#gaz x fem!reader

[frudoo]

Mmmm unethical ER Doctor!Gaz…

Warnings: Fingering, edging, medical malpractice, inappropriate doctor/patient relations. Fem!Reader.

Your toes curl as you swing your legs off the side of the exam table, fingers tapping against your thighs nervously. It took forever for you to get called back, and it seems even longer, now, that you’ve had to wait on the actual doctor to show up. The bright fluorescent lights have started to make your head pound. Biting your lip, you debate on just leaving to try and deal with this… issue on your own again. The very issue that made you seek out help to begin with.

The paper sheet beneath you crinkles as you hop down, cursing yourself for wasting your own precious time. You grab your purse and open the privacy curtain to leave, effectively running into the doctor who had finally showed up. You’re not usually one to bitch and moan to people who are only here to help you, but you’ve been waiting for over an hour and you are in agony, damn it. For the first time in your life, you prepare to chew out a person you don’t even know, sucking in a deep breath.

“About time you… showed… up…” Your mouth drops open when you actually glance up to get a good look at the doctor’s face, immediately feeling your heart drop down to your stomach.

Towering over you with a cocked eyebrow and a cheeky smile is the most gorgeous person you have ever seen in your life. Flawlessly smooth skin and deep brown eyes, maddeningly straight teeth and a perfectly kissable nose. You find it impossible to tear your eyes from his luscious lips, entranced and frozen in place.

“Righ’. Sorry ‘bout tha’ wait. Would ya mind havin’ a seat up there f’me?” He hums, and fuck, even his voice is delicious.

“I- um- I’m so sorry,” you mumble, scrambling back to sit on the exam table once again.

“No’ to worry. I’ve dealt with far worse attitudes than yours,” he teases, and you curl your fingers into the hem of your skirt. “I’m Dr. Garrick, yeah? Says here your problem is… oh. Oh, my.”

You’re mentally cursing yourself. You could literally die right here and the only thing they’d put on your gravestone is ‘idiot.’ A very horny, very broke idiot.

“Yeah,” you tuck your lips into a tight line, humiliation evident in the way your entire body is trembling.

“Alrigh’. I can have a female come in t’do this if you’re more comfortable-”

“No! P-please, I just want it out,” you plead, nearly in tears at the thought of having to wait any longer.

“Hey, hey, tha’s fine,” he soothes. “Go ‘head and remove your bottoms f’me, I’m gonna step outside t’give ya some privacy.”

Dr. Garrick does as he said he would, closing the curtain behind him. With a shaky sigh, you remove your skirt and panties and set them aside, laying back on the table with your feet flat on the surface, knees bent and pressed together. After a few moments, the curtain slides open and the doctor steps back inside, clearing his throat softly.

“I’m jus’ gonna place your feet in some stirrups, alrigh’? It’ll be easier f’me, and hopefully more comfortable f’ya,” he explains, plopping onto his chair and rolling towards the table.

In the cubbies below you, there’s a contraption that pulls out to act as stirrups, and Dr. Garrick helps you guide your ankles onto them carefully. He then drapes a paper slip over your bottom half, giving you a false sense of security given what he’s about to do. You take a deep breath when you hear him go to wash his hands, wishing you were just about anywhere else but here. The seat puffs again and you flinch when you hear him snap on a pair of sterile gloves. Fucking hell. This is getting too real.

“Gonna have a look, now,” he says softly, placing two gloved fingers at your entrance.

Cautiously, he pulls your outer labia open in an attempt to find the object lodged inside of you. Shaking his head, he sighs.

“Can’t see it from out here. Gonna have to push inside,” he explains, gently pressing his middle finger inside of your pussy and feeling around. “Y’know, there are safer options than a hairbrush. I would recommend investin’ in a genuine sex toy, preferably with some kinda base at the bottom.”

“Noted,” you grit your teeth, biting back a moan when he inserts another gloved digit.

You’re already sensitive from having the broken hairbrush handle stuck inside you for over two hours now, and the way his fingers are stretching you out and rubbing against your walls is nothing short of overstimulating. With your eyes squeezed tightly shut, you don’t notice the way your doctor smirks, but you sure as hell feel the way his digits brush against your g-spot.

“Ah, I feel it, now,” he murmurs, curling his fingers to hit that bundle of nerves again.

You don’t expect him to shove his fingers in further, nor the way he speeds up, rapidly massaging your sweet spot. You can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your throat, your back arching uncomfortably, ankles slipping in the stirrups.

“Sorry, I know it’s sensitive,” he says, but there is no sympathy in his tone.

Dr. Garrick rests the pad of his thumb on your clit and circles it tightly, muttering something about needing stability to help him pull the object out. You bite your lip, thighs already trembling as you curse yourself for getting off from this. You simply can’t help it—a pretty man knuckles deep in your pussy, hitting all the right places flawlessly. You’re right on the edge when he pulls his fingers out, popping the hairbrush handle out with them.

“Got it,” he smiles proudly, and if tears weren’t blurring your vision, you might have seen the smug glint in his eye because he knows he ruined your orgasm.

You hear a clank and then the snap of his gloves being pulled off. A weary sob escapes your throat at the newfound emptiness, your cunt clenching around nothing and your swollen clit still throbbing. Dr. Garrick helps your feet back down from the stirrups, watching the way you just lay there limp. He sniffs, hovering over your body and leaning in close to your face.

“Y’know, if ya don’t want a toy, ya can always give me a call. I won’t keep ya waitin’ next time.”

[mockerycrow]

thinking of gaz feeling so special if you trust him to make you feel good — nsfw under the cut, fem!reader

sitting in your shared apartment, leaning back on your low level couch, your pants and underwear abandoned somewhere—neither of you care to look. you’re nervous as kyle lowers to his knees in front of you, in front of the couch. your face is burning as your legs are pressed together, your heart hammering behind your rib cage. your knees are raised upwards, your ankles covering where you’re most sensitive.

his shirt is abandoned somewhere; something about needing to feel your skin, but.. he doesn’t reach forward like you expect him to. kyle doesn’t grab your legs to spread them for you like you expect him to. you open your eyes, which you never even realized that they were closed, and peer over your knees. you look at him and god, kyle looks starving—but.. his hands remain on his thighs. he’s looking to you, his eyes half lidded as his fingertips twitch. seeking your permission, always putting your comfort first.

he’s the one who asked to do this. kyle sees your hesitancy, and he’s about to voice for about the third time that you don’t have to do this—but you spread your legs, showing him your soaked cunt. you let out a nervous shaky breath, and your head rolls back when he reaches forward, gently wrapping his arms around your thighs and dragging his tongue through the wetness. you’ve always known he’s a talker during sex, you’ve sucked his cock plenty of times; but you gush when you realize he’s mumbling into your folds, his eyes focusing on your face.

