, setting a cup of tea in your hands.

“yeah. and you look like shit, someone needs ta take care of ya.” soap chuckled, looking up at you from the floor. gaz chuckled as soap looked at him.

“no. no, i really don’t. you just wanted to know where i live and pester me. don’t act like the hero here, suds.”

“suds?? you just call me suds? yeah, i ain’t leavin’ for a bit.”

a groan sounded from you as you leaned your head back into the arm of the couch.

you were about to retaliate, when a knock sounded from the door. a soft, yet firm knock. mei.

everyone froze before you sat up, slowly making your way to your feet.

“no, i’ll get it. sit your ass down, and don’t move.” gaz jumped from the floor, pointing you down.

you threw your hands up in surrender and shook your head.

the click of the door opening sounded before gaz spoke out, “hello? can i help you?”

“oh my gosh, hello!” the soft voice of the girl you were excited to see most called out your name in search of you, “they told me they were home, but i can come back at another time…” mei’s voice drifted through the room.

“you’re good! let her in, kyle!” you yelled back.

you heard shuffling before mei stood in front of you.

“hey! oh my god, what happened to you? and who are these men?” her eyes drifted over your figure, wearing only a sports bra, showing off the gauze that had small blotches of blood on your chest.

mei knew what you did, and you didn’t mind, but she’s meeting your team too soon. and it was 100% out of your control.

you groaned, sitting up a bit. simon helping by reaching over and placing a hand on your arm. you nodded at him in thanks.

“these are the guys in my squad. i, uh, got shot.” you looked to her. she didn’t move, letting it sink in. the guys had gone quiet.

you hadn’t told her? who even is she?

“who is mei?” price looked between you and the asian girl standing at the end of your couch.

“mei is my girlfriend.”

it was silent. an awkward smile over took your face, “surprise!”

“mei, this is simon, john, kyle, and johnny. guys, this is mei.” you pointed everyone out. small waves and smiles was exchanged.

“how did you get shot?” mei questioned as she shuffled her feet.

“oh… um, simon was about to get shot. i took the bullet for him.” you looked between the two.

mei and simon looked at each other before she smacked him upside the head.

“oh my god! mei, what the fuck?” your eyes widened as you leaned forward.

“you’re supposed to be watching them! you’re their team!” she raised her voice at your lieutenant.

everyone’s widened, watching the exchange. until gaz burst out with laughter.

simon cleared his throat, “mm yeah. i am. cant really do that when they push me out the way of a bullet, though. can i?” his stare moved to you.

your cheeks heated up, a sheepish smile taking over your features, “that was definitely, 100% my fault, mei. i already got my ass chewed for it, too. don’t worry. i’m fine. and i’ll continue to be fine.”

“you better. move over, hulk.” mei stepped over simon’s legs, making to sit between you two. her arm wound around your back, pulling you to her side.

“oh my god, i love her already.” soap howled with laughter as simon sat still. stunned from mei’s shove.

“me too.”

———

it took a few days, but everyone left. and you only had mei looking over you. you two hadn’t talked too much about your profession and injuries since the team were looming around.

“hey, can we talk about this?” you paused the movie as she pointed to the gauze wrapped around your chest. her eyes were watering, and her hands held a slight shake.

“hmm? hun, im okay, really!” you held your hands out for her. she moved forward, head resting on your stomach.

“i’m okay, i promise.” you ran your hands through her long brown hair. she squeezed your stomach as she sniffled, spoon sitting on the back of her legs.

tears welled in your own eyes. a sniffle left your nose and mei looked up.

“babe, why are you crying?”

“i’m sorry.” you whispered back.

“don’t be. it’s okay. like you said, you’re okay. hmm?” she settled back in your lap, fingers running up and down your thighs.

maybe coming home really wasn’t that bad. you finally had someone to come home to. you could leave the heat on, and mei would watch spoon for you- if you didn’t take her back to base. you could grocery shop for more than one person now.

and she may not be your blood family, who you missed so much, but she was found family. just like your boys, who loved you unconditionally. no longer having to feel guilty for moving on, and doing it on your own.

the place you called home finally had a purpose, and warmed your heart.

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: i did it! it’s done :) i really hope you enjoyed it!!

[the-whispers-of-death]

grim reaper stone x guard!dog reader..........

It's very rare that people decide they want to disrespect him, but it happens. And before Grim Reaper!Stone could tell them off himself, Guard Dog!Reader interjected, telling them off for him.

Grim Reaper!Stone would be so confused because usually everyone is wary of him. Before you, no one defended him. They all thought he didn't need protection and he kind of didn't, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate it.

Honestly, with the way he grew up, being protected by someone isn't something he knows. He always thought no one would protect him, no one wanted to protect him. He just thought protection and love was out of his reach, something he was only meant to see others get.

But you defend him constantly, throwing verbal assaults on those who decide to try and pick on him for being a mindless soldier, sometimes even fighting them. You're in his corner, willing to have his back, and that means a lot considering he's very paranoid.

Knowing that you want to protect him makes him want to melt.

[fictionalmenxyn]

Tw: sleep paralysis, seeing things, nightmares and panic attack.

—————————————————————

Walking through the base’s corridors, you felt out of place. Nothing too special after all you are the only female. Planning on making some coffee you headed towards the break room.

But as you stepped once more, you started to see the room started to darken. Leaving you in the dark, you looked around anywhere for a light source. Nothing just pitch black but that didn’t stop you from looking. Touching the wall you started to guid your way back. Lightly touching the wall you walked forwards waiting to feel a Forrest or a sign.

After walking for what felt like forever you kept on tracing your hand against the wall. Then you felt a sharp object cut deeply into your skin. You screamed in agony, looking towards you hand it was as if someone above was holding a flash light for you. Looking at your hand you watched as black liquid oozed out of your hand. You then though, why is there sudden light?

Looking up, you saw a tall slender figure. It looked as if it was about to burst out of the building due to its height. You screamed, almost horror movie like. You started to run but felt something wrap around your legs. Then you fell face-planting the floor and getting dragged back.

In a sudden cold sweat, you woke. You looked around the room. Completely normal, your posters hung up on the wall and your plants neatly placed by your desk. You must of thought it was just a normal nightmare you get every so often. So you tried to get up to go and get some cold water to quench your parched mouth.

But you couldn’t, struggling repeatedly as you attempted to get up and leave but your body just didn’t allow it. Then it hit you, you was having sleep paralysis. Just as you clocked what is taken place, your door looked as if it was slowly opening. Seeing the same black figure slowly and lazily walking towards you. You began to panic, trying your best to scream for someone to come save you, nothing worked.

The tall figure stood at the end of your bed, as it raised his arm more creepy creatures popped out of places or climbed through areas of your room. You felt as if something was tying you down to the bed. As the creature pointed at you it croaked “Du bist es, du bist der Auserwählte, diejenigen, die dich suchen, müssen vom Sensenmann selbst gewarnt werden.” You felt a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. Wonder what he meant by that?

You watched as it had finished pointing at you and quickly shifted to your the side of your face. It whispered “Du bist jetzt der Auserwählte der Sensenmänner” you took one big breath preparing for the worst. When you closing your eyes once more.

Opening your eyes, you watched as your room had a glimmer of light. Able to turn your head you saw your bed side lamp light was on. But you didn’t turn it on, did you ever touch it or did something else do it?

Looking on your desk you saw a post it note, grabbing the note you saw how you were able to move again. Looking closer at the note it read ‘your next mission is a deadly one, are you sure your up to it?’ You had shivers sent down your spine as you felt something touch you.

Looking to your left, you saw a person in a black cloak, seeing a wooden pole leaned against your bed; you followed the pole with your eyes. You were meet with the long silver blade of the pole. You were freaked out, you looked at the nodded person and asked “am I dead?” It said “no, not till I need you. You will not die under my command so you take that mission and finish the mission. I’ll take care of you know.” You asked “why me?” It replied “you’ve always been the chosen one but certain things need to be done before it’s been said.” Then with that it faded away.

You woke up again, shit you though. Your mind been messing with you. You looked at your desk to see the exact same note. You didn’t know why but those words felt true so you decided you were going to that mission.

Walking down the corridor, you were met with the break room and someone sat in at the table. A black figure, you muttered “not this shit again” they looked up then you noticed, it was Ghost. He asked “what do you mean?” Your eyes widen and said “nothing, just a eventful night” he nodded and kept reading a book.

You thought, what did this night do to make you have this dream? and why does it feel like there was more meaning to it? Why did it feel so real? Maybe it was? Maybe the sleep paralysis was a bison or something from the paranormal realm?

—————————————————————

Hi hope you enjoyed!

Can you tell I just watched Sam and Colby’s new video? I might go back and watch a few more of their older videos.

Requests are open, ask or message me

Have a good day/night!🫶

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART FIVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not much for this chapter, but as always, be cautious! a/n: so sorry for the wait, this chapter isn't as long as the others but i'm in the process of moving! i'll be moved in by late next week, so when that happens, i'll finally have more time to deliver longer parts and be more active! <3 masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

“You let her get away.”

“S’not like I meant to, Cap,” Soap defended, scowling to himself.

The four men stood in Price’s quarters, all shoulders equally tensed and expressions grim. While Gaz and Ghost remained quiet thus far, the intensity rolled off of them menacingly. Soap could practically see the sourness fill the air.

“But you did,” Price reiterated, slamming his palm on the table. It shook the room, quill holders rumbling and threatening to spill onto the floor. “We already take a risk havin’ her on our ship until she grows accustomed to livin’ here. How could you be so careless?”

“Can ye blame her?” Soap spat back. The men fell silent with Price narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “The poor lass watched the four of us burn her village down. Then we took her in like a fit of scoundrels. I don’t blame her for runnin’ off the way she did.”

Price kept his mouth shut, pressed in a firm line. His shoulders were squared, an argument threatening to spill out, yet he didn’t encourage it. After all, Soap had a point, but they weren’t supposed to care. It was a simple part of being savages.

“She’ll understand eventually—“

“But she won’t,” Soap cut Price off, leaning his hands on the table to match the Captain’s. The two of them stared long and hard at one another. “We don’t even understand, so what makes ye think she will?”

“Soap,” Ghost warned. Soap’s gaze flickered over to the masked man, whose eyes were darkened with warning. Gaz shifted uncomfortably from beside him. “Watch your tongue.”

Soap opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Price raised his palm, requesting silence. The look on his face was unreadable, but the sign of authority was clear.

“You need to get your head out of the trenches, Soap,” Price warned. “Carin’ for her will only have you throwin’ yourself overboard, and that’s not somethin’ I can save you from. We needed a medic, and she was in the right place at the right time. That is all.”

“So ye don’t have the slightest bit of sympathy for her, s’that right, Cap?” Soap asked, eyes narrowing in on the Captain.

“There is no place in this world for sympathy,” Price responded meekly. “Let alone for her.”

“And for us?” Soap questioned, gesturing to the other two men in the room.

“You are my men,” Price grunted. “She is an unlucky woman that came from rags rather than riches. That is to no fault but her own. You forget your place, Soap.”

Though Price had remained calm, Soap could see the building aggravation. It was in the way the Captain’s hands clenched atop the table, his eyes glossed over with a heated fire from being rebutted.

“It seems yer forgettin’ yers as well, Captain,” Soap muttered bitterly.

The atmosphere was so thick, it was suffocating. Not a single man said another word, caught in a deadly stare down. It was a rarity to challenge Price’s authority, let alone over an unfortunate woman who they had ruined all on their own.

If Soap’s words affected Price, he didn’t make it known. Rather, his irritability was evidence, and he appeared to be fighting off any resentment towards his own crew.

“Get out,” Price uttered, voice low, but the notion was clear. “All of you.”

Nobody argued. Rather, they filed out one by one, Price’s door slamming on the way out.

Ghost grumbled when just the three of them remained, stalking off to his own quarters for the night.

