#cod fanfiction

[gloomwitchwrites]

Thinking about…Biker!141 AU

Biker!Gaz who turned a hobby into a career on social media. Sometimes he’s dishing out advice and general maintenance tips, while the rest of his videos are straight up thirst traps. He might not say it directly, but he adores the attention. All the thirsty comments are the perfect ego boost. But there’s a pattern, a username that keeps cropping up over and over again. It’s not just anyone. It’s his best friend’s ex, a woman he’s been lusting after for years. She’s liking his posts, and leaving filthy comments. This might be his chance.

Biker!Price doesn’t hate much, but he hates it when people owe him money. And your brother is at the top of his list. With a stacked gambling debt, your brother hands you over to Price with the hope that this might erase or lower the debt. Well, tough shit for your brother. Price is keeping you and not erasing one cent of the debt just to shove it in your brother’s face. Yes, you’re his now, and that isn’t going to change, but you’re a sweet thing…and Price intends to make you his.

Biker!Ghost is the odd one out in his small town. Rumor is that he’s a violent man with a long criminal history that ranges from petty theft to murder. No one will actually verify if it’s true, but they all repeat it like it’s the truth. As the newest addition, everyone you come across tells you to stay away from him even though he’s the only car mechanic in town. But when your cheap ass car breaks down, and not a single godly citizen stops to help, it’s Ghost that rolls to a stop. It’s he that offers you a ride home and promises to have it towed to his shop free of charge.

Biker!Soap is about to be handed the keys to a criminal empire. His father’s clock is ticking, but a war between rivals looms on the horizon. With the possibility of a bloody fight ahead, Soap’s father makes a deal with another rival gang. This one has a marriageable daughter around the same age, and Soap is the eligible bachelor. While he’s single, he’s hardly celibate. He rides fast, fucks hard, and hasn’t thought about having a wife at all. But when you arrive, he meets a fiery thing that would rather scratch his face off than sleep with him. Good luck with that, babe. Soap is about to win you over.

[nemo-writes]

𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖿 141 𝗁𝗎𝖻𝖻y 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽(𝗌) 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌 ; 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 ── .✦

masterlist

── .✦ 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖾 ; "𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾."

the golden light of the setting sun painted the small plaza in warm hues as you strolled along, hand in hand with your six-year-old daughter. she was a chatterbox as always, her little voice bubbling with excitement over everything and nothing at once.

john, walking just ahead, paused and turned to face her, tipping his hat back slightly so she could see the seriousness in his blue eyes. “right, love,” he began, his voice low and steady, the tone he used when he wanted her to really listen. “we’re goin’ to play a little game, yeah? if you ever lose me or your mum, you’ve got to stay put—don’t wander, don’t move. we’ll come find you. got it?”

she tilted her head, brows furrowing. “but what if i can’t find you?”

“you don’t find us, sweetheart,” he corrected gently, crouching to her level. “we’ll find you. but only if you stay put. like a statue. no runnin’ off, no matter what. understand?”

she nodded solemnly, her little face a picture of determination. “i’ll stay like a statue!”

john smiled, tapping her chin before standing. “that’s my girl. all right, let’s practice, then.”

with a satisfied nod, he began to walk away. his long strides took him toward one of the shopfronts, and you could see the faint twitch of a smile on his lips as he glanced back briefly under the brim of his hat.

you watched from a nearby bench, amused by your daughter’s dramatic stance, her little legs stock-straight as she stared after him. for a moment, she stayed put, her face scrunched in concentration.

but then—without a sound—she took a step forward.

you tilted your head, leaning forward slightly as you realized what she was doing. step by step, her tiny feet padded behind john, her movements careful and deliberate as if she were sneaking up on him. she kept her eyes on him like a hawk, completely ignoring everything else flitting around nearby.

john, oblivious at first, continued walking, his focus on the shops ahead. but when he slowed and turned to check on her, he froze.

there she was, just a few steps behind him, her little hands clasped in front of her and her face a picture of innocent curiosity.

john’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as he let out a low chuckle, turning fully to face her. his expression was caught somewhere between exasperation and pride.

“my love,” he said, his tone equal parts scolding and affectionate. “what are you doin’? you were supposed to stay put.”

she blinked up at him, her big eyes wide and earnest. “i was followin’ you, daddy!” she said proudly, as if that had been the plan all along.

john sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before crouching down to her level. “you’re not supposed to follow me, sweetheart. the whole point is for you to stay where you are so i can come find you.”

her little face scrunched in thought, clearly processing his words. but then she smiled, cheeks wide and full, and said, “but i found you instead!”

your husband let out a defeated laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to pull her into his arms. “you didn’t exactly follow the rules,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “but I can’t be mad at you for stayin’ close to your old man, can i?”

she giggled, throwing her arms around his neck. “i did good, daddy?”

john sighed again, though there was no hiding the warmth in his voice. “not quite what i was goin’ for, love,” he admitted, holding her close. “but yeah, you still did good. shows you’ve got a sharp little mind, doesn’t it?”

he stood adjusted her on his hip as she beamed with pride. you took that as your cue to step in, walking up to join them with a knowing smile.

“well,” you said teasingly, “i’d say this was a very price family sort of lesson—failed the test but still managed to come out on top.”

john gave you a wry smile, tipping his hat slightly. “she’s got a bit of her mum in her, too. can’t let go of a good plan once it’s in her head.”

you laughed, brushing your fingers through your daughter’s hair as she leaned her head against john’s shoulder. “you’re lucky she’s such a daddy’s girl, or you’d never live this down.”

“lucky?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “that’s the only reason i get away with anything.”

as the three of you began to roam around the place together, you couldn’t help but think that while the lesson may not have gone as planned, the love and pride in john’s eyes made it a success in its own way.

── .✦ 𝗀𝖺𝗓 ; "𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗇𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌."

you’d been watching kyle for days, curiosity bubbling as he worked away at something with an intensity usually reserved for his missions. he’d commandeered the dining table, surrounded by scraps of paper, a glue stick, markers, and even a small pile of printed photos. every time you asked what he was up to, he’d just give you a sly smile and say, “you’ll see, love.”

now, as he gently guided your little girl to sit cross-legged in front of him on the living room rug, you stood in the doorway, arms crossed with quiet amusement. whatever he’d been crafting so fervently, it was clearly for her.