[miwsolovely]

—LOVERBOY

pairing: kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader

contains: fluff, hc format, kyle being the best lover ever, implications that you and kyle live together, no mentions of yn, mentions of injuries, brief mentions of an asshole past relationship, kyle treating you the way you deserve and more

summary: kyle learns his girlfriend is a figure skater

wc: 1k

a/n: kyle my beloved

a/n 2: requested <3 | this isn’t as long as i want it to be :((

when you two started dating, he was (and still is!) the purest, more beautiful, gentlemen ever.

im talking opening doors for you, treating you to your favorite things (even if you didn’t ask for them) just to see you smile

“here, got your favorite,” he’d say while behind you, shaking an arm around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

a tiny box was placed next to you on the counter where you stood in front of the stove, watching the pasta boil. the box was the type of thing that contained small things like a muffin or a cupcake. it had a small bow at the top as well.

“you didn’t have to get me anything,” you turn your head slightly to the side to see his growing smile, and you can’t help but reciprocate it.

“didn’t have to, i know.” he says while turning you around with his hands on your hips. “wanted to.” he rests his forehead on yours and smiles at seeing your smile. then his lips meet yours.

he was surprised at first, when he asked you about your hobbies, and you said figure skating.

but he was happier than the happiest man alive because his lover was a figure skater.

“i figure skate.” you say, flipping a page of your book. you hear silence for a moment, then hurried footsteps to your place on the couch.

you look up and see kyle in all his glory staring at you with a surprised expression on his face.

“you figure skate?” he asks walking the length of the couch to reach you. When he does, he squats in front of you and places his hands on your thighs. firm.

“i do, yeah,” you say worriedly, slowly closing your book and meeting his eyes. “why? is that—is that bad? i mean—”

“bad?” he looks at you as if you’d just told him the sky was green. “love, that’s amazing, what do you mean bad?”

now you are the one surprised. yes, kyle wasn’t your first lover, but the one before him was nothing like him. he was rude and got mad when you mentioned you figure skate. saying it was extremely expensive and wasn’t willing to keep you afloat with his money after you spent all yours on figure skating fees.

“nothing, i just,” you avert your eyes to your lap and start playing with his fingers on your thighs. “just thought that you would want me to . . .”

“quit?” he finishes for you. he reaches a hand out to your chin and uses it to guide your face to meet his. “darling, figure skating is an art, it’s beautiful. why would i make you quit something you love?”

he’d be your number one (in everything)

would go to each and every one of your practices, competitions, etc.

would video, take pictures, everything.

“wait come back, the lighting is really good here. perfect”

wouldn’t even think to care, if you did or didn’t win gold. if you won gold, you’d get a trip to your favorite restaurant. if you didn’t win gold, a trip to your favorite restaurant.

“my girl won gold,” he says wrapping an arm around your waist and laying his hand on your hip.

“gold? kyle this is bronze…” you say looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“all the same in my eyes. plus, the scorers were definitely bribed.”

“kyle!”

say you got injured during practice or a competition, he’d be the first person on the ice to maybe sure you’re okay. skates or not, his baby got hurt.

security would hold him down, yeah, but he’d probably almost (and i mean a big almost) fight them to get to you but even though, i don’t feel like he’d be the type to use force to get to you in this situation but if he does,

he’d stop once he sees/knows you’re okay.

“sir i’m going to ask you to step back, we have it handled.”

“handled? if you have it handled then why is she still on the bloody floor?”

you’d notice what was going on and would hop (as best as you can on skates + the ice) to him being mindful of your ankle that you twisted and reassure him.

“kyle, baby, i’m okay,” you say. “they’re gonna take me to the infirmary, you’ll meet me there yeah?”

continuing on this^^, he’d treat you like even more of a queen since you’re injured.

“you comfortable? want me to refill your drink love?”

you’d laugh and say “yes butler, feed me grapes and refill my drink. oh! and get me the heads of my enemies as well.”

“ha ha, very funny you brat.” he said as he threw a throw pillow at you.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

[angelicglib]

✧.* Now That We Don't Talk *.✧

[ᴋʏʟᴇ ɢᴀʀʀɪᴄᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 26/12/23

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: After losing a close friendship due to no fault of your own, Kyle attempts to make you feel better with a heart to heart.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 2,226

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt/comfort (sorta??????)

[ᴀ/ɴ]: The song by Taylor has me in a chokehold atm... was thinking about doing an All Too Well story with Price too, does anyone have any strong opinions on that??? Cause I feel like it would be quite a fun (and terribly heartbreaking) one to write.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot) so, if you would like more stories from me, my new blog is @manicrouge !!

ANYWAY, ENJOY MLS!!

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

It’s for the best. 

Even if it still doesn't seem like it, you fight all the thoughts in your head and try your hardest to persuade yourself that it is for the best. But on the inside, it's killing you.

It’s strange to see someone who you had spent so much time with changing overnight, but it was part of growing up you suppose. There was no way you could have maintained closeness with someone who had treated you so poorly, especially when it came to your job and what you were doing.

Kyle has told you time and time again to not stress about it.

'Everything has to end someday, sweetheart, and by holding onto it, you're just making everything hurt you more than it has to.'

The sergeant is smart, has a particular empathy that you found yourself fond of. Besides, you have a new life now, away from them, one that was filled with action, friendship and excitement. 

But it doesn't stop you walking around the base like a zombie. 

Replies from you are scarce, you're aware of that, but there doesn't seem like you can really do anything else. You hardly open you mouth anymore, simply spending all you time sitting alone with your thoughts.

Perhaps you can do something different to make things better, but contact had been patchy, you haven't been home half as much as you had been prior to being recruited into 141, and the days all seem to mould into one. In the blink of an eye, a month was gone, but when you reflect on it, it feels closer to the passing of two days more than a month.

Being busy constantly would do that, you found. There’s always something to do when you’re out on an op, whether big or small, all of it contributes towards the grander course.

While tiring and straining on relationships, you find you wouldn’t change it for the world and perhaps that was the issue. But you don’t know what you’re supposed to do, of course you love your best friend, they had been there for all the highs and lows in your life, but them acting as though you were purposefully avoiding them was the stupidest thing you have ever heard in your life. 

