#gazsluckyhat

[gazsluckyhat]

I'm feral hoes. quite feral. send in ideas. also thank @miss-vanta-likes-to-write for the idea to venture into new land

Kyle and Johnny are running, teasing one another. Usually they're on base, but John had kicked them out for the day after He'd found them moving his office furniture. So they'd come to the park right down the road. They'd chosen the path people seemed to not be using. That way they could chase each other, nip at one another's heels. They were coming up on ten minutes when they smelt it. Both stopped suddenly and sniffed the air harder.

"You smell that?" Kyle wiped his hands across his forehead. Johnny stopped beside him, their shoulders bumping.

"Mmm. Smells like honey." They could hear running water, birds chirping. With a nod they took off again, following the scent. Coming around the corner was a pond, a bench facing towards it was occupied. They slowed down, making themselves silent as they watched. Sitting on the bench, a cardigan covering her arms was a omega.  She was reading, her hair pulled up on her head. The breeze sent her smell right towards them. All sweet and warm. Like a honeysuckle on a summer day. They watched for a while, every move she made caught. They hadn't even seen her front yet and were already imaging what they'd do to her. How they'd tear her apart between them. Leaving marks across her skin. The smell made their head's dizzy. They had to get back and tell the Captain. They'd found them a sweet treat. A pretty little omega. How fun!

[gazsluckyhat]

TW: MENTIONS OF SEWER SLIDE

I firmly agree. I met my soulmate at my first job at 18. She was 17. She was forced into my life and instantly it clicked. She was a bitch. Would yell at me when I made stupid decisions and hype me when I needed it. When the mutual friend who put us together fell off we stayed. She went to collage and every time she came home we’d meet and nothing had changed. My baby sister loved her. She was my everything. I was fully in love with her. I started dating my now husband and she bullied him to no end. Told me once that she liked him but I wasn’t allowed to tell him because as my best friend she had to hate him.

She made sure to take time off when my mom died. Held me when I cried. I told her I was gonna try and be more present in my sisters life and take care of her and she told me I shouldn’t. She’d raised her three younger siblings and told me to live my life. Advocated for me even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. She loved me as much as I love her. There was no denying it.

So when I got the phone call she had took her own life I died with her. I didn’t even scream like that when my mom passed. Part of my souls felt like it had been ripped out of me. I felt empty and hollow. She visited me (fully believe paranormal shit happens) and I had to tell her I’d be okay. I sat front row with her family at her funeral. I’d been the last to talk to her, a letter was left for me but I never got it. I think part of me will always be empty from the loss but I’m so grateful for the time I had. To this day I will tell everyone she was my soulmate. Yes I’m married and he’s my romantic soulmate. But she was part of me and always will be. Friends are overlooked most of the time. Tell them you love them.

on friends and soulmates and that type of love that feels like it's going to burst right out of your heart

@/zmije / @/leptodiera / @/bichopalo / lyrics from two best friends by bb bean / animatedjames on youtube / @/killingmyselfbutnotdying / unknown / @/sadiekane / friedrich neitzsche / katfish draws / @/elytrians / @/wormbus-art aka @/angel-pond / @/mushysuggestion / the unsent project / mhairi mcfarlane / unknown

[gazsluckyhat]

Sarah's House Masterlist

SARAH'S HOUSE IS A DARK STORY. HANDLES DARK THEMES OF SELF HARM, TOURTRE, SA, AND MANY MORE! PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BEFORE AND AFTER READING!

Thank you to Thattallbean3 on AO3 for this amazing playlist!

AO3 link

One - Russian Spies or Soap hates the cold. Nothing good ever comes from it.

Two - Open Wide or Ghost is just a giant softie.

Three - Air Con or Soap has magic fingers

Four - Hawaiian Pizza or Gaz needs to work on eye placement

Five - Shiny Things or Price uses his daddy voice

Six - Chest Hair or Johnny sounds like a motor boat

Seven - Sunlight or Gaz has soft hands

Eight - Blue Casts or Ghost's got soft lips.

Nine- Ice Cream or Price's mutton chops tickle

Ten - Frozen Waffles or Simon always knows

Eleven - Sports Bra or Price is a quickie man

Twelve - Scotland or Gaz tastes like coconut

Thirteen - First Snow or Johnny still hates the cold

Fourteen - Fear or John get's his shit rocked

Fifteen - Staring or Johnny is a moron

Sixteen - Tattoos or Kyle loves anime

[elysianightsss]

RUN FROM ME DARLIN, YOU BETTER RUN FOR YOUR LIFE | MASTERLIST

Pairing | Poly!141 x Black Widow Reader

Summary | You show up on base to give your sister, Kate Laswell, some information and then leave. That was your plan anyway, but you miss the helicopter ride home and weirdly there isn’t another one again for weeks. While you’re stuck there, your sister’s team gets a little too attached to you and suddenly they’re everywhere you look. Like they’re waiting for you. So you do the only thing you can; run and hide.

Tags | Dark themes, possessive 141, stalking, kidnapping, murder, smut, the guys being down right sickening on their level of want, special guest character, reader has a sad past, child neglect, reader becomes a killer as a child, fighting, blood, mentions of torture, mentions of a hysterectomy not reader, alcohol, drugs (chloroform).

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Fin

Divider credit - @cafekitsune

Tags | @fruitymoonbeams-blog @gazsluckyhat @daydreamsareallineed @riawritesstories @goatgoesmbe

[frudoo]

Bells Ring Masterlist

King!Johnny x Princess!Reader

After discovering that your husband, Prince Ewan MacTavish, has been having an affair, you believe that you are left to suffer alone. However, there is someone in the same boat as you, and he’s closer than you think.

Rating(s): Explicit. Warnings by chapter. MDNI.

𝝑𝝔

Chapter One — Fade Into You

Chapter Two — Bells Ring

Chapter Three — Mary of Silence

Chapter Four — Five String Serenade

Chapter Five — Blue Light

Chapter Six — She’s My Baby

Chapter Seven — Unreflected

Chapter Eight — Wasted

Chapter Nine — Into Dust

Chapter Ten — So Tonight That I Might See

𝝑𝝔

Fic is currently in progress!

King Johnny Art by the wonderfully talented @nrdmssgs 🤍

Taglist: @variety-fangirl @bingoz @thevoiceinyourheadx @gazsluckyhat @vmaxis @cryingpages

[gazsluckyhat]

I’m bitches

bitches be like "i love writing fanfiction" and then constantly second guess themselves because what if they're not good enough what if it's cringe what if no one likes it what if people laugh when they see it what if i mischaracterized someone what if i didn't tag it properly what if what if what if

[lilbardrhi]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 15: You're Pretty...

