#johnny driving the squad

[brewed-pangolin]

Gym Rat Soap absolutely owns a sex swing and no one can change my mind about it.

[oldtvlover]

Hullo and hello,

since some of the pics went again with Cap, so therefore now the final of our paramedics. lol

So, that's it again.

And come to think of it: Smoking in a fire station?! Really boys? ;-) Different times then. lol

Enjoy!

Note: Pics from today's episode "Simple adjustment" will come up on Tuesday - after several countings. *grins* *sighs*

[tojisun]

do you think biker!simon has an instagram account to share some videos or photos of his motor? even he shares his own photos, he won't take off his helmet i suppose hehe :3

YEA I DO!!! biker!simon’s instagram account was made so he can follow his friends (not just the squad but also those that he met in meet ups) and also biking events. he first gained traction because of the bit he’s got going on wherein no one knows how he looks like until now, but then clips of his tricks during meet ups get posted and naturally people are drawn to him. add the fact that this well-built man with a sexy voice is also just a big bike nerd? yeah, people are enamoured for sure.

it’s not like he’s influencer famous, which he’s fucking thankful for, but simon becomes a household name for bikers and fans alike. then, your name came along and all of a sudden, a power couple just bloomed right before simon’s followers’ eyes. of course they’ve got to extend the support your way.

at first they’re following you because of simon; because they see just how cute he is whenever he talks about you – always posting you on his account or story; always finding ways to include you in the topic (with limitations of course) and tag you in posts. and god his followers adore seeing simon act so smitten and in love.

but you’re just too beautiful and sweet and kind.

what started as curious support became genuine; often they’d even ask simon where you are when simon’s account goes live during a meet up (all his followers know by now that every time simon’s live during a meet up, it’s actually johnny using simon’s phone), and simon would wag his finger in front of the camera as if to say “secret.” it’s johnny who would thankfully grace them with a normal reply, doing so by flipping the camera to show you to them. and, well, they wouldn’t be able to blame simon for wanting to keep you all for himself because they’d see you perched on his bike, wrapped in leather while wearing your and simon’s matching helmet, looking all parts divinely and untouchable.

simon would mass like comments that always compliment you. his favourite? “@yourname please please step on me. i promise i’ll bark”. simon laughed at the ridiculousness of it before liking the comment and replying to the original commenter with “get in line, lad.”

HHHH BUT YEA!! i absolutely see simon having a decent-following instagram account that is full of pictures of you, the two of you driving around, and his bike.

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i searched through the trenches (my room) and was able to find my old phone!! i revived it for a short smau of biker!simon and what i think his account would look like (also featuring a short one of reader’s account!). check under the cut <333

click through the individual pictures for better quality and so that u can see the captions teehee!!

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i enjoyed making these omg!! hope u loved them toooo <333

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 12

Kinktober Masterlist vi coactus - "under duress" Simon "Ghost" Riley/TF141 x f!reader Kinks > SHAME, forced orgasms, bimbo/dumbification Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

“Under duress” — A quick exfil means limited seats in the TAC-V. Simon lets you sit on his lap, but it’s a really bumpy road. When you realize that his thigh is the perfect shape, and that it’s pressing against your most sensitive spot, there’s not much you can do to stop yourself. Might as well enjoy the ride.

Warnings: SHAME! EMBARRASSMENT! SHAME!!!!, mean teasing, slut shaming, it's not non-con but no one asks for permission; this truck is not a safe-space.

No one said a word. Once the noise of the petrol explosion and the machine guns faded from your ears, all that you could hear was the rattle and rumble of the engine of the TAC-V. The mission had been successful, but barely. You’d secured the package, but it had cost you the chopper exfil that you’d been desperately counting on. What was a quick twenty minute flight was now an eight hour drive through the bumpiest mountain road known to man, and you were sitting on Ghost’s lap for the entire trip.

The TAC-V sat two in front and three in back, so with Price and Gaz up in the driver and passenger seats, you should have been able to fit in the rear with Ghost and Soap. But, the care package was taking up your spot. As the smallest member of the squad, you were relegated to lap-status, much to your audible dismay. 

“Shut your mouth and get in the truck, Corporal!” Price had shouted, spraying cover fire over the hood of the vehicle. 

So, that’s where you found yourself. Mouth shut. Seat secured. 

There was only one problem. Ghost’s thighs were enormous. He never skipped leg day, and when you tried to sit against his hips to distribute your weight, his gear vest was in the way. So, he’d shifted you over onto his right thigh, forcing you to straddle him, and now you could feel… everything. 

Every time Price hit another bump – which was once or twice every few seconds at this point – Ghost’s rock-solid quad muscle would jerk up into your pussy, shaking your most sensitive bits. It was savage, but it was making your body respond in ways that you did not appreciate. And now, you were in the middle of fighting off the most embarrassing orgasm of your life. 

You could feel how wet you were through the canvas pants you were wearing. Your panties were soaked in the first hundred kilometers, so they were useless against your slick pleasure. Soon, Ghost would be able to feel the warm stain of your cunt imprinting itself on his own trousers, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had tried to shift away in the beginning of this trip, rotating your hips back and forth, trying to search for a less-shameful angle, but he had grumbled, 

“Sit still, love. Tha’s enough squirmin’ around.”

His hand had reached out to secure your hip, pulling you down into a deep seated position, crushing your soft lips against his thigh and spreading them apart unknowingly.

You’d managed to suffer in pure silence so far, but that was becoming more and more challenging as the ride got rougher. The desire to roll your hips against him to take the edge off of the blinding friction you were experiencing was mind-numbing. You were sweaty from battle and now you were sweaty from nerve-racking lust, and there was no escape. You still had hundreds of kilometers to go, and you didn’t know what you were going to do.

Your body knew exactly what it was going to do, though. It was going to come whether you wanted to or not. 

“You alright, lass? Car sick?” Johnny asked, peering over at you as your head rested against the driver’s headrest in front of you. 

“Need a break, babes?” Gaz turned in his seat to check on you. 

“No can do,” Price shook his head and peered at you in the rearview mirror, “Still in the red zone. We can’t stop here and expect to make it out without drawing unwanted attention.” 

“Here,” Gaz reached back and unclipped your vest, “At least take this off so you can catch a breath.”

You let him slip the vest off your shoulders and stuff it in the footwell on the floor in front of him. He passed you his canteen, and you tried to open it with trembling hands. 

“She’s not fuckin’ sick,” Ghost hissed, grabbing the canteen and opening it for you before lifting it to your lips so you could drink.

The rest of the truck-full of men waited to hear the rest of Ghost’s explanation. You felt heat rush to your cheeks in painful humiliation as you waited for him to reveal your predicament. You knew, now, that he could feel you. You had thought you’d gotten away with it so far, but it was too obvious. He could feel the wet, sticky patch on his quad growing with every tremulous shake of the truck, and he knew what was happening to you. You could almost hear the jeering smile on his lips when he told them, 

“She needs a quick wank, innit that right, Corporal?”

You tried to keep your eyes trained on the floor, but you had to see what their faces looked like. You lifted your gaze to meet Price’s bright blue eyes in the mirror, the evidence of Ghost’s truth written all over your expression. 

The silence was broken up only by the road noise. No one spoke and no one breathed. You looked to Gaz and saw his mouth open in shock, curling at the edge of his lip with a boyish glee. Soap’s brow was furrowed in disbelief,

“S’that true, bonnie?”

Ghost didn’t even give you a chance to answer him. He shoved his gloved hand under your crotch as if to feel the evidence on his hand that he was sensing on his thigh, chuckling at your sorry predicament,

“Bumpy road, been wet and warm for almost an hour. Gonna have myself a pretty little pussy stain by the time we get to base. And if I give her somethin’ to work against…”

Your lieutenant curled his fingers that he had shoved underneath you, finding your swollen clit with a surprising ease. As if he’d pushed a button, you let out an obvious moan. You cut it short, unable to hold it back from crawling out of your throat, but the damage was done. 

Silence again, and then Gaz’s low voice,

“Holy fuck.”

Ghost removed his hand and settled back in his seat, keeping his grip on your hips with a steadfast strength. He was looking at you in the mirror along with Price who kept glancing up from the road. The message in Ghost’s eyes was a clear challenge; he wasn’t going to give you any more relief, and if you wanted to come on him, you’d need to figure it out yourself. 

The urge to hump his solid thigh was overwhelming, and now that the cat was out of the bag, you thought it wouldn’t be possible for you to be any more ashamed, so you started to hump your pussy against him, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly… but, Ghost couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“See? Needy thing’s grindin’ on me. Can’t help yourself, huh, love?”

You shook your head, looking to Price for some sort of rescue, but what could he do? Your captain was driving as fast as he could out of enemy territory, and you were stuck in place, tumbling into an orgasm and suffering the pain of embarrassment in front of your whole squad. 

You moaned, trying to hold your breath, but your whole body shook as you came. Your hole was so wet and burning hot, and you could feel yourself gush as you clenched your muscles around nothing, wishing you had something… someone… inside of you. 

“There she is… good girl,” Ghost teased you, rubbing your back as you shuddered above him, rolling in your high. 

“Did she just…” Soap gaped.

You looked up at him, and even though your eyes begged for pity, you received none from him. He met you with a filthy grin,

“Come over here with me, lass. I’ll give you somethin’ to fuckin’ sit on.”

He reached for your arm, attempting to drag you over the care package, but Ghost jerked his hand away and wrapped his arm around your belly, forcing you to lean back against him, the tools in his vest digging into your flesh,

“She’s fine where she is, Sergeant. Aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You felt hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, whispering,

“I’m s-sorry…”

“Shh, love. Nothin’ to be sorry for. Can’t be fuckin’ helped. C’mon,” he snarled in your ear, his mask smelling like his menthols and sweat, “Beg me to help you. Beg for my fingers, princess.”

“Simon,” Price warned, watching your degradation unfold behind him. 

“Eyes on the bloody road, Cap,” Ghost chuckled, “Bumpy enough back here as it is.”

Gaz hadn’t stopped staring, and you watched in horror as he palmed his hard length over the rough denim of his jeans. 

You felt yourself building to another crescendo, the waves of your first orgasm swelling to threaten a second, easier now that you’d let down so much silky come, allowing your pussy to slip that much faster over Simon’s huge thigh. 

“Beg me, baby,” Ghost growled in your ear, “Beg me to fuckin’ touch you right here where they can all watch me make you come.”

“No…” You gasped, “I can’t… I’m not…”

“Not what? Not a dumb little slut? Oh, sweetheart. Yes, you are. You’re so fuckin’ wet it looks like you pissed yourself. I bet those pretty knickers are fuckin’ ruined, aren’t they?”

He grabbed you by the chin roughly, startling you, making your core clench tight, turned on by his cruel aggression as he almost shouted in your ear, 

“Aren’t they? Tell the fuckin’ truth. Tell it to him,” Ghost’s eyes turned toward the rear view mirror and you looked up at Price, pleading with him for forgiveness in your tone. You mumbled, 

“My panties… are…”

“He can’t hear you, baby.” Ghost held your face, forcing you to look at his captain in the eyes through the reflective glass.

“My panties are ruined, sir.”

“Is that so, Corporal?” Price asked in a low droll, and you saw him readjust himself in his pants before putting both fists back on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned as white as bone. 

“Better see for myself, yeah?” Ghost chuckled, unbuttoning your trousers and yanking down the fly. 

He reached inside and grabbed the fabric roughly in his hand and, with a strength that shocked you, he tore them right off of your body with a loud rip, breaking the elastic at the seam and slipping the scrap from under your lips and ass. He held it up for the entire truck to see, showing them how the gray cotton was stained dark from your wetness, how they gleamed in the light of the setting desert sun. 

Soap reached out and snatched them from his hand, and Ghost laughed out loud, watching Johnny shove them to his nose and moan out a breath of satisfaction. 

“Go on, then,” Ghost turned his attention back on you, “Beg me for it. I wanna hear you say please, sir. You got that, Corporal?”

He snaked his hand back down the front of your belly, barely touching your furry mons, resting his gloved finger just above the hood of your clit, touching you with a light, teasing pressure. 

You could feel the rough canvas against your soft pussy now, and the seam was giving you something to grind against, but it was nothing like the feel of a strong finger. You chased another orgasm, but it was just out of reach. You were humping him lewdly, at this point, rocking your hips back and forth with abandon, unable to stop yourself from chasing your second, hard burst of pleasure. 

You bit your lip, struggling with all your might, but you were failing to surge over that exaltant peak. You needed his help, but you didn’t want to beg for it. You couldn’t. You were too dismayed at your fallen state.