‘You keep thinkin’ about it, you’re gonna turn your hair grey,’ Kyle states with a disapproving look written on his face. Looking up from your bed, you look in the doorway, spotting the man leaning against the doorframe. ‘You’ve been moping around the base all week, love. Miserable sight to see, really, it is,’ he confesses, closing your door as he approaches you. Pulling a chair from under your desk, he moves it to face your bed, taking a seat.

His disappointment causes your stomach to twitch and you gulp at the thought of upsetting your boyfriend.

‘Talk to me,’ he says.

‘Got nothing to say,’ you mumble, ‘I lost a friend I always thought I would have and there’s nothing I can do about it because they’re not hearing me out at all,’ you say, 'I messed up big time.'

Your heart hurts when you see his brow furrow while listening to you rambling on about the situation he was full aware of. You have no idea why you’re even bothering to talk to him about it; he knew all the details from the times he's tried to get you to talk to him, but still, he doesn't tire of your complaints. Instead, he simply sits with you and listens. Surely he's tiring of hearing the same things over and over again, there is no way one man can be so patient.

Talking to Kyle is like being on a mission. It treacherous, the war zone in your mind escapes from your mind, spraying from your mouth like bullets, but he sits there and he listens to you like it’s his first time hearing any of the things you’re saying. Minutes meld into one another, linked together with chains of events you express, scrutinising over the smallest details as you tell him the entire story of your friendship. By now, you’re convinced that if the story were to be in a physical form, its pages would be well aged, crinkled and ripped at the edges from the amount of times you had turned the pages. The book could be ash and you would still write words in the ash in hopes to recollect on the good times in hopes to soothe the boiling anger in the pit of your stomach.

But it’s over, they told you they want nothing to do with you, and you’re still trying to think of some way to solve the problem. 

‘You’re trying to solve a problem you never caused, love,’ Kyle says softly, reaching his hand out, placing it on your knee. ‘Of course, this job comes with sacrifice, but you can hardly be blamed for focusing on work,' he says. ‘They have an issue with you spending your time wisely, and I know whenever you had a chance to call home, the first number you would put in the phone would be theirs, right?’ he asks, ‘before anyone else, you called them and you talked to them as long as you could. But at some point, you’ve gotta realise why you even picked up the phone and dialled their number in the first place,’ he says. 

You look at him with bleary eyes, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

Why were they aways the first one you called? Was it from obligation or was there something else?

‘Back in Amsterdam,’ he begins, ‘you got a phone call from them during downtime, and when you picked the phone up all they did was shout at you,’ he says, ‘I don’t know all of it, but I know enough to know that they were upset at you for calling you mum before you called them,’ he scoffs, 'that's not friendship in the slightest; a friend would be happy to even know that you were safe, but they're so full of their own self importance that they don't understand that what they're doing is ruining you.'

Your eyes grow wide at his words and he quickly shuts his mouth realising what he has done. Never had you heard him carry such a tone when addressing someone from your private life. Hes always been the caring type, the one who treads lightly in the hopes of not upsetting you. But his temper has broken free and he simply sits and stares at you, taking a deep breath.

'I know you care about them, love, trust me, I can see from the way you're beating yourself up over everything that's happened, but I can't just sit here and tell you that they're a good friend,' he admits, pulling his hand from off of your knee. 'Your friendship was always on their terms, even before you were in 141, and the stories you've told me about them always include you doing something for them.'

'I've known them for so long,' you whisper, 'even though I'm not home, I just can't imagine life without them in it, you know?' you weakly ask, 'I know it's stupid, but this hurts more than being shot,' you laugh, rubbing your face with your hand.

'It will for a while, 'just how it goes when you lose a friend,' he says, 'but you've gotta stop taking it out on yourself, love. You've got all of us, right, even though we might not equate to the friend you found in them, I'll blood try my hardest for you,' he reassures, 'you don't need them anymore. You've got me.'

'I've always had you, Ky,' you say with a small smile, 'even before we started dating... remember when you used to wait for me to wake up so you could eat with me in the mess hall? Your stomach would be screaming by the time we finally got there,' you say with a laugh.

The man shares the moment of joy with you, laughing while nodding his head. 'Most embarrassing thing I've ever done,' he says.

'It worked though,' you sigh, 'I've been sitting with myself and thinking things over, and I think our friendship- even now-'

'Friendzoning me now, love?' he gasped, placing his hand against his heart. 'Thought we had something special!"

'Shut up,' you grumble, shuffling down the bed so you're closer to him, resting your calves against his thighs. 'The way you treated me since joining the force has made me realise how friendships are supposed to work.'

'Then why have you been so sad about everything, sweetheart?' he asks softly, leaning forward to take your hands in his. He looks confused at your confession, and even you're taken aback by the words that have left your mouth.

Truthfully, everything that's happened in the past few months has simply left you in a tangle of strange emotions. You can't decide if you're angry, sad, happy, or disappointed. Maybe you're all of the above and even more.

'I'm scared of what they're saying to everyone else back at home, I'm not even there to defend myself,' you confess, 'and... I've realised how stupid I've been for letting someone treat me like that, and I feel guilty for being happy that they're away from them and I'm thinking about everything the did for me and-'

'Slow down there, sweetheart,' Kyle quickly jumps in before you fall down the rabbit hole your mind has created over the past few weeks. Squeezing your hand, he exhales, 'you're tellin' me the same story over and over again 'cause you're trying to find a reason to go back to them, right?' he asks, 'this is the first time I'm hearing any of this.'

'I guess... I just feel bad for not wanting to go back to someone who has helped me.'

'Just because they did something good for you once every blue moon does not mean you owe them your friendship,' Kyle retorts, 'that's what being a friend means, you're supposed to be good to the people your friends with. But... they were only good to you when they got something out of you- remember the party they threw you when you got home?'

'The one you went to?' you ask, a chill running down your spine, 'they spent the entire fuckin' night begging for people to pay attention to them... y'know, when you left me to go the toilet, they came up to me and tried to have a go at me for bringing you back home with me,' you laugh, shaking your head.

It quiet between the pair of you for a moment as Kyle gives you a look. 'Fuck, you're right,' you exclaim, 'you are so fucking right.'

'I tend to be, love,' he joked, 'you're allowed to be upset or to be angry, fuck, I want you to be angry for the way you've been treated, but you've got to stop thinking about everyone else and start thinking about yourself,' he says, 'the friendships over and there's nothing you can do about it, but you have more important things to be focusing on.'