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; dehumanization

Author's Note: One more bit of soft before we get into the first part of 13 sharing her last fourteen years of existence with 141 <3 also some silly, 141 group chat things! :D

<Ghost: I need you all at my place tomorrow. 10 am, no sooner. I'll make lunch and dinner. Nobody is crashing here, though.

>Cap: Everything alright?

>Gaz: It's not like you to not plan these things ahead. Are you ok?

>Soap: Is the lass alright?

<Ghost: I'm hoping to make everything alright. She said something tonight and it'll take all of us to get to the bottom of Salvation's bullshit. All of 141 and every resource we have, I think. But I want you all to hear her 'experience', as she calls it, with me.

>Cap: I assume you mean 13? Is she alright?

>Soap: IS SHE OK???

<Ghost: She's fine, Johnny. She agreed to sitting down with us all tomorrow, but this is going to take a while to get through. It's going to take more than one day of us sitting to listen.

Simon sighs softly as the notification of Johnny starting a group call pops up on his phone. He quickly declines the call and begins texting again. Only one handed this time as his right hand falls to gently storke 13's head. His fingers comb through her short, unruly hair slowly.

<Ghost: She's fine, Johnny. She's asleep on my lap right now.

>Gaz: Wait... on your lap?

>Cap: Unusual for you to be so causal about touch, Simon.

>Soap: ASELDKGFJLWIU

>Soap: YOU'RE CUDDLING?!

<Ghost: Would you three focus? This is important.

>Soap: Cuz you just adore her so much already?

>Soap: I saw the way you kept looking at her yesterday~ and watched you move between her and every potential 'threat'~

>Gaz: LOL can't wait to meet the woman who softened the big, bad Ghost up so quickly.

<Ghost: ... Anyway. I need all three of you here tomorrow at 10 am. No sooner than that, Johnny. We also need a way to record the conversation so we can take it to Laswell.

>Cap: I'll get something to record with. Kyle, Johnny, behave. Simon, get back to caring for her. Sounds like she needs it.

With that out of the way, Simon locks his phone and sets it on the sidetable to his left. His eyes stay on 13's face, though, as his right hand continues moving through her hair.

"Wish I could say they were wrong," he mumbles.

13 shifts, rolling so her back is to the TV.

"The hell did they do to you, sweetheart? None of what you've told me so far is safe or healthy. Yet... you act like it's an average day," Simon whispers to 13's sleeping face.

Selene stands, stretching, once 13 settles again. Then the cat walks over to sit on Simon's other knee and stares at him.

"You're getting awfully comfortable, miss," he says to the cat. She blinks in response then Simon sighs and reaches up to remove the black surgical mask. "Better?"

Selene immediately starts purring and lays down on Simon's thigh, loafing happily there.

"Guess this is my life now, huh? Two independent women living side-by-side with me. Can't wait to see where this goes," he chuckles quietly.

13 mumbles in her sleep, drawing Simon's attention again. Her eyes open slowly to find him looking down... entirely without his mask. She hums as her eyes close again and she slides closer to him.

"Didn't know you'd be that pretty," she mumbles into his side before snoring softly.

Simon's shoulder relax slightly at her sleepy comment, but he shoots Selene a half-hearted glare.

"This is your fault. She was not supposed to see me any time soon," he whispers the reprimand to the cat. However, Selene seems entirely unbothered by the blame and simply closes her eyes.

With any luck, Simon thinks, she won't remember tomorrow.

I hope...

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname @jeanzoriley-cod

[gazsluckyhat]

Practice Makes Perfect.

To my first request! Woooo! I hope you like it! Kyle would be ace at eating you out. No arguments.

For 🍞 anon!!

My requests are open!

-Bunny

Kyle gently shook your shoulder, his fingers denting your skin slightly. Your head snapped his way as you realzied he'd been talking. You hadn't been listening, no, too focused on the group of girls snickering at you. Your fingers pulled the jacket tighter around you, trying to make yourself seem smaller.

"You alright?" He pushed a strand of hair out of your face, lingering on your full cheek. You nodded, putting a fake smile you'd hoped he believe. He never did though, knows you way to well. Those molten eyes look past you and to the girls sat around the table at the window. "How 'bout we get some take-away? Yeah? Your favorite if your feeling it?" Ducking your head, you nod. Anything to get away from there.

The tv played a rerun of your favorite show, a cop comedy. Kyle was beside you, his long fingers running through your hair. You'd tried your best to focus, pay attention to the show playing, but it wasn't happening. You brain had it's own reruns to play. The girls had been pretty. All thin figures and model like features. The leader, a blonde of course, had made the first move. Turning towards a brunette and whispering in her ear while staring directly at you. You didn't have to guess about what they were saying. You already knew. The words had be tattooed on your soul. Words repeated throughout your youth. And by any boy you'd ever liked. Except Kyle.

"Hey, quit that." You met those beautiful brown eyes. He had a stern look on his face. From the moment you met he'd seemed to be able to read your mind. You blushed and looked away. "Look at me, love." His fingers turned you to face him.

"Those girls don't know what they're talking about. Don't let them get in that pretty head of yours, yeah?" You shook your head.

"We both know they weren't wrong." You fingers started to pick at skin. You'd picked it up as a child, a habit to ease the nerves in your hands. A habit Kyle had chided you about. "Everything they whispered was accurate. I am fat and ugly."

"Absolutely not. I'm not letting you do this to yourself. Just because you don't look like them doesn't mean you're not beautiful." His hands took hold of your cheeks. "The second I saw you I knew I had to have you. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. A pretty little sundress and those wedges? I was dead to rights."

"Stop." You turned your head, cheeks aflame. Kyle wasn't having it though.

"Knew I had to get you outta that dress. Needed to run my hands over your curves. Had to taste you on my tonuge." Said body part ran around the shell of your ear as one of his hands traveled down your belly and into your pajama shorts. You'd quit wearing underwear around the place the second week of living with him. Too many pairs got torn.

"Kyle…" You were breathless. A fire starting in your pelvis. His fingers easily spreading you open, circling your clit. He swallowed your gasp, fingers dipping inside you.

"Always so wet for me, pretty. And warm. Could spend forever inside your tight cunt." The filthy words whispered in your ear only fanned the flame in your belly. One of your hands wrapping around his arm and digging into the flesh there. Your words turned into whimpers as he added another finger and sped up. Kyle always new which buttons to press to have you melt in his hands. "Wanna taste you." His hand withdrew and instead pushed you up, a hand tugging your shorts to your ankles.