“right, sweetheart,” your husband began, his voice warm but serious as he produced what could only be described as a makeshift booklet. it was a little wonky at the edges, with a cover decorated in bright colors and a drawing of a smiling stick figure family labeled us.

“what’s that, daddy?” your daughter asked, her big, curious eyes locked on him.

“this,” he said, holding it up with a little flourish, “is something very important. it’s all about what to do if you ever get lost, yeah? or if you ever need help.”

her little face lit up with interest as he opened the first page. inside, in bold, clear letters, he’d written her full name. next to it was a printed photo of her grinning proudly, and underneath, her age in big, colorful numbers.

“first things first,” he said, tapping the page gently. “what’s your full name?”

she hesitated for a moment, then carefully recited it, stumbling just a little on the middle name.

“that’s my girl!” he praised, ruffling her hair. “now, next page.”

he turned it, revealing a neatly written list of phone numbers—yours, his, and one for emergencies—all accompanied by little drawings to make them easier to remember. your number was next to a doodle of a phone with “mummy” written in bold letters, while his had a little stick figure in a cap labeled “daddy.”

“this one’s mine,” he explained, pointing to his number. “can you say it back to me?”

your daughter scrunched her nose in concentration, repeating the numbers slowly and carefully. she got a few digits wrong at first, and kyle’s patience was infinite as he gently corrected her, coaxing her to try again. when she finally got it right, he beamed so brightly you thought his smile might split his face.

“that’s it!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together softly. “you’re so clever, love. and pretty, too. smart and pretty—how did i get so lucky, eh?”

your daughter giggled, covering her face with her little hands, clearly preening under his praise.

“wait, there’s more,” your husband said, flipping to the next page. it was a hand-drawn map of your neighborhood, with a small printed photo of your house glued to one corner and a bright red “x” marking it. “this is where we live. if anyone ever asks, you tell ‘em, ‘that’s my home.’”

he traced his finger along the path he’d drawn, explaining it step by step as she followed along with wide, fascinated eyes.

stepping closer, you leaned on the edge of the couch, watching them with your heart melting into a puddle. “you’ve really outdone yourself, kyle.”

he glanced up at you, sheepish but clearly proud. “eeah, well, i just wanted to make sure she’s prepared, you know? can’t be too careful these days.”

“and the drawings? the photos?” you teased lightly, gesturing to the colorful booklet.

“thought it’d make it more fun for her,” he admitted with a shrug. “seems to be workin’, yeah?”

your daughter nodded enthusiastically, clutching the booklet like it was her most prized possession. “can we do more, daddy?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“course we can, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice soft as he cupped her round cheeks. “you’re already doin’ so well.” he turned back to you with a grin. “you see that? she’s a little genius.”

you chuckled, sitting down beside them and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “she’s also very lucky to have such a thoughtful dad.”

kyle leaned into your touch, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to his daughter. “right, love, let’s go over the numbers one more time. just so you can show mummy how clever you are.”

your daughter giggled, ready for the challenge, while you watched the two of them with a full heart, knowing this was a memory you’d treasure forever.

divider credit

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Part 1

cw: birth, pain, implied smut

“I take it back. I take it all back, I-” You were interrupted by another contraction hitting you, your hand curling around Simon’s as you groaned in pain. The brute of a man looked helpless, standing beside the bed, holding your hand and wiping the sweat from your forehead. His eyes jumped from you to the doctor checking your progress. By that point, you had been in labor for sixteen hours, and you were starting to lose your strength.

Shortly after you had begged Simon for a baby, you found out that you were pregnant, overjoyed that for the next few months, you would not have to suffer through your monthly period. Of course, before you actually started to try, Simon and you talked and made sure that you were ready for a baby, but you still didn’t take all the pregnancy pains into account. The morning sickness, the swollen feet and ankles, the back pain once you started to grow. And of course the birth itself.

“And, you’re ready to start pushing.” The doctor smiled up at you, before instructing the nurses on what to do. Your eyes immediately jumped to Simon, panic filling you. “It’s okay, love. I’m here, I got you, okay?” You slowly nodded, tears dripping down your cheeks, as he kissed your forehead tenderly. And then you pushed.

It was agonizing, feeling yourself be split open, but the moment your baby’s cries reached your ears, relief flooded you and the pain was pushed from your mind. Simon started to laugh, as the small human was whisked away and cleaned up, his lips immediately finding your temple. “You did it. You did it, love.” You looked at him, smiling as you nodded.

“It’s a little girl.” Both of you glanced at the nurse, taking careful steps in your direction, while gently holding the little bundle, before placing the baby on your chest. “A girl.” The wonder in Simon’s voice, made you smile. “Our little girl.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead again, before looking at the small human, lying on your chest. She stared at you both in wonder and even though you knew that babies this fresh can’t really see, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hi, baby.” You couldn’t help but chuckle, as Simon gently rested a hand against her back, dwarfing her even more. “She’s so tiny.” Before you could respond, the doctor perked up, catching your attention. “I’ll have to give you some stitches, won’t take long.” You nodded, relaxing back against the mattress, your eyes growing heavy.

“Rest, love. I got her.” You nodded tiredly, before sleep pulled you under.

“She is precious.” John’s voice was the first thing you heard when you woke up. “Guid thing th' wee yin git her maw's looks 'n' nae her dad's hackit visage.” A quiet off from Johnny, made you smile, as your eyes slowly opened. Simon, who was holding your daughter, was surrounded by his friends, Johny and Kyle cooing at her, while Johnny was holding his stomach.

“Hey, love.” Simon immediately noticed that you were awake and carefully passed the baby over to John, before rushing to your side. You smiled, still tired, but happy. “Hi.” He grinned from one ear to the other, gently stroking your cheek. “You hungry? I ordered your favorite.” You nodded, excitement filling you at the prospect of food.

A few months later

A groan escaped your lips as you glared at the bloody patch in your panties. You had hoped that it would take longer for your period to return, but it’s back, and you hated it. After changing underwear and putting in a pad, you left the bathroom in search of Simon. It was easy enough to find him as he was sitting on your couch in the living room, your daughter in his arms.