'I do... besides, I have you and the boys, right?'

Lifting your hand up, he presses a kiss atop of it, nodding his head with a bright smile, 'always, sweetheart. You won't be getting rid of us anytime soon,' he reassures.

A comforting silence falls between the pair of you as you take a moment to observe the man before you. How fortunate you have been to be his friend, let alone his partner. He truly gives you his heart every single day, and it is unlike anything you have ever seen from anyone else.

His love makes your heart beat against your chest and the longer you look at him, the warmer your face grows. Everything about him is perfect, you conclude, from his face to the way that his stomach growls while you're busy swooning over him.

'Are you serious?' you ask through a laugh.

'It is dinner time, love,' he confesses, 'came here to fetch you for dinner.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' you say, quickly moving your legs from out of his lap, putting you feet in your boots sitting beside your bed. Looking over your shoulder as you put your boots on, you watch as he stands, moving the chair back under your desk.

''Cause you needed me more than I needed dinner,' he answers, approaching you. As you lean down to tie one of your laces, he crouches down in front of you, tying the other one. 'You good for now?' he asks, looking up at you as he ties a bow.

Standing up, he holds his hand out to you and you take it with a soft sigh, 'as long as I have you,' you say, causing both of you to crinkle your noses, 'that was cheesy, I'm sorry.'

'Just a bit, love,' he says, 'but you're good?'

'Yeah... I think life has been better now that we don't talk,' you confess, 'I've just gotta get used to it, like you said, everything has to end someday.'

Kyle nods his head and smiles brightly as the pair of you head towards the door of your room.

'Atta girl.'

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

[angelicglibsss]

Champagne Problems

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 27/12/23

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from her drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[k6tzie]

COD P☆RN LINKS

ghost: your clingy boyfriend just wants to be closer to you, he wants to be inside you. literallysuch a sweet boy with mommy issues, just wanting to be taken care of :( doesn't wanna commit yet and go the full way... stop being so clingy! he was trying to do some paperwork :/ so incredibly jealous ghost coded surprising you when he comes back home but you have a meal for him prepared :) soap: don't even need to take your panties off fully, just push them aside!< pretty red tights are getting ripped off tonight 😊 whilst soap fucks u hard and merciless, ghosts fat cock is throbbing in ur mouth :( he can't stay away from ur pretty lips gaz: he likes recording your puffy pussy when you cum like your own paparazzi! don't worry, he'll lick it up afterwards his pretty cowgirl riding that dick like she owns it 😵 late night after the whole teams' at the bar, you 2 sneak back to his car... staying in a tent for a mission...this close...is never a good idea price: price stuffing his thick dick in you after you 'joked' about breaking up :(he's gonna be deployed for awhile, why not make the most of it? he DID promise good aftercare, don't blame him halloween mission gone wrong! :( your weight is no match for him alejandro: average alejandro camera roll smh he loves seeing u wet all over, and a mark on how much he's done titty man :) sleepover at ale's barrack after dinner rudy: he missed feeling you, so soft and plushy - better than a pillow <3he was too shy to say anything so thank god you removed it typa shit rudy's on pussy so soft and healthy eating that puffy pussy like it's the last supper

[frudoo]

Birthmark

The thought.

Dark!Gaz.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, manipulation, brief smut.

MDNI

“How long?”

Maybe it was too good to be true. Wasn’t that always the case? He was almost too sweet, practically worshiping the very ground you walk on. You didn’t miss the signs—the coming home late, the smell of unfamiliar perfume, hickeys he swore that you left on him—but the fucker had a way of easing your pretty little mind, making you think that it was all in your head. He almost had you fooled, but tonight, after a few too many glasses of scotch, his drunken state made him admit to everything.

“Bon’, ah swear, ah ne’er meant tae-” Johnny begins, outstretched hands reaching out to grab your forearms, hot tears streaming down his beet-red face.

“How. Long?” You grit your teeth, shutting your eyes to avoid glaring daggers into the one person you thought would never hurt you.

“Only once, bon’, ah swear it,” his voice trembles, fingertips digging into the flesh of your arms as he pulls you closer.

You already knew about the affair, but the confession that fell from his lips made your heart drop from your stomach to your fucking toes.

“Do you love her?”

“Nae. God, nae. Could ne’er.”

When you finally make eye contact again, you nearly crumble, those cerulean eyes you fell in love with all glossy with tears and full of remorse—but how were you to know that it wasn’t all a ploy? Liars make phenomenal actors. He had you fooled for weeks.

Still, you move to the edge of your chair and cup his pretty face in your hands. All you can do is look down at him for a while, remember all the times he promised that you were the only woman for him, the only one he could ever love, the only one who could make him feel as good as you could. All lies that you were so eager to believe because surely your Johnny would never betray you like this. Ignorant bliss.

“Bon’, please, ah love ye more than anythin’. Lemme make it up t’ye, please,” Johnny begs, leaning into the gentleness of your touch, taking advantage of your love like he always does.

If it means those pitiful tears will stop, you’ll do anything. So you let him lead you up the stairs, let him lay you on the bed, let him eat you out and make you come the way he does best. You spread your legs for him and let him make love to you, let him kiss you with that mouth that fed you all those delicious fibs. The mouth that kissed another woman, that made her writhe in pleasure. The mouth that could turn honey into the sweetest, most addictive mead.

You let Johnny fuck himself stupid, even let him cum inside you for what he doesn’t know is the last time. He peppers your face with sloppy kisses that you can only assume are hollow, full of deceit. He passes out next to you and you watch his chest rise and fall with each deep breath, sleeping so peacefully you’d never guess he’d just admitted to breaking your heart, your trust, his vows. It’s a good thing you don’t have to guess on what you already know to be fact.

More for yourself than for him, you plant one final, soft kiss to his rosy lips, taking comfort in the fact that he’ll never get the satisfaction of knowing that it would be the last. You climb out of bed and slip off your wedding ring, leaving it right in the middle of his nightstand for him to see first thing in the morning. You clean yourself up with Johnny’s discarded shirt and toss it back on the floor, leaving it stained and ruined with the last of your shared fluids, a reminder of everything he threw away.