Gaz joined Soap in watching the masked man leave. It wasn’t until he was fully out of sight did Gaz speak.

“You have a point, Soap,” Gaz said quietly, slapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Good luck makin’ Cap see that.”

Gaz gave him another squeeze of his hand before sauntering off himself, leaving Soap alone on the upper deck, the summer air suddenly feeling frigid and bitter.

The cell was suffocating you all over again. You missed the feel of a bed, the soft furs that lined Price’s bed that showered you in comforting warmth for the night, the flood of fresh air in your lungs.

Part of you felt like you took it for granted. The bitter part of you, though, knew that you deserved to have those things without being in the possession of a pirate.

The shoes Soap left you taunted you from the corner of the cell. They mocked you, called you ungrateful. It painted you with an uncomfortable guilt that settled deep in your bones.

You shouldn’t feel bad for a bunch of savages, but what kind of savages would think to surprise you with shoes, even picking out ones that you might like? You couldn’t speak for the others, but Soap had shed a light of humanity in a time where you needed it, and you had fucked that up.

Now, you wanted it more than ever. The cell was cold and unwelcoming, and you missed the taste of freedom you were given so shortly.

It felt as if you were back at square one. For the first day, nobody came to offer you food like before. Your stomach grumbled with a might that had you coiled over, silently crying into your hands. The second night was torturous, and it felt as if your own stomach was beginning to feast on itself.

The third night, however, was when you were finally graced with sympathy.

What greeted you, or more so who, had taken you by surprise. Expecting Soap or Gaz, or even Ghost to degrade you for being so stupid, you were instead faced with the Captain himself.

Price stood with a steaming bowl of stew and another bowl of simple rice. The sight of it had your mouth watering and your stomach gurgling in desperation.

“Hello, dove,” he offered, his tone surprisingly soft compared to the spitefulness he held days before. It still held authority, one you didn’t think would ever rid itself, but it wasn’t as angry as expected.

You gave him a nod in response but said nothing. A touch of dread crept up your spine. He was all too calm to you, who had nearly sent his men to unforeseeable death.

Price balanced the two bowls on one arm so he could unlock your cell door and step inside. Once in, he carefully placed the bowls on the ground in front of you where you sat, taking a cautious step back.

As much as you wanted to devour the food without. a second thought, you remained frozen and stubborn. You stared at the bowls of hot food before shifting up to look at him. When he gave you a nod in confirmation, that was all you needed to begin eating.

Eating was the nicer word. Demolishing was more accurate.

You didn’t bother to eat with the spoon given, rather you used your hands to grab a fistful of rice and guzzle it down. Grains of rice stuck to your face around your mouth, showing an embarrassing display. You were so hungry you didn’t care.

“Slow down,” Price ordered. You paused in your eating, glancing up at him. He didn’t look angry, but he did look a bit disturbed at your desperation.

Flustered, you swallowed the food down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Picking up the spoon in the stew, you ate it with eagerness but allowed yourself some decency.

Price was silent as you ate, standing with his arms crossed, watching. You were too enraptured in the meal to care, even if you look distasteful. The food had never tasted this good before, and you weren't sure whether it was because you were starving, or because somebody else cooked.

You imagined the pirates in the kitchen together, chopping vegetables and meat to place it in a pot, using an array of spices. Arguing over who got to do what, disagreeing with a choice of meal for the day.

It gave them a small sense of normality in your mind, even eliciting a small laugh from you. Price’s face contorted in confusion, wondering what could possibly be funny, especially in times like this. You, locked in a cell, given the worst hand the world could’ve given you, finding something joyful enough to laugh through it.

“Would you like to tell me why you’re laughin’?” Price gruffed.

You swallowed down your food, peering up at him from where you sat on the floor. “I was just imagining Soap and Ghost arguing over who gets to cook,” you confessed, looking back down at your food. “I apologize. It is not funny.”

You could feel Price’s stare. The air was silent, tense, before he ultimately broke it. “Ghost is the one that cooks,” he explained. “Used to be a butcher back in his day.”

“A butcher?” you repeated, pondering. The mask Ghost flaunted made him mysterious and concealed. You would’ve never imagined him as a butcher, though the more you thought about it, the more it clicked. “That seems to make quite a bit of sense, actually.”

“Does it?” Price hummed with the telltale sign of amusement. It was hardly evident. “Yes, I believe it does. Explains why he’s so good with a knife, aye?”

You grimaced at that. Ghost was certainly good in combat, that was something you could see from the jump. You just didn’t want to envision who and what he uses it on.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot,” Price began. The words took you by surprise. “Might have ruffled too many of your little feathers too soon.”

“That is a severe understatement,” you muttered. Price shot you a look, successfully shutting you up.

“We do not normally have others on our ship. If we have treated you with hostility, then I apologize. You must understand the walls we have built up, you see,” he explained.

“Then why have you taken me if you are going to treat me as a mere rat?” you asked. He sniffed, feigning disinterest. “I thought you appointed me as a medic. It does not feel as though you are true to your word. Is there perhaps another reason for kidnapping me that you are not telling me?”

Price was quiet, eyes wandering off elsewhere. He appeared in thought, as if debating something heavily in his mind.

“No,” he finally said, hesitating. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I do not apologize for taking you, but I do… sympathize. Perhaps I should’ve been kinder.”

“Perhaps,” you repeated, albeit a tad bitterly. Price was unfazed by the subtle resentment you held. He didn’t seem to care at all. He was a hard man to read, even harder than Ghost. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was dangerous.

Price cleared his throat, the aura of awkwardness smothering him. It was evident to you that he wasn’t used to being kind and having to resolve with someone. You briefly wondered what made him change his mind.

“You are right,” he continued. “We took you in to be our medic. Medics cannot work in a cell.”

Price took a step back to leave the cell, yet the door remained open. He gestured for you to step out, to join him. You were weary, slowly standing from your spot and taking a skeptical step out of the cell.

“I will give you the choice in who you wish to stay with until we can arrange a space for you to sleep.” Price began stepping up the stairs that led to the upper deck, so you silently followed. “If you wish to stay with me again, that is fine. But if you wish to stay with Gaz or Soap, that can be arranged as well.”

“No Ghost?” you asked in, dare you say, amusement.

“Unless you would like to be strangled in your sleep, I would not advise it,” he responded.

“That was a jest, Captain. I know how to pick my battles.”

Price paused in front of the doors to the upper deck, turning to you. He stared for a long moment, before you saw the tiniest of smiles play at his lips. It was buried under his facial hair, but from the slight crinkle in his eyes, you knew.

“You’re quite the wise bird, I’ll give you that,” he mused, before opening the doors. “Up you go.”

The moonlight soaked into your skin the moment you stepped out of the brig. It was inviting, basking you in the warmth you so craved. The air was crisp, and you breathed it in heavily through your nostrils, your body immediately faltering in relief.

Oh, how you missed the outside. Though your stay in the brig was much shorter than when you first arrived, it was still just as alleviating to get a taste of being human again.

“You will stay with me for the night,” he explained, guiding you across the creaky decks. “The others are already in their rooms. Tomorrow, you can decide who you prefer.”

You gave him a nod in acknowledgment, following him quietly to his quarters. When you arrived, the familiar scent of musk and cinnamon invaded your nostrils. For a pirate, it was a comforting smell, and you found a strange solace in it.

“I’m sure you wish to bathe, yes?” he asked.

A bath sounded heavenly. To wipe the grime and sweat off your skin, to feel clean again. You would’ve jumped into the dark sea if it meant bathing.

“You do not mind?” you questioned, suspicious.

“You’ll be sleepin’ in my cot for the night. I’d prefer if you were unsoiled. No bad blood, aye?”

Price’s boots were heavy against the floors as he made his way to the back of his quarters, where a lone curtain hung. Pulling it back, he exposed a wooden bowl, large enough to fit you, but certainly a squeeze for him.

A barrel stood behind the bath, and Price made haste to lift it with ease. Water began to pour out of the spout, slowly but surely filling the makeshift tub.

While he worked, your eyes wandered to glance around his quarters. When staying in it previously, you didn’t have the gall to be curious. Now that the two of you were on good enough terms to be acquaintances for now, you allowed yourself to be a bit nosy.

The walls were littered with pinned up maps, all varying in land. You hadn’t a clue where everything was, so none of it made sense to you. However, upon looking over to his desk, you saw another map, one unlike the others.

This one was written on with the ink of a quill. You weren’t sure the location, however, it seemed to be a mixture.

Over some of the islands graphed on the map, a large X was drawn in its place. They were crossed out with the ink, covering up the names printed over the location, deeming it impossible to read.

However, two locations were circled rather than crossed out. One was in the middle of the sea, not a piece of land or island in sight. The other was circled around a small island, tucked away from the Mainland, its name unknown. Beside it, a scrap piece of paper sat.

“The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

Washed away to land and shore

shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.

Find the one that you shall seek

to end the curse of Shadow’s Peak.”

As you finished reading, a large hand came into view, slamming over the poem. Price loomed over you, leaning against the table.

“Go and bathe,” he ordered. “I will leave you alone to do your bidding and return when you’re done.”

Jostled by the surprise appearance, you offered a meek nod, sauntering off to the tub. As Price left, he rolled up the map as well as the poem, tucking them under his arm and leaving no trace of what you witnessed behind. He had something to hide, it was clear, but you couldn’t decipher the meaning of the passage you read.

Perhaps he was simply a writer. It would explain why he seemed defensive that you saw it, but it wouldn’t explain the map. He also didn’t seem the type to sit at his desk and meddle with written poetry. He was a Captain, and his priorities lied with the men on his ship and the thievery of neighboring villages.

Now left alone in the quarters, you willed yourself into the bath, sinking into the water. It wasn’t warm nor cold, but it was relaxing anyway, biting away the tension in your muscles. You were in desperate need of it, and you were grateful you and Price were at a standstill where he allowed you the pleasure.

While you tried to rid yourself of what you saw, it kept creeping in in waves, burdening you with questions unanswered. Even after you scrubbed away the caked dirt until your skin was raw and changed into clean garments that Price tugged out for you, the sense of unease never went away. You felt tainted, like a lingering darkness was coursing through your veins and oozing from your skin.

The garments you wore were large. They overtook your body, swallowing you whole, but they were much better in comparison to the rags that hung from your body, dirtied with nasty impurity. You didn’t know how to feel about the Captain after everything, but he was showing you humility, and that was enough for you right now. It was the best you could make out of being kidnapped by the four of them and thrown in a life of chaos and uncertainty.

As you tucked yourself into Price’s cot, you took one last glance to the maps that remained on the walls. None were like the one you had seen, not a scribble nor blotch tainting the paper. The one Price held was special, and you knew you’d be fighting tooth and nail in order to find out. Until then, you could let yourself relax. After all the torment you’d been through, you deserved a moment of peace before everything imploded once again.

[parkersbliss]

if you and the COD men had Instagram

pairing: task force 141 x gender neutral reader (platonic), ft. keegan, alex, konig and alejandro

warnings: totally inaccurate brain rot, some of these people would not have instagram or post them like this LOL, like def OOC but it was funny to me? obvi they don't actually know each other canonically

a/n: I canon ghost would actually vaguely appear in the back of their insta posts with no tag and people just think the grim reaper is coming after them :)

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

Liked by valval, kganrusset, and 226 others

soapify gang and @/lasvargas !!! view all 33 comments

(Y/U/N) ZOO WEE MAMA SOAP UR BICEPSSS 🤤 → soapify glad someone noticed → gatzby one bite? 🥺 → soapify boy.

j.price my men → (Y/U/N) no, MY men :)

gatzby ghost in jeans really completes the vibes → (Y/U/N) imagine ghost is actually smiling behind the mask → user141 I'm not.

lasvargas this is too cold, showing the opps fr → (Y/U/N) @/iphilgraves 😘 → gatzby BITCH U HAVE HIS INSTA?? → soapify do NOT bring his energy on my page. → j.price (Y/N). office. now. → (Y/U/N) awww 🙁 → user141 this doesn't surprise me

Liked by iphilgraves, sandroach and 463 others

gatzby FOAP!! view all 122 comments

user141 Calling an airstrike on you right now. → gatzby NO PLEASE

soapify GHOAP → user141 Die.