"What?" Confusion on your face. Kyle chuckled. He was laying down on the couch, his shirt beside your shorts.

"Sit on my face, pretty. Wanna taste you."

"Kyle, I can't- I'm too big." He tutted, dragging you over by your wrist and pulling you to sit on his chest.

"Never. Now do as I said." Terrified you'd smother him you hovered over his face, using your hands and legs to hold most of you above him. His hand found the fat of you hips and pulled you down, you knees resting on either side of his head.

"Kyle!" He was already enjoying you. His fingers keeping you in place while his mouth slurped and sucked you dry. "Fu-fuck." You tried to lift up slightly, to worried about your weight on him.

"Sit." You blushed. He wrapped his lips around you clit and sucked, causing your whole body to shake.

"Oh god." A whimper followed. A shaky hand wrapped in the curls atop his head. You were shaking. He was going between sucking and tonuge fucking you. Every sensation drawing you closer to the edge. You were gonna cum, your toes already curling up. Tugging on his hair to tried to get him to separate. "Ky, I'ma cum." He only chuckled and latched his mouth back to your clit and sucked. Hard. Tears prickled, your voice catching as he pulled a mind boggling orgasm from you. Your knees tightened around his head as you fell apart. Your body trembling, a sob leaving you. Kyle continued to suck until you whined and tried to pull away. And then he just pulled back, your slick glistening on his skin, caught in the light stubble there. He wore a proud grin.

"Think you can give me another one?" Your blushed.

[gazsluckyhat]

Touch-Starved

I know! I know! I've got so much to update. Writer's block is whooping my ass. Bad. I've also had a migraine for going on 5 days and the meds I have to take for it have decided not to work! So woo! You can once again thank @miss-vanta-likes-to-write for the insanity that is this chapter. We are but vessels for the smut.

This chapter is just smut lol

 When the world fell I'd been freshly eighteen. Just graduated high school and thrust into the world of The Walking Dead. Minus the Zombies. Though there were cannibals'. When the world finally got it's shit back in order I'd been offered a job at some base in Europe. The offer had come from some CIA operative who's life I'd saved. (She had the last bag of Jack Links Peppered Beef Jerky and I wanted it.) And seeing as my family was dead and my bank account was empty I took it. That somehow leads me to four of the most crotchety old men I've ever met. All four of them just need to get laid.

England is fucking wet. Like teenage-girl-seeing-Jacob-Black-shirtless wet. I had to buy an extra umbrella just to keep at my desk. It was black and stayed in the bottom drawer of the metal desk. Right beside a retractable nightstick. Even before the world fell it wasn't safe for a woman.

"You look like a drowned rat." Garrick. God's most annoying soldier. Who somehow found time to bother me at my desk. Every. Single. Day.

"Don't you have some damsel to save Garrick?" He laughs and leans against the old metal desk, my stuff being pushed out of the way as he does.

"Are you always such a sour puss?" Shoving his thigh off the desk and rearranging my things I answered.

"Only when bothered."

"Hmm. Are you saying I bother you?" His face was too close for comfort. Leaning back I huff.

"What do you want, Sergeant? I have things to do today."

"And here I was thinking your job was to just sit there and look pretty. Learn new things every day, huh?" Huffing once again I cross my arms. "The captain sent me to grab the paperwork General Reeves sent over. But seeing as you're just now getting here I'm gonna assume it's not ready."

"You know what they say about assuming Garrick." Taking the folder of freshly printed papers and slamming it against his chest. "Make an ass out of you and me." His face falls but he recovers it easily, irritating me more.

"Knew you were more than a pretty face, Doll." With a smile he takes off and leaves me fuming.

The base I currently occupy was overrun when the world finally started again. After the military had been disbanded most bases had been raided and scoured for supplies. America was the same. Apparently this one had been home to Garrick's team before the fall. They'd fought to have it back, something about memories or whatever.

"You wanted to see me Captain?" Captain Price was one of two men on this team that didn't immediately raise my hackles. Mostly because he only spoke to me when needed and most of the time seemed to forget I exist. Though he was rude most of the time, lack of human contact will do that to you though.

"Uhh yes. Can you send an email to Laswell? I don't understand what General Reeves is asking. Fucker talks in riddles."

"Already did, Captain. The last page in the folder is her explaining everything."

"Last page? I've been through every page Kayla. There isn't one." Kayla?

"Very last page Captain. Very. Last. One."

"Listen, I'm not stupid woman. I know how to read and there isn't a page from Laswell in this damn'd thing. Now go do what I say." Slapping his hands outta the way I jerk the last page out and slam it down. At the top is Kate's email address and the subject is General Reeves. His face falls.

"And my name isn't Kayla, Captain. It's Ila." Slamming his door behind me I escape to the bathroom. The only place for peace and quiet here.

Or it was the only place for peace and quiet. Not even two seconds into me trying to keep my temper at bay do I hear the unmistakable sounds of skin on skin. Along with the tell-tell Scottish accent.

"Ohh Bonnie. So fuckin' tight." McTavish was fucking in the woman's bathroom. Somehow I wasn't surprised. At all. There were only a handful of women on the base and everyone knew he'd already made his way through them.

"For fucks sake McTavish." The girl screamed and hurried to cover up while said man just huffed like a child. "At least fuck her in your room!" Turning on my heel I went to leave. "Is nowhere sacred anymore!"

"Do you always barge in on people?" With his pants up and a scowl on his face the Scott stared at me.

"Well if you weren't banging in the PUBLIC bathroom I don't think it'd be an issue Sargent."

"Oh c'mon lass. Never thought of a quickie? Something to ease the tension?"

"Fuck off McTavish. Before I call your master." At the mention of his Lieutenant he scowls harder and sulks off.

"I swear to God this entire team needs a fucking power point presentation on people." I mumble clicking through emails.

I happily avoid the whole team the rest of the day. And most of the week. Happily sending emails and ordering supplies. Eating lunch while reading a book or enjoying the public restroom without the sound of fucking. My desk also never looked so clean and put together. Without Garrick messing it up with his big ass thighs or fiddling with my pens. He hadn't visited me once since Monday.

"What's wrong with your hair?" God really hates me.

"Garrick. I thought you'd finally fell into your knife." A smirk.

"Did you miss me? Had to go on a mission. Know you were lonely without me." Scoffing, I push his hands away from my things.

"More like I was finally enjoying myself. Didn't have to worry about some child touching things that didn't belong to him."

"Child? You think I'm a child?"