You looked at Gaz, hoping he could talk some sense into your lieutenant, but he was jerking himself off with a hand down his pants, watching you through hooded eyes. You turned your gaze to Soap who had your ripped panties in his hand and was using them to wet his own heavy cock, smearing your juices all over his ruddy head. 

Ghost’s grip tightened on your jaw, and he turned your head toward his passenger window, stopping you from looking at the other men, 

“They can’t help you, love. Just me. Now, use your fuckin’ words.”

“Please… touch me,” your voice was barely a whisper.

“Please, what?” He bit back.

“Please touch me, sir,” you whined, sick to your stomach at your own weakness.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he smiled.

He moved his fingers lower, shoving two of them between your lips, applying firm pressure to your clit. He didn’t even need to rub you. Your pussy started to come the moment it had his relief, and you cried out like a paid whore, keening into the hollow cab, rolling your hips against him, chasing your crashing orgasm. 

Then, he started to move his hand frantically, rubbing you back and forth, dragging out your bursting come even further than you thought was possible, turning one orgasm into two, back to back, a painful overstimulation, enough to make your body convulse from his effort.

“No, no… oh, fuck!” You screamed, trying to close your legs but his thigh was in the way, and all you could do was ride him. 

“Yeah, tha’s it, love. Give it to me. Come on me, you filthy fuckin’ slag. Let ‘em hear what I’m doin’ to this needy cunt.”

“Mmngh! Please… Ghost, please, oh, fuck…” 

“Listen to that sound, lads,” he grunted, commenting on the wet, milking noises your cunt was making under his hand, “Runnin’ like a hot tap.”

“Hurry up, LT,” Soap barked, pulling on his cock with your panties wrapped around the hard shaft like he was furious with it, “I’ll only be so patient.”

Ghost shook his head,

“Tsch, tsch, alright, Johnny. If you insist. C’mon, baby. Keep those legs spread f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

You felt him ruck down the back of your pants and shove them onto your legs, exposing your ass to the whole truck. Then, you felt the tell-tale drag of his cockhead over your folds, and before you could even think to protest, he was shoving himself inside of you, slipping through your slick without much resistance, your wet come helping guide his length all the way up to your womb. 

Once he had whet his prick down to its root in you, he used both hands to lift your hips and slam them back down, using you like a cocksleeve. He was so thick, but your body was primed and ready to take him, and you found yourself without words, only able to moan and whine as he filled you up. 

Gaz reached over, leaning out of his seat to grab your face, turning you towards him so that he could kiss you. You couldn’t even kiss him back, you were so mindless, and he spent most of his time licking your lips and sucking on your tongue as you whimpered for Ghost’s heavy dick, your body jerking up and down as he slammed you onto his steel-hard length repeatedly. 

“Does he feel good, babes?” Gaz asked you, sticking two of his fingers into your mouth and down your throat, making you choke on him until you started to instinctively suck and swallow against him, “Tha’s it. Pretty thing just needed somethin’ in her mouth, didn’t she?”

Every time you choked from Gaz’s hand in your throat, you clenched around Ghost’s cock, and he begged his sergeant for more,

“Choke her again, Garrick. Makes her so fuckin’ tight.”

Gaz laughed, full of mischief, and reached up with his other hand to pinch your nose. Then, inside of your mouth, he pressed his fingers in a downward motion over and over and over, making it feel like he was fucking your face with a throbbing dick, too big for you to breathe. You gagged, and then, when you tried to take a breath, you gagged again, your whole body spasming, fighting for air. You could only suck in short breaths when you opened your mouth wider, and Gaz held the relief of those moments from you for as long as he could. 

Finally, Ghost wrapped both of his hands around your torso and ripped you away from Gaz’s cruel hand, laying you against his chest and fucking his cock up into you from below, creating loud, pornographic slapping sounds that filled the truck. 

“Fuck!” Ghost groaned, “Gonna make me come, love. Say please, baby. C’mon. You can do it. Say it.”

“Dinnae think she’s still with us, LT. Fucked her brains right out of her head,” Soap chuckled. 

“She can do it,” Ghost insisted, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re not gettin’ my come until I hear you beg for it.”

 You looked at his eyes in the mirror again, not recognizing yourself in such a mindless state of indulgence, drowning in pleasure and losing yourself to it. He was looking at you with such an intensity, you wanted to please him. You wanted to follow his orders. You wanted to show him that you could be such a good girl. 

“P-please…. Please! Ungh, please, sir… Give me your come. Please, sir… I need it. I need it. I need… mmnff-fuck!”

You felt his cock swelling, throbbing, and bursting with hot, sticky ropes of his cream, buried deep inside of your walls, coating the head of your womb as your pussy squeezed out another orgasm, milking him like a hungry mouth. He pulled out a bit only to ram himself back in, deeper this time, stretching to touch the end of your sheath, aching to plant his seed. 

“Fuck, finally,” Soap grunted, reaching over the crate with both hands this time to drag you from Ghost’s lap, “Couldnae wait much longer, LT.”

You felt Ghost’s cock slip from you, spilling his come down your leg, your pants sliding down to your boots as Soap dragged you into his lap.

“There she is,” Gaz smiled, returning to his efforts and shoving his fingers back down your throat, this time shifting them back and forth, massaging your tongue as he fucked you on his hand, “Suck them for me, baby. It’ll be my turn, soon.”

“Better enjoy the easy ride while you can, Corporal,” Price sneered, “You’ve got PT in my quarters as soon as we get back to base. Might take all night.”

As Johnny’s fat dick squeezed into your come-soaked pussy, you wanted to protest. You wanted to make some snide comment back, but your usual biting retorts were unavailable at the moment. You really were blissed out of your mind, and the only thing you could do was fuck and suck like the dumb little slut that you were.

If anyone comments on this OBVIOUSLY TAGGED shame kink fic that it was "too embarrassing to read!! huehueuhe"/"i tried but i couldnt do it. too cringe!", I'm gonna come to your house and shit in your shoes, you coward. Get the fuck off my page.

[strlingsav]

Drive: Four

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Requested: @sarcanti 🫶🏻

For this anon too since it's pretty much the same thing!!

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Sipping intermittently from your room-temperature drink, your eyes reached Ghost's across from you. He was settled on a bar stool, watching you as you leaned against the bar, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze.

Music hummed from the speakers, a loud buzz inside the bar as it began to fill. It was late- dark and cool, nearing midnight without a shortage of people filtering in.

The two of you were content in your own world, hardly paying much attention to the conversation beside you; idle chatter from Soap and Gaz and a few other men you vaguely recognized from previous deployments.

Your leave was almost over; a few more days and you'd be back to base, far away from the cycle of unfamiliar habits. You missed the routine, knowing exactly what to expect day-after-day, but a break from the organized chaos and a little bit of freedom was enjoyable.

Simon opted to stay with you- a decision you'd not expected from him, brought up after he complained of having to stay in his own 'lonely flat'.

You'd meant it as a joke, an offer thrown into the air with no strings attached. It was another step toward something more serious than you were sure he was ready for, maybe more than you were ready for.

A nonchalant 'alright' was all he'd said, before he packed his bags and drove the two of you there.

In an effort to contain the growing relationship between you, you maintained that you were spending your leave with family. Your squad-mates were entirely unaware that the two of you were sharing your apartment, and you desperately wanted to keep it that way; you stayed light on alcohol to avoid any drunken confessions.

The bar was grimy and sticky, smelling like an ash tray and spilled beer, but it was comfortable. No obligations, no expectations- only Simon's blackened eyes undressing you from across the bar.

You were flustered, reasonably so, thighs squeezing together with the imagery of his long fingers gripping your waist instead of the glass in his hands. You broke eye contact, moving your attention to Johnny who'd been chatting away the entire time before it became obvious you were fantasizing about him.

You liked to keep your personal life private, especially from coworkers, even before yourself and Simon founded your new situation, if it were to be called anything. You liked things that way, and it came with an added bonus; no one ever pried.

It made your secret affair a bit easier to keep secret. The only downfall being that with the eyes of your teammates watching every move, there was no palpable excuse as to why the stranger across the bar couldn't buy you a drink.

You could've lied, said you were married or seeing someone, but it would've created another layer of secrets you'd have to remember to keep. So, you sucked in a sharp breath, smiled politely and nodded curtly as he slid onto the seat beside you and handed you a beer.

Simon watched the entire exchange. His rationale had nearly all but gone, mostly replaced by a stinging sensation in his chest that threatened his temper. Even as your eyes met his across the table, and he could see the nervous smile on your lips, he felt nothing but betrayal.

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His eyes had finally left yours and were honed in on the smiling stranger leaning in close, brushing your arm with his. It made you cringe to imagine how it made him feel- Simon already had a bad temper, inexplicably enraged by the smallest things, and this man coiling himself around you was sure to make him combust.

You sneaked a glance up, your eyes meeting, offering an apologetic expression. It didn't seem to have the intended effect, as Simon stood from his seat, pushing off without a word.

"Where're you off to?" Johnny spoke up, catching Simon before he could slink away.

"Gotta piss," He muttered.

You watched his shoulders sway as he sauntered to the washrooms, an overwhelming amount of guilt settling in your gut.

You made polite conversation, but your body was stiff as a board. It was difficult to allow yourself to play into the charade of interest, especially with the man you truly cared about fuming just metres away.

Simon had reappeared, finding the man with his hand on your waist, his body caging you off from everything and everyone else. He couldn't handle it- watching the exchange made his stomach churn, his chest tighten with anger. He abruptly left his seat, lunging for the exit.

You cleared your throat, throwing back the final sip of beer before turning to the stranger with a meek smile.

"Thanks for the drink. I've got to get heading out, though," You mumbled, your attention focused on Simon.

You offered a short goodbye to Johnny and Kyle, who seemed just as perplexed by your quick escape, before sliding from your standing position. The stranger didn't have a chance to reply; you were dead-set on the exit, hurriedly walking out to escape the clutches of his unwanted advances.

You found Simon leaning against the rough brick of the building, a lit cigarette lighting up the outline of his lips.

You wanted to blurt out, 'I'm sorry', but a trickle of resentment- and pettiness- made its way to your thoughts before that- you hadn't had the conversation yet. Maybe you never would.

You knew your situation was wrong, entirely wrong, and illegal- but the part of you that hadn't yet become numb to normal interactions wondered if that was what he even wanted; if he wanted only you.

"You done with your li'l show?" He asked, nonchalant, uncaring, but it had a bite to it.

"My show?" You repeated, watching him stand to his full height as he scuffed out the cigarette.

"With that bloke," He nodded his head, gesturing to the bar. "Lettin' him buy you a drink, touch you." His tone was venomous, accusatory- and you hated it.

"What was I supposed to do?" You scoffed.

"You've got a mouth, haven't you?" He was stepping toward you.

"That's not fair," You said, tilting your head. "People were watching."

Your voice faltered as he closed in on you, your eyes meeting his and finding the glazed-over expression of pure anger in his gaze. It made you feel guilty; maybe not irrationally so, but guilty nonetheless.

You wanted to go home, wanted to forget how you made him feel, forget how guilty your conscience was even when the stipulations of your situation weren't clear.

You turned on your heel, heading toward the parking lot at a leisurely pace, hoping he'd catch on that you wanted to drop it and go home.

"You want fuckin' fair?" He called, quickly catching up to you with fewer strides, slowing as he watched you pull the door of his truck open. "I ain't the one bein' felt up right in-fuckin'-front o'you." His hand reached the side of his truck.

You exhaled sharply, before turning to face him. Your glare was suffocating, standing to your tallest height as you furrowed your brows. He had cornered you against the truck, scowling down at you, though your expression could more than contend with his.

"You haven't asked me not to fuck or see other people," You threw your hands up, continuing before he could interrupt you. "Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

There was silence for only a few beats, before he moved even closer. You knew it wasn't entirely true- neither of you had made the effort to discuss where exactly you were headed. Your flustered judgement got the better of you.

"You been fuckin' other blokes?" He asked, suddenly stepping closer, his voice quivering ever-so slightly. It wasn't sadness in his tone, it was jealousy, anger.

You tilted your head, nearly astonished by his ability to avoid the most prevalent argument in your statement. Regardless- it wasn't entirely the lack of commitment that lead you to accepting the strangers advances, it was the presence of your squad mates. Nonetheless, you'd honed-in on his noncommittal attitude and had no patience for hypocrisy.

"You expect me to believe you haven't been sleeping with other people?" You shot back, watching his eyes dart back and forth between yours.

You held your breath, subconsciously; you knew the answer you wanted- you wanted him to tell you it was special. You were special- but your Lieutenant wasn't that kind of man.

"Yeah," He answered, deadpanned and stern. "'Cause I haven't." He leaned in even closer, nearly nose to nose as he shrunk himself down to your face. "Answer my fuckin' question."