(Y/U/N) bros got an overbite fr → user141 I will literally knock out your teeth.

katelasss Never seen this angle of him → user141 And you never will again.

iphilgraves Not so tough with the jaw hanging out, now? → lasvargas gtfo before I bomb you → iphilgraves Thought we were teaming up to mutually bully him → gatzby I BLOCKED U??? → iphilgraves Whoops

j.price Did you take this before we got ambushed? → (Y/U/N) it was funny → j.price Kids 🤦‍♂️

Liked by walkingL, imrudyyyy and 658 others

(Y/U/N) did somebody say serve? view all 99 comments

user141 Serve your country. → (Y/U/N) I am????

soapify serve me a sandwich → (Y/U/N) bitch.

gatzby serve me that ASS → (Y/U/N) say less king

j.price Serve some revenge. → (Y/U/N) sir yes sir

lasvargas we all know this diva

katelasss Can you serve a response to your emails? → (Y/U/N) oops, yes ma'am

alexkellar scrolling feels like a divorce → (Y/U/N) it is

vladmak What core is this? → (Y/U/N) beat ur ass core.

Liked by konig, alexkellar and 833 others

(Y/U/N) he wanted to say hi (we’re stranded at sea) @/kganrusset view all 129 comments

kganrusset YOU wanted to take the photo 🫵 → (Y/U/N) details, details → kganrusset whatever 😒 lmk when you get tired of handing out my number to other bitches → soapify am I included in bitches? → (Y/U/N) are u fucking serious. → gatzby yeah. → kganrusset you can reach me at 348-

j.price How did you end up with Keegan out there? → (Y/U/N) girls trip! → kganrusset Please take them back.

user141 Ghosts crossover before gta6? → (Y/U/N) ghost joining the ghosts when?

soapify the mcu (military commander universe) is expanding → kilokarim ULF crossover again? → iphilgraves shadow company crossover? → (Y/U/N) when? → gatzby (Y/N) STOP. → lasvargas mexican special forces crossover? → konig KorTac crossover? → vladmak Konni crossover? → katelasss No.

j.price Why don't you have half of those people blocked? → (Y/U/N) my bad, cap → user141 They're not blocking them. → (Y/U/N) I like the drama 🤷‍♀️

—

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taglist: @trxpslxt @looking1016 @the-kakawshi-bird @Bitchyzombietaco @lilwinchester67

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[gloomwitchwrites]

141 with a fem!reader who instead of not wanting kids can’t have kids?

This is a popular request, anon. I've had several submissions from various users. Since the theme/idea is similar, I thought I would combine them into one.

Heavy angst ahead, folks. I decided not to sugarcoat with this one. It's heartbreaking. It's sad. And yes, there is comfort and love mixed in.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, angst, infertility, pregnancy, miscarriage, mention of surgical procedure, emotional hurt/comfort, implied abortion/d&c, minor blood

Word Count: 900

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

This time, it sticks.

Somehow.

Miraculously.

After years of struggling, of being told it would never happen, of false results and shattered hopes—it’s happening.

You’d be in denial if it wasn’t for the test results in your hand. It is solid, a print out of what your doctor told you over the phone.

John stands next to you, reading the piece of paper over your shoulder. His shoulders are riddled with tension, lips a thin line. It’s clear that he wants to join in on your joy, but something holds him back.

“Are you happy?” you ask, suddenly nervous.

“I am—I.” John clears his throat. “But last time?”

Last time looked just like this. Last time everything was fine—until it wasn’t. Until the blood and the pain and the hospital visit.

“It might not be like last time.”

John gently grasps the sides of your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You don’t have to. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

“It’s okay, John.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod, and John places his lips to your forehead. “I worry.”

“I know,” you murmur, turning your face into his touch. “But you’re here. And that’s all that matters.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

It all has to go. All of it. There is too much damage.

No uterus. No fallopian tubes. No ovaries.

Gone. All of it. Gone.

Johnny sits next to you on the sofa, his head in his hands. His sigh is heavy as he rubs at his face. When he comes up for air, you know his world is shattered, just likes yours.

“The surgeon said they might be able to save some eggs.” Even you don’t believe the words leaving your mouth. It’s a farce.

“Might?” asks Johnny.

“They won’t know until they’re actually inside.”

Johnny is oddly silent. It’s not like him to be quiet.

“Are you upset?” you ask, tentatively.

“No,” he says sharply. “Not with you. Never with you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, because an apology feels right but you’re not sure why you’re doing it at all.

Johnny places his hand on your knee, squeezing gently. “For what?”

Tears pool, threatening to spill over. “For not being enough.”

He leans in, face serious. “The fact that you think that at all means I’ve failed you. That I haven’t loved you enough.”

“Johnny.”

He draws you in. “This doesn’t make you less worthy of my love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

A heartrate monitor beeps nearby. They’ll release you soon now that you’re awake and aware.

It’s all coming back in pieces.

You remember the cramping, the spotting, and then the bleeding that wouldn’t stop. You remember the cold linoleum floor against your cheek, of losing consciousness, of gaining it again only for the room to spin. You remember how cold you were, and Simon’s hands—of how his voice cracked when he said your name.

You don’t recall the trip to the hospital. You only remember how Simon demanded help while the staff told him he needed to calm down.

But he’s here now—and no one is yelling. He sits in a chair next to your hospital bed, face grim and skin pale like he hasn’t slept in days.

There have almost always been complications—always been issues while trying to conceive, but of those that have ended, it’s never been like this.

You turn your head, and as if sensing you, Simon glances up from his silent musings. You offer your hand. Simon takes it, and though he doesn’t squeeze hard, you feel the desperation in the way he clings to you.

“I’m not risking you. Never again.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your friend opens the gift, presenting it to the gathered crowd. Everyone fawns over the set of baby blankets. There are several in total, all pale pastels.

You smile and agree that it’s a wonderful gift. Outwardly, everything is fine. Internally, your mind is still at home, lingering on the four pregnancy tests hidden in the bathroom bin beneath a pile of toilet paper.

Each one negative. Each one a glaring stain on the long list of failures.

Kyle emerges from the kitchen with the father-to-be, a massive grin on his face. This baby shower is a reminder to you of all your shortcomings. For Kyle, this is hope—a vision of the future.

And you haven’t told him. Haven’t said a word about those four negative tests.

How many years of trying now?

But you’re still young.

Don’t stress about it.

It’s so easy for others to stick their nose in, which is why you don’t share anymore.

Kyle plops down next to you. The happiness there is palpable, so thick it’s almost like butter on the tongue. You’re going to shatter it—hurt him yet again.

He presents his hand, palm upward.

You snatch it like a lifeline, and squeeze—hard. Kyle frowns at your entwined fingers. His gaze sweeps upward.

In your friend’s hands is a onesie for a newborn. Everyone coos, and something in you breaks. You’re smiling, but you sense the threatening tears.

Kyle’s frown shifts to a sad smile.

He knows. You don’t have to say anything.

Lifting your joined hands, Kyle brings the back of your palm to his lips. Placing a quick kiss there, he then kisses your forehead. He adds another kiss to spot just behind your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

No one is watching.

“I love you.”

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[bunnyreaper]

merrier the more

pairing - john price x f!reader x john mactavish

wc -  3.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, double vaginal penetration, wife sharing, unprotected sex

notes - after a million years i've finally gotten this out of my brain and written out! underrated threesome imo, lets goooo!! proofread but definitely not enough ♥

Thursdays were date nights, almost every week without fail, unless John was on a mission. Even when paperwork keeps him tied to his desk into the dark of the night, you join him in his office with takeout and a good book, content to enjoy his company in silence. 

It was one of the keys to your marriage being as successful as it is, and both you and John agreed—quality time was a must. 

This Thursday was a break in routine—John's energy has been decidedly different since you stepped foot in his office. He's always a little on edge when you see him at work, his jaw and shoulders tight, but tonight there's a hint of determination in his eyes. 

Captain Price is present, rather than your husband, John. 

The second difference comes in the form of a knock on the door, usually, the two of you go undisturbed as your standing date is known among the 141, and none of the men dare interrupt and draw their captain's ire. On the rare occasion that a knock would come, words would be exchanged quickly before being dismissed. 

Tonight, John invites the guest inside.  

"Sit, Soap." John commands, his voice low and dripping with authority in a way that draws your attention. 

The younger man complies, seemingly not on edge—his usual cocky confidence is still in full swing, in defiance of your expectations of the situation. Whatever Johnny is here for, he's not to be reprimanded or to report something grim. 

Both men's eyes are firmly fixed on you, gazes roaming over the way you lounge in your pretty dress on John's shitty office couch, your legs exposed to both of them. 

"C'mere love," John speaks, rolling back his office chair and patting his thigh temptingly. "Need your help with something."

You rise uncertainty, leaving your book behind as you make your way over to your husband, your eyes darting between him and his subordinate. Neither man says a word, just continuing to watch you as you move closer to them. 

Your mind starts to race, thinking of just what John could possibly need your help with. Occasionally, he asks you to read one of his men's imperceptible handwriting or gets into a debate with you about whether his own reports make grammatical sense. 

Something tells you neither is the case this time. 

When you make your way around the desk, you fall into John's lap obediently, facing away from him and watching Johnny watch you. 

The look in his eyes is not something you're blind to, not now, not ever. John MacTavish has always wanted you. John Price has never let you forget it—he's teased you multiple times about his soldier's crush, and made you admit while being fucked mindless to being attracted to the younger man too. 

Your husband got off on knowing his power, knowing that you belong to him regardless of Johnny or any other man's wishes, and knowing that while your eyes can still appreciate other men, they'll never be enough compared to Price himself. 

You sit patiently and wait, deferring to John and his air of authority as you wait for him to speak whenever he is good and ready. The silence is thick, John's paw trailing across your thigh, up to your waist where he holds you still, his grip insistent. 

"Sergeant MacTavish here is about to become a Lieutenant." He begins again, graveled voice now right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "If Soap is getting a promotion, I need to know he can get the job done." 

John snaps his fingers at the Sergeant, beckoning him around the desk as John spins you both to face where Johnny is now standing. His hands move back down your body to your thighs, parting your legs slightly by opening his own so that you sit spread. 

You know exactly where this is headed. Johnny's azure eyes burn into you as they spectate every single one of John's slow, luxurious movements—touches that slowly begin to undo you. The air in the room thickens, and your skin burns under John's fingers. 

Johnny's eyes flicker away, and you can tell the captain is holding his gaze. 

"Need to know I can depend on him, and that he can do what he needs." He purrs, his tone filled with intent. "That he'll take what he wants, yeah?"  

John pulls up the hem of your dress, exposing your now-soaked panties to his sergeant and delighting in the way you both shiver in response—you from being exposed, Johnny from finally getting to lay eyes on intimate parts he'd only dreamed of. 

You stay obediently frozen as John teases you further—the whiskers of his beard tickling at your neck as he smirks, his fingers stroking so softly up your inner thighs.

When you look back and catch Johnny looking you right in the eye, you swear you can feel yourself gush—he looks like he wants to devour you whole. 

"He's always wanted you, love. Isn't that right, sergeant?" 

"Yes, sir." Johnny agrees so eagerly, but the look he sends your way is anything but submissive. His grin is almost predatory, his anticipation and arousal clear after years of lusting after you from afar. 

Johnny finally comes closer, his hands settling on the arms of John's chair as his face stops inches away from your face—hot breath sweeping over your features. One hand moves to clutch at your jaw, demanding your attention as if it wasn't already entirely focused on him. "Tonight, you're mine." 

He growls the words before diving in for a searing kiss, his actions rough and hungry, bordering on violently enthusiastic. His stubble is so different from John's softer brush, nipping at your sensitive skin. 