You pull on a pair of shorts as well as a comfy sweatshirt, then stuff a small bag to the brim with your favorite clothes and shoes. You try to avoid anything sentimental that reminds you of Johnny—the dress he bought you on your second wedding anniversary, the wooden box full of jewelry he would bring back from all the countries he went to. They hold too many fond memories that you’re sure would take you right back to him if you dwell on it long enough. The only way to move on is to leave it all behind.

So you do. You pack up your car and drive the streets aimlessly, fighting back stinging tears to keep your eyes focused on the road. Every song that comes on the radio reminds you of the man that was supposed to be yours and yours alone, so you settle for turning it off altogether and listening to the raindrops plummeting against your windshield. Fitting, isn’t it, for there to be a raging thunderstorm on the worst night of your life? Looming, dark and ugly, like the nasty secret Johnny kept from you.

You debate on finding a hotel to stay at, but that would mean having to spend Johnny’s money and you didn’t want to do that. Fuck, you’re dreading going through with everything—hiring a divorce lawyer and going to court, separating your bank account from his, finding a job and a new place to live—it’s all too much to handle. Too much to even think about right now. This is your worst nightmare, right here in front of you, with sharp claws and glowing red eyes, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and swallowing you whole.

Part of you wants to turn around and welcome Johnny back into your heart with open arms, but you’re not so sure that any words or acts he can muster up are enough to mend the shattered pieces that become you. Broken can’t fix broken—you know that all too well, learned it when Johnny confided in you about what he does for a living. You should have known this would all end in heartbreak.

That doesn’t stop you from driving down an all-too familiar road, past the evergreens and into a rural heaven that contains your best friend—damn the fact that he’s Johnny’s mate, too. You need comfort from a trusted person, and who better than the one who was the first to let you know about Johnny’s infidelity?

As you knock on the wooden door to Kyle’s house with your bag in hand, the smiling man seems all too happy to invite you in.

Next ->

[bubuslutty]

@cutiecusp you've been added to the tag list ✨💖💞

Angel on Duty: the first meeting

All Parts

pairing: demon/angel fem!reader x 141

word count: 2.1k

tags: semi-canon compliant, reader is described as having a tail and horns but calls herself 'Angel', do what you will with her real nature but she's simply sent down to fulfil a wish, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Angel', 3rd person pov, minimal description of appearance, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warning: none

summary: the 141 boys have a fantasy to get captain price the fuck of his life, but also share it amongst themselves, a shared cumdump if you will. which basically translates into "we need a woman to break our miserable old man, and break us in the process and rebuild us again just to do it all over again." they're just miserable and pent up and horny and want to be taken care of, that's all :)

a/n: there's no smut in here cuz this is just the intro. bon appétit either way 💞 also let me know if u wanna be added to my cod taglist 😖

What do you know about prayer? About wishing? Blowing birthday candles and wishing upon a star?

Ever since the beginning of time, it is man's nature to wish, hope and pray. To whom? That has always changed and shifted throughout the centuries, with prayers sent to different deities, angels, ancestors and so on.

But what humans don’t know is that all of their prayers, all of their wishing, if it was strong enough, if they really want it, really bad, their wishes just might become reality. And that was all done through a meticulously built system in another realm, where what humans considered angels worked day and night to realise them.

“Hold on, you’re not about to give me this much work when I’m literally getting paid minimum wage.” A woman said, waving a folder around in the air with wide eyes.

“If you have an issue, you can take it up to HR.” A man said unimpressed, not even looking up from his computer.

“Haha, funny. Seriously, why the hell did I get one wish and what? 8 humans??” The woman said, slapping the folder on the desk, making the man hiss in annoyance.

“Why must you be so difficult? It’s one wish and 8 humans who have the same wish? What’s so hard to understand? Get down there and do your thing.” The man said, visibly irritated, trying to shoo her away with one hand.

“You sent this down to my office and did not expect me to have questions?? If all little boys' wishes about becoming the next Ronaldo could be realised, Sandra down the sixth fraction would have 82 thousand humans, alone, to go through!” The woman said, hands on her hips and standing with her knees to the desk’s edge, casting her shadow on the man sitting in front of her.

“Who’s Sandra?” The man asked.

“I don’t know.”

The man finally stopped staring at his computer screen and stood up, rounding up his desk and grabbing the folder in his hand, “Did you even read the reports?”

“No, just the first page.” The woman said, twirling a hair strand in her finger while the man stared at her with an unimpressed look.

“For fuck sake…Okay, see here?” He said, pointing at the wish, which was a paragraph long. The woman nodded and he kept going, “This group of humans share the same wish, or fantasy to be more realistic, and it’s all linked together through one man.” He explained, flipping to another page and tapping a finger on a man’s profile and picture.

“Oh, he’s beautiful.�� She said with a gasp, eyes flashing with a red light that made the man gulp and quickly look away from her face.

“They all work together and have this complex dynamic of friends, but also family, but also this relationship,” He said, flipping through the other profiles, and letting her look at every picture.

“What does that mean?” The woman tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“Their whole thing is a tangled mess of different dynamics with each other, but it all comes down to the first man I showed you, he’s like the glue of their team, but he’s what keeps them whole and sane, individually.” He said and glanced back at her and noticed her confusion but also the amazement on her face.

“They are fascinating…”

The man placed the folder back in her hands and turned to get his desk phone, “They are, now I’m going to call Beck to confirm some last details and you should be down in the mortal realm by tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?!”

“They’re moving in tomorrow, and so are you.” He said and watched her leave his office with a shocked but excited expression nonetheless. He walk out of the door without having to touch it for it to wing open, the long black tail swinging back and forth, poking from under her short skirt and the horns that almost grazed the top of the doorframe.

.

.

.

The woman stood in front of a beautiful house in the middle of London, hugging a white cat with black ears and a black tail to her chest as a lorry parked in the street, next to her taxi. “I guess this is where I’ll be living for the next weeks… Not bad.” She said, petting the furball in her arms while the taxi driver removed her bags from the trunk.

“Thank you.” She thanked the man with a smile, and he smiled back, a blush high on his cheekbones and reluctantly left, glancing at her over his shoulder every two steps.

Then another man approached her, dressed in a blue shirt and hat, “The keys ma’am?”

“Oh yes, sorry.” She gasped, placing the cat on the ground and running to her bag, retrieving a set of keys and handing them out to the man with a small smile.

“Thank you.” He nodded and started walking to the house while other men dressed in the same uniform spilt out of a van, surrounded the lorry and started helping each other in carrying furniture inside the house while she stood to the side, watching.