"Very much so." He cocks an eyebrow.

"Says the one with the attitude." I gape.

"Excuse you? I do not have an attitude. You're the one who shows up at my desk every day to bother me. Always has something smart to say."

"I'm being nice Doll. You're the one being hateful. Always a snarky remark. Pretty sure you called me an ass last time. Tut tut." He sneaks a bit closer. "Little girl like you shouldn't say things like that. Might have to punish you."

"Fuck you Garrick. I'm not a little girl. And you won't touch me." He only smirks wider.

"Wanna bet?" Before I can say anything he's dragging me down the hall. Door after door passing by until he's pushing one open and pushing me into it, locking it behind him.

"What the actual fuck-" His hand is over my mouth in seconds. Fingers messing with my belt buckle.

"What did I say about saying naughty things? You're just begging to be punished aren't you?" I bite his hand, my fingers clawing as his arm. "Go ahead doll. Bite as hard as you want. You're gonna need it." His hand easily slips my jeans and underwear to my ankles before manhandling me across his lap.

"Garrick let me go or I swear to God-"

"You'll what? Call me an ass again? I've wanted to do this since I first laid eyes on you. Since the first time you opened your mouth and snapped at me. You're gonna be a good girl and count to ten with me."

"The fuck I am. This is wrong, put me-" Whack! A jolt of pain shoots through my body. Did he just? Spank me?

"That's for arguing. Now the sooner you listen the sooner we can finish." His hand rubs the spot for a second before whacking it again. My brain stutters for a second before my mouth moves.

"O-one." I still have to be in shock. This man is spanking me. Like I'm a damn child all over again. Another whack. "Two." His hand rubs the spot again, dipping lower before smacking once again.

"Knew you could be a good girl."

"Three." His fingers dip even lower, and I'm suddenly aware that this embarrassing situation is somehow turning me on.

"Think you like it, Doll." Whack.

"Four."

"Already so wet. Just had to be put in your place huh?" Another smack. I just want to crawl in a hole.

"Five." He stutters this time. Fingers dragging through my folds, catching on my clit.

"Fuck." Something twitches against my stomach. Something long and thick. "I can't wait." Flipping me up into his lap his lips attack mine, a hand slipping between us to undo his pants. He pulls himself out easily, the heat immediately spreading against my stomach. He's fucking huge.

"You make me so fucking hard. I've wanted to bend you over that stupid desk so many fucking times and just ruin you. Fuck that bratty attitude out of you." His hand wraps around my throat, the other fiddling between us. I can feel the tip of his dick pressing against my entrance.

"Garr-" With a thrust he's inside. And so fucking deep.

"Fuckkk." I can't move. The pain is overwhelming, but the pleasure is behind it. I can feel the tips of it as he settles. A whimper escapes me as I take a deep breath in. A shift and he's somehow pushing in farther. The pain still there. Brown eyes stare at me. Then soft fingers wiping the corners of my eyes. "Look at you. Stuffed full. This is what you needed isn't it?" He moves then. Lifting me up then slamming me back down. A sob ripped from my chest as the pain fades away to pleasure.

"Too- much-" He's shushing me. The hand around my neck squeezes slightly.

"You're gonna take it. Just like the good girl you are. And when you catch an attitude again? I'll just fuck. It. Out. Of. You." Each thrust sends blood rushing to my head. Leaves me breathless and dizzy.

"Please." Tears leak out of my eyes from the sheer intense pleasure. I can feel myself squeezing his dick. My head is spinning. I'm so so close. It's been so long since I'd last had sex and he's so much better than that guy had been. "Please."

"Please what? Huh? You wanna cum?" I nod. Words not seeming enough. His hips slow. "You think you deserve it?" I can't help but whine.

"Please. I'm- I'm sorry." He chuckles. A hand slipping between us and finding my clit.

"Yeah?" Lips meeting my jaw. "Just needed my cock? All you had to do was say so, doll. Woulda gave it to you sooner." With his hips back at a breakneck speed and his fingers circling my clit I can't help but bite down on his arm to hold back my scream. "There it is. Squeezing me so tight. Fuck doll. Not gonna last." Letting go of my neck I fall against him, his arms holding me as he continues to fuck into me. I feel him finish but can't seem to care that he didn't pull out. Too fucked out to care.

 Here's a little timeline if you want it!

2024 - A man-made virus turns the world on its head. The government says not to panic but the virus kills off a million people within the first two weeks. Five million the next two weeks. It wasn't long before the government itself broke down and militias popped up. The WHO only stays around for three months before the building is bombed and raided. It's not long before every day life mimics that of your favorite CW show.

2028 - Eight scientists that had hid out made a cure. With the help of some soldiers tracks down the person responsible for the virus and get rid of all trace of it. Slowly the world starts putting itself back together. Countries helping each other out.

[gazsluckyhat]

Im sobbing 😭 under the attention id cry

Secret Santa on base (but the entire 141 is desperate to pull you) — plus-size!fem!reader x task force 141

CW: christmas (?), the boys being a little bit creepy but they're just in love leave them be, allusions to sexual activity

So this somehow ended up from Laswell's pov for the most part lol but it switches to reader for the end! Also happy holidays to everyone that celebrates! <3

When Laswell had brought up the idea of doing a secret santa on base — well, it had been her wife who said they needed some more holiday cheer, and who was she to deny that? — she had not expected it to become something akin to a battlefield. Maybe she should have known better, the soldiers surrounding her were competitive by nature. Winning was always the main goal.

But this time, there was no enemy to defeat, no intel to gain, no hostage to save. No, this time, you were the objective. Laswell was not stupid, in fact, it was her job to be observant, to figure out that which others could not. And to her, Task Force 141 was an open fucking book.

It was in the way Price would leave his hand on your shoulder after offering you an encouraging pat, and how that hand would move lower down your arm or back while he talked to you. It was in the way Ghost would always prepare an extra cup of tea to bring to early morning briefings, trying to subtly push it your way while you were rubbing at your eyes. It was in the way Gaz would lean over you when you asked him to come look at something on your laptop, arms on either side of you and practically caging you in. It was in the way Soap would always find a way to touch you, without fail, calling you 'bonnie' or 'love' in that obnoxious Scottish accent as he threw an arm over your shoulders. It was especially in the way the other three would scowl at whoever had your attention for the moment. It was clear as fucking day — they all wanted you.

Laswell knew this and, in hindsight, should have taken that into account when organizing the gift exchange. This realization came when Price knocked on her door just after the announcement had made the rounds. He had inquired if she was going to be the one to select the secret santa's, and if he could maybe take a look with her — just to make sure they weren't pairing up people that disliked eachother and causing issues, he explained. When she told him no, some random online generator would do just fine, Kate got her confirmation that he was lying about his motives — she'd never seen the captain look that disappointed.