"Only for tonight, MacTavish." Your husband growls from behind you, pulling your hips back into his hard cock as a reminder. He might be sharing you, but it's just this once. You'll always be his. 

As Johnny kisses you fervently, his hands begin to wander too, groping at your tits as John continues to hold you steady as he works his erection into your ass. While the sergeant occupies your mouth, John sucks kisses into your neck, humming at the feel of you falling apart under both men's touches. 

You gather just enough strength to surface for breath—panting and shaken under their joint attention. Neither of them shows signs of stopping. While your husband was offering you to another man, he wasn't going to sit back and watch either. 

"Both of you?" You gasp, words unsteady and breathless. Handling John under normal circumstances was hard enough, throwing Johnny into the mix might just break you. 

You shiver with need as the men share a laugh, and John's hand slips up to embrace the column of your neck. "Someone has to show him how to do it, love." 

The two men dive back into making you fall apart, a flurry of lips and hands tearing you apart at the seams and driving you mindless with each touch. 

"Fuuuck." Johnny practically whines, his hands falling to grope at your tits and pull them free out of the top of your dress. 

His hands are calloused and warm in a familiar way, but his movements are quick and rough and make you squirm under his touch. The two sets of hands on you are almost too much already, as well as John's erection rubbing against your core. 

A quick flicker of your gaze to the sergeant's jeans shows he's similarly affected, and the sight of his hard cock straining against the denim has you wanting. 

It's hard to think straight with every sensation you feel, every thought consumed by the two men ravaging you—yet your mind flickers back to the conversation you and John had months ago now, the one where he mentioned sharing you. 

You turn your head to the side, snuggling into your husband's cheek as you whisper to him. "I always thought it'd be—" 

He interrupts you with a greedy kiss, before freeing you to continue speaking. "—Simon, if you ever actually went through with this..." 

You sigh through your words, Johnny almost biting at you when he hears the other man's name fall from your lips.

The truth is, you had thought it'd be Simon that John invited into the bedroom first, as his trusted right hand and someone he knew would be discreet. Clearly, though, your husband had been paying more attention to your soft spot for the sergeant than you thought. 

How long had he been concocting this plan? Waiting for the opportunity to have you at Johnny's mercy too. 

Said man's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back to the smirk on his face and the sparkle in his eyes. "Don't tell me yer disappointed, bonnie." 

You can tell from the way his voice drips with amusement that he knows you're anything but. The easy confidence has always been part of his charm, but as he toys with your breasts and stares down at you expectantly, knowing exactly what he's doing to you—that confidence feels like lightning down your spine.

"Far from it, Johnny." You whisper, finally taking an action of your own and pulling the man in for another kiss. It's sloppy and messy, more teeth and tongue than lips, but Johnny's mouth tastes so good, and his need is evident in every single brush of him against you. 

His hands climb to cup your jaw, holding you exactly as he wants you as his tongue explores your mouth and dances with yours—it's dirty the way he kisses, the way he groans into your mouth as you thread your fingers into his mohawk, the way he swallows your own moans as John bucks up from below you. 

Johnny pulls away, his chest heaving as he presses his forehead against yours and holds you in a tender moment. "Ye must have a thing for blue eyes, aye?" He smirks once more, and you wish you could protest, but the sparkling blues had been what captured your attention first about both men. 

One set belonging to the man that you married, one set belonging to the man you'll now get to fuck. 

The blue eyes before you flicker down, breaking the connection as his hands wander lower—down past your breasts, brushing past your husband's on their way to your thighs. He grasps greedily at your softness, kneading his touch into your skin as he parts your thighs, exposing your soaked panties to his burning gaze. 

"'m gonna touch that little kitty of yours now." He purrs, his curled finger brushing across your sensitive inner thighs in a way that makes your legs squirm—even more so when he traces up the hem of your panties.

"Didn't say you could, MacTavish." Your husband all but growls, his usual authority bursting through him.

Johnny ignores his captain entirely, his fingers pushing your panties aside to plunge deep into your weeping cunt—he curls them against your walls, a wolfish smirk directed at you, watching you flail as he continues to disregard John's words in favour of driving you crazy. 

"Don't remember asking, captain." He snarls in response, taking control. 

The sound of your cunt getting ravished by Johnny's fingers fills the room, drawing sweet whines out of you. One hand works to find the best angle to scrape against your spongy walls, his other coming to replace John's as he holds your neck and stares you down. 

You feel a shift, a moment where Johnny's attitude changes from cocky confidence to earned authority, him taking encouragement from the way you fall apart under his touch and writhe in the lap of your husband who isn't currently the cause of your pleasure. It has Johnny soaring, and you can tell he's falling into the new headspace with ease. 

"He's a quick study, John." You whisper. 

"Clothes off, yeah, lass?" Johnny tugs you to your feet, holding you steady in his arms for a moment before he eagerly strips you off your clothes.

Your dress comes off first, revealing your tits hanging out of the cups of your bra, and the way your panties settle on your hips, digging into your skin. Johnny's hands move to roam over each piece of your exposed body, kneading and admiring, his eyes ablaze like the hottest part of a flame. 

Then he works to rip off your underwear, leaving you bare before both men. "Fuckin' hell don't know how you tear yerself away from her." 

"Feels impossible some days." John purrs as he stands from his chair, paws falling to your waist once more.

Both men grope at you—Soap pulling you in for another kiss, John nibbling at your neck. Your legs almost give out from beneath you, and you know you'd be so unsteady were it not for being pinned between the two men's bodies.

It's overwhelming. John on his own is enough to bring you to your knees, but him and Johnny, with his blessing? Each touch, each kiss has you whining—high-pitched and almost brainless as your mind fizzles with pleasure. 

Johnny holds you close, pressing his solid body against yours—rough fabric and a hard cock against soft skin. He watches your expression as his fingers dip back into your soaked folds, as your husband's fingers roam over your ass and into your hole. The two men work in tandem to reduce you to a quivering mess, vicious fingers making you drip down their hands and your own thighs.

Johnny flicks your clit absentmindedly as his other hand moves to work on freeing himself from his jeans, pushing his boxers aside to reveal a long, slender, leaking cock. 

"Wow, bonnie girl. Yer that excited for me? Or dae ye just really like yer husband sharing ye?" He purrs as he strokes his length languidly, teasing you with the sight of his pre-cum leaking down the head, as well as the way he squeezes his member. 

You laugh breathlessly, unable to summon a real response until the men's fingers still inside you. "We'll see... how you fuck first, sergeant. Don't let me down." 

Both men share a chuckle, but Johnny is the first to act, with strong hands wrapping around your thighs and hoisting you into the air. 

Johnny gives you a devilish smirk as he hovers you inches away from his cock. "I never back down from a challenge, lass." 

He eases into you slowly, lowering you down and stretching you on his length, each delicious inch pushing its way inside in an almost torturous way. He’s not as thick as your husband, but he might just be longer, as he finally seats himself inside and the tip of his cock bullies your cervix. 

"Fuck, fuck." The sigh that releases from you is beyond shaky, betraying the deep effect Johnny’s cock has on you.  "So deep." 

"He feel good, love?" John asks, stepping up behind you, his voice close to your ear and his hands guiding you up and down the other man’s cock.

"Y-yeah." 

He clicks his tongue in approval, speaking again with honeyed words that make you keen. "Good girl, keep taking him for me." 

John mostly watches, his hands remaining on you, yet passive, as Johnny starts to move. The younger man thrusts with fervour, bouncing you onto his dick over and over and over again, not satisfied until he has you crying out for more and babbling. 

Johnny certainly knows how to move his hips, knows how to fuck—he eases off the second you show any discomfort, and is quick to learn the exact pace and motion that makes you moan the loudest. If you could think straight, you’d wonder if John had already given him strict instructions on exactly how to fuck you. Of course, he’d have planned this to a T.

Your nails scrape up Johnny’s muscled back, clinging to him desperately as he continues to shove his cock into your wet hole, as John’s hand snakes around your waist to toy with your clit. Both men are clearly intent on ruining you. Your insides twist, your head falling back into your husband's chest as you just feel.

Johnny’s hips abruptly stop, buried deep inside you in a way that blanks out all your thoughts. "Need your help, captain." He grumbles over your shoulder.

"What with?" 

"Think she needs her husband's cock inside her too. Stuff tha' pretty cunt completely full, yeah, bonnie?" Johnny raises a brow at his captain, waiting for the man to make a move. 

Each second drags as your husband considers the situation and you're left needy and waiting, Johnny's hips entirely still—John's hands on you inactive too. 

The idea of being stretched by both of them at the same time sends you wild, two gorgeous cocks stuffing your hole full. 

"Please, John." You start to babble, unable to control your own pleas. "Need you both, need you both, need—" 

John's cock slides between your ass, nudging forward until he knocks against where Johnny is buried inside you. The sensation on its own has both you and Johnny bucking.

"That kind of thinking'll take you far, sergeant," John whispers before his fingers crawl down your skin to where you and Johnny are connected, and he starts to guide the head of his cock into your hole. "Shhh, nice and slow, gotta stretch you out for both of us, love." 

“Gonna be a tight squeeze, bonnie.” Johnny mutters, his voice showing signs of further strain as his captain’s cock rubs against him.

The stretch is painful, John’s girthy cock bullying its way inside and forcing you to accommodate him alongside the sergeant—you know you won’t be sitting right anytime soon, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your hole burns with each inch your husband slides in, pleasure only beginning to come when his head brushes against your g-spot—after that, he slips right in, your cunt reshaping itself in acceptance and swallowing his cock.

"Fuck.” You pant, barely able to catch your breath, and no one has even moved yet. You can’t think straight, can’t breathe right, can’t even really contemplate the way your body is being overwhelmed by the two men. All you can do is whine and moan and cry out. "It's too much!" 

John holds your hips steady as he presses kisses to your shoulder, and Johnny runs a hand through your hair—both men cooing reassurances at you.

"Ye can take it, fer me and the captain. I know ya can." 

“You can do the work, sergeant, make her feel good, yeah?”

Johnny nods once before springing into action, his cock gliding out of your pussy before forcing its way back in, squelching against John’s length as it goes and drawing groans from both men.

It doesn’t take long Johnny's pace to escalate, as he shoves in repeatedly and thrusts both his own and John’s cock deeper inside you. You feel your brain slip into a haze of pleasure, all thoughts becoming incoherent as moan after moan makes its way from your throat. 

"There we go, love. Stuffed full of two cocks, how'd you like it?" Your husband asks before turning your head to face him, and then devouring your lips in a passionate, loving kiss.

"Love it, love it so much." You whisper against him. "Fuck me, John, Johnny, please."

The two men thrust together momentarily, forcing you to the limit of what you can take from both of them—smirks dance across their faces, both beyond pleased to have you pinned between them.

"Cannae wait until we're both filling ye with our cum."  Johnny purrs as he buries himself deep.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, gorgeous girl?" 

[blingblong55]

All I can think of now is a proper what we do in the shadows! 141 AU, where the gang are a coven of vampires and there’s a documentary crew following them around. 🫧

Price is the oldest, perhaps a famous outlaw from over a thousand years ago. He views his coven as his children.

Gaz has been his companion for the longest. He was a knight or a soldier. Price has fought in a few wars to give himself something to do over the years, but couldn’t stand the thought of his new comrade and pseudo-child Kyle getting killed. He was far too young to die, so Price made sure he wouldn’t.

He met Ghost next when he was running one of his many criminal empires (again, he wanted something to do). Ghost had joined as a low level thug but quickly worked up the ranks to become one of his inner-circle. He was a cold blooded killer with little remorse - or so Price thought. Once he’s come to know of Simon’s upbringing and life, filled with hardship and pain, John knew he couldn’t just leave the lost soul alone. He deserved a chance to heal and make real, lasting connections with people who wouldn’t hurt or leave him, so Price turned him.