You gave a harsh no, hidden behind gritted teeth and tight lips. He was shrouded by anger, and instead he spoke over you, pupils expanding in the darkness, redness pooling in his neck and chest.

"Got me on a fuckin' leash while you're out shaggin' other people," He spat.

"I haven't slept with anyone else," You said. "But if you don't want to be tied down, you've always been free to leave." Your hands flailed as you fought back the tears welling in your eyes.

It had been a while since you'd been close to tears; especially because of a man. The familiar sting in your eyes, the lump growing in your throat. You'd had little expectation that Simon would be much different from others before him, and a part of you hoped otherwise, but it still caught you off-guard.

He straightened his back, still caging you in behind his arm. He released a quiet breath, his shoulders dropping as he took a moment to process the conversation.

"Didn't say that," He uttered, reeking of nonchalance, and a hint of surrender.

"You did," You said. "If it's how you feel, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore." Your gaze pored into his, unbreaking and persistent.

Your vision was blurrier than before, your voice threatening to waiver, crack, but your composure was held together by the pitiful hope that he'd do what you wanted- what you needed.

He retracted his hand, idling awkwardly while he searched his mind for a response. You watched his eyes dart from yours, cogs turning.

"That what you want?"

Your brows furrowed. "No."

He was quiet again- a common reoccurrence but not usually with you. He had his moments of silence, though his stone-like stance put you off. The calloused part of you had already begun to wall-off the the feelings you'd since developed for him, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes and clearing your throat.

Sudden chatter outside the bar alerted you both, remembering that inside were the coworkers you'd been trying to avoid. Simon cleared his throat, standing up straight.

"Get in," He muttered, holding the door as you slowly turned to jump into his truck.

Once settled beside you, he turned the truck over, heading for your apartment. There was more silence- hardly even the sound of breathing. He didn't look your way, or rest his hand on your thigh, and a part of you took it as a premonition for the difficult conversation to come.

You'd poured a glass of wine by the time he returned from your room- dressed in only his sweatpants, void of his mask; vulnerable. You stood at the counter's edge, taking a slow sip to avoid speaking while he stared at you.

There was only the sound of deep breaths, a stalemate while you locked eyes. Simon knew he'd crumble- you'd grown too valuable to let slip away- but not without delving into the evening's events.

You sighed as he neared, wandering almost aimlessly through your apartment. Your shoulders collapsed in defeat; growing tired of the silent war waging itself between you.

"What are we doing? Where is this going?" You sighed, catching his eyes as you looked up.

As badly as you wanted to fix the anger and frustration brewing beneath your skin, you knew it would take a lot- maybe more than he'd give. You'd known from the start he wasn't like usual men, and you didn't expect him to be, but the issue at hand was starting to snowball.

"Whad'you want? You want a ring? A kid?" He tilted his head, chest expanding as he neared the kitchen island.

You shook your head, ignoring the mockery in his tone, "I need to know you want me. Only me. Even just for now, not forever. But if not-" Your lips rubbed together. "I can't keep risking my job for something going nowhere."

"My arse has been on the line too," He reminded you, his hand finding the counter. "A lifetime's worth of hard work and shite I ain't proud of- threatened by you. I wouldn't've bothered with any of it if I didn't want you."

"That's not what I meant," You tilted your head, examining his eyes. "I appreciate the risks of our situation-"

"I don't think you do," He moved even closer. "I'm riskin' everything just by bein' here. That ain't an answer for you? Doesn't tell you how fuckin' much I want you?" His breaths were heavy once he'd finished his sentence.

You blinked- shocked by the unexpected passion coming from a man whose stoicism was unmatched by anyone you'd ever known.

He set his jaw, working up the courage to solidify what you wanted desperately to hear. It was like he was choking for air, his chest tight, deeply afraid to offer his trust and commitment, aloud, without something tangible to prove you'd reciprocate it.

His jaw clenched again, his eyes flickering between yours, deciding once and for all that he'd without-a-doubt take what you'd offer without a second thought, even if he had to lay his peace of mind on the line.

"'M with you. Only want you." He stared at you, moving closer. "Don't want anyone else havin' you, either. Call it whatever you like but I ain't been subtle about it."

His words melted away the grudge you'd been holding, finding solace in his words. You had no intention of holding on to anger, especially not as he peeled back the layers of armour protecting him from being hurt. Your lips pursed, biting your lip before meeting his eyes.

"I feel the same," You answered, nodding firmly, meeting his eyes. There was a brief pause, preparing yourself to offer your commitment. "I should've said so sooner, but I only want you, Simon." Your words softened, melting slowly into his ears before settling in his stomach with weight and warmth.

It was so genuine, so utterly vulnerable he was nearly overwhelmed. For a moment, he almost forgot how poorly it could end. It was just the two of you; two people in a normal, mundane relationship, in the dim light of your kitchen, exchanging a stare that dared to pull you into an alternate universe where you didn't have to worry.

He hummed softly- a surrender. He gently, almost begrudgingly, pulled you into him by the fabric of your shirt, a soft kiss against your lips that was like sealing a deal- an exchange of commitment.

Still a bit irritated at your lack of observation, he threatened to pull away. Before he could, you teetered on your toes, moving to drape your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You held him close, pressed against your body as you reconnected your lips.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. "I should've known better."

When he hummed in response, you kissed his lips again. He was stiff against you, though you felt him relax into your touch while you spoke in his ear.

"I'm glad you're here. Happy you're here."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before he pulled you in by your waist, his lips engulfing yours with warmth and wetness.

You hummed softly, leaning into his touch, standing taller to press your lips against his. You exhaled softly as he slid his tongue against yours, parting your lips with force.

His warm, strong hands tugged you closer, hand moving to hold the side of your face as he guided you against his lips.

He grunted as he lifted you to his hips, large palms and fingers digging into the back of your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he began heading for your room; you kept your arms tangled in the short hair on the nape of his neck.

He sat down, your thighs landing on either side of his as you straddled his lap. You pulled your shirt over your head, breathless and rushed, before pulling him back in. His lips fit perfectly together with yours, his tongue sliding between your lips to collide with yours.

His hand clung tightly to your waist, while his other dipped beneath your waistband and panties, gently finding his way over your clit. Rough fingertips traced it softly, a jolt running up your back at the sudden pressure.

"Simon," Yoir voice was airy and desperate, your hands grabbing pulling him closer.

He grunted in response, hardly recognizing his name from your needy mouth, and instead was focused on how soft and wet you were, his warm lips making contact with your neck.

You moaned, cradling his head as he nipped and licked, biting softly at your neck, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You writhed against him, your thighs squeezing his between them, trying to stay still while his hand explored the flesh of your pussy.

Your soft moans were muffled by his neck, panting quietly into his skin as your fingers grasped at his back. Your lips made contact with his neck, sloppy and haphazard, making your way to the sharp crease of his jaw before finding his lips. He couldn't help but press into you, grind his already-hard cock against you, finding some measure of relief and pleasure.

"Doin' my fuckin' head in, you know that?" He breathed, warm breath against your neck that made you shiver.

A subtle nod between soft moans was accompanied by a meek and stubborn, "Yeah. I'm sorry."

His hand slipped from your pants, reaching for his sweats as he began to slide them down his hips.

You stood from his lap, slowly pulling your jeans down your thighs until they pooled on the floor, nudging them with your foot before dropping to your knees. You inched forward, your eyes meeting Simon's with an apologetic look- one that intrigued him as much as it turned him on.

"Go on," He nodded. "Let's see how sorry you are."

Your cheeks flushed as his hand came to your cheek, following your lead as your lips puckered around the tip of his cock. He nearly shivered- each time was like the first all over again, unable to overcome the feelings of pure lust when he watched you on your knees.

Your lips wrapping around his cock, eyes locking with his when you'd take him deeper into your throat. The feeling of your throat closing when you'd gag on his dick made him grunt quietly and subconsciously grab a fistful of your hair while he resisted the urge to fuck your throat until you couldn't breathe.

He liked watching you struggle to take it all- the desperation to please in your eyes, the shift in your hips to ease the growing discomfort of your swollen, almost sore, clit. He'd take care of it- always did, always would.

He'd close his eyes only momentarily to listen to your mouth; sloppy sounds of saliva and sucking in sharp breaths. He preferred watching, though, especially when your eyes began to water, your nose began to run, and you'd be sliding your hand up and down his cock to ease the pain in your jaw.

You met his gaze again- eyes half-shut, cheeks flushed, his hand on the back of your head as he guided your lips up and down his cock.

"That's good," He muttered, "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

Your heart would race when he praised you, soft murmurs of thanks that vibrated against his cock. He grinned momentarily while you tried to talk with a mouthful of his cock.

"Come 'ere," He leaned back. "Come sit on it, love."

You stood, allowing him to guide your hips over his lap, his eyes settled on yours as he helped you slowly take every inch. Your mouth fell open with disbelief- your lubricated walls drew him in without resistance, his calloused hands on your waist helping to lower you down.

"Right there," He muttered, finally exhaling as your bodies were flush together. "Good fuckin' girl."

Sitting up straight, his hand moved around to grab a handful of your ass, suddenly pulling you forward. A sharp gasp left your lips, falling into his chest with your palms.

You couldn't resist, regardless of how sore your hips were, stretched out from the position, your thighs aching; you rolled your hips forward, a shiver and quiet moan of satisfaction coming from your lungs.

Your arms draped around his shoulders, enthusiastically grinding your hips against his, slowly rising up and lowering yourself to feel his cock push back up inside you. Your soft pants hit his ear, warm breath bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin.

He pulled you close, his own quiet grunts could be heard in the quiet of your room, especially as your pace sped up. His fingers would squeeze your waist and ass, gripping tightly so you wouldn't stop.

"How's it feel?" He asked, turning his head to watch your lips part with a deep moan. "You like ridin' my cock, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," You mumbled. "Yes- fuck, please touch me," you whispered against his neck, your body hunching over his.

His spread his thighs, his fingers finding your clit as you continued to bring yourself up and down on his cock. Your head fell back, fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.

Encircling your clit, his touch, combined with his girth sliding in and out, was more than enough to have your stomach tightening. Your moans had turned to choked gasps for air as you neared your climax, strong fingers still keeping their pace on your clit, black eyes watching you fall apart on his cock.

You froze, squeezing his cock as you came, harsh waves of pleasure that made you shudder. He sounded strained, holding in every sound that threatened to spill while your pussy clenched around him.

Rather than waiting for you to gather your composure, he lifted his hips up and began thrusting into you. It was slow at first, quickly turning needy and desperate when he saw the sweat on your brow, and disheveled expression.

"Fuck," He grunted. "Will y'let me cum in you?"

You nodded, too dazed for words, and his own anticipation got the better of him.

"Oughta get you pregnant," He huffed. His hand trailed up your waist, to gather your hair in his fist and pull. "You want it? Wanna be all fuckin' mine, don't you?"

You nearly sobbed, a quiet cry leaving your lips when his grip on your hair tightened and he forced your hips forward to meet his.

"I'm all yours," You answered, nearly all air, breathless amidst his chase for orgasm. "All yours, Simon."

Your words pushed him over the edge, a crippling hold on your waist holding you in place as he thrusted a few more times, forcefully. A low growl against your ear as he came inside you made you shiver, especially as his warm cum filled you.

"All mine, yeah?" He said, his breathing heavy.

You nodded against the side of his head, exhaling harshly.

You couldn't help but feel conflicted at the bittersweet revelation. You were his- entirely, but decades of playing pretend was not what you'd expected for yourself. You fell into him, ignoring the gnawing in your gut and pretending that the reality you'd created for yourselves was forever.

[fictionismyreality3]

Halloween w/ the 141

Warnings: none I think???

Notes: this is my first post back since moving house! Yay! 😎🤘

Soap is the one who tries to convince the squad to go trick or treating around base

fully ignores Gaz when he brings up the fact that all of them are legal adults 😭

besides christmas, Halloween is Soaps favourite holiday because of its Celtic origins, and it will be impossible to shut him up once you get him talking about how bonfire was actually a Celtic word originally and-

you’re screwed if he starts talking about Mari Lwyd

going shopping for Halloween costumes is either gonna be a last minute thing or a full day event

Price will be driving because god forbid simon gets behind the wheel he has the biggest car and Gaz will bring the snacks

Ghost is only there to reign soap in every time he tries to run off because he found another skeleton costume

they should really invest in a child leash 🤭

i fully believe Simon will refuse dressing up, insisting that he literally already looks like he’s in costume just in his balaclava, but price convinces him to go along with it in the spirit of ✨team bonding✨

the whole base will be decorated one week into september thanks to Johnny

at first the plan was for everyone to be the incredibles but Kyle and Johnny got into a fight about who would be able to get elastagirl to fu-

that idea was quickly abandoned

eventually it was decided that everyone would just go as whatever they wanted 🙄

gaz went as Batman

price found a black and yellow striped shirt and went as a bumblebee, yes he DIYed a headband with pipe cleaners and yellow pompoms

soap showed up in full, all out makeup dressed as chucky

Yes he chased ghost around the courtyard of the base

And simon? He just threw a white sheet over himself and called it a day

[mindisrotting]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 | simon "ghost" riley

tags | wife!reader, parenthood, a little angst, fluff, mentions of murder, not proofread (sorry for any mistakes)

special thanks to @athanasialove for inspiring this little fic <3

Imagine Simon Riley, who sometimes before going to bed thinks about the things he went through. He found friends, and he found love, unconditional love, but he will never forget what Roba put him through, all that torture and grief of having to see his lifeless family on the floor of his home.