After the secret santa's had been given out, she realized that maybe it was time to do some damage control. She had walked into the rec room to find Gaz grilling everyone in there on who they pulled, seeming more agitated each time they did not answer with what he wanted to hear. A few hours later, he had apparently found the one he was looking for, as Laswell overheard someone talking about how Sergeant Mactavish had offered the person in question nearly 100 bucks to switch. Then the report came in about Lieutenant Riley threatening that very same person, and Laswell had had enough.

REMINDER: SECRET SANTAS ARE FINAL AND CANNOT BE EXCHANGED.

She pretended not to hear the huffing from Price as he read the email she had sent around.

Kate had hoped the situation had been subdued with that, yet still couldn't shake the weird feeling in her underbelly when the base christmas party came around. Everything seemed fine, at first; there stood a sadly decorated plastic tree in the corner, lights were strung up around the room and the secret santa table was overflowing with badly wrapped gifts. Everything would be fine, right?

—

Wrong.

You had been excited about the gift exchange. It was a fun way to interact with some of your coworkers that you hadn't done so with yet, and you had always liked giving out presents. You tried not to beam too bright when Kate unwrapped the gift you had got her, and got up excitedly when your name was called. It was nothing special, really; a cute mug with a bar of chocolate inside, courtesy of some random private you had never really had the chance to talk to. You were grateful nonetheless.

But then your name was called again. And again. And again. The flush of embarrassment grew with each one. By the end of the night, you had five gifts in total, somehow. The second gift was a bottle of perfume, and you had to stifle a gasp as you saw the brand — it had to have been close to three figures in price. You tentatively spray some on your wrist, and- Hadn't you smelled something similar on Gaz when he greeted you earlier?

The third gift was a basket filled with goodies; all your favourite sweets and snacks, a pair of fuzzy socks, a book you had had on your wishlist for a while, and, wait, was that..? You're so preoccupied with using the socks to hide the box of XXL condoms that you don't notice how Ghost's fingers move to adjust himself in his pants.

You start to feel really flustered when your fourth gift is handed to you, trying not to flounder under all the stares you're getting. The box looks expensive, and reveals a gorgeous pearl necklace when you open it — God, that must've been at least triple the given budget. You have to hide the added note from view when you read it: 'Just a placeholder until I can give you a pearl necklace of my own -S'.

You don't even open the fifth gift, choosing instead to quickly accept it and ushering the announcer into calling the next name. You feel a little faint when you actually open it once you're in the privacy of your room — it's a fucking vibrator. The little instruction manual says something about it being remote controlled — so where is the controller?

[gazsluckyhat]

Not Nice to Play With Your Food

I'm but a vessel for smut to come out of. Lol. I wanted to keep some things the same while including new things as well. And if you don't think Kyle and Johnny team up to tease and torture little playthings you'd be so wrong.

This was so stupid. You know it is. You were supposed to be at The Bronze with your friends but Giles had requested you check out the cemetery. Something about teenagers seeing something. Whatever. Though maybe you being missing will finally give Alex the strength to finally ask Farah out.

"Stupid slayer duties." You had really wanted to be dancing with Farah right now. To forget the upcoming history test you were most definitely gonna fail. Worst of all you had already gotten ready. Hair all tied up with some dark make-up to match.

"Anything?" Giles smooth British voice coming through the earphone. You rolled your eyes, the chill was making you get goosebumps.

"No Giles. Nothing. Not a sign of shit." You groan like a child. "I'm supposed to be dancing with my friends not out stalking the dead."

"Hmm. Maybe the kids were wrong?" You scoffed. A child. That's eaxctly what you were. Freshly eighteen. You were graduating in about half a year. And here you were whining about hanging with your friends.

"I'll keep looking. Never know." You could almost hear Giles giggling.

"That's the spirit. I'll stay on the line." You nod. Knowing he can't see you. You'd been doing this since you were fifteen. You'd think the vampires would get the hint at this point. But no, you spent most nights roaming the streets and going full on Mortal Kombat. Your skin stayed covered in bruises and scratches. The cemetery was your best friend. You had most of the plots memorized at this point. You'd already picked your own plot out. By the fence with flower bushes everywhere. You just wanted something quiet. You had already made four rounds, the place was dead. Pun intended. Shoving the steak into the bag you'd brought you went to tell Giles you were heading home when you saw it. Leaning up agaisnt a stone, tall and shrouded in the dark. For fucks sake. You were tired. Extremely tired.

"I'm not in the mood tonight. Can you just come out so I can stab you and go home to sleep?" The thing moved. Way to fast. It was feet away but still covered in a dark cover. "Gonna make me work for it huh? Fine then." Jacket and bag dropped down you made your way to it. You were so close when you felt the air change. Something or someone had snuck behind you. You could feel their breath on your neck, sharp nails dragging up your side. Before your eyes the one you were after made his appearance. Dark eyes gave way to dark skin, he was pretty. Oh so pretty. The stake in your hand slipped a little. The one agaisnt your back chuckled. Vampires.

"Oi, lookie here. We caught us a slayer." Voice like honey the one in front of you smiled. He wasn't vamped out, his features all soft like. You tilted your head slightly and caught sight of blue eyes and a , mohawk? The actual fuck?

"A mohawk? What are you? A skater boi?" The one behind you laughed, his body pressing closer into you. They were cold, as usual. But smelled oh so pretty. The one in front of you boxed you in, his chest pressed right up agaisnt you. You had to tilt your head back and into the other just to make eye contact. You were lying if it didn't make your thigh clench. Wouldn't be the first vampire you'd been with.

"Bonnie little thing isn't she mate?" Scottish lilt tickling your brain. "Too bad we don't drink fresh, I bet you'd taste so sweet." He ducked down to your ear. "Though there are other things I can taste."

"Boys!" Loud and adorative, a voice boomed behind the darker one. "Quit playing with her. We have places to be." They both licked a stripe up your neck, their tongues meeting at your jaw.

"Mmm. Like candy." With a pinch to your ass the Scottish one crept around front.

"We'll be seeing you dove." Too quickly they joined the two new figures lurking in the dark. You could see the cherry of the lit cigar from here, the one beside him was tall. Clothed in a dark hoodie and mask. With a tilt of his head, the leader, they  were gone. Leaving you flustered and extremely turned on.