Soap and Grim are the newest additions to the coven. One of them probably became his familiar after being dared by the other, and they quickly worked their way into his unbeating heart. Price worried a lot for his two youngest children and they were giving him grey hairs after thousands of years without (how could be not worry with their love of explosives and lack of self preservation?) so he decided that, so he could keep a good eye on them and make sure that they didn’t get hurt, Johnny and R/n should join him and his older children in undeath.

Price was wary of the crew filming this ‘documentary’ about them, but his two youngest just seemed so happy to have new friends to play with, so he allowed it. Ghost would be the most guarded, happily taking care of a few of the crew who got too close, thought it would be funny to come to work with a crucifix in their pocket, or made a snide comment towards one of his family. Gaz is cheeky, friendly, and happy to joke around with them, and probably gives them the most actually useful information. He’s the only reason the documentary can actually be called factual or educational. Soap and Grim are happy to have new people to mess with. They like to jumpscare the crew by flying in their face as bats, appear out of nowhere, hypnotise them and convince them to act silly, and stage nerf gun wars with everyone in the house - cameramen included.

hear me out!

Graves is Simon the Devious (ironic ik)

The cameramen never get used to this, never. Price, oh that poor man, he wishes at times he didn't have a soft spot for his children but then again, this is what he chose

I would also like to introduce the two dumb little young vampires, Johnny and grim, not only did they both dare each other to become familiars but their dumbasses didn't know the other was going to go through with it!!! They end up finding out when Gaz introduces them to each other...

Three days into being familiars, they set off a bomb, nearly kills them but father senses tingle and Price finds them in time.

Five days into being familiars, they nearly die in six explosions, 2 car accidents and one orea choking accident, so that's when Price decides its time to make them vampires, he knows they are unkillable unless they step into the sun, which they almost have....14 times so far-...make that 15 times

[imaginesheaven]

GN!Reader x TF 141 – Relationship Dynamics

Warnings: swearing

Length: ~2.7k

Captain John Price – Doberman x Orange Cat Dynamic

The two of you are quite an uncommon pair, but it does work out somehow.

With his collected demeanor, Price is definitely the calm before the storm. He is able to give you the quiet time you need, bringing serenity into your life and calming you down.

On the other hand, you are the storm after the calm, so if shit goes sideways, you are either the solution or the cause of it. There is literally no in between. Still John wouldn’t want it the other way around. You are the little storm in his life to keep him busy.  

Being the whirlwind of the Task Force; tearing everything down in your way you are probably 99.9% the reason why John is always exhausted at the end of the day. Of course, he would never tell a soul about it, but he enjoys how you are endlessly restless.

He is on the run behind you like all the time. “Could you calm down for a second?” – “I have never known calm before in my life … so no!”

In this context it is a nightmare for John to keep your injured ass in the bed. Sometimes he can’t believe how much energy a human being like you can have. “Love, you need to rest. You are injured.” – “Sleep is for the weak, John! I am vengeance! I am the night!” – “You are NOT BATMAN!”

In the end he lures you with a lot of cuddles and back scratches back into bed. Having you close to him, for once calmed down, John remembers how completely smitten he is with you. There is literally nothing this man wouldn’t do for you.

Before the two of you started dating, the whole base knew that Captain Price has a soft spot for you. Everyone could see the love for you on his face. Everyone except for you. Even when he confessed his feelings you were still oblivious how much John loves you with all of his heart.

Price is always there to protect you. Being the Doberman of the relationship obviously. With your orange cat energy, you are in trouble like 5 out of 7 days of the week. Still he bails you out of any trouble, knowing for sure you are already planning your next coup. John loves the entertainment you give him with your crazy ideas sometimes. And to be honest he has to give you credit for your creativity.

So, most phone calls go like this:

“Hey, John!” – “Did you get in trouble?” – “Me? Never! *snickers* However, can you come and get me from the infirmary?” – “I’m on my way, love…”

“Just wanted to let you know how much I love you!” – “What did you do this time?” – “Nothing! *multiple crashing sounds and Soap screaming in the background* - “Don’t move! I’ll get you.”

Or waking him up in the middle of the night:

“Psst.. John!” – “Are you hurt, love?” – “No…” – “Then get back to sleep. It can wait…” – “But guess what I did!” – “Fuck!” *is awake in a second*

Having briefings is also very eventful since you are endlessly sarcastic. You don’t care about ranks. If someone says something stupid, you have to reply. It’s a natural reaction like breathing.

“Oh, so you are the sperm that won in the end against all the others? How embarrassing…” – “(Y/N)!” – “Come on, Laswell, that was a good one.” *Prices has always your back*

And with that comments you are always one minor inconvenience away from causing chaos all over the base. John is here for it :)

Keeping you safe is definitely not easy for John, but he tries his best every single day, because you are worth it.

“Go on, say it before I let you roam free to cause chaos and bring hell upon everyone.”  – “This is embarrassing, John.” – “…” – “Ugh, fine. Breaking things should not be fun. Fire and explosions are bad. If I get hurt, you will be mad. No weapons of any kind. I will behave… okay?” – “Good, have fun, love~”

Simon “Ghost” Riley – Doberman x Black Cat Dynamic

Oh well, how can I explain this relationship the best? If the devil itself and the grim reaper started to date, that’s how the two of you are like. It didn’t take people long to understand to stay away from you two, since Simon is the infamous cold Ghost and you are scaring people away with your permanent “Fuck off!”-face. Both of you oblivious to that fact:

“Why is everyone scared of us, Simon?” – “No idea.” *both of you literally throwing death glares at everyone*

Simon would never admit it out loud, but he thinks it’s incredibly hot how you intimidate people with a single glance. Grown ass man with higher ranks as you started to get nervous in your presence. You are literally a force to be reckoned with. And he loves every second about it.

Ghost is a Doberman for sure. That man in big and scary in his black gear. He looks like he is in charge, but boy, behind closed doors you walk him like a dog. You are his match he has been looking for so long.

“I will not discuss this with you.” *starts to walk out of the room* - “Come the fuck back and talk to me, Simon.” *stays calm and collected* - *Simon turns around and sits down like a good boy*

However, Simon would die to protect you in a second. He has never felt so much love for a person before. Takes his job as your personal bodyguard very seriously even if he knows that you can protect yourself very well.

“EXCUSE ME?!” *you walk towards another big soldier* - “Fuckin’ hell…” *rolls his eyes but follows you anyway* - “I can handle it on my own.” – “Oh, I know. I’m here just in case, sunshine.” *stays back but ready to pounce any second*

The other soldiers know to stay away from you, but sometimes it still happens. The rest of the Task Force loves to watch how you always get in trouble like:

“Say that to my face, asshole!” – *Simon standing behind you shooting death glares* “Try it. I dare you.”

The two of you always have each other’s back. Where one is, the other is probably not far away. Simon couldn’t imagine his life without your grumpy and black cat energy anymore. Your chosen love language is teasing and making fun of each other like most of the time. Also, in front of other people.

“You are so serious all the time, Simon.” *you stare at him with your infamous stoic facial expression* - “You are no ray of sunshine either~” *can’t help himself but smile underneath his mask*

And so, the nickname sunshine was established for you. It’s meant to be sarcastic, but for Simon you are literally the sunshine of his life. Making everything brighter and better. Behind closed doors you let him see your vulnerable side.

“If you ever leave me, I will burn down the world…” – “I’m literally devoted to you, sunshine. No need for more chaos and destruction.” – “….” – “You are mine and you are so cute.” *cups your face in his hands* - “… and lethal. Don’t forget that, jerk.” *melts into his touch*

Simon loves how you can handle yourself, but sometimes you drive him crazy testing out his patience on a daily basis.

“Look at me, sunshine!” – “Make me~” *smirks at him*- “Watch your tone for once.” – “Or what?!” *ready to tear him down* - “I think it’s time for you to eat something.” *takes your hand in his* - “I think it’s time to break something!” *escapes his grip* - “No, sunshine! Come back!” *runs after you to pick you up*

Here and there you think that you are too harsh towards the world, but in the end it’s just how the two of you are.

“We are really mean to the Rookies, Simon.” – “… And? It builds their characters. It’s good for them.” – “… True.” *you smile at him* “I love you.” – “I love you too, sunshine.”

John “Soap” MacTavish – Golden Retriever x Black Cat Dynamic

No one really knows how the two of you end up together, but somehow Soap managed to worm his way into your heart rather quickly. You have seen your fair share of cruelty in this world, which explains your cold, stoic and always annoyed presence. You are annoyed by anything and anyone except him. He could never annoy you.

Soap has never met someone like you, who has endless patience for his crazy energy. His mind is working thousand miles per second all the time. He is quite literally a storm. Then there you are bringing your calmness to him; slowing him down finally.

The rest of the team were lucky enough to see how you manage to stop this whirlwind named Soap. Surprised how calm and collected you are as he almost jogs his circles around your spot on the couch.

“Here, Johnny” *you hand him a box* - “What is that?” *has his hands already all over it* - “A Jigsaw puzzle.” – “…” *looks confused at you* - “I managed to do it in under an hour. Can you beat me?” – “Challenge accepted!” *he starts to puzzle and calms down*

Soap can’t even express how grateful he is to have you by his side. You handle all of him so perfectly without an ounce of judgement. You might look scary on the outside but you have such a soft spot for him.

It doesn’t matter what stupid shit Johnny might does, you will always have his back. Which also means bailing him out of trouble all the time. Sometimes Soap doesn’t understand how you still can love him.

*you bail him out of jail in the middle of the night* - “I’m sorry…” – “It’s okay.” *you give him a rare smile of yours* - “You are not disappointed by me?” *cue puppy eyes* - “Oh gosh! No! That is absolutely impossible, okay? … But you are still an idiot.” – But I’m yer idiot!” *wraps his arm around you* - “… Unfortunately …” *enjoys it anyway*

One of Johnny’s love language? Physical contact like all of the time. Yours? No physical contact like all of the time. So, cuddling is for you going through every circle of hell, but you do it for him and sometimes it is quite nice. Soap is always the little spoon. Outside he is the big bad soldier, but with you he is just a baby.

On the other side, you also can be vulnerable when he is by your side. It is something you don’t like to do very often, but Johnny gives you the reassurance you need. All the insecurities you hide from the world.

“Please, never leave me…” *buries face in his chest* - “You have never to worry about that, my love.” – “You think we are going to be okay?” – “I know it. You are safe with me. I would never hurt you.” *kisses your head* - “… Okay… I love you.” – “I love you more.”

Soap with his Golden Retriever energy loves meeting new people above everything else. It’s quite the funny sight to see you standing behind him judging everyone you meet. You are also his protector. Here and there Johnny gets too nice with people. You take your job to protect his beautiful sparkle very seriously.

*pulls him down by his ear* “What did I say about being nice to strangers?!”

But Soap has also to take care of you, since you are never looking after yourself either. He has always a drink and snack ready for you no matter the time.

“Did you eat? Drink water? Got sunlight?” – “Uh, nope, thank you tough.” *make your way out of the room* - “Where do you think you are going?” *picks you up to bring you back* “Just give up, love.” - *you struggling in his arms* “NEVER!!!!”

Johnny loves to take pictures with you, even though you never smile on any of them. He keeps taking them still admiring you.

“You are the love of my life.” – “My condolences, Johnny.” *smiles at him*

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick – Golden Retriever x Orange Cat Dynamic

Well, what do we have here? It looks a little bit like a double trouble team. Price definitely did not plan his Task Force to be this chaotic with the two of you. We have to mention that Gaz is usually not the one causing trouble.

This poor lovesick man is usually only the accessory to your crimes. It’s you who has the stupid ideas and the matching plan for every idea. It’s also him who bails the two of you out of everything with his innocent and sweet smile. You would never admit it, but it makes you a bit jealous how easy it is for him to do that.