“Johnny is coming over to take her for the day.” Simon looked at you confused, concern filling him when he noticed your pissed expression. “Did I do something wrong?” He got to his feet and gently put your daughter down in her bassinet before he turned back to you. But you just shook your head. “My period is back.” Si looked confused before it began to dawn on him. “Another baby?” You nodded, grabbing the front of his shirt, before dragging him to your shared bedroom. Johnny had a key after all.

A/N: Here you go! Hope you liked it!

@almosttoopizza @callsign-red

[circusinthewalls]

NSFW König Ramblings - 18+ MDNI, AGELESS BLOGS DNI

[Masterlist]

Honestly, I think König loses it a little every time you suck him off. He always makes a point to try not to be vocal, remaining discreet a priority, but the second you begin to take him into your throat, it all goes out the window.

You get to watch those big thighs flex. Hear him keen and choke out grunts beneath the mask. For the minimal control he maintains over his noises, he lacks it almost entirely when it comes to trying to get more of you.

He'd give anything to bury himself a touch deeper. That's why his hips stutter, jutting in uneven, shallow thrusts that have you moaning around him.

God forbid you gag. He'll whine, back pressed so hard in his seat that it makes the old wood creak in protest. Oh! And of course-

You should know he's coming right then and there, too. <3

Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

FICMAS - DAY 6 - SECRET SANTA

Title: Secret Santa

Synopsis: You have *no* clue what to get one of your two boyfreidns for Christmas for secret santa

Warnings: This is m/m/f. That's really it?

AN: This WAS made with like... one mutual in mind, and I will continue to write JohnSimonReader because OML the concept is fun. Anyways eat. OH AND THIS WAS THE ONLY IMAGE OF THEM I COULD FIND?

"Out the 'at, c'mon," Simon shakes the cap--Kyle's hat he always wears on missions--with the little names on it. You pick a name, not opening it yet. 

Once everyone has a name, John's voice is heard, "'Right, everyone. All you 'ave t'do is buy a gift, limit being £40 in price, for the person on your slip o'paper by Christmas Eve."

You nod, along with the other men, and John adjourns the meeting.

As soon as you're in your quarters, you're reading your slip of paper.

Simon. One of your two boyfriends in your cursed little love circle. 

You huff, unsure of what to get him, so you phone John. "John?" You answer the phone as soon as he picks up.

"Yes, dovie?" He responds, a little confused, "Everythin's okay?"

"Yes, it's about Si. What.. what do I get him for Christmas?"

A bark of laughter escapes his lips, "So *tha's* who ya got? I'd reckon you dressin' up in some nice little lingerie would work just fine."

You huff out and roll those pretty little eyes, scoffing, "John! I need to get him an *actual* gift."

"Take pictures--wallet sized, yeah? He'd like that."

You scoff again and shake you head, before John adds, "I'd like tha' as well, yeah?"

He laughs and smirks and you can practically hear that smirk through the phone, "Goodbye, John."

"Oh- come on, lovie! Don't even act like tha's not true," He tries to respond, "I love you?"

You chuckle, getting up to pace, "Love you too, John. You and Simon should come to my dorm, we'll cuddle until Simon's asleep and you and I can talk Christmas some more."

He huffs out a laugh, "Cuddle," he says like it's impossible. You hang up the phone and sigh, sitting down on your bed.

What *could* you get Simon? I mean, he's so... avoidant of gifts. Maybe a good coat? Maybe an inside joke?

You rack your brain so hard it could explode as you wait for Simon and John to come back to your quarters for your nightly cuddle before it dawns on you.

*A kiss the cook apron.*

He loves those, always making jokes and no matter if you are or are not all deployed, John doesn't cook because Simon won't let you or him *anywhere* near the kitchen. He'd *love* it.

Cut to the exchange day, and everyone is laughing and excited. Why wouldn't they be?

You present to Simon is wrapped nicely in one of those shirt boxes they sell, it has a pretty bow and a nicely written name tag.

Your gift was from Johnny and was a new mug so you "stop stealing his," which made you laugh.

Kyle got from John a proper coat, because everyone knows that that man does NOT take care of himself.

Kyle got Johnny a pair of thick gloves for work so his hands don't get worse.

Then Simon opens his gift, while you're curled up on John's lap. You're biting you lip, looking nervous.

Then he sees the apron, unfolding it and letting out a laugh. He never laughs, so everyone looked *incredibly* surprised, but he showed it off.

And of course he knew it was you, so he tossed John his gift and opened his arms for you.

He got John an eye mask, so he'd stop complaining about how dark it is, and hopefully stop snoring as much.

You end up snuggled up to Simon's side, everyone chatting about. You steal a sip from John's got cocoa, and he comes over and wraps his arms around both of you in a bear hug.

Simon leans down and whispers into your ear, "I promise 'll use your gift, dovie."

You lean up with a grin, kissing his cheek, "Thanks, Si."

[khioneee]

simon is possessive and obsessive.

“you’re mine.”

the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed through the room, each thrust harder and faster than the last. the force of him inside you was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. a broken cry escaped your lips as your orgasm hit, tearing through you at the unforgiving pace he’d set. your body trembled beneath him, bouncing uncontrollably with each thrust as you clawed at the floor, desperate for anything to hold on to.

tears blurred your vision, but even through the haze, you could see him—ghost. his massive frame loomed behind you, the white skull mask glowing dimly in the low light. his blue eyes pierced through the shadows, flickering occasionally into a deep, predatory stare before shifting back, as if a monster lurked just beneath the surface.

a shaky, heated smile curled your lips as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—wrecked, helpless, taken completely by the man behind you. every thrust sent shockwaves through your body, and the way he possessed you made it clear there was no escape.

simon leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and rough. “i’m going to make you watch me take you over and over again until you’re nothing but a numb, broken thing.”

then he slammed into you harder, pulling a ragged cry from deep within you. your nails scraped the floor in desperation, but there was no reprieve, only his unrelenting rhythm.

“i’m still angry,” he growled, his words vibrating through you as he thrust deeper, faster. “and i’m going to make sure you understand, love—no other man will ever satisfy you again.”

his pace quickened, every thrust a punishment, every motion a claim. you could feel it—his rage, his desire, and the dark promise that dripped from his voice. and in the mirror, it was all laid bare: the power he had over you, the way he unraveled you completely.

simon was taking you, body and soul, and there was no turning back.