[gazsluckyhat]

TW: mentions of death and suicide

They were dead. That's all that ran through her mind. Her team. Her family. All dead. The straps that bound her wrists to the bed tightened as she tugged. They'd strapped her down after she'd attacked several people. Blood still stained her teeth from biting. Her throat felt raw from screaming and crying. Eyes puffy and sore. The door opened to a guard, metal tray in his hands.

"Food." She scoffed. The guard rolled their eyes. "We can always just give you a feeding tube. Doesn't matter to me." Spitting the food they offered her, they slapped her. "Suit yourself, bitch." The door slammed behind them.

"They're all gone." Tears flowed down redden cheeks. They'd put her in a medical place, healing the damage she took in the ambush. Death was all she could think about. Rather be dead than a prisoner. She was aiming for a gun attached on a guards hip, one shot and it'd all be over. She was too slow. All the lost blood finally catching up to her. Sedated, she woke up strapped to a hospital bed. Her wounds sewn shut and bandaged. She knew why they were keeping her alive. Information. But they'd killed her friends. The people that'd accepted her.

She'd rather be dead than a prisoner.

[gazsluckyhat]

Sarah's House

Fourteen - Fear

Masterlist

Wow two updates so close together. That's your Christmas present. Merry Chrismaca.

Price knew he shouldn't take the mission. The outcome seemed obvious, or so he thought. Until he wasn't anymore.

or

Like calls to like. Or something of the sort.

Johnny never talked about Craig. The mere thought caused his stomach to turn. He kept the man locked up in a box in his head. Hadn't thought about him in twenty-five years. Except for watching Sarah hold the shard of glass to her throat in the hospital. He'd had to escape into the hallway to sob. But this, the woods stretching out in front of them, brought it all back to the forefront. His hands started to shake, panic and fear rising in his bones.

"I'm just gonna go 'or a walk, mate." The last thing Craig ever said to him playing in his brain. Hours later, when the sun had set and moon was high he realzied he'd never came back.

"Johnny!" Blue eyes snapped up to John's. They were bundled up, flashlights held tight in gloved hands. Simon had took off before them, jacket left behind. They'd found him in a wild state. "Are you listening? We need to split up, it's getting too cold for her to be out here. We've all got a walkie-talkie. Radio in if you find her." He nodded. Neck stiff as terror crawled up his throat.

"We're losing fuckin' time!" Simon shouted. His whole body seemed to radiate panic. "I'm going this way." Kyle flinched as Simon stormed off. Guilt was written all over his face. Hadn't said a word since his breakdown earlier.

"Johnny you got east, Kyle west. I'll head over that way." Then they were breaking off.

  Kyle shook as he walked through the woods. Not from the cold, no, from the guilt eating away his insides. He should have just went with her. But she'd been doing so good. He'd thought that she'd seemed fidgety from being kept inside. I just need some fresh air. She'd seemed fine, just a little tired.

"So stupid Garrick." He huffed trampling though the brush. It was cold, even in his coat. His boots crushed the sticks and leaves under his feet. For the second time they were going through snow to find her. She was out there somewhere huddled in the snow. They had to find her soon before frostbite could kick in.

"John, I found your flannel. It's caught on a branch." Kyle froze as Johnny's voice crackled over the radio.

"Okay, everyone head towards Soap." Kyle closed his eyes and took in deep breath before turning and heading towards Soap.

  John stared at the smear of blood on the tree trunk. It was dried, as expected in the slight wind. It wasn't much but was enough to send a fresh surge of panic through him. The branch his flannel was hanging on had red tinged tips, looked as if she'd run into it and it had scratched her.

"She was only wear a t-shirt this morning." Simon said staring at the shirt. His hands twitched at his side. Johnny was frozen, eyes glazed over. John had to keep it together. He was the leader and his men were unraveling.

"Looks like she went that way, let's stay together." He held onto the shirt, her coat clutched in Kyle's free hand.

  Sarah shuddered. It was freezing and so dark out. She'd collapsed agasint a tree, her legs numb. She knew she had to keep going. She couldn't let them find her. Her body ached from the wounds. There was blood all over her hands and face. You need to keep going. But she couldn't. She was so tired. Her feet and legs wouldn't move. Hands and fingers tucked into her chest for warmth. They were going to find her and drag her back. The things they'd done to her caused her to shiver. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten out. But she did. The snow licked her bare skin as she curled closer into herself.

"Sarah!" She whimpered. They were getting closer. She could see the faint gleam of light. Fear bubbled up and she vomited onto the snow and herself. I can't go back. Finding a rock she grabbed it and prepared to fight.

  Simon eye's caught every slight movement. A snowflake, tree branch, even a rabbit. He'd been trained to track the simplest of tracks. And here with freshly fallen snow and a breeze it was becoming extremely hard. His heart was racing, the ache in his chest starting to affect everything else. He was barley containing the tears at this point.

"Got more blood over here." Kyle's voice was shaky, just like his demeanor. Simon knew he'd have to talk to him after they'd found her. He could sense the breakdown coming. Converging on him they tracked the thin trail, it was covered in a light dusting but the blood had seeped through that layer as well. There were slight indents that could be footprints, and a tree nearby had a handprint on it.

"Over there." Johnny whispered, his light shiny on a lump curled in a hole inside of a tree. It was Sarah. Johnny's beanie haphazardly set atop her head. But she wasn't shaking.

"Sarah?" It was John, they were slowly surrounding her so she couldn't run again. "Love, can you hear me?" She curled tighter, whimpering. He got closer and knelt down. "Sweetheart you're freez-" With a yell she flipped around and slammed something into the side of his head and took off.

"Stay with him!" Simon took off towards the girl. She was tripping and stumbling over sticks.

"We're taking him back to the house." He didn't answer. The figure in front of him was frozen, another rock in her hand. She still wasn't shaking, Simon was terrified. Simon took defense and put his hands up.

"Soldier, stand down." She didn't. "Soldier, that's an order!" She shook her head.

"You're gonna hurt me." His heart shattered. He'd never think of it. Ever.

"Sargent Jakobs, I'm ordering you to stand down. No one is gonna touch you." Her hand with the rock twitched.

"Swear on it." Simon nodded.

"I swear." She folded immediantly. Simon barely catching her before she hit the ground. He tucked her into him, her body ice. "Oh flower. It's okay."

"S-simon?" He nodded. "Oh god! John!"

"Hush, he's gonna be fine. We need to get you to the house, have to warm you up."