“See, I told you we would get out of this, love!” *smiles happily* - “Shut up before I do another stupid thing…” *glares at him but is more than glad to have him by your side*

It makes is hard for him to enjoy a nice little adventure to spend time with you, because you have a talent to turn almost everything you two to into a police chase.

“OH MY GOD! DRIVE! KYLE!” *jumps into the car through the window* - “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” – “DON’T ASK! DRIVE!” *sirens come closer*

Kyle is the definition of a safe space for you. With him you can be exactly the person you are and you never have to be afraid that he will leave you. You are his little panic room. All those negative thoughts and anxieties he has are safe with you.

“This mission is going to be a shit-show.” – “You have two minutes to let all your panic, worries and the negativity out.” – *talks it off his soul* - “Great, now the show must go on, Gaz.” *you give him a tight hug* - “Thanks…” *can’t believe how much he loves you*

This man survives most of the missions out of pure luck. Fortunately, your second name is pure luck. You are always there to save his ass no matter what. Even more after he fell out of the helicopter.

“Ha, Gaz, there is your guardian angel~” - *you coming out of nowhere killing enemies left and right to save his handsome face* - “I told you to be careful!” *hitting the back of his head with your hand*

The others weren’t that wrong. You are an angel. His angel.

Here and there the world becomes too much for you to bear. Your orange cat energy can easily turn into a black cat one. When that happens, you go through at least 121828378 emotions a day, but Gaz knows exactly how to handle all of them.

“I’m cranky… leave me alone.” – *wraps himself around you* “Hi cranky. I love you!” - *you can’t help yourself but smile a bit* “I don’t feel good mentally.” – “It’s okay. I’m here, my angel.” *kisses your forehead* - hours later – “Can I let go now, angel?” - *grinning* “Nope, never.”

You would never ever admit out loud that you are missing Gaz. Of course, he knows that you are only playing with him. He can see it in your face like every single time. Especially when you have to stay back injured and the team goes on missions without you. The entire time you worry about his safety, because when you are not with him who is going to save his handsome face?

“I missed you, angel!” *hugs you tightly* - “You were gone?” *trying to play it cool but has been crying the entire time* - “It’s okay…” *could see your puffy red eyes*

The two of you are a perfect mix out of being friendly and causing chaos. Neither of you could imagine your life without the other one.

“Do you love me or the chaos, Gaz?” – “Uh… Definitely both~”

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

SOBBING 😭

Hey hey firstly absolutely adore your writing!❤️

Could I request the task force 141 boys with a reader that may not have the best relationship with their family members?(brothers in particular)

No pressure at all if you're uncomfortable writing this!!

Shame

————————————————————————————————————————

pairings: platonic 141 x grim

warnings: death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, abuse

summary: guilt and shame plague grim as they remember their late family

————————————————————————————————————————

guilt and shame of the relief flooding your veins hurts more than the grief of loss.

obviously, you’re devastated they’re dead. it’s been five years. five years to process. five years to cope. five years to get over it.

but, you can’t help but feel relief knowing you’d never have to see them again.

your family may be dead, but the pain they put you through never did. it burned.

just the thought of them made your hands shake.

remembering the abuse you went through.

of course you loved them. they were your family.

your family was well known in your small town. three children and a perfect marriage. a little home on the outskirts of town, a pet or two. you were the perfect family. to the outside peeking in.

but, your mother was in over her head. you’d often wondered why she even had kids. why she put you through what she did. why did she take her anger out on you? did you not try hard enough? were you not good enough?

physical, mental and emotional abuse was common from her.

but the worst part? your father.

he was never there. physically, he was.

your father was emotionally unavailable.

when you were younger, he’d take you on little trips. work on cars, and go fishing with you. as you grew older, and your siblings came along, it changed. he hardened and gave up, letting your mother do as she pleased.

you often left the house and ran around town. taking walks, spending days at a friend’s house, getting odd jobs here and there.

when you joined the military, lying about your age, you found peace and another family. one that loved harder than the one you had in your hometown.

a few months in, and they were dead.

today was the five year anniversary of their deaths.

you felt relief.

relieved knowing your siblings never had to endure the pain of your mother’s abuse, or your fathers neglect.

relieved knowing you’d never have to go through it either.

but, so much shame in feeling this way. it rattled your bones, sank in your core, and nested there. often times, you’d find yourself wishing it was you instead.

there you lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. lights off, blinds closed.

the only sound that rang throughout the small room was your sniffles.

the thought of your little sister being fourteen and your little brother being sixteen by now slammed into your tired mind.

with shaky hands, you wiped your face in frustration.

a raspy groan pulled from your chest, and you sat up.

tears of anger pricked at the corners of your mind, and small yell ripped from your throat.

“FUCK.”

you stood and paced the room, hands finding their way to your messy hair.

you’d practically raised those kids. taking them to school in the morning after helping them get ready. making dinner for them when your parents refused. taking the blame for little things when your mother was on a rampage.

you didn’t even register your fist hitting the wall until you looked down and saw drywall on the floor, a gaping hole where your fist was.

“shit.” a hiss came from your mouth.

you cradled your hand as you walked into the hall.

red rimmed your eyes, deep purple bags sat below them. your freckles stood out from how tired you were, littering your face. your hair was a rat’s nest, not bothering to fix it before you left.

your soft stomps echoed in the hall, distracting you from the pain emitting from your knuckles.

stopping in front of a familiar room, you gave a slight knock after shuffling your feet in hesitation.

a long moment went by, and you kicked yourself for even coming this way.

turning around, you start back down the hall to your room before the sound of the door opening stopped you.

“ya need somethin’ kid?” his gruff voice sounded behind you.

a sigh left your chapped lips before you turned around.

“i- i need help with my hand.” you cleared your throat, and raised your right hand to show him the damage.

his uncovered eyes took in your small figure that somehow looked smaller in the moment.

brows quirked, he noticed you were sinking in on yourself. making yourself seem smaller. ghost thought you looked like a small child.

“what happened?”

“turns out, a wall is not a very good punching bag.” you tried to make light of the situation.

“c’mon.” his head nodded, and he opened the door wider for you.

you followed him in, and he took you to his desk.

“why’d ya punch the wall? johnny piss ya off?” he started shifting through his desk, looking for a med kit. his balaclava covered up to the bridge of his nose, and with the lack of face paint, you noted his eyes were brighter.

“uh, no. johnny didn’t do anything this time, don’t worry.” your legs shifted as you got more comfortable.

he gently grabbed your hand after setting the med kit down, and started wiping it with alcohol.

“ow.” you let out a little hiss at the sting.

“m’sorry.” he all but mumbled out, not meaning it.

“you gonna tell me what happened?”

“i didn’t mean to, didn’t realize i punched the wall til i saw part of it on the floor.” you shrugged, avoiding the actual question.

“not what i’m talking about, you know that.” his movement halted as he looked up at you from where he knelt on the floor.

you shifted your eyes from his as tears pooled in them.

“mm. i think i hate myself. not physically, that’s not the issue. i hate my brain. and i hate the way i feel things. i hate i’m not normal. i should be disgusted with myself for feeling this way, yet i can’t find a way to.” tears streamed down your face, hiccups coming out between breaths. your heart clenched. saying the words out loud made it all the more true.

“what’re you talkin’ bout?” he continued wiping the blood and dust from your hand, eyes flicking up to yours every so often.

“i’m so fucking relieved they’re dead. and i shouldn’t be. i should be sad. but, i can’t bring myself to feel that way. my family’s fucking dead and i’m okay with it.”

he didn’t say anything for a hot minute, and you sat there wondering if he hated you as much as you did.

he finished wrapping your hand in silence as you sat there, bouncing your knee.

ghost swiftly put the med kit back before turning to you once more. a sigh left his lips and his eyes flicked to yours.

“listen, kid. i know how it is. judging from this,” he points at your being, finger waving over your face and stiff body, “they weren’t the kindest to you. been there. if this brings you peace, let it happen. because it did for me.”

you didn’t say anything, letting his words sink in.

“my old man was real piece of shit. he had it comin’”

“yeah, but my brother and sister didn’t. they don’t. they were just little ones.” your throat closed a bit, a lump taking over.

“i’m sorry. i really am, kiddo.” his hand found your knee.

“it should’ve been me.” a whisper left your mouth.

“absolutely not. don’t say shit like that. it shouldn’t have been you, and it wasn’t. okay? we want you here.”

you choked back another sob.

your head thumped against his shoulder and you let the tears fall.

“i’m sorry.”

“why’re you sorry for, grim. nothin’ to be sorry for.” he was stiff, but his hand raised to your back, rubbing gently.

“i don’t know. for them. my siblings. i fucking raised them, protected them from my parents, kids at school, strangers at the store, yet i couldn’t keep them alive.” your voice was muffled in his shoulder.

“we can’t save everyone, kid. i couldn’t. don’t expect yourself to.”

“i know. it hurts.”

“you gotta feel it.”

“i don’t want to sometimes.”

he chuckled, shoulder bouncing your head a bit, “no one does, sweetheart. c’mere.”

his body raised, and he stood. with open arms, he beckoned you over to him.

wiping your face, you dove into is his arms, face smooshed into his chest.

arms wrapped around your smaller figure, his head leaning on yours.

“stayin’ here tonight?”

“if you’ll let me.” you pulled back and gave a soft smile.

his eyes crinkled as he gave you one back, hand rubbing up and down your back, “course, kid.”

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed this :’) a little self projection on this one

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper

Pairing: (Possibly?) Poly Team 141 x Female Reader / Female Reader x Her mental health

Content Warning: Mental Issues touched upon. Swearing.

Note: Your code names are either Grim Reader or Iron Maiden.

Words: 2502

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary:

If you can’t be perfect at something, why bother trying?

If you can’t get it right the first time, why bother?

What would they do if you had forcibly removed yourself from the equation? Would they notice that you were gone? Would they care? You went numb because of your parents. The lack of care and the added pressure to remain at the top.

"Do me a favour and just leave me alone." You said. Telling them both to go away. To leave you alone. They had each other and you were alone. Death seemed better than whatever mess awaited you back home. You have worked alone for the longest time. You require no back up. Not only that, but you don't need any pity or assistance. Death is reward in a sea of endless nightmares.

“It's not like you can stop me.” You told him. Eyes narrowing at him. Picking up your duffle bag to head out the door. “Do me favour a leave me alone.”

If you can’t be perfect at something, why bother trying?

If you can’t get it right the first time, why bother?

‘Do me a favour and go back to ignoring me. It’s what you’re good for.’ You thought.

‘Let’s get going morons. I don’t have the patience to deal with my shit and yours. Lets go already’ you think during times where people just take too long.

‘It’s war. Stop celebrating it like it’s a fucking football match and go back to work, you ignorant fucks.’ You pondered, looking over the soldiers celebrating too loudly.

‘My feelings are not yours to discuss. I will not speak endless garbage.’ You continued to glare at team 141 from afar. ‘They talk too much. Talking more doesn’t make you smarter. Nor does it make you look smarter, either.’

You have an interest in MMA, Kickboxing, axe throwing and Electrical Engineering. Your still undertaking your pathway into Electrical Engineering in different ways like the mask you wear on your face. Covering it entirely. Leaving nothing to the naked eye.

You have a high pain tolerance. An excellent one-track focus. Almost unnerving, eery according to your superiors.

You are your superior’s grim reaper as your lone wolf behaviour serves them so well. They don’t want anyone else to have you. Ever.

Thus, you have no intention of bonding with them. Once the mission is over. You intend to disappear once they turn around long enough to let you disappear.

‘Imagine looking like that.’ You heard about you. You managed to overhearing from your parent’s mouths, your bullies and the people you thought were your friends. Why bother giving someone else that chance to do it all over again when all they’ll do is leave you broken.

Your face staring back at you in the mirror. The only reason you got into the military is because of the fact that you wouldn’t be able to afford to fix your teeth otherwise. It was mostly a health reason rather than because you were so keen on ‘serving’.