He's become a tough guy, a ghost, but he still has feelings and emotions. Sometimes he feels paranoid, the thought that in some corner of this cruel world there's someone who wants to cause him pain by hurting those he loved, his wife and precious kids, won't leave his mind. They're his reason to live, to survive, to give the best of himself. His little family will always be the light at the end of this dark tunnel. So no matter how much he wants to brag about them—to tell his squad about the perfect goal his son scored on his last football match or how his daughter recently learned how to read, and now she will read every word she sees aloud—he's terrified. Until Task Force 141 is coming back from a mission that ended with him getting shot twice. The surgeon had told him that he got lucky, if the second bullet had perforated a few centimeters more up, he would be in a body bag instead of laying on a hospital bed.

When you picked up a phone call from an unknown number, the last thing you expected to hear was your husband shaky’s voice. With tears in your eyes, you listened as he told you everything. Even though that wasn't the first time he's got hurt on the job, it was the first time he did since growing his own family, and it unlocked a new fear he never experienced before. He never wanted to leave you, not like this. When he asked you to do something, he wasn't thinking about the enemies he's made in all his years of service, he wasn't thinking about everyone seeing them in broad daylight.

When the military plane landed, and everyone got out to reunite with whoever was waiting for them to come home, everyone assumed Ghost would just say goodbye to Johnny and be on his way alone. But he went down the aircraft steps rapidly, because in the distance, he saw two little people running towards him with an older person walking behind them. He got down in one knee and opened his arms, waiting to feel the impact. When it did, he cried—the last time he shed any tears was when his daughter was born at only 28 weeks, she was so fragile and small, but she was a survivor—feeling the warm hug of his seven and four-year-old, it was the best feeling in the universe having two tiny humans yell “Daddy!” at the tops of their lungs and saying how much they missed him. Johnny was bewildered, because he never knew those people existed. He looked at Price but he was just as shocked, he looked away knowing it wasn't his business. Then came you, his beautiful wife of nine years, the mother of his children, his bridge, his strength, his everything. You, too, cried as you hugged him, knowing that he’s home safe and well. You stayed like that for longer than normal because Simon refused to let go of you.

When he was laying in the bed of his cold hospital room, he knew he needed to see you as soon as possible. He couldn't wait for the aircraft to land at base and then take another flight and drive an hour to his home in the countryside of England. He begged you to go with the kids to the base, and without hesitation you agreed, knowing this is what he needed.

He unwrapped his arms from you and took your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs while his kids stood patiently. Then, your gaze directed from his brown eyes to the man standing looking at the scene, you motioned to Simon to turn around. He told you who the man was and crouched down to meet his kids’ eyes.

“wanna meet uncle Johnny?”

[sadist1224]

After Soap died, you were the second to leave.

The hunt for Makarov is back, everything is happening too fast and unexpectedly. They find you in the woods, huddled against a tree. You desperately tried to stop the bleeding from the wound on your stomach, but your strength left you earlier. You didn't wait.

Price decides not to accept any more recruits into their squad. The ghost spends all his strength just not to go crazy.

The Gas goes out the third. He literally dies in Price's arms. The captain had never felt so helpless.

There are two of them left.

The ghost feels Price's roof tearing up. The man is literally furious. No matter how these two hold on to each other now, and no matter how their shared hatred tears apart their enemies…

Price leaves fourth, leaving the Ghost alone.

Gawst doesn't talk. It is ironic that he is the one who lives almost to a ripe old age, in some kind of nursing home for veterans.

He closes his eyes for the last time in his wheelchair, at the age of about ninety, only to suddenly wake up in a green clearing, in the middle of a blooming forest, in summer, to the singing of birds. He is young again, his hands are clean, and he is unusually calm.

He sees Johnny first. Happy and smiling.

Alive.

The sergeant laughs, slaps him on the shoulder, pulls him, still shocked, after him, and the Ghost follows, clutching Sop's hand so tightly, afraid that he will simply disappear. Johnny doesn't mind.

He takes him out a few minutes later from a two-story house, driving the lieutenant inside, where Price is sprawled on one of the sofas. He smokes a cigar and reads a book while you and Gaz cook something in the kitchen, singing and playing.

And everything is so peaceful and calm. Comfortably. At home. You run to the Ghost of the second, as soon as you see him, to jump on his neck and not let go. Gaz comes up third, dropping a funny comment, in your direction, so that you already let go of the stunned Riley. Price approaches the fourth, putting his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder.

And he doesn't understand what's going on. The ghost was sure that he would go to hell. But now he sees his team in front of him. Your family, alive and happy. And only now does he realize that he is not wearing a mask. Finally.

I just want them to be happy because they deserve it.

in general, it can be presented as a prologue for AU rebirth in some fantasy world, or in the world of werewolves or something else. I just need it.

[kriffingstars]

Johhny MacTavish; Price's hands are tied, for now

pairing: Johnny MacTavish x Price!Reader summary: Price doesn't know how to keep you away from a very charismatic scotsman who definitely has the hots for you warnings: verrrrrry slight age gap (I imagine reader to be around 20, Johnny is 26), drinking a/n: I hope you enjoy this anon, I'm excited for Reader to meet the rest of the 141 squad eventually!

Price's Niece Masterlist

Naafi: It's what the bar area in the bases are called. The nicer ones usually have a pool table, maybe darts, and drinks are normally pretty cheap.

Johnny texts you back straight away - so you have his number he says.

The next few weeks of his leave are spent on and off texting him and it's not like you can hide this from your Uncle. He gives you a warning look whenever your phone chimes.

"Relax, we're just friends. He says hello by the way," you add, your smile mirroring his in the way your cheeks scrunch slightly.

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he grumbles, going about the kitchen as he makes himself a brew. Maybe it isn't too early for a whisky?

Johnny pops in to see the both of you on his way back to base, with the excuse that it's a long drive and breaking up the journey is easier. Price knows full well he's driven in much more uncomfortable vehicles for much longer when they've been away.

But they're not away right now, and there's no way he can justify not letting Johnny come round to his niece.

When they're finally back on base things seem to be going back to normal. They're all busy (maybe that's because Price keeps it this way) and finding time to text you, for either of them, is few and far between.

Price starts to relax a little, there's been no mention of you from Soap and you haven't mentioned him either, not the he comes up in the mundane conversation between the two of you.

Usually, you reminding him not to spend hours in his office pouring over paperwork, like he does when he's at home and him checking in on you, making sure you're remembering to eat in between working on your assignments.

It's not until he does actually heed your warning and spends his evening in the Naafi with the lads that his alarm bells really start ringing.

In between pints and banter, Soap is continually checking his phone. It's vibrating in his pocket every few minutes or so and he's quickly smiling at the device and firing off a response.

It's Gaz who's the first of them to say anything.

"Someone caught your eye on leave or something? You've been on that thing all night," he teases, as Soap's eyes widen, a light flush on his ears.

Price perks up at that, he's not stupid. He knows it's likely you're the mystery sender. It's frustrating, he can't tell you who you can and can't be friends with, but there's a niggling feeling that despite your insistence that you just get along with the man, that something else is brewing.

"Aye, something like that. Just a friend though." he coughs, avoiding eye contact with Price completely.

Confirmation. It is you. Your texts are a lot more regular than the 'every now and again' you said they were before he left.

"Good for you man, must be a godsend to put up with you though,"

They laugh, as the conversation moves on. The rest of the night is fairly nondescript. Just the usual banter and chatter fill the evening until Ghost begins to bid his good evenings, heading back to the bunks.

Gaz gathers the empty glasses, quickly taking them back to the bar, before chatting to whoever was bartending that night.

"I'm not saying anything."

That's all Price needs to put the fear of god in Soap, he doesn't need to say any more to get the message across, loud and clear. Don't get involved, don't take this too far.

That night Price lies awake, mind running through all the ways he can nip this in the bud. He can't tell either of you to stop, what he can do, is make sure Soap has a lot less time to be talking to you.

Over the next couple of days, he gives Soap the job of inventorying the entire armoury. It's tedious, boring and most of all time-consuming. Every weapon and piece of equipment needs to be carefully dismantled, examined, cleaned, and put back together, before logging on the ancient computer that crashes every twenty minutes or so.

You don't hear much from either of them, until you get a call from your Uncle, just as you're sitting down to eat.

Dinner abandoned, you fill him in on how uni is going, you're currently on your early Italian module, and thinking about trying to get some work experience over the summer in Florence.

"I'm sorry I haven't called more, sweetheart. We've been up to our eyeballs in admin."

It's okay you promise him, as long as he's not working ridiculously late into the night.

This pattern continues for the next few days and the other guys are starting to pick up that something is going on. Soap's been getting a lot of the tasks that some of the less experienced guys usually do.

Price uses that as his excuse, muttering something along the lines of, "If you want it done properly, you need to do it yourself."

Or send the guy that you're trying to keep away from your niece.

It doesn't come to a head until Ghost knocks on his office door, one afternoon.

And he asks, and reluctantly Price divulges a bit more information.

"Soap's been distracted recently, he needs to get his head in the game, Lieutenant."

He knows he can't carry on with this, he's letting his, and now their, private life interfere with work, but he doesn't know what else he can do. He can't give Soap a bollocking for something he hasn't done yet, and he knows better than speaking to you about the matter.

You'd be a good officer he thinks, as you diplomatically shut down his attempts to bring up your budding friendship.

That night is spent sipping on the whisky from the bottom draw of his desk, and nursing one of his favourite cigars.

[oldtvlover]

Hi guys,

as promised some picture update time since I nearly caught myself by now. lol

So, more pics for you and Gifs as well. Busy, eh?

You know the episode now when Johnny drives the squad at the end. *grins*

Enjoy!!

[applejuicebegood]

My Home, My Heart - Platonic!141 x Reader

Fem!reader Summary: Y/N has two younger sisters named Emi and Marigold. Y/N has invited her teammates to her farm relax after their deployment, they enjoy an early morning together with Y/N's younger sisters. Masterlist

Cw: Mentions of an absent mother, mentions of alcohol, very cringe writing

Word Count: 2232

The morning air was cold and thick with the scent of brewing coffee and dusty curtains. You winced, pulling yourself from your cocoon of quilts and comforters. You reached for the knitted sweater you left on the floor with a yawn, still tasting last night's bourbon on your tongue. You scratched the back of your head, tangled hair falling down your back. A pleasant sting in your muscles drew you further into consciousness. The intricate tattoos stretching over the scarred skin was a prideful mapping of your stories and ancestry. A permanent reminder of what you cherished most. 

You made your way across the familiar path of your bedroom, your socked feet creeking across the worn wooden floor boards. You thumped down the stairs to squint away the morning light shining through the fogged windows. Tracing your nails across the scratches in the wooden railing as you did when you were little. Your farm house was quaint, nestled into a vast, rich, valley that was folded into the ocean cliffside. If you were lucky and the morning mists parted in time, you could see the sun kiss the churning waters golden. The property had been in your family for decades, the imprint of different generations found in the old oil-stained recipe books stored over your stove, the tablecloths and plaid quilts your grandmothers had sewed together by hand, the worn-in farming tools that you had been teaching your sisters to use, and in the welcoming promise of security you returned to after every deployment. You cared for this home, the same way it had cared for you and your sisters. So when money grew scarce and your mother abandoned the property, you joined the military, trained as a combat medic, and sent the majority of your checks back to the farm and into your sister's schooling. Little did you know that in joining the army and eventually qualifying as an SAS soldier, you would find yourself under the command of Captain John Price along with the other chosen candidates for the coveted 141 squad. In which you had managed to find the comfort of home far away from it. 