Suddenly another car parked in the driveway of the house right next to hers, and she watched with curiosity as four men exited the car, looking tired but excited at the same time. They looked huge, carrying dark green and black bags on their shoulders and heading straight to the door, but without glancing at the woman.

She fought against a grin and held eye contact, her cat, Kuromi, purring against her leg. Then she moved before she could think.

The four men froze at their doorstep, still staring at her as she walked up to them. That day she was wearing a back suit with black heels and a black bralette instead of a button-up, the trousers hugging her hips so well along with her legs.

“Hey, I just wanted to introduce myself as your new neighbour. I’m Angela Ali, but you can call me Angel.” She introduced her fake name and gave herself a better nickname, internally snickering at the irony.

“Well, hello, we’re also new here.” Soap spoke when nobody said anything, he even smiled back at the beautiful woman.

Her eyes widened in surprise, both at his thick Glaswegian accent and the information he just gave her (which she already knew but she had to act the part), “Really? I had no idea! Maybe we can be friends and look out for each other in this neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’m Johnny MacTavish, by the way.” He finally introduced himself and stuck out his hand, and when she shook his hand, he felt tingles at the bottom of his spine, making him let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m John, John Price.” The second man said, sticking out his hand and keeping his eyes respectfully on her face and nowhere else. It was so stupid, he was tired, yes, but not that tired to be easily dumbfounded by a random beautiful woman. And John prided himself in his manners, so when his eyes landed on her body as she walked up to them, he couldn’t help but drink in every dip and swell like he was deprived.

That’s so embarrassing.

Angel smiled and shook his hand, shivering when his warm big rough hands engulfed her smaller one. He was the same man she called beautiful that day she received her wish file. And he was, not in the way humans usually described something as beautiful. But to her, despite his huge body, thick thighs and arms, deep voice and beard, his eyes held something in them that pulled her in. She could sense the man’s thoughts, emotions, wants and needs.

“Nice to meet you, John.” She smiled at the man and turned to greet the other two, who both introduced themselves as Simon Riley and Kyle Garrick.

Simon was wearing a simple black surgical mask, covering the lower half of his face. But she already knew what he looked like, she has his profile. She knows he has a scar that runs through his upper lip on the left side of his face.

His pale blue eyes were intense, looking at her, calculating, careful, as if she was a threat, someone to look out for.

Angel let him be, staring as much as he wanted.

Kyle on the other hand was all smiley, radiating warmth and friendliness. He was handsome and charming, and made Angel want to talk to him for two hours straight. Did I mention his smile? That man's smile is absolutely beautiful. You would never guess he's a soldier, a killer, a beast in the field.

“I’ll let you get settled, now. See you around!” She said and turned around, walking back to her house, noticing that her bags were moved and Kuromi was meowing by the door while men in uniforms were still working as fast as they could, unpacking everything and placing the furniture where it belonged. She reached the door and picked up the cat, gave her a kiss on her little head and looked over her shoulder and saw how the four men were still staring at her, and they all immediately stumbled inside their house, slamming the door shut behind them.

Angel giggled and finally stepped inside her new home, shaking her head.

.

.

.

Angel lay on her stomach, on her new queen-sized bed with a pizza box on her side and a laptop casting its bright light on her face. She took another bite of her pizza and read through the document on the screen, which was a digital version of her wish file, with extra documents going more into detail about each man she was to work on for the next weeks.

“Alright, what do we have here? Childhood trauma…Oh, oh, poor lad…” She frowned at the screen and read along the lines explaining some of the things Simon went through, she had read almost everyone’s files in detail, and it was already dark out, probably around 11PM. Angel checked the time and gasped when she realised it was actually 2AM.

She even had files about their careers, she just quickly skimmed through them just to see if there was anything serious to watch out for, but ignored everything else, just because she wanted to give a chance for the men to surprise her, it wasn’t very fun when she knew everything. Plus she was going to spend a couple of weeks on this job, so she might as well make it fun for herself.

Her horns and her tail were nowhere to be seen because it was a rule to hide one's true identity when in the mortal realm, or at least the form they like to wear in the wish realm. And hers was a pair of horns and a tail because she thinks it's funny to take on the form of a demon when humans think their prayers and wishes go to angels.

She was not an angel, nor a demon for that matter really, her whole existence revolves around realising human's wishes, and her form? She can take on anything she feels comfortable in. But when she's interacting with humans, she must take on a human form to hide her true nature.

Her phone suddenly rang and she flinched, looking down at the vibrating device. On the screen, a clock and a reminder to 'EAT FOOD' could be seen. She turned off the reminder and hummed, "Yeah, yeah, I'm eating.."

You see, Angel, still struggles to get into the habit of eating regularly when in human form. No matter how many jobs she's completed, she somehow still forgets to eat because you don't have to eat in her realm, you don't even need to sleep or go to the toilet. So setting herself a reminder on her phone is necessary if she doesn't want to suddenly drop.

"Oh, I forgot to read my own files." She gasped, sitting up straight and placing her laptop on her lap. After a few clicks, she opened her own files, highlighting her new identity and timetable.

"Okay, I'm an only child… Single, of course, duh, and my job is a sex therapist!" She said, brows raised and quickly reading next lines. "I only have to go to the office two days a week?... Nice. And I'm a PhD student… in psychology?.."

Angel groaned and fell on her back, her laptop still in her hands, it seems like she needs to start doing some research on human education.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): currently empty

[mockerycrow]

SMUT PROMPTS: Gaz Drabble; “Interlacing Your Fingers During It” (Fem!Reader) - NSFW UNDER THE CUT

You sob as Kyle’s cock drives into your soaked pussy, your legs hooked over his hips—and you’re clutching a pillow into your arms to hold onto something. Every thrust into you, a bounce of pleasure goes up your spine and down your legs. Kyle grunts above you, his hands holding onto your legs against his hips.

You whine as his cock strokes against your g-spot finally, and you can’t help but gasp, “mH, Ky—Kyle, pleaseplease, right thEre..!” And who is Kyle to not comply when you beg so pretty? He watches your hands grasp the pillow tightly against your chest, your tears brimming in your eyes as you look up at him with pure adoration.

You whimper as Kyle suddenly takes the pillow and tosses it aside, and he instead interlocks his fingers with yours—he leans down, pinning your hands to the bed and he manages to drag his cock deeper into you, causing your brain to malfunction as you clench around his cock, ripping a curse out of him. “I got you, beautiful.. I got you..”

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.

Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.

I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!

Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.