[guppybibi]

John Price who absolutely loves it when you nag him. Would kill someone just to hear you scold him about smoking another cigar today. Who wouldn't appreciate all the nagging you do for him? He doesn't understand all of the other husbands who despise their wive's nagging, you wouldn't have nagged in the first place if you didn't care for their wellbeing in the first place!

Like he accidentally left the faucet slightly open? He could already hear your sweet voice lecturing him on and on about water conservation and such. You not only care for him, but the environment too? He scored a goal he never even knew he was missing the whole time!

Or maybe he casually skipped a meal to clear off his workload? Oh boy, he could practically see the outline of your shadow, approaching his office with a hearty meal and a frustrated pout. His imagination was doing wonders while he thought about what you plan on saying upon entering the room, perhaps you'll just step in and shove a spoonful of whatever food you have into his mouth?

He could die happy if he hears you telling him off about putting the toilet paper under instead of over (which is apparently the right way, from what I've heard) or for not taking out the trash earlier in time. John Price is a simple man, who appreciates the simple things in life, by your words alone he can already tell how much you care and value him as a person and as your husband.

[cj-theyoungling]

Simon Riley x Reader

cw : Being drunk. This is pure fluff soooo.

synopsis : Simon goes to a pub after a mission and ends up getting a bit more drunk than he bargained for. After asking for you incoherently Gaz finally gets you on the phone.

author's note : This was inspired by this work I read while I was on the train and I had to put my two cents in. Simon might be OOC in this but it's my story so I get to decide how he acts drunk.

The sound of your ringtone fills your bedroom and wakes you up with a start. You fumble around the empty sheets looking for your phone, you squint at the brightness of the screen and answer once you see Simons contact photo.

"Hey! I think Ghost is asking for you. He's a little bit wasted right now." I man in a baseball cap says to you. You watch as he hands the phone over to Simon.

Simon's face fills the screen, once he catches sight of you the fabric of his balaclava folds in a way you know means he's smiling. "Hi baby." You coo at the screen. His eyes light up as he brings the screen closer to his face. You can tell he's drunk when he leans against Price as he replies.

"Hi doll. I miss you." He slurs his words together, between that and the usual muffling of his mask you can barely make out what he's saying.

"I miss you too Simon." This elicits what you can only assume is a frown from him.

"You don't call me that." He grumbles, you giggle in response and the sound of Price chuckling comes through the phone.

"Damn! You're whipped LT!" A Scottish accent shouts, also clearly drunk.

"Where are you love? I'm gonna come get you." You start putting on your sweatshirt and shoes, you laugh as you hear Simon ask Price the name of the they're at. You hang up, much to Simon's dismay, and drive to go get him.

You enter the mostly empty pub and quickly catch sight of the table full of burly men who all seem to be arguing over something.

"Well is she your wife Ghost? You have their last name saved as Riley." The one who answered the call says, now having shed his cap from earlier.

"Why didn't you tell us about her." Another man says, his hair is sticking up in a mohawk.

Price chuckles at their antics, having caught sight of you walking towards them. "Nice to see you again." He greets, giving you a quick side hug.

"Again?!" The mohawked one says incredulously. You chuckle and introduce yourself to the two men. Simon, suddenly alert once you start speaking stands and wraps his arms around you tightly.

"I missed you doll." He mumbles into your neck, ignoring the laughs from Gaz and Soap.

"I missed you more baby. Now let's get you home, you're wasted." You chuckle as you lead him away from the table. You wave at the men and get Simon into the car.

Once you get into the drivers seat Simon grabs your hand and holds it tightly. You smile as you begin to drive home. Making sure to take a few pictures when Simon falls asleep in the passenger seat.

[secretlovezz]

Casual intimacy with Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He loves to shower with you.

Hopping into a steamy shower together and washing each other's skin clean after you both get home from a tiring day at work. The feeling of you scrubbing shampoo through his freshly cut hair fingers softly grasping at the strands even after he tells you it's not necessary. Sometimes, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and squeeze as you wash your face. He'll kiss gently at your skin as droplets of water drip from your body to his lips and let his nose dig into the crook of your shoulder to inhale your clean scent.

He loves grocery shopping with you.

Getting to keep his large palm against the small of your back rubbing up and down every once in a while to show that he's with you. He likes to listen to your voice as you read down the list of things the two of you need and the way you point your finger and bossily tell him to fetch a certain item. He pushes the cart for you when it starts getting heavy with items even after you complain and tell him "You could do it yourself." He enjoys being strong for you, finds pride in being able to carry and hold all of the bags when the two of you get home from the shops.

Simon Riley really loves these seemingly little moments of intimacy with you.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.

Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.

Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol

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

John Price

“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”

You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.

Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.

“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.

Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.

“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.

Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.

It’s a…oh fuck.

“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.

Fuck.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.

The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?

“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.

No. No no no.

You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”

Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”

“I was drunk.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”

Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.

“I tried.”

That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.

You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”

This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”

It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.

“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.

Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”

You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”

He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”

“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.

This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”

“What?” you ask, flustered.

Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“John,” you snap.

Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”

Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.

“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.

Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.

“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”

“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.

“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”

You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.

But Price is quick.

With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.

“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.

Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”

Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.

You don’t want to admit it.

Not out loud. Not yet.

But you will be back.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.

You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”

Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.

This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.

“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”

“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”

Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.

“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.

Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.

“You remember anything you said to me last night?”

You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.

Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.

“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.

Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.

Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“What?” you breathe.

“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.

Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”

“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”

Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.

When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.

He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.

Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.

Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

“Both of you can fuck off.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Ghost.”

“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.

You frown. “Are you injured?”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.

“You keep rubbing your neck.”

Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.

You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.

“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.

“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”

Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.

You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”

“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.

Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.

“You’re mistaken.”

“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”

A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.

Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”

You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.

“You don’t know that.”

Ghost shrugs. “I do.”

His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.

“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.

“Do you remember?”

No. I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.

“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”

Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What the fuck is that?”

Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.

Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.

The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.

Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.

You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”

That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”

Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?

You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”

Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.

“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”

Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.

“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.

“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.