You had found it in their smiles and their hearty laughter. In Johnny's jabs at Simon for his British mannerisms and in your conversations with Gaz regarding his nightmares surrounding the night he first met the captain. You found it in your Price’s encouraging rants about bravery and in his habit to always make sure you had eaten at least one thing that day. You found it in random bars and around a deck of cards, in the bottom of cheap beer bottles and the barracks of the different bases you were rotated between. When you first joined, you believed that you had only two goals, make sure none of these men die, and if they do make sure they don’t die alone. It was only through the many bullets you had to dig out of their muscles and the frantic stitching of open wounds did you begin to see these men as your brothers rather than colleagues. You cared for them with disciplined tenderness, never treating them as broken but always ready to help fix and mend their wounds. And as your first year on the team stretched into three you eventually had invited them to spend a few nights at the farm. Before, only Gaz, Roach and Johnny found time to make the trip. It was only now that you had convinced everyone to come up for at least one night, with Price and his wife meant to be driving up that evening. It was meant to symbolize how far you had come as a team but also a merging between your two homes. A celebration of your camaraderie and friendship, or that's what you told yourself as you stocked up on ibuprofen for the inevitable hangovers you would have to deal with. Your sisters were ecstatic, to have someone else in the house to talk and play with other than you. You couldn’t blame them. In your phone calls with Marigold in the days leading up to your flight back, she couldn’t stop talking about how happy she and Emi were to see their uncle Johnny and to finally meet the mysterious Simon Riley you talked so much about. 

Your lieutenant was someone you knew didn’t have a home like yours to return to. You had never forced Simon into feeling obligated to accept your offer, even if you told him every holiday and summer season that he was welcomed in your home and that your sisters would love to meet him. So, when you made your way to the kitchen and saw from across the tiled counter that your youngest was sitting at his side, asking feverish questions about his tattoos while tracing them with her small chubby fingers, you felt a mixture of relief and pride bloom in your chest. ‘Morn’in… you sleep well?’ Gaz asks who stands at your coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. You smile, realizing that the tension that held his shoulders back and his jaw tight had finally dissipated. The cream cable-knit sweater was pulled up to his elbows so as to not get the fabric dirtied with coffee grounds. 

‘Of course.. How could I not after last night?’ He smirked, dumping fresh grounds into the machine. You were referencing the long card game you had played the night before. All of you finally went to bed when Roach’s slurred speech was entirely indiscernible, elated from the bottles of Geniuss Johny had brought from his trip into town that day with Simon. 

‘Well, you are still the only one who has managed to stay sober, that might change tonight once captain gets here’ Gaz says, you snickered as you pulled the fridge open, finding the coffee creamer. You handed it to Gaz, knowing he is the only one who likes the stuff, you stocked up. In a trade, he handed you a cup of coffee of your own. You took a generous swig, the dark liquid burned down your throat, waking you up. 

‘Y/N!’ The squeal of your little sister's voice made you smile widely, giggling at the way she perked up from Simon’s arms, finally noticing you. Her bright red hair was messy and tangled. Your old shirt she had chosen to sleep in hung from her small body with the tube socks bunching down her calves. You set the cup down before crouching down to pick her up and swing her into your arms as she ran into the kitchen, peppering her freckled cheeks and forehead with kisses. After coming back from every deployment, you tried to give your sisters as many kisses and hugs you think they missed when you were away.

‘There’s my little lass! What were ya do’in with our Simon there lovie? This early in ‘da morn’in?’ You cooed, brushing back the frizzy strands from her bright round face. Her arms pat your shoulders in her built up excitement. ‘He- He was tell’in me ‘bout the dwa’ins on his a~arms.. It’s like yours!’ She said pointing back at Simon, who sat idly on your couch. The one requirement you gave him was that he wasn’t allowed to wear his ski-mask in the house. You wanted your sisters to know the real Simon, not the soldier. You chuckled, looking back at your lieutenant, his lips drawn upwards as he looked down at his hands. Gaz reached over and ruffled your sister's hair before kissing her head and turning back to switch on your old stove and pulling out a large pan from your cupboard. ‘Was he now? That is just… huh’ You said fake-surprised. Only your baby sister could have gotten Simon to smile so easily. Gaz softly chuckled as you set your sister on the island counter. You heard Simon scoff, leaning back on the couch. You winked at Gaz, realizing that you and him now had the best blackmail for when you were back on base. ‘What do you want in your pancake’s Emi?’ Gaz asked you sister, fishing out the carton of eggs, fetched yesterday by Marigold from your coop. 

‘Chocolate please.. And blueberries!’ Emi said, swinging her feet ‘Is Roach and Soap up yet?’

You ask both of them, fetching another mug and pouring a cup of coffee for Simon. Carrying the fresh cup over to your lieutenant. ‘Kid’s knocked out cold.. really can’t handle his liquor. Johny’s up though.. Took Mari out to chop would I think’ Simon said, nodding as he took the steaming porcelain cup into his large hands. ‘Did he? We should fetch them in a few.. wanna get started on dinner prep after Gaz finishes up’ You say, looking out the window expecting to see your sister and Johnny with arms filled with pine logs, trudging through the thick build-up of snow. You sip your coffee, fat lazy flakes of white drift lazily from the hazy sky. In the distance you can see the plump black bodies of your cows stomping through the blanketed fields, swaddled in their winter coverings. The soft crackle of the wood stove in your living room blended together with the muted conversation struck up between Emi and Gaz. Emi asking him if he had cows and chickens in Birmingham like we do here. You turned at the shuffled Simon standing beside you. One of his hands in his sweatpants pocket with the other wrapped around the rim of his mug. You smiled, hoping that Simon felt the same collective comfort you felt any time you would look out from this window. ‘My sister would never! She.. Sh-’ ‘Oh but she would! She’s an absolute menace lassie..’ You groaned, leaning your head back. Johnny’s voice carried from the back porch. Only now did you realize that having your teammates and your sisters in the same room meant they now had every reason to share the many embarrassing stories of you they had collected over the years. You took another swig of your coffee, smiling at the sound of Marigold's high-pitched laughter as Johnny recounted one of the nights he had to drive you home from the bar with you entirely shit-faced, trying to grab hold of the steering wheel from the backseat. You smiled down at your cup, downing the last of the hot liquid. ‘I’m really glad you're here Si’ You say, just loud enough for the two of you. Looking up at him, you couldn’t tell if the softening of his eyes was from the coffee kicking in or your comment. Either way, to see your Lieutenant so relaxed was rare and welcomed. You were proud that you could give this to him. Repayment for all of the times he had listened to your rantings about your mom’s non-involvement in your sisters lives. For the late-night walks around the different bases after one of you had a nightmare. For the constant reassurance that you could stick behind him and the rest of the team for protection and certainty. He turned to you to say something, only you had turned away at the crack of the porch door opening and snowy boots being kicked off.

‘Y/N! is it true that you were captured by yanks and..and Johnny had to save you? Your sister asked you, her face flushed red from the bite of the cold and the swinging of your axe. Between your two sisters, Marigold looked the most like you. The gentle swoop of her freckled nose and chocolate brown eyes always was a surprisingly reminder that you shared her beautiful features. You took the pale bucket from her arms, filled with split cedar logs. Looking over her shoulder to glare at your sergeant, who winked at you as he unzipped his coat. Snowflakes falling off of his shoulders. ‘You go wash up lovie, breakfast should be done by then, Ya Gaz?’ You asked into the kitchen, receiving a muted ‘yea’ from Gaz. You gently squeezed your sister's icy cheeks. You kissed her hairline, her darker red curls peeking out from the green headband she tied her hair back with. She hurried up the stairs with a hum. You sighed, placing the pale on your hip. You watched as Johnny ruffled Emi’s hair as he got himself coffee before taking his place beside Simon, who still stood watching your snowy farm through the fogged window. You sighed, crouching in front of the wooden stove and opening the hatch. The dwindling flames licked your arms as you placed the fresh wood over the coals. The ambient shrill of laughter and the warm buttery scent of Gaz’s pancakes settled you. You shut the stove with a harsh click. You picked up your baby sister from the counter and set her on your hip, tsking at the chocolate smudged around her mouth. A clear indication that Gaz let her get into the chocolate chip bag. You smiled, looking out over your home. Realizing that the people you cared for the most were all here. Tucked away in your warm, hidden paradise. There would be no surprises, no alarms or sirens, no uncertainty and panic. For once, you were certain in the safety of your team and certain in your care and appreciation for them. You just hoped that they felt the same.

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 13 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 3.8k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Y/N watched as dozens of officers and guards move away. Squad cars and SUVs speed away into the night while some hurried-on foot. They were there, hiding in the ally port in the trees. Michael was next to Y/N watching in front of them.

            “Yo, come on, man we gotta roll,” C-Note worried.

            “You don’t got to do anything but wait right here and let them get ahead of us,” Michael stated, watching the cops in front of him.

            “I don’t know if we’re gonna get a chance, papi,” Sucre said.

            “Dogs,” Y/N whispered, spotting the German Shepards up ahead. “Fuck,” she mumbled.  

            “They’re coming right for us,” Sucre stressed.

            “Nobody move,” Michael ordered.

            The dogs came, slowly but surely as they were loaded into the truck. Everyone stayed quiet. Michael whispered, “They can’t smell us.” However, the dogs started barking loudly.

            “But they can see us,” Y/N hissed.

            Officers came with flashlights, slowly to them looking for the fugitives. However, they all stayed quiet. The dogs continued to keep barking, but they made a move for it.

            All of a sudden, Michael ushered them to run. Through the trees, bushes and grasses. They ran for what felt like forever. Eventually, they got to an old mill. They all crouched down.

            “Where the hell is the van?” Sucre questioned.

            Silence.

            “Eyetie, where in the hell is the van?” C-Note asked.

            “Ye of little faith…Come on, come on,” Abruzzi said.

            Michael grasped for Y/N’s hand, pulling her along as they ran. They found the van and all got in. Michael bashed the lights of the van telling them about being invisible. He got back in the van, sitting in front of Y/N despite wanting to sit next to her. He turned around, looking at her and she smiled. “It’s gonna be ok,” he whispered as he leaned in, kissing her cheek. “We made it out.”

            “John, where are the keys?” Lincoln asked from the driver’s seat.

            “What?” Haywire asked.

            “They keys, where are they?” Lincoln pressed.

            “I told you, in the garbage can by the trees in a plastic bag,” Abruzzi said.

            “What are you waiting for?” Lincoln spat at Haywire.

            “Oh, the keys…” Haywire mumbles, getting out.

            Once he was gone, Abruzzi gave the keys to Lincoln. The van turned on and then it went, leaving Haywire behind.

            They were driving down the road when T-Bag spoke up. “Hey, John, I’ve got to ask you why you were so intent on Lincoln driving here and you taking that particular seat?”

            “T-Bag you stole my fucking spot,” Y/N spat.

            “Wanna sit with your boyfriend, sweet cheeks? Too bad.” T-Bag mused. “Now, John, what is it exactly you got up underneath there, huh?” He revealed handcuffs and quickly cuffed Michael’s hand.

            “Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed watching the whole thing. `

            “What the hell are you doing?” Michael spat, seeing his hand cuffed to T-Bag.

            Abruzzi held up a gun to T-Bag’s temple. “You think that will stop me?” Michael kept pulling against the cuffs.

            Michael looked at T-Bag absolutely infuriated by his actions. “Think twice, Johnny boy. Hm? You shoot me, Pretty here’ll be draggin’ around 170 pounds of dead Alabama flesh with me. And considern’ how much you need to get this Fibonacci vendetta of yours, huh? I just don’t think you’re gonna be pullin’ that trigger,” T-Bag taunted, breathy.

            “No?” Abruzzi said, cocking the gun.

            “You’re gonna give me the key to those cuffs, T-Bag,” Michael threatened. “Give me the key, you son of a bitch,” he spat. Michael looked for the keys, but T-Bag expressed that they were between his teeth. Michael grasped him by the throat.

            “Come on. Spit it out!”

            “Spit it out!” Y/N yelled.

            However, T-Bag swallowed it.

            “You fucking bastard,” Y/N barked, slamming the back of the chair.

            The van kept going, but the tension was high. Y/N stood up and leaned over the chair to pop her head next to Michael. “It’s gonna be ok,” she whispered. “We’ll get you out even if I have to fucking slice his hand off.”

            “Y/N, not now,” Michael responded.

            “If you think I won’t gut you myself to get that key,” Abruzzi threatened, gun in hand. “You’re in for a big surprise.”

            “I encourage you to remember the last time you came at me with a knife…” T-Bag mocked.

            “Shut up! Shut up! Both of you!” Michael yelled, getting frustrated. “You can settle this in Mexico.”

            “How far to the airstrip?” Lincoln asked.

            “I guess five miles, maybe,” Michael muttered.

            Y/N leaned back and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Sucre then began to mutter about his girl and her pregnancy when Lincoln broke the conversation as there were police cars up ahead.