All of your snacks are stored inside of a body bag to prevent people from stealing them from you. It made you feel safe and have a way to eat something without relying on other people. Even while you were growing up.

Touching your face, neck or shoulders are a big no, no for you. “Get the fuck away. Next time you do that shit, I’m hitting you in the face.” You said instinctively as a warning to get them away from you.

“Bury me in a cardboard box on the side of a highway or some shit. I don’t care.” You said once. You were annoyed and overstimulated from the lights, sounds and the combination onslaught of senses. You didn’t want more. You wanted less. You wanted to stop feeling like you were going to choke yourself or someone else.

All because you wore the evil socks that day and everything went down hill fast from there.

"Not here." You said, hoping the knock on your door would disappear as you were meditating.

You were wrong. You were wrong in a way you wish you saw coming.

The knock persisted. It grew louder, more insistent. It was as if the very wood of the door was begging for your attention. You knew it was Captain Price. His heavy footsteps and distinct knocking pattern had become all too familiar over the weeks. With a sigh, you opened the door to reveal the stern man with the unlit cigar hanging from his lips.

'God. I should have taken the drive into the lake this afternoon if I knew I was going to be bothered again.' you thought.

Captain Price looked at you with a gaze that could cut through steel. "We have a mission, Grim. Get dressed, you're coming with us." His voice was gruff, the words cutting through the silence of your room like a knife.

"Pretty sure you have all the help you need this time Captain." you snorted.

Price just stared at you. That unlit cigar doing nothing to hide the frustration in his eyes. He knew you didn’t care for the camaraderie of the squad, but that didn’t change the mission. “It’s a solo job, Grim. You’re our best shot at this. No one else can go in there and come out without raising suspicion.”

'Great. This means more time I need to get rid of excess aggression. I want to fucking kill myself.' you thought as you got ready.

You grabbed your gear, the same gear that had seen more blood than most people had in their lives. It was a grim reminder of your purpose. You were the weapon of choice for when things got too messy for the regular soldiers. The government’s way of keeping their hands clean.

The mission briefing was short and to the point. Infiltrate a heavily guarded compound, extract the intel, and eliminate the target. A simple task for anyone else, but for you, it was just another Tuesday. The room was filled with tension as the team around you studied the layout, whispering strategies and potential escape routes. You remained silent, eyes locked on the map, your mind already racing through the countless scenarios that could unfold.

Your mantra, 'I don't need you. Just as you don't need me.' echoed in your mind as you geared up. You didn't bother with the usual banter or good lucks that filled the air before a mission. They were just words. Empty, hollow promises of friendship and camaraderie that you knew would crumble under the weight of reality. You were the Grim Reaper, not their buddy. 'I am what you see when death is on the table.'

"I tolerate you. I don't intend to do more Captain." You said once, your voice as cold as the Siberian night you once fought in. You had earned your name, Grim Reaper, not just from your silent and deadly tactics, but from the emotional vacuum you carried with you. It was like speaking to a wall, but they had come to accept it.

Though the amount of aggression you had pent-up was enough to fuel a small war, you knew that you had to keep it in check. You were confronted about it, though for the life of you, you had no idea why they cared. You were heading to the gym to get rid of the excess aggression from your system.

You walked into the gym to just get to rid of it. If it was particularly traumatising, she won't speak to anyone on the way there. The sound of metal clanging and the rhythmic thump of combat boots on the floor echoed through the space as you approached the boxing ring. It was a cage match in here, but not the kind that involved a referee or an audience. Just you and your inner demons. You slammed your duffle bag down on the bench, the thud resonating in the room as you began to unpack your gear.

One such instance was today, and you were interrupted, "Ask someone else." you said and continued on your way. "Ask Ghost to help. I'm sure he's far more willing for you." You had enough pent-up to fuel a small generator.

He didn't budge, didn't move and he certainly had no intention of taking his eyes off of you. You felt like a caged animal, and Price knew it. He was the kind of man that knew when to push and when to pull. His hand rested on the doorframe, his knuckles white with the effort of holding himself back. You knew he had more to say, but he remained silent, waiting for your next move.

You came back from the most recent mission and you didn't want to talk.

You had just gotten back from a mission that had gone sideways. The intel was solid, the target was eliminated, but the compound had been a veritable hornet's nest. Bullets had flown like rain, and you had danced through the storm like a specter. But even as you walked back into the base, the stench of gunpowder and death clung to you like a second skin. You could feel it in every step you took, every breath you drew.

The gym was empty, a rare luxury in this place. You climbed into the ring, the ropes groaning slightly as you took up your stance. The bag before you was your silent adversary, the only one who never talked back, never questioned your motives, never judged your scars. You threw a punch, feeling the impact resonate up your arm, the pain a sweet release. You had done this a hundred times before, but tonight it was different. Tonight, the bag felt like it was fighting back, each hit echoing the pain you felt inside.

Your sparring match made you look more like Iron maiden than Grim Reaper. Each punch and kick sent the bag swinging, the sound of impact a cathartic symphony in the empty gym. Sweat beaded on your forehead, mixing with the grime of the day’s battle. You were lost in the rhythm, the therapeutic dance of combat, until the sound of the gym door squeaking open broke your concentration.

You spun around, fists clenched, expecting an unwelcome interruption from one of the chattering squad members. But instead, you found yourself face to face with Captain Price. He leaned against the ropes of the ring, his eyes never leaving yours. He didn’t speak, just nodded slightly, acknowledging your presence without interrupting your solitude. He knew better than to approach you after a mission like that. The air was thick with unspoken words, a silent agreement that sometimes the best conversations were the ones never had.

He still remembers when you judo threw soap when he touched your shoulders. "Keep your hands to yourself."

You could see the look in his eyes, the concern and the curiosity. But you didn’t care. You didn’t need his pity or his sympathy. You were fine. You had to be fine. You had to be the one who could handle it all, because if you weren’t, who would they send instead? The weak? The inexperienced? No, they’d send you. And you’d die.

So you ignored him, turned back to the punching bag, and threw another hit. This one was harder than the last. The bag swung back and forth, the chains groaning with each impact. The sweat on your forehead trickled down your cheek, stinging your eyes. But you didn’t flinch. You never did. That was your job, to not flinch. To not feel. To be the one who did the dirty work while everyone else patted themselves on the back and told themselves they were heroes.

Price remained there, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel his gaze boring into your back, but you ignored it. You had to. You had to keep going, keep fighting, keep moving forward. It was the only way to survive in this world. The way to keep the darkness at bay. The way to keep from breaking down.

From them seeing you as the caged animal you are. Ghost only had to hold you back once, which even for him, remains to be rather difficult, it was to give you your anti-psychotic meds which you had no idea you had to take. Ghost said, "You're an unruly beast, aren't you? Hey, stop trying to bite me." You growled afterwards. You didn’t know how to handle kindness, so you lashed out. It was easier to push people away than to let them in, only to watch them leave when they realized what you truly were. A monster, bred for war.

Ghost called you a good girl and you grimaced instead of growling, taking the pill with a sip of water. "Thanks," you murmured, trying to sound sincere. But the word felt strange in your mouth, like a foreign tongue you hadn’t spoken in a long time. You didn’t know how to be good, not when all you knew was the taste of gunpowder and the feel of cold steel.

Ghost chuckled, at your reaction, "No need to thank me, Grim. We all got our battles to fight. Just remember, we're all in this together." His voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the brutal world outside the gym. For a moment, you felt a flicker of something akin to warmth. But it was fleeting, snuffed out by the cold reality of who and what you were. You nodded curtly, not trusting your voice to respond.

You slept without nightmares that night. Odd. Normally they were there.

The doctor's eyes widened slightly at your candidness, but he remained calm. "Grim, you can't keep going on like this. The mind can't handle this kind of stress indefinitely. It's not healthy."

You didn't say anything in response. The doctor 's words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. You didn't need a psych evaluation. You needed a mission, a target to focus on, something to keep the darkness at bay. To the doctor's surprise you allowed him to get closer. To him it was a sign of progress, to you it was just a way to get what you needed. He offered you a hand to help you up from under the table, and for a split second, you took it feeling like you were five again. Lost without your parents.

You were now on your way home. Even though you didn't want to.The doctor had convinced you, or rather, the fear of incompetency had convinced you.

You didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who couldn’t handle the pressure. So, you agreed to the leave, with the caveat that you’d be back as soon as it was over.

You packed your bags with the same precision you used for your missions, double-checking every item. The gym had become your sanctuary, a place where you could unleash your demons without consequence.

Now, you were being sent back to the real world, where those demons were born.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWO

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, kidnapping, 141 are mean pirates, brief mentions of gore/death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The time you spent in the brig was frigid and isolating. Despite it being summer, the cold gusts of the sea had crept in through the thin cracks of the wooden ship, rising goosebumps on your skin and sending shivers wracking through your body. You were in no attire to accommodate the chill, only dressed in your barest of summer garments, thin and dirtied from the poverty your village lived in.

Silence became your new friend, while also your enemy. As much as you were one to appreciate the quiet of the world, the waves crashing along the sides of the ship were far too loud, taunting you with a grim reminder that you were lost at sea with no home to return to.

Your home was burned down to ash, surely with no survivors, given the state of havoc you’d returned to when Ghost told you to fetch your things. Your home didn’t treat you kindly, but it was still the place you’d grown up in and planned on dying peacefully. Now, you were a prisoner to pirates, ones only told about in silly fairy tales.

The stories of pirates had scared you when you were a young child. The elders had grouped together all children on summer nights such as this one, feeding them useless fables of the dangerous men and women that ruled the seas. They were ruthless, showing no remorse for the ones they tormented, uncaring of the bloodshed they splattered along native lands of the innocent.

That’s all they were when you were a child. Stories. Only meant to keep the youth away from the seas as not to witness them fall in and succumb to a painful death of drowning.

Now, though, it was your cruel reality. A nightmare. The pirates from those tales had been plucked straight out of the book and planted right into your life, erupting it into living hell.

Nobody had come to check on you after Ghost left you locked up in the cell. It had been hours since, the only telltale sign being the peek of sunlight poking through the small brig window and illuminating the room enough to shower you in a faint glow. There was nothing but a cot in the cell, the lower deck bare of anything useful.

Your escape would be fruitless. You’d thought about squeezing through the tiny window, but even if you managed, where would that leave you? Captured in the waves of the sea until you’d sink to the bottom in exhaustion.

You had to play it smart. Staying awake for hours alone had left you with plenty of rapid thoughts, some irrational. The best thing you’d decided in the end was to play along, gain their trust, and fulfill your role. As much as a part of you wished you were dead, it would be betraying your village, betraying Mary.

They needed to be caught. These pirates needed to pay for their crimes.

Gain their trust. Get off of the ship. Inform the nearest guard station.

When daylight fully broke, the sound of a creaky door caught your attention. More sunlight poured through the open doorway from the top of the stairs, showcasing one of the pirates. This time, it wasn’t Ghost, but instead, the one who had tossed you over their shoulder like a weak sack of potatoes.

Gaz said nothing as he descended down the stairs. In his hand was a steaming bowl, swirling around him like an ominous mist. His eyes locked on to yours, hardened from years of thievery and slaughter. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in them, nor indication that he was anything besides a sailing machine designed to follow Captain’s orders.

You watched keenly as he approached your cell. He stood over you like a brewing storm cloud, shadowing you from the stretch of light behind him.

For a moment, the two of you sat there frozen. You, terrified and cautious. Him, off putting and brooding.

Breaking the tension, his free hand scrambled for the keys latched on to the loops on his trousers, inserting one of the keys into the lock. He paused, eyeing you as a warning not to pull a brainless move. When he was satisfied you wouldn’t dare, he tugged the cell door open before stepping inside.

“Here,” he muttered, crouching down to place the bowl of food in front of you. Upon further inspection, you realized it was porridge. Bland and colorless.

You had no appetite after the horrors you’d seen. The sight of food had your stomach twisting, filling with rotten bile that begged to escape you and paint the floor beneath you.