You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”

You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving

@childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666

@unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath

@enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@thewulf @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos

@enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

@burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria

@lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @dakotakazansky

@hantheconqueror

[wordstome]

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon's desperate to find Riley a pet sitter after she suffers an injury in the field and can no longer work alongside him. Despite being desperate, he's also picky. He wants someone professional, organized, and perfect for the position. You show up for an interview - and while you may not be his idea of the perfect candidate, you're the perfect fit for what Riley needs. Unfortunately for Simon, you flip his world upside-down and melt his icy walls of stubbornness and anger, making him crave you like the heat of the sun. The worst part? You don't even know it.

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, brief mentions of animal injury (not detailed), pining, angst, possessiveness, jealousy, slow burn (?), cheating, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Chapter 1. Interview

Chapter 2. Rules

Chapter 3. New Trails

Chapter 4. New Tricks

Chapter 5. Back to Square One

Chapter 6. Pup Cup

Chapter 7. Motivated, Sir!

Taglist is CLOSED - thank you to everyone who requested to be tagged in this story!

[homeofthelonelywriter]

who in COD would know how to spatchcock a chicken?

Full transparency, I had to google what a spatchcock chicken even is, but now I'm hungry...but THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST YAYYY

John Price: I feel like John would be fully convinced that he could do it, even though he has never tried it before. And if you even try to help him, he’d shoo you out the kitchen, assuring you that everything was under control. It wasn’t. He realized rather soon that he had no clue what he was doing, and how to even start. He even looked up tutorial videos online, but they were too fast and he couldn’t figure out how to pause them at the right time. Soon, he realized that he was completely lost and begrudgingly asked you for help. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed seeing you in that cute little apron, bending over to glance into the oven.

Johnny MacTavish: Surprisingly, he knew exactly what he was doing. Growing up with a kind and nurturing mother and a bunch of siblings, most of them girls, he knew his way around the kitchen. He confidently banned you from entering the room while he was working and you couldn’t help but worry a bit. After all, he didn’t seem like the guy that knew how to cook, or even hold a kitchen knife correctly. During your relationship, you had done most of the cooking, since he enjoyed your food way too much, and you wanted to spoil him whenever he was home. But the chicken turned out amazing and he enjoyed hearing your praises aaaaall night. ;)

Simon Riley: No. Explanation.

Kyle Garrick: He would do okay, but he wouldn’t do it alone. No, he would insist that you would do it together, make it into a cute couple’s activity, flirting and kissing while you were dancing around each other. And after some begging from you, he would even wear the pink, frilly apron that was matching yours. By the end of the day, you had an amazing spatchcock chicken, and lovely memories to look back on.

[bzurk]

“Reader who decided to go to like a free use club pretty much, the only thing showing was her ass/legs/pussy the rest of her was hidden behind a wall Met 4 people anonymously online and they agreed to play out that fantasy so she wasn't fucked by a whole bunch of random people, had the explicit request that they write those cheese things on her in sharpie yk like "cum slut" "cock whore" just all that, so even when she washes it off for a few days those will be lingering Back at work she bends down to grab something, her shirt hikes up and Johnny very clearly sees their captain's hand writing on her Ohoho they found their little anonymous minx”

um sorry not sorry

cw: f!reader, free use, degradation, spanking

Your calves burned from the strain of your high heels, legs straight and stretched and precariously balanced. They made your legs look miles long, smooth and soft, every curve begging to be touched - just like you'd planned. But now, you cursed them. The arch of your feet screamed in protest with every subtle shift in your stance, the balls of your feet aching under your weight, throbbing with the relentless pressure.

Your ankles wobbled every now and then, fighting to keep your balance, your toes cramping in their confines. This wasn’t part of the fantasy you’d imagined, this strain, this dull, incessant pain that throbbed in sync with your racing heartbeat. Tears burned your eyes.

You’d surely made a mistake. Nobody was coming, you’d been lied to. Made to stand, exposed, like a gullible fool. The cold air against your bare skin felt cruel, mocking, the chill biting at your flesh as if the room itself knew you'd been abandoned.

How could you have fallen for it? They’d seemed so genuine online, so convincing, playing into every fantasy. Too good to be true, and now you were paying for it.

The hole in the wall felt like a pillory, an embarrassing punishment you’d walked yourself into. The first tear slid down your cheek, bitter and hot, when the door creaked open behind you.

A presence filled the air, thick and heavy, making your heart lurch. Your breath hitched in your throat, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. Footsteps echoed faintly on the floor, each one slow, deliberate, purposeful. Someone was there. You could feel their eyes on you, their gaze grazing your exposed body like a physical touch, and your skin prickled with the awareness of it.

Closer. The footsteps drew nearer, the weight of their approach filling the room, pressing against you from all sides. You were trapped, your heart pounding in your ears, your body trembling - not from the cold anymore, but from the anticipation, the fear of what came next.

The footsteps stopped just behind you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of their presence against your bare skin. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as the silence thickened, tension coiling tighter around you with each second that dragged by. You couldn't see them, couldn't move, your body frozen in place as you waited, nerves crackling like electricity beneath your skin.

The bench under your chest was slick with sweat as you wriggled in place, brimming with a nervous, anticipatory energy with no way to expel it, the wall chafing around your waist.

It started when a single finger brushed the small of your back, the touch light as a feather, yet sending shockwaves through your entire body. It lingered, tracing slow, delicate patterns against your skin, feather-light, teasing. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, your breath coming in ragged pants as the anticipation built to an unbearable peak.

They had to hurry, hurry up, or you’d combust. They’d already left you waiting so long. But you had no say in this, did you? You’d signed it away, the ball no longer in your court, and you loved it. If just a fingertip felt electric, what would their hands feel like, their mouths, their cocks?

Then, without warning, a hand cupped your ass cheek, a firm grip that left no doubt who was in control. The touch was exhilarating, jolting through you, and you gasped, body arching reflexively, hips pressing backward into the touch, heels arching and shoes scrambling against the floor. A deep, gravelly chuckle rumbled in the room, a sound that sent chills down your spine.

“What a convenient little hole,” the stranger purred, their voice a low, husky growl, dripping with hunger. “Just what we need, hm?” Their words washed over you, heat blooming in your belly as they squeezed your ass, each touch igniting you further. “Waited so patiently, didn’t you?” A pause, deliberate, as the grip tightened. “Already so needy.”

A second set of hands, just as large and firm as the first, ghosted over your other cheek, squeezing, kneading, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned, unable to control the sound that spilled from your lips.