            “Fuck,” Y/N muttered, grasping onto the seat.

            The van pulled over and conversations began to talk about what is next. It was the only road, and they wouldn’t make it on foot. However, they agreed to go off the road, but the van got stuck. Everyone got out.

            Michael was still attached to T-Bag as everyone pushed the van, but no hope. More bickering happened as Y/N watched.

            If women were in charge of this, it would’ve been a completely different story. How, she was ready to see another woman again and get far away from a community of men. They agreed to run.

            Michael stayed with T-Bag as he looked at Tweener. Y/N turned around, walking back to see them talking.

            “This is as far as you go, my friend,” Michael said, halting Tweener.

            “What? No, you can’t leave me out here, not like this,” Tweener replied.

            “We had a deal, remember?” Michael stated.

            “Yeah, but come on, bro…” he scoffed.

            “You and I, we’re not bros,” Michael pressed. “And I don’t think you want me telling the guys what I know. Now walk.”

            Y/N’s eyes were fixed between the two. “Good luck,” Y/N muttered, voice sincere as she began to run with Michael and T-Bag as helicopters came. They hid from them by the cliff.

            They made it to a car which wouldn’t start as the engine was gone. Y/N sat on the hill with Michael, looking out. Therefore, they continued to run to an old warehouse/barn. Y/N stopped, catching her breath. However, as soon as Michael and T-Bag got in, hands were on them as they pulled T-Bag against a table. Pliers were found and Sucre tried to separate them but they were no good. Michael was getting more and more frustrated…Y/N had never seen him like this before. She stood away, letting the men work.

            T-Bag began to chuckle, but Abruzzi found a axe and all of sudden, chopped his hand off.

            Screams, loud and hot happened as Michael stepped away, shocked.

            “He’s lucky I didn’t take this to his head,” Abruzzi stated out of breath.

            Y/N just watched, eyes widened as she got flash backs to Sebastian and the rat a year and a half ago when he did the exact same thing. She walked into it in the basement of their villa in Italy.

            “You cut his… You cut his…” Sucre mumbled in disbelief and shock.

            Y/N saw how panicked Michael was and went straight to him. He was cradling his hand and Y/N took it. “Hey, hey,” she whispered, before cupping his cheek. “It’s me. Take a deep breath. Think of five things you can see,” she tried to calm him down. However, his eyes were focused on the hand on the ground.

            Then they were on the move again.

-

Warden Henry Pope had to make a call to the governor because Frank Tancredi’s daughter was now a fugitive

            “Yes, this is Warden Henry Pope at Fox River Penitentiary. I need to speak to the Governor,” Pope said. The line clicked through before Frank’s voice cut through. “Governor, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s been an–“

            “Are you watching this?” Frank cut through.

            “Watching what?”

            “I suggest you turn on your TV, Warden.”

            “I understand that, but your daughter has just escaped my prison and is on the lose.”

            The line went dead.

-

Running and more running. They stopped behind some trees. Police cars came by.

            “The airstrips on the other side of that field,” Michael told them. “Just 500 yards, and this whole thing’s over.”

            “He’s not moving,” Sucre expressed.

            “Every second we stay here is another change for them to find the plane,” Abruzzi says.

            “Not shit,” Y/N muttered.

            “We got to go now.”

            “Wait, wait,” Michael said grabbing Abruzzi’s arm. A police car came racing by. “All right, let’s go. Let’s go.”

            Then they were off again. Running and running.

            “Freeze, don’t move!” a police officer said.

            However, they kept on running. They ran across the field towards the plane. They spotted it, but it began to move. Police cars came racing by trying to capture them. Y/N knew…she knew then and there that they were going to miss it. It was moving and they were ot fast enough.

            However, as Michael says…have a little faith.         

            But they missed it. Police cars came.

            “What do we do now?”

            “We run,” Michael said, grabbing Y/N hand and pulling her across the field.

-

It’s been hours of running, over night and through the morning.

            “What the hell is that?”

            In the distance, a train whistle went, and they all walked a few steps to see.

            “Let’s go,” Lincoln says, running. “All we got to do is make it to the other side,” Lincoln yelled, running up to the train.

            Michael and Y/N were behind, as they continued to run. They watched as Lincoln and Sucre made their way through the train. Michael got up, grabbing onto Y/N’s hand and helping her up before going inside. Bellick shot a fire at them but missed.

            Then they got out on the other side of the train, running further. Then the race continued. Panting occurred as they finally stopped.

            “I thought I thought this out. I thought… You saw all those guys back there?” Sucre said out of breath.

            “The key is, they’re back there and we’re up here,” Michael said, trying to calm everyone down.

            “How long is that gonna last?” Sucre pipped, unsure.

            “Especially since we don’t have a pot to piss in, thanks to Abruzzi’s magically disappearing jet,” C-Note said, pointing to the mobster.

            “Hey, you were never gonna be on that plane, brother,” Abruzzi responded.

            “Don’t think I don’t know where you were going either,” C-Note said, pointing to Michael.

            “And where am I going?”

            “I don’t know. Utah?” C-Note exclaimed. “When were you planning on telling us about the money, man?”

            “What money?” Sucre pipped up.

            “The $5 million that Westmoreland planted in the desert in Utah,” C-Note shared.

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael muttered, walking forward.

            “You wish I didn’t know,” C-Note mocked.

            “Wait, wait, what money?” Sucre exclaimed.

-

Michael, Lincoln and Y/N were sitting on a dock. Y/N was focused on the water, feeling the sweat against her body as she let her feet dangle off the edge.

            “We need to dump them, now,” Lincoln said.

            “Can’t. They know about Utah,” Michael told him glancing around.

            “All the more reason to dump them,” Y/N muttered from behind Michael. He glanced over to see her looking at the water. “They are just bringing us down.”

            “If they get caught, the Feds will know exactly where we’re going,” Michael explained. “They’ll tell them. We just gotta make sure they stay afloat till we’re off in Utah, doing what we got to do.”

            “You really think the money is going to be there?” Lincoln asked.

            “Charles might have had a flexible relationship with the truth. But at the end… At the end there’d be no reason for him to lie about it. I figure, once we bag it, we cross over into Mexico. Take a whole bunch of bumpy, second-class bus rides till we hit Panama.”

            “You really got a fix on this dive shop thing, huh?” Lincoln joked.

            “Yeah,” Michael chuckled. “Right now, I wouldn’t mind swinging in a hammock for the next ten, twenty years.”

            “We got half the country after us,” Y/N said moving to sit next to Lincoln. “We aren’t going to make it to Utah or Panama.”

            “Not without help,” Lincoln added.

            “Veronica can’t help us,” Michael said, shaking his head.

            “How can you say that? We don’t have money, clothes…”

            “I already got all that,” Michael explained.

            “I thought the plan was Abruzzi’s jet,” Lincoln said.

            “Abruzzi’s jet was Plan A.”

            Michael shared that they were going to a place where he stored things. As they walked back, Michael explained they need to go somewhere so they can not look like cons however, a figure appeared.

            “Hi,” a little girl said.

            Y/N looked at her and then took a step. “Hi,” Y/N said, kneeling down.

            “What are you doing?” she asked.

            “We’re just fishing,” C-Note said, coming to crouch near the little girl.

            “With no poles?”

            “We like to fish with our hands,” C-Note explained.

            “Yeah, hand fishing,” Sucre chuckled.

            “I think the question is, what are you doing out here?” Michael asked, walking over.

            “Hunting,” she said. Her name was then called out.

            Her father appeared and instantly, he had a gun and explained to get away from his daughter. “You’re those guys from Fox River. Don’t any of you move a freaking muscle.” The man began to yell to get away from her. Y/N and C-Note got up and began to walk away.

            “Hey, it’s ok,” Y/N said, hands up. However, she was calculating, eyes darting around to see what she can do.

            Then Abruzzi grabbed the little girl and pointed the gun in the father’s direction. Yelling occurred between the two parties, but Michael stayed calm and collected. “John, let go of the girl.”

            However, it escalated. Abruzzi kept demanding to put the gun down and threatened to shoot. The man eventually put the gun down.

            Y/N went and grabbed the gun, holding it in her hand as Abruzzi let the girl go and she ran back. Michael asked where his car was and demanded the keys.

            Y/N handed the gun to Sucre and followed after Michael. They all got into the car and drove to Oswego. -

In the cramped, dimly lit interior of the stolen car, the tension was palpable. The quiet hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires rolling over the cracked highway filled the silence. Y/N sat in the back seat, wedged between C-Note and Sucre, her gaze fixed on the window as the world sped by in a blur. She barely heard Abruzzi muttering directions to Lincoln from the passenger seat or the hushed conversation between Sucre and C-Note. Her mind was somewhere else—far away from the chaos of their escape.

Michael sat beside her, his eyes constantly scanning the road, the tension in his body mirroring the weight they all carried. He glanced at Y/N, noticing the distant look in her eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. He leaned closer, his voice soft and concerned. "You okay?"

Y/N blinked, her focus shifting slowly to Michael. For a moment, she didn’t answer, lost in her own thoughts. Finally, she let out a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "I ruined him, Michael."

Michael frowned, his brows knitting together as he leaned in slightly. "Who?"

"Remington," she said, her voice thick with guilt. "He helped us… and now his career, his life—it’s over. I manipulated him. Lied to him. He didn’t deserve any of this."

Michael’s face softened as he placed a gentle hand on her knee. "You didn’t have a choice, Y/N. You did what you had to do to survive. We all did."

Y/N shook her head, her voice wavering as the weight of her actions pressed down on her. "He trusted me. I played with his emotions, made him believe in me. And now, he’s going to lose everything—his license, his reputation, maybe even his freedom. He could go to prison for what he did."

Michael’s hand remained on her knee, his thumb brushing in slow circles. "I know it’s hard, but Remington made his own choice. You didn’t force him to help us. He did it because he believed in you."

"But he’s a good man," she whispered, her voice breaking. "And I used him just like I used people before. I promised myself I’d never do that again."

Michael sighed, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I know. But we’re all running from something in here. And sometimes, the lines we swore we’d never cross get blurred. You didn’t mean to hurt him, Y/N. And when this is over… you’ll have the chance to make things right."

Y/N nodded, though the guilt still weighed heavily on her chest. The thought of Remington—his life shattered because of her—made it hard to breathe. She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.

"I just hope he forgives me," she whispered, her voice barely audible as the car sped on into the dark night.

Michael’s hand squeezed her knee gently, offering her a quiet, unspoken reassurance. But the heaviness in her heart remained.

“Where’s Oswego?” Lincoln asked.

“Half a mile, maybe,” Michael responded.

-

They got to a storage unit where they got shovels. Eventually, they got to a graveyard and stopped in front of a gravel. They all began to dig including Y/N. Still dressed like cons, they all focused on the task at hand.

“Somebody’s gonna see us,” C-Note said.

“Keep digging,” Y/N responded, a little grumpy from the lack of food, water and sleep.

“We’re gonna go to hell, guys. Swear to God, we’re gonna go to hell,” Sucre whispered.

Y/N got out of the hole while Michael gave her a trash bag. She pulled it up and placed it beside her. Michael opened the bag and began to pull out clothes, handing it to people. “Originally, this was supposed to be a week’s worth of clothes for me and Linc. But I figured you all need just as much as help as we do, so…” Michael explained.

“You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Fish?” Abruzzi retorted.

“That’s right, John. The heart. You remember what that is, don’t you?”

“Damn, Snowflake. This is tight, man,” C-Note said.

“It’s like I said, we gotta stop being cons,” Michael stated, handing Y/N a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, “and start being civilians.”

Everyone began to dress, but Y/N stayed still. Her eyes looked over them and Michael saw her, holding the clothes. “Behind me,” he said. She walked around and stood behind him as he turned, holding out his old sweater to block her. Y/N quickly changed.

Michael walked over to Linc, throwing a backpack. “Money, passports, prepaid phone cards.” Then he glanced at Y/N who looked at them. “But I didn’t expect to meet you, so–“

“–It’s fine,” she muttered. “I didn’t expect to meet you either.”

Michael walked over to her, his fist out, clenched. She put her hand out and opened it for him to put something in. He did and she looked down.

“My wedding and engagement ring,” she muttered.

“That’s one big rock,” Michael chuckled. “Must have loved you a lot.”

“Yeah, must’ve,” she whispered. Then she looked at the rest of the jewellery in her hand. Cartier bracelets and one ring beside her wedding tokens from Sebastian as well. “Pawn them,” she said. “We can make a lot. One of these bracelets alone costs like five thousand dollars and I swear my ring is at least thirty grand. It’s all gold,” she muttered. Michael took them back and placed them in the backpack.