Brimming with rage and seethe, you did the first thing that came to mind. Your hands picked up the bowl, carefully guiding it up to your mouth in attempts to seem starved. Gaz watched carefully, face set in firm lines that bristled a resentful itch inside of you.

With a turn of your hands, you tossed the porridge directly at Gaz, coating him in the piping liquid, chunks of vegetable that had been carelessly tossed in for flavor slipping down his front. His shirt and trousers were drenched, staining with the lifeless meal.

His face morphed into one of surprise before quickly shifting course. Instead, he was angry, eyebrows pulling taut, scowl curling on his lips. His eyes darkened impossibly more, filling the warm pupils with a menacing black.

“You fuckin’ wench,” he hissed, standing from his crouch to angrily swipe at the food that littered his clothing. It fell to the floor in a mushy mess right in front of you. Due to his aggression, a few stray chunks splattered back on to you in retaliation.

Realizing what you’d done, you tensed up, shuffling back from your place on the floor until your back hit the splintering walls of the ship. Gaz let out a roaring groan in irritation, sending a daggering glare your way.

“You are not hungry?” he asked tauntingly. He stepped out of the cell, slamming the door shut and locking it up tight. “Starve then. You will learn soon enough.”

Watching with widened eyes, he left the brig, grumbling angry curses to himself. When he shut the doors of your escape, you were met with sickening silence once again. The sound of waves taunted you, whispering insults in your ears for being such a stupid girl.

The pact you’d made with yourself was already in ruin. Befriending the pirates would be a difficult task if you couldn’t swallow down your enmity, and now you’d gone and made a foe.

Nobody returned to your cell for the rest of the day. It was punishment, that much you could figure out. Your stomach grumbled with desperate pleas, yet you could do nothing but wallow in your own acrimony for the remainder of the night.

When morning rose, you were awakened by the sound of the door once again. The light was blinding as it invaded the room, temporarily blocking your view of the person who’d stepped inside. When your eyes adjusted, you were faced with another pirate, the one who had held Mary down while you pleaded with him to release her.

Gaz stood beside him, arms crossed to appear larger. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tease of resentment fluttering in his eyes.

“Not goin’ to toss yer breakfast on me, are ye?” the other snickered, eliciting a glare from Gaz. The pirate stepped forward, unlocking your cell and slipping inside. This time, he held the stale porridge while Gaz remained a pace behind him. “I know yer starvin’, so don’t be a prude. Eat up, aye?”

He set the bowl in front of you, just as Gaz had done. Remaining crouched in front of you, he made a gesture of his head towards the steaming meal, a toothy grin on his face.

You knew better than to feel relieved at the kindness. He was a pirate, just as the others, and he was cruel and unruly. Though, thinking back on your plan, his youthfulness may be a much easier one to befriend.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly with a respectful bow of your head. You reached for the bowl, gathering it in both hands. Gaz and the other studied you, seemingly waiting for a repeat of dirty laundry. It never came, though, and you lifted the wood spoon to your lips, swallowing down the first bite.

Just as you thought, it was bitter. How one could even make porridge bitter, you were unsure, but your stomach made no protest to the grainy oats. In fact, it was rather appealing, having been starved for two days.

“Take it ye like it, then?” the one pirate hummed, cocking his head at the display. “Get used to it, birdie. It’ll be yer meal for majority of yer time here.” He shot you another grin, resembling a mangy cat.

The reminder of your permanent stay was a difficult one, but your plan played over in your head. You wanted to go home, though it was no more, and you wanted your freedom back. Neither would be possible if you didn’t show kindness in return.

“What’s your name?” you questioned, making a poor attempt at conversation.

“Soap,” he introduced proudly. You didn’t mean to, but the name made you snort, triggering a light cough from the porridge you’d been in the middle of swallowing down.

“Soap is an… interesting name,” you grimaced. Soap didn’t seem to mind the back-handedness, only keeping that signature grin that was beginning to grow a bit hard on the eyes.

“Aye, got the name from bein’ a bit too rowdy. Price wanted to wash my mouth out.” His own words had him cackling, loud and boisterous in the cramped brig. Gaz had no reaction, opting for the hardened look that was practically piercing into you like thousands of knives. “What’s yer name, birdie? Got to learn who our new medic is.”

You wanted to remind him that you weren’t a medic. Not a professional one, anyway. You knew the bare minimum of proper medical etiquette and your medicines Ghost had told you to bring with were simply experimental mixtures. But you also knew that he wouldn’t listen nor care.

“The village called me dove,” you explained, swallowing down more porridge. It was warm in your mouth, coating your throat with gooey goodness. “Though, I don’t think it was much out of kindness.”

Soap hummed in acknowledgement, shooting a lopsided smile and a nod of his head. “Not quite a pirate name, dove, but it’ll do.”

“I’m not a pirate,” you defended with a frown.

“Ye are now,” he reckoned mindlessly, shrugging a lazy shoulder. Soap stood from his position, straightening up next to Gaz. “I’ll give ye some advice to be a part of this crew, dove. It’s not nice to throw porridge at a poor lad like Gaz.” Soap clapped Gaz on his shoulder, earning a scowl, which he ignored.

Your eyes shifted from Soap to Gaz, taking in the pure annoyance radiating off of him in waves. It was undeniable, practically filling the room’s atmosphere with black mist.

“I apologize,” you forced out, though that bitter part of you denied it. You wouldn’t feel sorry for these pirates. After all, they didn’t feel bad for the innocent lives they ruined.

Gaz’s nose twitched at your faux remorse, staring at you for a beat too long before turning away. He made no move to talk to you, but it wasn’t a blatant refusal of your apology. Perhaps he was just a tough nut to crack with a soft sweetness on the inside, even for a pirate.

The two men left you alone in the brig once again, only returning to give you meals as needed. It was terribly lonely the more the weeks went on with no move to release you from your cell. It was as if none of them trusted you, despite them being the ones to kidnap you. They burned down your home, slaughtered your people, and yet, wouldn’t allow you a chance to taste a sliver of freedom.

It was agonizing to wait, but you kept up your facade as much as you could, dripping with poisoned honey every time Gaz or Soap entered the brig with means to feed you.

Price or Ghost hadn’t made an entrance to see you. For the most part, you were grateful for it. In just the couple of weeks Soap and Gaz had been feeding you, they were warming up to you, slow and steady — Soap more than the other.

Gaz still had his reservations about you. He was reclusive, always standing on guard as if the shadows in the wall were prepared to attack at any given moment. It was better than before, where he had treated you like a burdening dog who he couldn’t rid himself of, but the progress was dwindling.

Soap was much more gracious. While he was obnoxious, he was much more welcoming company. You had no desire to truly befriend these pirates, but if any were to be the most tolerable, it was Soap.

Price and Ghost, though, were a mystery. Their absence made crucial falters in your meticulous plotting. You wanted out of the cell so you may roam the creaky decks of the ship, but the dream simply wouldn’t be possible without their trust.

It wasn’t until the fourth week of your imprisonment that the storyline had shifted. Rather than Soap bringing you your meal for the night, it was the Captain himself, standing tall and brute in front of your barred enclosure.

Unease rattled through your bones at his sudden appearance. You weren’t expecting him, nor were you prepared to face the very man who had slain your village with the help of his men.

He observed you like a lab rat, studying every movement like a variable in his experiment. It was prodding and exposing, leaving you sitting in your cell with a heavy lump in your throat.

“Soap tells me you’re warmin’ up to him,” he claimed, breaking the thick silence that smothered the air. He paced back and forth in front of your cell, eyes focused in on you. “Figured I’d properly introduce myself, seein’ as we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together.”

You swallowed the rock in your throat, unmoving from your position on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but the cot was worn and dirty, so the floor became your only friend in the midst of all your dispair.

“I see,” you managed, clearing your throat. Price continued his relentless pacing, hands crossed behind his back in a formal manner. Ironic, really, considering his ruthless occupation.

“Dove, was it?” he asked. You nodded wearily. “A shame, really. Doves are lovely things, beautiful creatures made up of the purest white. Yet your village had called you it in ridicule. Or so I heard.”

Price was a man that spoke in riddles. He spouted conversation in the form of poetry, only tainting its beauty when angered. It was both unnerving and intriguing for a pirate. He wasn’t dirtied like you’d heard in childhood tales.

“I suppose they did,” you agreed with a small frown. The anxious pit in your stomach only grew, triggering alarm bells telling you that this man was an enigma. He wasn’t to be trusted.

“And why is that?” Price questioned. He ceased his pacing to face you properly, and you wished he’d return to it. His stature was that of a behemoth, overpowering and menacing, much like Ghost had been.

“Why did they call me dove?” you responded in confusion.

“Why did they ridicule you,” he corrected.

The statement made you pause. You hadn’t really thought about your townspeople dumbing you down to a mere crazy girl with too much ambition. You were the talk of the village within your age group as well as the occasional elder who tsked at you for never marrying.

The relationship between you and your people was one of complexity. While you loved them as your own, they battered you every chance they had. Hell, even Lucius himself had outed you to a group of pirates without care in the world. The very man who had spent countless months in attempts to make you a pretty village wife had sent you to your early grave to save his own ass.

“They thought I was different,” you explained woefully. “It is not normal for a woman to partake in medicine, let alone education. Doves are beautiful, yes, but they’re also adventurous. It is a dangerous conviction to be compared to as a woman.”

Price cocked his head to the side, filling the air with silence. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to explain yourself to a dingy villain such as him, but you feared that if you weren’t honest in your conversation, he’d be able to sniff out your deception from miles away.

“Who has told you it is not normal?” Price asked, and once again, he had stumped you.

“It is not a difficult thing to digest, Captain. Women do not involve themselves in ambition.”

“They quite do,” he retorted. You stared up at him through the bars, your own head cocking. You didn’t trust his word, but a shriveled piece of you was curious. “Sure, it is not acceptable in certain places, but it is quite popular.”

You blinked at him, before staring at the wooden floor, pondering.

You had been expecting the Captain to treat you with hostility, to throw nasty words your way with the excuse of being a pirate. That was what you had been told in adolescence, how dirty they could be, but he was calm.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Price said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bars of your cell, standing over you with only that barrier separating you. “I am not a cruel man. You may think differently, and for that, I do not care. But I will say that I believe you will have a much better life upon my ship.”

His words were a mix of sweet venom being spat at you. While they could be perceived as kind, there was an underlying message, one you couldn’t decipher.

“You burned down my village and killed my people. You kidnapped me to be your medic on your ship,” you defended, unable to hold back the taste of lingering resentment.

You had nearly forgotten why you were there with Soap and Gaz visiting to shift your mind elsewhere. You almost dismissed your own plan of escape. Price had reminded you without realizing, and now, your heart felt heavy once again.

“Ah, yes. The people that willingly sacrificed their own in effort to save themselves,” Price mused mockingly. The words stung. “Yes, we took you against your will. I will admit that. But your people treated you far worse.”

“You do not know a thing, Captain,” you spat.

Price cocked his head once more, resting his forehead on the forearms that lay upon your cell. “Aye, I do not,” he admitted. “But I know a bird with clipped wings when I see one. Perhaps you’ll be grateful when you learn to accept things as they are.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to get the last word in, but he was right. You barely knew the Captain and yet, he had read you like a novel, flipping through your pages and memorizing them from one single look through.

It felt dehumanizing. He was cruel and vicious, as were his men. They were nowhere near saviors, yet he spoke to you as if he was. It sickened you to the core, but there was no denying his brutal honesty.

Price offered you a lazy smile before standing straight, arms falling to his sides. “I suggest gettin’ used to your new life. You’ve got no home to return to anyway.”

He retreated from your cell as if he hadn’t slapped you in the face with a dose of reality. His boots were heavy and aggravating as they trudged up the stairs towards the upper deck, where he promptly shut the door on you, leaving you alone once again.

Your escape plan was falling into shambles before it had even began to fester.