"That's what I thought," came a second voice, low and pleased, dripping with satisfaction. “Now, relax,” it commanded, the edge of authority sharp and undeniable.

Without warning, they spread you apart, exposing every inch of you in the most humiliating way, a wet squelch echoing as your body responded, slick and desperate. And then you felt it - hot, hard, the head of a cock pressing insistently against your entrance, seeking its way in.

Please, please, pleasepleaseplease-

The words swirled in your mind, a mantra of pure desperation, but the only sound that left your lips was a pathetic, needy whine. Your knees shook, weak under the weight of your need as those hands pulled away, leaving you trembling, exposed, wanting.

“No, no, please-” you hiccuped into your arms, folded beneath your head, the words breaking as a sob slipped through. Your hips twitched, pressing helplessly against the bench beneath you, desperate for more, the burn of their touch still scorching your skin.

"You look just like I imagined," one of them murmured, deep and smooth, tinged with dark amusement. New hands trailed up your thighs, teasing, maddeningly close to where you needed them most, only to pull away, leaving you gasping. “You’ll take what we give you," they chuckled, revelling in your frustration. “No more, no less.”

"You’re already soaked," the first voice purred, thick with approval, the smug satisfaction dripping from every word. It made your cheeks burn, the heat crawling down your neck, flushing your skin as much as the desperate ache between your legs. You were on fire, burning with the humiliation of your own need, the way your body betrayed you with every twitch, every quiver.

A shameless moan wrenched its way from your throat as a finger slid inside you, cool and deliberate, parting your slick folds and delving deep. It scraped against your insides, slow and unhurried, dragging out the sensation until your toes curled and your back arched. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop yourself, the sheer intensity of the intrusion sending shockwaves of pleasure rocketing through you, making you gasp, shudder, pressing back into the touch.

You could feel their eyes on you, could hear the amusement in their chuckles as they watched you squirm, watched you fall apart with just a finger.

“Look at you,” the second voice murmured, closer now, a whisper against your skin that sent shivers racing down your spine. “Already falling apart, and we’ve barely touched you.”

A whimper slipped past your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily as that finger curled inside you, hitting just the right spot, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your already overwhelmed senses. Your mind was a haze, lost in the sensation, every nerve on fire, every touch igniting something raw and primal within you.

"More," you whispered, though the word came out broken, ragged. It was barely more than a breath, a plea that hung in the air between you.

But the fingers stilled, pulling back just enough to leave you aching, empty, desperate.

A strong hand came down hard against your ass cheek, the sharp sting radiating through your body like lightning. You gasped, more from shock than pain, though the heat spread quickly, leaving your skin tingling.

"Good holes don’t talk," one of them growled, firm and commanding, the words biting into you like a warning.

The authority in his tone left no room for argument, no space for anything but submission. You bit your lip, swallowing down any protest, your heart racing as the stinging warmth from the slap settled into a dull, aching throb. Your whole body tensed, bracing for more, every muscle coiled tight as you fought to suppress the need rising inside you, the urge to beg.

Another hand slid across your other cheek, soothing where the other had struck, a dark contrast between punishment and comfort. They knew what they were doing, playing with you, keeping you on the edge. The air around you felt charged, thick with the scent of your arousal and the oppressive weight of their presence.

Another hand, rough and confident, settled firmly on your hip, pulling you back just slightly, aligning your body with their demands. The head of a cock pressed against your entrance again, the heat radiating from it a stark reminder of what was to come.

“You asked for more,” the voice purred, satisfied. “So be a good hole and take what you’re given.”

The command was clear, the tone brooking no argument. Your body, trembling and desperate, responded instinctively, hips arching back, seeking that elusive pleasure that seemed just out of reach. Each touch, each command, was a reminder of the power dynamics at play, of the role you’d willingly accepted and now had no choice but to fulfil.

And just like that, one of them was inside you, one thrust, hard and deep, claiming you with a dominance that left you breathless, gasping. They didn’t stop, didn’t slow, another thrust and another, each one driving you deeper into the bench, the world around you falling away as you clung to the burning sensation that seared through your every nerve.

“Tight, so damn tight,” he panted, a mixture of awe and lust in his voice as he continued to pound into you, relentless and merciless. The rhythm was all-consuming, the sound of skin slapping against skin the only thing that broke the silence, punctuated by your strangled moans and their low groans of pleasure.

The bench creaked below you, cheap wood protesting under the onslaught of their hips, of your desperate grinding as they fucked you, each thrust driving you further and further from reality, from the world you thought you knew.

“You like that, don’t you, you dirty little whore?” another voice hissed, words punctuated by the wet slick of skin on skin. “Bet you’re clenching so tight on him.”

And it was true, your muscles were clenching, contracting around the invading cock, gripping and twisting as if to hold onto the pleasure, to extend the moment indefinitely. You were a hot, wet cavern around their length, taking them in, welcoming the intrusion with a slickness that spoke volumes.

"Fuck, you're so tight," the man inside you groans, his words a low, deep growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your world narrowed to this, to the cock inside you, to the feeling of raw, primal lust, the faceless man ravishing your body, reducing you to nothing more than a hole for their pleasure. The humiliation only fueled the fire in you, stoking the flames of your arousal as they brought you closer to the brink.

"Cum for us, whore," one growled, their voices melding together, hands gripping you, pinching you, touching you until you saw stars.

Their words sent you over the edge, the humiliation and the need and the overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly used combining into a white-hot ball of ecstasy that exploded through your veins, your entire body convulsing around the invading cock.

“Look at you,” the first voice chuckled, triumphant, as your pussy spasmed around him, milking every last drop of his climax from him, his hot seed filling you, “Dirty slut.”

Their words echoed in your mind, even as the world around you blurred into a sea of colour and sensation, even as you lay there, panting, spent, and utterly broken in the best way.

You almost missed the feeling of a dull point against your skin, dragging and looping against the surface, lifting and then pressing. Writing.

More, you wanted them to touch you again, needed something to replace the emptiness. More, more, more. You wiggled in place against the drag of the marker. It only earned you another swat to the smarting skin of your cheeks.

—

‘Dirty slut,’

‘Dick here →’

‘Cumdump,’

Every time they came, they’d write on you - a brand, a claim, proud and stark against your slick skin. It only ended when the marker stopped running, clogged by all manner of fluids - cum, sweat, spit.