Lincoln began to look at the passports, chuckling. Michael glanced over. “We’ll get you one.”

“If we get to my apartment in New York, I have five,” she responded. “Mob life,” she shrugged.

“Five fake passports?” he asked, and she simply nodded.

Lincoln pulled out keys and held them. “These?” he asked, holding the keys out.

“The keys to a car that’s waiting for us a couple of hundred yards from here,” Michael explained as he did up his tie.

“She’s coming?” he nodded to Y/N.

Michael nodded. “Indeed.”

“So, it’s the three of us or the six of us?” Lincoln asked.

“That’s the three of us,” Michael stated.

“They know?” Y/N asked, looking over to the group.

“Not yet,” Michael said.

Then, a dark SUV began to pull up, and Y/N sighed. Here they go again…on the run. Always on the run. Michael took a hard look at the guy, adjusting his tie as he narrowed. How did he know? He continued to stare at this man, almost as if hatred ran through him.

“We got go, hun,” Y/N said, tugging his hand. Then they were off again. They ran down some train tracks to the middle of the town, where they began to walk. Y/N threw her hair into a ponytail, before putting on her baseball cap and tucking the pony out the back. Michael caught up to her, walking beside her.

“You look quite dashing in your suit,” she stated, looking ahead. “Can imagine life before this…you this big-time structural engineer, all tailored in sharp, fine suits. Delicious,” she hummed.

Michael chuckled; however a man stopped them to ask the time which freaked Michael out slightly.

They got to a warehouse and Y/N stood in the corner while Lincoln walked off to make a call. She adjusted the pants as they were totally not her size and the shirt clung to her like cling-film.

Michael glanced over, seeing her adjusting her clothes. “You ok?” he asked coming up.

            “Yeah, just this bra is not doing wonders with all the running,” she chuckled. “But, its ok. Just no support.”

            He nodded. “Didn’t think to pack a bra,” he muttered.

            Y/N looked at him. “Why would you? Didn’t expect me in your life,” she stated, tying the pants.

            “Are you in pain though?” he asked. “With like no support?”

            She shook her head. “No, I’m ok.”

            Just then, Lincoln began to stumble back, falling to the ground and Michael and Y/N went over, leaning down beside him. He began to hyperventilate. Y/N began to rub his back, telling him to breathe.

            Veronica was dead and Steadman was alive.

            However, their proof was locked away in a safe house.

-

Here you go!

Hope you enjoy :)

I had so much fun writing this.

Much love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini @rougegenshin

[tojisun]

cw: power imbalance; voyeurism; hinted age gap n stuff; mean squad; gn reader

im so sorry for going back to spanking but its still so hot to think about being spanked as punishment and made to count the amount of smacks, but if you get it wrong you have to start all over again :(

and just.

Thinking about Price making a show out of you in front of his subordinates; how he had gripped your arm to hiss something to you, leaving you to tremble in your embarrassment because everyone could hear him scold you, before pulling you away. But then his squad followed with their own thundering footsteps echoing behind you and—

Why?

Why are they here to see your undoing?

John had yanked you to his lap with something mean dripping from his maw, and you hiccupped, telling him your sorry’s and your please’s as your eyes danced to the giddy ones of his squad because why were they not looking away—

John told you to count your punishment, driving you to tears when every painful smacks grew in strength and in numbers at every of your mistakes. You begged him for a reprieve, sniffling when his silence was all that you could hear; when even the comfort of his familiar drawl was kept from you.

Hell, his squad was even louder.

Kyle would croon about how beautiful you looked; how good you were being; how John — and he said John’s name in that way that made you feel excluded; like he is more to John than you could ever be — “is being too mean, isn’t he? Oh Sir, why don’t you be kinder to your darlin’, huh?”

His… kindness was terrifying. It made you feel caged; backed into the corner until the heavy drop of John’s hand on your rear was more of a comfort.

Johnny was meaner; his words were vitriolic and skirted the edges beyond teasing — they made you feel like the rookie you are. He would huff a pleased laugh at your squeaks and squeals, and at your floundering words. He would croon at your every plea, almost mocking whenever you flounder and end up restarting. It was humiliating, yes, but—

It was Simon who made you feel the brunt of your punishment the most. His near-silence would only be broken up whenever he talked to John — telling him to switch hands or to fall to the other mound of your ass; telling him to pull your uniform further down because he couldn’t see; then grunting when he was satisfied.

John returned their chatter, his voice switching from the rugged way he rumbled to you into a softer cadence — a hospitable host.

“What number is it, kid?” Your captain grunts, his roughened palm rubbing along the welts on your ass in faux comfort. The calm before the storm. A stalking hunter.

You hiccup, your throat aching and your eyes throbbing because amidst the shuffle of their conversation, you realize that you’ve lost count. That you no longer remember.

You grip his fatigues, trying to bite down the sobs dancing along your pinched lips, but John’s hold gains edge. It gains strength, fingers tightening on your bruised skin.

“Must I always repeat myself?” He sighs, and you jolt at the feeling of his hand leaving your body.

No—

“Thirteen!” you reply, yelling.

There is silence, then the sound of Johnny snickering. Your stomach swoops, your body locking up at the realization.

You gave John the wrong number.

[mrsparrasblog]

Highschool AU pt.2

Summary: You and your Brother moved away from Austria because of your parents Divorce, making you attend Northbridge Academy in Exeter, England. On your first day you meet the bullied Simon Riley and the overly extroverted John MacTavish. As if dealing with puberty, sports and your grades wasn't hard enough you fell in love not only with your Bestfriend Simon but also with Johnny, that Johnny was in love with both of you didn't make the Dynamic better

Pt.1

November 1990

As the days passed, you fell into a comfortable routine. You made a point to sit next to Simon in every class, despite Johnny's attempts to claim the seat besides you. You got used to Johnny though; he was funny and surprisingly smart. He even beat you in physics once, which made you incredibly mad. You always wanted to excel in academics; sometimes it felt like it was the only thing you were good at—getting good grades. If you couldn't be good at that, what special thing would be left in you?

"Lizzie, it's just an A, who cares if it's not an A+? You won't die from it," Simon nagged. He never understood your drive to excel in school. He wasn’t bad himself, though; he mostly got Bs, especially in math, history, and chemistry. He had some Cs in English and Housekeeping —claiming it was unimportant for him that he did poorly in sewing. He was right, though; that's why you didn’t pick that incredibly dumb subject and chose advanced German instead, which was like a free pass for you. Unfortunately, you were in the same class as John, the annoying new friend of your brother. He was always so flirty, although he was cute.

"How do you know? Maybe I'll fall dead on the ground in the next second."

"Would be a blessing for some of us," Simon replied. After a few weeks of school, you were surprised to find out that Simon wasn’t like he looked. He wasn’t shy and uncomfortable; he pulled lots of jokes—bad ones—next to you. Worse, his humor was dry and mean, making you chuckle all the time, which he secretly loved.

"You're an idiot, Si."

"And still, I'm your favorite, Lizzie."

"Only because Johnny isn’t a real challenge to you."

"Don’t let Johnny hear that; he will be mad."

"Maybe he needs a bit of an ego shrink," You laughed.

Simon and you walked towards your table. It was like in all those American movies you watched when you were allowed to watch TV. Tiffany and her squad had their own table, and then there were tables full of footballers where Kyle sat most of the time, except when Johnny begged him to sit with you. Michael, like the perfect big brother he was, was always where you were. And where Michael was, John and sometimes Nik would be, if he didn’t spend 90% of his time in detention.

Every Thursday was mail delivery day, the best part of the week. You always looked forward to a letter from Dad. He told you about all the different places he visited for work, and there was always a postcard in the letter. You had over 120 postcards, all placed on the wall of your dorm. At least that made you feel at home. Northbridge Academy wasn’t as bad as you feared at the beginning. The teachers were great, the school was fun, and you had Simon and Johnny. The only downside was my dorm mates. While the boys were more than lucky despite Si complaining about Michael's snoring, they still had a nice group. Meanwhile, you were stuck with Tiffany, Laurie, and Anne in a room, and it was even worse than you imagined.

Simon opened his mail, and his expression changed. He tried to regain his composure quickly, but he couldn't fool me. You knew something was up, so you poked him under the table, trying to get his mail. Surprisingly, he gave it to you without any further resistance, and for once, You wished he hadn’t.

Hello Simon, Im on a camping trip with your Mom and Thomas. Don´t bother coming over the long weekend. We wont be there. Stay at your trust fund school. Dad 

"Si—"

"No, Lizzie." He stood up and left the table, surprising everyone else who hadn’t noticed anything. Typical boys. You followed him into his dorm and sat next to him on the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's not a big deal, Lizzie. They're just on vacation."

"Is it?"

"Lizzie."

"You know you could come with Mich and me. Mom wouldn’t mind at all; she loves hosting people and all that stuff. We can spend more time together, and you don’t need to stay in this musty room—like, really, do you boys even clean?" You laughed at the chaos of the room. Everywhere, there were paint stains, football shoes, and, on what you guessed was Nik’s and John’s bed, an E-guitar was placed.

"Lizzie, it’s okay. You know I can practice a bit before the start of ice hockey season."

"Pleaseeeeeeee." You looked at him with puppy eyes. I needed him to come with me.

"Okay, but only this once." He agreed, and you gave him a big bear hug.

SIMONS POV 

"Whit dae ye mean ye gang hame wi' Ellie?"

"Was invited," I said shortly.

"Was invited too," John chimed in, while he tuned his guitar, making noises not safe for humanity.

"How come is a' body invited 'cept me?" Johnny started to whine. The answer would be easy for anyone with eyes: she doesn’t like his flirting, she is scared of things like this, and asking her to marry him after she gave him a cookie wasn’t the smartest choice.

"I wasn’t invited," Kyle replied shortly.

"You're not invited, Johnny, 'cause ye need to tone it down with my sister. She is only 13; she doesn’t care about boys right now. And asking her at any chance if she wants to marry you makes her scared. Ye don’t know anything about girls, do ye?" That was the most words I've heard from König since, well, ever, but he was right. Johnny needed to tone it down. I didn’t like how Lizzie felt insecure whenever he did it and clung to me. The truth is Lizzie wasn’t afraid of him or anything; she even liked Johnny as a friend. She just thought his advances were jokes. Johnny liked to joke a lot, giving him the reputation of a class clown. And so, his big gestures for her felt like a joke to her, especially since she was so insecure at heart. I just never understood why? She was smart, funny, much cooler than any other girl, and she was pretty, not that I would ever tell that to someone.

"Just trying to be good, König," Johnny muttered.

"If ye weren’t a lovesick little puppy, he’d probably punch you into oblivion," John mentioned.

"You can come too, Johnny," König replied, still giving him the big brother glance.

"Sweet."

"Wait, how do we all fit in a car?" I asked, afraid that Johnny would take my place, and I needed to stay here. But everyone just looked at me weirdly, and I didn’t know why.

The next day, on our way to Lizzie's house, I finally knew why. There was a fucking limousine with black windows, probably bulletproof, like in James Bond movies. A small man in his 50s walked outside of the car wearing a black suit and smiling as he walked towards Lizzie, taking her baggage from her hands.

"He doesn’t look like Lizzie’s Dad," I said. It was true; they didn’t look similar, but still, she hugged him like you’d hug a family member, I guess?

John started to laugh. "You really don’t know a lot about Beth." Beth? Why did he call my Lizzie Beth? That was a shitty name.

"I know a lot about her."

"Not about her world, little one." I hated it when people reduced me for my small frame. I didn’t want to be the skinny short boy walking behind Lizzie all the time in need of her support. At least she didn’t see me that way.

"Si, John, Johnny, that’s Alfred, he is our family, Butler," Lizzie said, smiling at Alfred like he was a family member more than a Butler.

We sat down in the limo. Lizzie, of course, sat next to me, much to the dislike of Johnny. He kinda grew on me, though; he was funny and extroverted, and he wasn’t as posh as Kyle, who was a nice bloke but just didn’t get it. He was always complaining, as if he had problems, of course, he hadn’t. He was rich, good at football, and good-looking.

Lizzie fell asleep after a while, her head resting on my shoulder. I didn’t dare to move for the rest of the ride. She looked so peaceful when she didn’t move her lips and spoke.

"Mate, that's unfair. Why does Lizzie sleep on you instead of me?" Johnny whined, but I ignored him. "I liked her first, brocade and everything, Simon."

"You don’t call dips on my sister, or I'll cut your tongue out," König spoke calmly. He was confusing me; he was mostly silent but always threatened everyone who came too close to Lizzie. He never threatened me though, of course not; no one saw a threat in me.