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

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk

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

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.

Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”

Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.

“Excuse me.”

The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”

You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.

“—can’t decide on a television.”

Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.

Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.

“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.

“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”

Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.

You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.

Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.

“Boyfriend?” he accuses.

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.

As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.

“Simon!”

He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.

Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”

Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.

Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.

Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.

“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”

“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.

You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.

Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.

But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.

As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”

The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.

As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.

You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”

They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.

Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.

“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.

Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.

“You owe me an apology,” he says.

“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

John Price

John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.

House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.

He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.

“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”

Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.

You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.

John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.

This time, John didn’t mishear you.

Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.

No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.

The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”

That’s fucking it.

Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”

The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.

“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.

You shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.

So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.

“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”

“No. I want to stay.”

John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”

“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”

John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”

“You won’t,” you stammer.

John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”

You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”

As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”

Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.

Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?

“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”

“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.

Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.

“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”

Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.

You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.

And it’s fucking working.

Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.

“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”

The older woman’s eyes round.

“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”

Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”

“Bite me,” you reply.

“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @enarien

@miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess @enfppuff

@berarenado @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

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

@sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

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

@talooolaaloolla @hantheconqueror @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

[nyxiswrites1200]

Thinking of John Price being married to the prettiest wife. He invites Soap, Ghost, and Gaz over to his house where his pretty girl is sitting in the pool in the smallest bikini.

Getting all flustered because of the other guys but Price kisses her and says it's fine.

Ghost especially can't help but stare. He's never seen something so pretty in his life. Price knows you like him, you like the masked brooding L.T.

You sweetly ask for permission and of course Price grants it. You get to flirt with Ghost and hold on to his muscular arm while you try to convince him to get in the pool. However you just end up beneath him on a pool chair as he touches you.

"You take good care of your husband, love?"

"Mhm, I do. Let daddy fill me up all the time"

"You got room for one more?"

Letting him fuck you as Soap and Gaz try not to stare but they sit on the edge of the pool with their cocks hard. Price watching as he shamelessly strokes his cock, asking you how you like Ghost's dick in your tummy because it's so big.

Ghost fucking you in the backyard of your husband's house as the rest of em watch, trying not to be pervs. But you're just a sweet pretty little thing :( they can't help it.

Ghost is pounding you, making you moan so loudly. Good thing there's a tall fence surrounding the yard. He's got you pinned under his large frame, not even undressed.

Soap and Gaz cum in their swim trunks and Price's shoots over his happy trail on his stomach as Ghost pumps you full, leaving you dripping with his cum. You already know Price is going to want to fuck it back into you tonight along with his own.

Ghost was sweet though. Sent you flowers when he was away because he didn't want you to feel used even if you did want his cock anyway...

An: I don't know what came over me guys <3

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

[angelicglibsss]

Now That We Don't Talk

[ᴋʏʟᴇ ɢᴀʀʀɪᴄᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] [ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 26/12/23 [ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: After losing a close friendship due to no fault of your own, Kyle attempts to make you feel better with a heart to heart.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 2,226

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt/comfort (sorta??????)

[ᴀ/ɴ]: The song by Taylor has me in a chokehold atm... was thinking about doing an All Too Well story with Price too, does anyone have any strong opinions on that??? Cause I feel like it would be quite a fun (and terribly heartbreaking) one to write. ANYWAY, ENJOY MLS!!

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

It’s for the best. 

Even if it still doesn't seem like it, you fight all the thoughts in your head and try your hardest to persuade yourself that it is for the best. But on the inside, it's killing you.

It’s strange to see someone who you had spent so much time with changing overnight, but it was part of growing up you suppose. There was no way you could have maintained closeness with someone who had treated you so poorly, especially when it came to your job and what you were doing.

Kyle has told you time and time again to not stress about it.

'Everything has to end someday, sweetheart, and by holding onto it, you're just making everything hurt you more than it has to.'

The sergeant was smart, had a particular empathy that you found yourself fond of. Besides, you have a new life now, away from them, one that was filled with action, friendship and excitement. 

But it didn’t stop you walking around the base like a zombie. 

Replies from you are scarce, you're aware of that, but there doesn't seem like you can really do anything else. You hardly open you mouth anymore, simply spending all you time sitting alone with your thoughts.

Perhaps you can do something different to make things better, but contact had been patchy, you haven't been home half as much as you had been prior to being recruited into 141, and the days all seemed to mould into one. In the blink of an eye, a month was gone, but when you reflect on it, it feels closer to the passing of two days more than a month.

Being busy constantly would do that, you found. There’s always something to do when you’re out on an op, whether big or small, all of it contributes towards the grander course. While tiring and straining on relationships, you find you wouldn’t change it for the world and perhaps that was the issue. But you don’t know what you’re supposed to do, of course you love your best friend, they had been there for all the highs and lows in your life, but them acting as though you were purposefully avoiding them was the stupidest thing you have ever heard in your life. 

‘You keep thinkin’ about it, you’re gonna turn your hair grey,’ Kyle states with a disapproving look written on his face. Looking up from your bed, you look in the doorway, spotting the man leaning against the doorframe. ‘You’ve been moping around the base all week, love. Miserable sight to see, really, it is,’ he confesses, closing your door as he approaches you. Pulling a chair from under your desk, he moves it to face your bed, taking a seat.

His disappointment causes your stomach to twitch and you gulp at the thought of upsetting your boyfriend.

‘Talk to me,’ he says.

‘Got nothing to say,’ you mumble, ‘I lost a friend I always thought I would have and there’s nothing I can do about it because they’re not hearing me out at all,’ you say, 'I messed up big time.'

Your heart hurts when you see his brow furrow while listening to you rambling on about the situation he was full aware of. You have no idea why you’re even bothering to talk to him about it; he knew all the details from the times he's tried to get you to talk to him, but still, he doesn't tire of your complaints. Instead, he simply sits with you and listens. Surely he's tiring of hearing the same things over and over again, there is no way one man can be so patient.

Talking to Kyle is like being on a mission. It treacherous, the war zone in your mind escapes from your mind, spraying from your mouth like bullets, but he sits there and he listens to you like it’s his first time hearing any of the things you’re saying. Minutes meld into one another, linked together with chains of events you express, scrutinising over the smallest details as you tell him the entire story of your friendship. By now, you’re convinced that if the story were to be in a physical form, its pages would be well aged, crinkled and ripped at the edges from the amount of times you had turned the pages. The book could be ash and you would still write words in the ash in hopes to recollect on the good times in hopes to soothe the boiling anger in the pit of your stomach.