 Sarah clung to Simon, eyes screwed shut. She wasn't cold anymore, no, she couldn't really feel anything. She'd hurt John. Smashed him with a rock. Shame covered her cheeks as her stomach turned again. She'd gotten trapped in her head again. Another hallucination she'd had trouble coming out of. The truth was she'd never escaped. No, she was left to rot in that cell. Forgotten. Until her boys found her.

"I'm gonna run you a bath, we've got to get your temp up." She nodded, light swarming her as she heard the backdoor open. "Johnny, help me run a bath."

"Is she okay?" It was John. He sounded frantic. A sob broke out at the thought of him. They'd want nothing to do with her now. She was violent.

"Freezing. Gonna try and get her temp up." He was taking the steps two at a time, Johnny's pounding steps behind them. She didn't open her eyes until Simon's warm hands took hold of her cheeks. His brown eyes were such a comfort. She broke down, sobs falling out of her open mouth.

"I'm- so-o s-o-orr-y." Simon shook his head, Johnny behind him testing the water.

"Shh. It's okay. Let's get you warmed up and we'll talk about it later, yeah?" She nodded. Simon took a warm rag and wipes away the blood. The wounds superficial, from being smacked with branches. He helped he strip and crawl into the tub, the water coxing her in further.

"Get in?" She eye'd both boys. "Please." Johnny was the first to strip, slipping in behind her and pulling her towards him. He buried his face into her neck, crying silently. Simon took a second before joining, water spilling from the top. He set his legs on either side of Johnny's and took hold of her feet. The only sounds were Johnny and Sarah's sniffles.

"Found Craig twenty feet from the house, he'd hung himself. I tried everything before the paramedics got there. But I was too late. He was gone." They listened to Johnny. "I didn't even know he was hurting. Never saw any signs. If I'd just paid more attention I could have saved him."

"None of that. There was nothing you could've done. He made his decision, at that point there was no changing his mind." Simon was squeezing his arm, trying to comfort him. "I've been there before. Stood on that edge. The only thing that pulled me off it was the idea of facing my mum afterwards. The shame. I couldn't do it. And I'm so glad I didn't." His other hand found Sarah's cheek. "I would've never found you. Or had this family. I'm so thankful for all of you. Given me a reason to feel again. To be Simon instead of Ghost." With the air clear Sarah spoke up.

"I thought I'd escaped. I'd gotten out somehow and was just in the snow. I've been seeing these two figures since Dean. The first one was taunting me. Then turned into a guard. So I ran. I was so scared they were gonna find me and take me back."  Johnny's arms tightened around her. "I don't want to go back." Her voice broke as she broke down, Simon joining Johnny and holding her.

"You'll never go back there. Ever. We won't let you." They sat there until the water had turned cold, drying off and wrapping her in the softest clothes.

  Kyle carefully wiped John's forehead, the dried blood tough to get off. They'd brought Sarah in a little bit ago, leaving the two of them to damage control. John was nursing a beer, said it was the only painkiller he needed. Kyle was quiet, fingers working numbly as his brain ran laps.

"I'm fine Kyle. You can rest." His fingers stuttered before he set the cloth down and took a step back. The feelings of being inadequate were all over him. They'd trusted him enough to leave her and he'd failed. Lost her. She was the most important person to him and he'd lost her. The thought of her being so cold and scared made him want to vomit. A thick hand took hold of his shaky ones. "Sit down." So he did.

"I can see it on your face clear as day. No one is to blame, okay? We all know healing isn't linear. Backsliding is common. It's all okay. I'm positive that if you ask her she's gonna blame herself. Not you." He finally looked at John. "I don't." Kyle nodded. Some sort of relief starting a track down his spine.

"I feel like I have no place here. You three have important roles but I fit in nowhere. I'm just here." John chuckled, taking a swig of his beer.

"Kyle, you are just as important as any one of us. This team needs you, I choose you for a reason. We all offer something different for Sarah. She comfortable here, feels safe here. Please don't let the voices tell you any different. If it gets to loud come talk to one of us. You are important to this family." Kyle nodded and wiped his eyes. "Anyway, from what I've heard you were the first one she choose anyhow." Kyle blushed as John winked at him, the cut already bruising. Footsteps interrupted their conversation. Sarah came around the corner wrapped in a throw blanket, tucked into Johnny's shoulder. She stopped in front of them as her eyes became glassy. Simon leaned agasint the wall, arms crossed over the other.

"I'm so so sorry." She hiccupped. John shook his head and set his beer down, arms opening wide as she crawled into them. "I couldn't see you. I didn't know." Her fingers danced over the cut. John rubbing her back.

"I've had worse lovie. This is nothing. You're okay is all that matters to me." He placed a kiss to her cheek. Her eyes found Kyle, shame licked up her back and settled on her cheeks. They were more full now. She watched him for a second before crawling to him. He settled her agaisnt his side, Johnny picking her opposite.

"I didn't plan on running when I went out. I promise. Please don't be mad at me, Ky. Please." His hair had grown out more, tiny black curls overtaking his normal buzz cut. They shook when he ducted down.

"I could never be mad at you darling. Never. I thought you'd be mad at me." Sarah chuckled. Her lips finding his easily. She turned to Simon.

"Can we have pizza? And campout here tonight? I'm scared." Simon nodded, he'd give her the world if she asked.

"Of course. Whatever you want." She smiled and curled up between the boys, John joining Simon in the kitchen. Sarah could feel herself drifting off, the warmth and comfort enough to bring her over the edge.

[gazsluckyhat]

loved every last second of this. the possessiveness of it.

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic. Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though. When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you admitted you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening the damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better aff jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een oot.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze. He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway. You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting his knuckles. He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit. You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any embarrassment from building in your gut. Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ an adult grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s. Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed. It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer. You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand. The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind. You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John just inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.” John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly the weather was tonight and hadn’t practically jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.” Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb. You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle. It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh. “Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much. Your sole scuffs against debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before. As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now. You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.” 

He was smiling at you again. It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward. You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles. They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle. It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh? That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble. 

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over. You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits. At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right? But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time you sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it. Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek“—almost made us lose out.” he grumbled “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”. You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce.

Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[gazsluckyhat]

Sarah's House

Eleven - Sports Bra

Masterlist

The fact I thought I could get on a writing schedule is a joke. My brain is mush honestly. Short chapter to fill in. Every chapter can't be a essay.

Price knew he shouldn't take the mission. The outcome seemed obvious, or so he thought. Until he wasn't anymore.

or

Like calls to like. Or something of the sort.