The four men watched, satisfied and sated, as your holes twitched and leaked, your legs slumped and weak and quivering, toes barely scraping the floor.

Kyle had gone first, as agreed. Johnny too eager, Simon too big, the captain too rough.

They took their turns, in order of largest to smallest, longest to shortest, in all the ways possible until it devolved to whoever was ready to go again, until your body was nothing but a mess of aching muscles and abused orifices and marker streaks and bruised cheeks.

“Fuck,” Johnny groaned from where he had slumped in the corner, hands twitching against the ground and his pants half-heartedly tugged back over his thighs. “Do we hafta leave?”

One of your legs twitched out and kicked, and the captain huffed a laugh, “Poor thing has nothin’ left in them.”

Price’s hand skated along the mess of cum and sweat and ink, collecting it on his fingers, and you flinched against the touch, still so sensitive, overstimulated.

“Might have broken them,” Simon snipped, flat, but not even he could act unaffected, his chest visibly rising and falling, sweat coating his visible skin.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed, strained, sliding a hand down your back, “But it was bloody worth it.”

“Not going again, are ya?” Johnny guffawed from the floor.

“Much as I would love to see that,” Price drawled, but his tone was fond, “we gotta go. Time’s up.”

“Fuck, man,” Kyle groaned, parting with one last pat on your cheeks.

“I know.” Johnny helpfully added, voice wistful. “I’ll miss this ass.”

“Then next time, don’t come so fast,” Simon muttered, and it was the exact wrong thing to say, because they all laughed.

“Next time?” Johnny repeated, incredulous. “Fuck LT., I’m not sure there’s going to be a next time, I have nothin’ left in me.”

—

"Hoooo-lyyyy shit," Kyle blurted, gripping Johnny’s arm as if to steady himself, though his gaze remained glued to the phone in his hand. His voice trembled with disbelief, excitement, and a tinge of something more. He was practically buzzing with the revelation, his eyes wide in awe as he absorbed the image.

"Jee Sus, Mary, and Joseph..." Johnny muttered under his breath, his Scottish accent thickening with astonishment. The look of disbelief on his face mirrored Kyle’s as he leaned in closer, trying to process what he was seeing.

“What are the two of you lookin’ at-” Simon started, only to cut himself off as he swiped the phone out of Kyle’s hand with a swift, almost aggressive motion. Kyle staggered slightly but didn’t bother protesting. His mind was too occupied with the image burned into his retinas.

Simon’s eyes flicked over the screen, his expression shifting from irritation to something far more intrigued. His gaze lingered on the photo: Price’s assistant, the shy little thing that hardly said more than a few words at a time, stretching to grab something from a high shelf. Her shirt had lifted just enough to reveal faded, smeared ink scrawled across the smooth skin of her back, just above the waistband of her slacks.

The words, though blurry, were unmistakable.

The realization hit Simon hard, his grip tightening around the phone. He shifted his gaze to Kyle and Johnny, who both stood there, jaws slack, equally stunned.

"Fuck me," Johnny breathed out, breaking the silence, still staring at the screen like it was some sort of hallucination. "The assistant? Who would've thought she had it in her?"

Simon finally exhaled, passing the phone back to Kyle with a grunt. "Price has a way of... managing things, doesn’t he?" His voice was low, filled with a dark suggestion that hung heavy in the air.

Kyle glanced down at the phone again, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Never would’ve pegged her for that type. Quiet little thing, but..." He gestured vaguely at the phone, at the faded writing that told an entirely different story.

Johnny laughed, the sound sharp with disbelief. "Looks like there’s more to that lass than we thought." He shook his head, still trying to reconcile the image of the shy assistant with the evidence on her skin.

"Wonder if she knows who got her marked up like that," Johnny mused, puffing out his chest with a wide smirk.

Kyle’s phone pinged with another photo from their captain, and Simon raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, she knows."

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

FICMAS - DAY 8 - CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

Title: Helicopters and Mugs

Synopsis: You and Simon go out to the shops to buy the Task Force Christmas Presents

Warnings: None, I don't think. I describe Simon as a serial killer type look, though. I think it's funny idk

AN: Holy shit has this series taken FOREVER to post. I hope you all enjoy this one, I think it's cute?

"Fockin' cold out, innit?" Simon grumbles out, pulling you with his mitted hand by your shoulder closer to his figure. It's snowing, nearly 30 centimetres on the ground (approx. 1 ft), and it is cold as sin. He's wearing gloves with skeleton hands on it--of *course he is*-- and a black trench coat, he has a mask on, and a black beanie--he looks like a bloody serial killer.

But he's *your* serial killer. He's a tall lad--approximately.. 1.88 metres (6'2" or 6'3", I'm bad at maths!) and he's built like a brick shithouse. Needless to say, you're warmed by his disgustingly large body, that smart coat he bought you, a jumper underneath, maybe some boots, and good denim.

You nod a small nod, "Cold, yeah.."

He huffs out, shaking his head in annoyance as he guides you down the street into the first of shoppes.

"What're you gettin' Kyle again?" He asks in that grumbley tone as you pull out your little Christmas plan from your pocket.

You glance through your list, "New hat, and as a gag gift one of those helicopter toys."

Simon barks out a laugh, smirking under that mask.

"And Johnny?"

"Oh- a sketchbook and some good coloured pencils!" You beam up at him, and he just rolls his eyes fondly.

"And Cap'?"

You look down at your list, "World's Best Dad mug. His old one broke and it's not a gag gift, surprisingly."

Simon shakes his head, amused. He leads you into a toy shoppe, "C'mon... We'll get the bloody 'copter first."

Inside the toy shoppe is a fucking nightmare. Parents and kids and grandparents all trying to shop for "the perfect gifts."

"I wonder if they'll have an art supplies section," you says up to Simon, who moves his hand to the small of your back, clearly not liking the amount of eyes on you.

He merely grunts in response, leading you to the boy's section.

You find all the cars and trucks and toys like that and look around, eyes all wide.

"I- I'm never gonna find a helicopter in this mess!" You say up to Simon, who looks down at your shock in amusement.

"Sure you will."

You scoff and roll your eyes at his encouragement, walking down the aisle a little bit, scanning every shelf as closely as you can, begging to find a stupid helicopter.