But it’s over, they told you they want nothing to do with you, and you’re still trying to think of some way to solve the problem. 

‘You’re trying to solve a problem you never caused, love,’ Kyle says softly, reaching his hand out, placing it on your knee. ‘Of course, this job comes with sacrifice, but you can hardly be blamed for focusing on work,' he says. ‘They have an issue with you spending your time wisely, and I know whenever you had a chance to call home, the first number you would put in the phone would be theirs, right?’ he asks, ‘before anyone else, you called them and you talked to them as long as you could. But at some point, you’ve gotta realise why you even picked up the phone and dialled their number in the first place,’ he says. 

You look at him with bleary eyes, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

Why were they aways the first one you called? Was it from obligation or was there something else?

‘Back in Amsterdam,’ he begins, ‘you got a phone call from them during downtime, and when you picked the phone up all they did was shout at you,’ he says, ‘I don’t know all of it, but I know enough to know that they were upset at you for calling you mum before you called them,’ he scoffs, 'that's not friendship in the slightest; a friend would be happy to even know that you were safe, but they're so full of their own self importance that they don't understand that what they're doing is ruining you.'

Your eyes grow wide at his words and he quickly shuts his mouth realising what he has done. Never had you heard him carry such a tone when addressing someone from your private life. Hes always been the caring type, the one who treads lightly in the hopes of not upsetting you. But his temper has broken free and he simply sits and stares at you, taking a deep breath.

'I know you care about them, love, trust me, I can see from the way you're beating yourself up over everything that's happened, but I can't just sit here and tell you that they're a good friend,' he admits, pulling his hand from off of your knee. 'Your friendship was always on their terms, even before you were in 141, and the stories you've told me about them always include you doing something for them.'

'I've known them for so long,' you whisper, 'even though I'm not home, I just can't imagine life without them in it, you know?' you weakly ask, 'I know it's stupid, but this hurts more than being shot,' you laugh, rubbing your face with your hand.

'It will for a while, 'just how it goes when you lose a friend,' he says, 'but you've gotta stop taking it out on yourself, love. You've got all of us, right, even though we might not equate to the friend you found in them, I'll blood try my hardest for you,' he reassures, 'you don't need them anymore. You've got me.'

'I've always had you, Ky,' you say with a small smile, 'even before we started dating... remember when you used to wait for me to wake up so you could eat with me in the mess hall? Your stomach would be screaming by the time we finally got there,' you say with a laugh.

The man shares the moment of joy with you, laughing while nodding his head. 'Most embarrassing thing I've ever done,' he says.

'It worked though,' you sigh, 'I've been sitting with myself and thinking things over, and I think our friendship- even now-'

'Friendzoning me now, love?' he gasped, placing his hand against his heart. 'Thought we had something special!"

'Shut up,' you grumble, shuffling down the bed so you're closer to him, resting your calves against his thighs. 'The way you treated me since joining the force has made me realise how friendships are supposed to work.'

'Then why have you been so sad about everything, sweetheart?' he asks softly, leaning forward to take your hands in his. He looks confused at your confession, and even you're taken aback by the words that have left your mouth.

Truthfully, everything that's happened in the past few months has simply left you in a tangle of strange emotions. You can't decide if you're angry, sad, happy, or disappointed. Maybe you're all of the above and even more.

'I'm scared of what they're saying to everyone else back at home, I'm not even there to defend myself,' you confess, 'and... I've realised how stupid I've been for letting someone treat me like that, and I feel guilty for being happy that they're away from them and I'm thinking about everything the did for me and-'

'Slow down there, sweetheart,' Kyle quickly jumps in before you fall down the rabbit hole your mind has created over the past few weeks. Squeezing your hand, he exhales, 'you're tellin' me the same story over and over again 'cause you're trying to find a reason to go back to them, right?' he asks, 'this is the first time I'm hearing any of this.'

'I guess... I just feel bad for not wanting to go back to someone who has helped me.'

'Just because they did something good for you once every blue moon does not mean you owe them your friendship,' Kyle retorts, 'that's what being a friend means, you're supposed to be good to the people your friends with. But... they were only good to you when they got something out of you- remember the party they threw you when you got home?'

'The one you went to?' you ask, a chill running down your spine, 'they spent the entire fuckin' night begging for people to pay attention to them... y'know, when you left me to go the toilet, they came up to me and tried to have a go at me for bringing you back home with me,' you laugh, shaking your head.

It quiet between the pair of you for a moment as Kyle gives you a look. 'Fuck, you're right,' you exclaim, 'you are so fucking right.'

'I tend to be, love,' he joked, 'you're allowed to be upset or to be angry, fuck, I want you to be angry for the way you've been treated, but you've got to stop thinking about everyone else and start thinking about yourself,' he says, 'the friendships over and there's nothing you can do about it, but you have more important things to be focusing on.'

'I do... besides, I have you and the boys, right?'

Lifting your hand up, he presses a kiss atop of it, nodding his head with a bright smile, 'always, sweetheart. You won't be getting rid of us anytime soon,' he reassures.

A comforting silence falls between the pair of you as you take a moment to observe the man before you. How fortunate you have been to be his friend, let alone his partner. He truly gives you his heart every single day, and it is unlike anything you have ever seen from anyone else.

His love makes your heart beat against your chest and the longer you look at him, the warmer your face grows. Everything about him is perfect, you conclude, from his face to the way that his stomach growls while you're busy swooning over him.

'Are you serious?' you ask through a laugh.

'It is dinner time, love,' he confesses, 'came here to fetch you for dinner.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' you say, quickly moving your legs from out of his lap, putting you feet in your boots sitting beside your bed. Looking over your shoulder as you put your boots on, you watch as he stands, moving the chair back under your desk.

''Cause you needed me more than I needed dinner,' he answers, approaching you. As you lean down to tie one of your laces, he crouches down in front of you, tying the other one. 'You good for now?' he asks, looking up at you as he ties a bow.

Standing up, he holds his hand out to you and you take it with a soft sigh, 'as long as I have you,' you say, causing both of you to crinkle your noses, 'that was cheesy, I'm sorry.'

'Just a bit, love,' he says, 'but you're good?'

'Yeah... I think life has been better now that we don't talk,' you confess, 'I've just gotta get used to it, like you said, everything has to end someday.'

Kyle nods his head and smiles brightly as the pair of you head towards the door of your room.

'Atta girl.'

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?