In the weeks that followed everyone seemed to open up a little bit more. Price often sat with Soap and Sarah while he did paperwork and would listen to the Scotsman's tales and teasing's. Sarah's voice chiming in every so often, easing any existing discomfort from that day. Gaz found Simon on days his brain was just a little too much for him, the quiet and reassuring's he'd speak to him better than any therapy he'd had. And Sarah? She was never alone. Not because she couldn't be alone but because there was no reason for her to be. Each night unspoken choices were chosen and no one ended up sleeping alone. Even if it was Simon squeezing into a queen matress with Soap's starfish ass. No one was alone.

"I have some news." File in hand, Gaz slipped into the breakfast table beside Sarah and Soap. He put the file in the middle towards Sarah. The name across it was familiar. KND. It was home. A joke that had stuck.

"Kate contacted some old friends and we were able to track down everyone who was on your team. Where've they gone and so forth. You don't have to open it now. But it's here if you want it." She looked around at the boys sitting there. Each giving her their own version of a uplifting smile. Nerves licked her senses as she used the tips of her fingers to drag the folder to her.

"Are they all okay?" Gaz nodded. His hand taking hers.

"Several are now partners with several wounded and missing warrior projects in your name." Her heart clinched. She shook her head.

"Not right now." And that was that. The boys didn't prod her and the day continued like normal.

"You're making amazing progress Sarah." Gerard smiled at her. Sweat sat on her hairline and slid down the back of her shirt. Peaking a look at Soap she noticed that he too seemed to be out of breath, maybe even a tad more than her. She smiled at that. The tops of her thighs burned from the stretching and her shoulders ached for a nice rub. But more so she ached for Soap. He looked extra devilish in a grey t-shirt that was stuck to him with sweat and a pair shorts that clung to his hips. Gerard had been true to his word and not once touched her. Instructed each of the boys on how to hold her and stretch her muscles out. He also never questioned the rotation of the boys. And as much as she enjoyed the doctor she would much rather the boys stretch her in other ways.

"Ay, leaps and bounds." Soap smiled proudly at her and it only increased the blood flow to her pussy. She wanted nothing more than to have him squeezing her throat and growling in her ear.

"Next week, can we- can we try you and I?" Her cheeks flamed and she saw the question in Soap's eyes. Gerard nodded.

"As long as you're comfortable. I'd like one of the boys to be present just in case you need to tap out, okay? Just for your safety." Sarah nodded. She then said her goodbyes and yanked Soap through the building. At the car she let him go and climbed into the car.

"Are you a'right?" He turned her face so she was holding eye contact with him.

"Of course. Why?" He looked at her, studied the look in her eyes.

"Did I do somethin in there?" She shook her head. "You don't want us thouchin' you here?" Her cheeks flamed again.

"No no no, It's the opposite of that!" He leaned back in the seat. "Having all of you there and being the ones touching me and guiding me turns it into more than therapy." A sly grin took over his lips.

"Is that so lassie? Got your knickers in a twist, have we?" Heat roared down her spine.

"Mmm, Soap. You don't understand how bad I just wanted you to fuck me." He was pulling out of the parking lot instantly, didn't even wait until she was buckled up.

Ten minuets later they pulled into the parking deck of a nondescript building and into the darkest corner he could find. Out of all the boys Soap was the one that surprised her the most when it came to sex. Of course he was constantly in the mood but he wasn't the one always wanting a quickie. No, that was Price. Soap took his time. Teased her and made her beg before fucking her into tomorrow. So when he started yanking her into the back seat she was shocked.

"What are you doing?" She squeaked when he tugged her shirt up. His eyes dark with hunger. His fingers made quick work of her sports bra and the leggings she'd picked.

"I want you. Right here and right now." And so he had her. Pushing her back onto the bench seat and tugging her legs over his shoulders. As much as he wanted to lick and taste her he needed to have her wrapped around him. "So fuckin' warm."

"Mmm. Soap." He yanked her head back by her hair, forcing her to look at him.

"Name's Johnny, lassie. Better remember it. It's all you're gonna be saying." Sarah moaned loudly. She knew it was nicknames but to hear his name while he runied her was other worldly. His teeth nipped at her neck and shoulder as she sobbed his name. Hands threaded into his mohawk. Johnny had the tendency to overstimulate her for fun. Loved to watch her squirm and writhe under him. He pulled several orgasms' out of her before he even let himself feel it. But right now, right now he was hanging on by a thread. The air in the car was stuffy and hot as both their bodies became slick with sweat. Her chest pressed right agaisnt his. His fingers leaving imprints in her thighs as he bullied his way into her. Sarah could feel that pull in her belly. That familiar heat that creeped it's way up her spine.

"Mmm. John-johnny. Gonna-nna cum." Her nails pinched his skin as she began to tighten around him. Her pussy milking him.

"Fuck!" He wasn't gonna last. Not with her whimpering in his ear and how tight she was around him. He could feel her tipping over the edge. Couldn't hold on himself.

"Fuckkk!" She was shaking, her body convulsing under him. Johnny didn't even have time to pull out. His body spilling into hers before he collapsed on top of her. Sarah felt it then. This encompassing feeling of warmth. Safety. Home. Something she'd began to feel when she was with the boys. She felt it with Gaz when he'd make breakfast with her in the morning. Price when he'd let her sit in his lap and tell her about his paperwork or past missions. And with Simon it was whenever they'd watch the telly. His body relaxed and pliant. He'd run his hand through her hair. They were her safe space.

"'m not squishing ya' am i?" His voice was muffled agaisnt her skin. She couldn't help but chuckle. Johnny and Gaz were the two she found herself joking with the most. Always had something funny to say and had to be touching he at all times. She chocked it up to Price and Simon's past. Simon had told her a bit of his but she refused to pry. They'd not once forced her to open up.

"No." And they laid there. Hearts beating in sync. "I think I'm falling in love." Johnny stilled. Fear in his mouth.

"Bonnie.."

"All of you. I'm in love with all of you." Pride replaced the fear.

[gazsluckyhat]

Slayer!Reader who’s just exhausted. Spent two nights in a row hunting and now sports a black eye and busted lip. Head slamming and she just wants to take a bath and go to sleep. The weekend ahead of her, plans to spend it with Alex and Farah.

Shadow at the window catching her attention. The figure is big and hulking. Brown eyes staring in at her. Just watching. Knowing he can’t come in unless he’s invited she goes to shop him away.

“It’s almost midnight. Please, if you wanna fight save it for tomorrow? I’ve got to get some sleep.” A chuckle then a thick dark voice.

“Get some sleep princess, I’ll keep watch.” Reader shocked when he closes the window and just stands there. Coincidentally it’s the best sleep she’s had in months.