You eventually find one. It's not model, it's make so the little propellers don't get in three year old's mouths, but it's perfect. You pick up the box and beam up at Simon.

Simon huffs and rolls his eyes, "Yep. Good job. Let's go."

You and him make a leisurely walk to the registre and you narrowly get to pay, but Simon gets to hold the bag, like he'd let you.

You get to a supermarket a while later, Simon driving you.

"Alright. We'll get everythin' else 'ere," he says, hand firmly planted on your thigh, thumb rubbing the inner part.

You nod, check marking Kyle's gift and looking at the list.

"I was thinking we should get Kate flowers and an apology note signed by the force for being so rambunctious," you say thoughtfully, illiciting a bark of laughter from Simon.

"Tha's a good idea," he says, an unmistakeable smirk on his face.

He parks and guides you in, hand on the small of your back again. He glares every pair of eyes that notice you down, like a silent protector. That's what he calls himself to himself, at least, a silent protector.

You get to the little art supplies section and guy Johnny the best looking coloured pencils and sketchbook you can find. Then you go to where the mugs are found and find John a "World's Best Dad" mug.

Simon rolls his eyes as you ask him to take a picture of you and the mug together, taking it and quickly sending it to himself on your phone, handing it back like he did nothing.

Then by the time you get to the hats you're tired.

"Si," you say, holding up a hat, "take your beanie off and try this on. If it fits your head it fits his."

He tries the hat on. It's a sturdy cap, a very dark grey colour and it has some sports brand's logo on it.

It fits his head and you purse your lips as he hands it back to you.

"Wha'?" He asks, stepping towards you, "somethin' the matter?"

You shake your head, shifting your weight and tilting your head, "I.. just don't know if he'll like it. It isn't like his current hat."

He puts his arm around your shoulder, his beanie being onto his head with his other hand, "Birdie, it don' matter if 'e wears it or no'. I 'magine 'e'll like it no matter wha'."

You nod a small nod, putting the hat into the basket along with everything else.

"To checkout," you say with a small smile, leaning up to kiss Simon's clothed cheek.

"To checkou'," he confirms, guiding you along happily.

[khioneee]

‘honey, i’m home.’

simon, presumed dead for the past five years, appears at your doorstep, very much alive.

the knock at the door cut through the quiet night like a knife, startling you from restless sleep. rain hammered against the windows, and the wind howled through the cracks. your heart pounded in your chest as you shuffled toward the door, dread curling deep in your stomach. no one visited at this hour. not anymore.

you hesitated at the door, hand trembling slightly on the knob. for a moment, you thought about ignoring it—letting whoever it was go unanswered. but something pulled you forward, a strange sense of familiarity, even though you couldn’t place it.

when you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

there, standing on your doorstep, was simon.

simon stood before you, drenched from the rain, looking like a ghost dragged back from the edge of the world. his hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his pale face, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. it had been five years since you’d gazed into those stormy eyes—five years of grief, heartache, and learning how to live without him. his familiar eyes, shadowed by exhaustion and pain, locked onto yours. his clothes were soaked, his body thinner than you remembered, like he had fought every step of the way just to stand on your doorstep.

your breath hitched painfully. ‘wake up,’ you said to yourself, heart racing. ‘please… wake up.’

but you didn’t.

‘lovie…’ simon whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. ‘i’m home.’

your mind swirled and shock paralyzing you. it felt like a cruel trick your mind had conjured. the world around you blurred, and your heart ached in your chest. it couldn’t be real. he couldn’t be here.

simon’s expression softened, and without a word, before you could react, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud. he reached for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation, and the breath left your lungs. his grip was tight, desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him grounded. his cold, rain-soaked body pressed against yours, but you didn’t care.

he was here.

you froze for a moment, and then, slowly, your hands gripped the wet fabric of his jacket, your chest pressed against his. tears welled in your eyes, the disbelief crashing into a flood of emotions—relief, anger, and love. his familiar scent, rain-soaked, earthy, and undeniably him, flooded your senses, overwhelming you.

‘they told me you were dead,’ you sobbed against him, your fists clinging to his jacket as if that could keep him here. ‘they said your plane crashed. that you were gone.’

you clung to him, your heart shattering in your chest. he held you as if afraid you might slip through his fingers, as if his entire world depended on you being real.

simon buried his face into your hair, holding you tighter, his breath shaky. ‘every bloody day, i fought my way back for you,’ he said, his voice heavy with the weight of everything he’d endured. ‘you were the only reason i stayed alive.’

you sobbed harder, burying your face into his chest, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. all the years of mourning him, the endless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, the desperate ache of thinking you’d lost him forever—all of it shattered in his arms.

but then, simon’s grip on you faltered. something had shifted in the way he held you. slowly, he pulled back just enough to look down at your hand. his thumb brushing over the bare space where your wedding ring used to sit.

his body tensed. he pulled back slightly, just enough to glance down at your hand, and his breath hitched. the wedding ring you once wore was gone.

‘where’s your ring?’ he asked, voice quiet but edged with something fragile, as if the answer might break him.

your throat tightened, guilt and sorrow clawing at your chest. ‘simon…’ you started, voice cracking under the weight of it all.

his jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked past you. that’s when he saw them—new photos hanging on the walls. the ones of you and him were gone, replaced by pictures of you and someone else.

it was like the air had been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenched, shoulders sagging under the realization. his face a mask of exhaustion and heartbreak as the weight of what he was seeing sank in.

you looked away, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. ‘i waited…’ you whispered. ‘even when they told me there wasn’t a chance you were alive, i tried.’

his face didn’t change, but the subtle pain and betrayal in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘i came back for you,’ he uttered softly, almost to himself. ‘i told you i’d come to you.’

‘i thought you were gone,’ you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. ‘i didn’t know how to keep waiting when they told me you’d never come back.’

simon’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. despite everything, his touch was tender, grounding. ‘i didn’t survive just to be a memory, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. ‘i fought every day to come back to you. and if i have to fight again… i will.’

you leaned into him, your heart breaking and mending all at once. the years apart, the lost moments—they still weighed heavy, but he was here. he had kept his promise, and that was all that mattered now.

‘i told you i’d come back,’ he said, voice low but steady. ‘and i’m not going anywhere. not ever again.’