We arrived at a big white mansion, almost looking like the Buckingham Palace. I knew Lizzie was rich, but this rich? I should probably search Kortac up, what they did, and how her dad must be so rich.

John only shrugged as if it was nothing, making me feel like I was the dumb one. This wasn’t normal; why are they acting like this?

As I stepped into Lizzie's villa, my jaw practically hit the floor. I mean, I've seen big houses before, but this was something else. The entrance was like walking into a palace or something. The marble floors were so shiny

; I could see my reflection in them. And those pillars! They were taller than any trees I've ever seen, reaching up to a ceiling painted with fancy designs that made me feel like I was in a museum.

I couldn't help but gawk as I made my way through the place. The living room was like a dream. Soft, velvet couches and chairs were everywhere, so plush you could practically sink into them. Paintings and tapestries covered the walls, like something out of a history book. And don't even get me started on the fireplace! It was huge, with flames dancing and crackling like something out of a movie. All around were paintings that probably cost more than Mom's salary as a nurse.

The dining room was even more posh. A long, mahogany table stretched out in front of me, set with fancy plates and silverware that looked like they belonged in a museum. A chandelier hung overhead, sparkling with crystals and casting a warm light over everything.

In the kitchen, everything was shiny and new. Stainless steel appliances lined the walls, and there were bowls of fruit and baskets of bread everywhere. It smelled amazing, like something out of a cooking show. Chefs walked around the house; they had fucking chefs? I thought the Butler was much, but they had more staff. Didn’t rich people know how to cook for themselves?

As I wandered around, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous. I mean, we have a house; it's nice and all, but it's nothing like this. Lizzie's family must be really rich to live in a place like this. But as much as I envied her, I couldn't help but feel grateful that she was my friend, never judging me because of my scholarship like Tiffany did, and by the looks of it, Tiffany wasn’t even half as wealthy as Lizzie and König are.

"Mutter, Vater, Ich dachte Papa ist in Salzburg gerade," König said. He sounded more confident when he spoke German.

Lizzie's parents looked like nice people; her Dad was the tallest man I've ever seen and looked a bit intimidating, while her mom looked a lot like Lizzie herself, just older.

"Dein Vater hat gehört, ihr kommt hier her und ist direkt gekommen," her dad replied.

"Also, seid ihr nicht wieder zusammen?" Lizzie’s voice sounded so different in German, but she still sounded nice and soft.

"Nein, und sprech Englisch, das ist unhöflich gegenüber deinen Gästen," her mom scolded, her voice too loud for the small room.

"So, who do we have here?" Lizzie’s father asked curiously.

"I'm John Price, sir."

"Oh, like William Price?"

"Yes, that's my old man."

"We worked together quite a bit for his campaign."

"Wait, my dad worked with Kortac?" John lost the color of his face, and I really needed to know what the fuck Kortac is.

"I'm Johnny MacTavish."

"Well, didn’t hear of your family," Lizzie’s dad mustered Johnny.

"Richard, be nice," Lizzie’s mom scolded, in a tone too loud for the room. "Okay, and you are?" She gestured to me.

"Simon Riley, nice to meet you both, sir," I replied politely, shaking his hand, only to get my hand crushed.

As I followed Lizzie's family into the dining room, I couldn't believe my eyes. The table was like something out of a fancy restaurant, but way bigger. There were so many dishes spread out that I had never seen or tried before. I mean, I knew what a salad was and some of the other stuff, but there were these little black things in jars that Lizzie's dad called "caviar." I had no idea what that was, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it, so I tried a tiny bit. It was salty and kinda strange, definitely not like anything I'd ever eaten. Johnny looked as confused as me; of course, the academy had fancy food, but this was weird. And so much different from what mom cooked for us, and I longed for her lasagna right now.

Then there were all these different forks and spoons and knives laid out next to the plates. I was used to just one fork and one spoon at home, but here, it was like a whole set of tools just for eating. I glanced over at Lizzie, who noticed my confusion and tried to discreetly explain which fork to use for which course. But I could tell I was still getting it wrong.

Lizzie's family seemed used to all this fancy stuff, chatting away as they effortlessly used their array of utensils. Meanwhile, I was struggling not to knock over a glass or use the wrong fork. Her mom smiled kindly at me and offered some advice on what to try next, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place. John and König, of course, knew how to act. I noticed how Lizzie’s dad liked John, but Lizzie’s mom definitely liked me.

It was strange; they were so familiar with each other, chatting at dinner and laughing, listening to Lizzie ramble about the school teaching shitty German. It was so different than at home; no one screamed, no one cried, and, most importantly, no one punched each other.

Johnny and I slept in one of the various guest chambers, and it was so comfortable, the best sleep I've ever had until I heard Lizzie scream from next door. I ran towards her room; I didn’t know what was wrong, but I needed to find out.

She lay in her luxurious room, whining and shaking in her sleep. I always thought rich families like these never had any problems, but here she was having night terrors.

I sat next to her in bed, brushing my hand towards her silky hair. "I'm here, Lizzie, everything is good."

"Please don’t kill me; I don’t know anything," she cried, and then König walked in, pushing me to the side while grabbing her in his bulky arms, whispering to her something in German until she calmed down and slept peacefully again. Now, all of us stood in her room. I just wanted to comfort Lizzie, telling her everything would be fine again.

"What was this?" John asked.

"Nightmares."

"That’s more than nightmares, mate," Johnny said, earning a death glare from König. I didn’t know what I thought, but I stood up and walked towards her bed again, cuddling her like Mom and Dad always did. For the first time, I could protect someone, and I’d protect her like she protected me.

"LEAVE."

"No, she is my best friend; I won’t leave." Slowly, after minutes, John and Johnny climbed into Lizzie’s bed. All of us wanted to comfort the girl who gave us everything every day. And so all five of us played together in the bed, eager to protect her from whatever haunted her. It was nice; having her in my arms was the last thought before I slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond!: Character Charts

Today, I'd like to introduce you all to most of the major cast line-up for Into, Across and Beyond!.

BLUR GANG

The Blur Gang is a bunch of multidimensional heroes from many universes all ganged together with the equal purpose of keeping things safe. The members of this team include:

OMT!Tails (the Tails of the Sonic.exe One More Time games by Mr. Pixel Productions)

CR!Sonic (an alternate version of the blue blur by @becdoesthings)

OMT!Mina (an alternate version of Mina from a parallel timeline to Tails)

Mini Sonic (from the Sonic the Hedgehog Parts 1 & 2 game)

Mr. Needlemouse (a cartoon-like Sonic made by @mcgamejolter)

EX!Alice (an alternate version of Xenophanes' right-hand girl by AetherAsterisk) and her robot mech, E4-R6:3

D-Sides Mighty (from the FNF D-Sides mod)

BK!Amy Rose (an alternate role swap version of Amy for Sonic and the Black Knight, conceptualised by @sstorminghearts)

CU!Sonic and CU!Sonia (a father and daughter from the ChaosIIUniverse by ToonsiteComics)

Nine (from Sonic Prime)

Nitro (my own original character)

Antho (from SFG1235's Mobiverse AU)

Ex-Prince Brian (from the Mobius' Freedom Fighters AU by jordangaming101 and @becdoesthings)

Hog the Tenrec (a bootleg Sonic character by Jack Gore on Twitter)

Wacky the Hedgehog (another bootleg Sonic character by danicorelove on Twitter)

Devy the Rabbit (character and sprite by NotSoDevy)

Trip the Sungazer Lizard

QUILL SOCIETY

The Quill Society are a group of multiversal characters responsible for protecting the very fabric of the Sonic and SEGA multiverse. Note in advance that only five of its members are on a bad side, and most of them are solely good. Their members include:

Lost Memory Sonic (from What if Sonic Lost his Memory? by The Sega Scourge)

Amy Rouge (from that Sonic Adventure 2 mod with everyone wearing Rouge's outfit)

Turbo the Alien Hedgehog (that one alien rival from the Fleetway comics)

Fiona Fox

Tekno the Canary (from the Fleetway comics)

Zonic the Zone Cop (from the Archie universe)

CD Alt Ending Sonic (from Sonic CD: Alternative Ending by Lucsan 2015)

Underground Sonic

Emperor Metallix

Errorverse Sonic (from the same AU Nitro originates from)

LEGO Sonic

Sunky and Tlels

Carol Tea (from Freedom Planet)

Sarah Henderson (from the Needlem0use series by ShutUpJojo)

Barry the Quokka (from The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog)

E-21 (a modified robot from the Movie universe)

Milly Prower (by SallyAc63038470 on Twitter; SFW in this AU)

Blitz!Tails (from the Sonic/Avalice Blitz AU by BobTheGUYYYYY on Twitter)

Sonic.RAW (a Sonic.exe character made by randidesu)

Superstars / Discovery Omega Amy

OVA Knuckles

Rob o' the Hedge

Water Sonic (from that one Sonamy fanart based on Elemental; designed by @xblueshin)

Fleetway Amy

Stella Hoshine the Cat

Pana Der Hejhog

Bunnie Rabbot

Nicky Parlouzer

Somari

Warrior Feline Honey

VILLAINS

These are the various villains present throughout the stories. These include, in the Spider-Verse set:

Eggman Nega

Shadow Emerl / Uma Arachnis

Zeera the Zeti

Surge the Tenrec

Johnny the Shark Robot

Snively

Crimtake (the EXE from NotSoDevy's SONIC Lost Drive trilogy)

Gemerl / Anti-Miles

Dr. Beeman (Mr. Needlemouse's arch-nemesis)

The More than One Universe set includes:

Shalian (an alternate version of Toxinfect)

Crossover Realm Corrupt

Talrareth

Animator vs. Animation Corrupt

Richard Ambersilve

Sonath

Curse (my version of the character)

The Into the Sonic-verse villains include, from this list:

Dr. Finitevus

The Super Special Sonic Search and Smash Squad (Scratch, Grounder and Coconuts)

Scourge the Hedgehog

Rosy the Rascal

Walter Naugus

And finally, we've some members of the AU's supporting cast, those being the OMT versions of Sonic, Knuckles, Amy, Sally, Cream and Robotnik, alongside three other OCs of mine, Lucia, Karilvatch and Amelia, and the Mobiverse version of Tails.

Other supporting characters include:

The Errorverse counterparts of Tails, Amy, Knuckles and Eggman

Exeller (from the Spirits of Hell duology)

Team Lilac

Extraterrestrial Encounter Sonic / XE!Sonic and Xenomorphic (this AU's version of Eddie Brock and Venom)

The FNF trio from the Errorverse (alongside Bentonly/Bently Forceloyed and Isabella Fondsmith from New Identity, New Life)

The Prower Kids (Melody and Skye Prower)

The Errorverse's version of Benjamin Fairest/Softie Benji

Fellow SEGA and Capcom characters include:

Alex Kidd

Ristar

NiGHTS

Opa-Opa

Arle Nadja

Billy Hatcher

Mega Man / Rock Light

Over the next days, I'll drop some bios to explain who all these people are and their role in this AU. Do note that NONE of this is canon to the pre-existing AUs or official universes unless their creators deem it as such.

I apologise in advance if your favourite AU or a favourite OC didn't get in, but do know that this is only the surface level of how massive the multiverse can be. And just remember the one golden rule of the multiverse:

In the multiverse, everything is canon!

Yeah, we don't talk about THAT stuff, though.

Sprite credits:

CartoonsAnimate22 (OMT!Tails, OMT!Sonic, OMT!Knux, OMT!Amy and OMT!Robotnik)

Nebula / Cylent Nite (CR!Sonic and Lost Memory Sonic)

Cylent Nite (OMT!Mina, Tekno and Warrior Feline Honey)

jrm10071322 (Mini Sonic)

Octluigi (Mr. Needlemouse base; edit by Pico231)

deltaConduit (EX!Alice and CD!Sonic; edits by Pico231)

Sergey E.S.N. (front-facing Big Arms sprite)

Dolphman (S2 Mighty sprite; edit by Pico231)

Mod.Gen (BK!Amy, Nitro (edit and design by KoolTimYT, BroadwayBash123 and Pico231), Wacky (edits by Pico231), Fiona, EV!Sonic/Tails/Amy/Eggman/Knuckles, Bunnie, Snively, Scourge, Rosy, Naugus and the Prower Kids)

paveldechev0604 (CU!Sonic; edits by Pico231)

SEGA (CU!Sonia, Crimtake and Shalian bases; edits by Pico231) (SS!Amy)

Deebs and Xeric (Alt Mod.Gen Tails sprite; edit by Pico231)

@mcgamejolter (Custom Nitro, Amelia and Bently sprites, alongside original sprites for AVA!Corrupt and Richard)

Antho and BECDoesDA/JordanGaming101 (sprites for Antho and Brian)

Jack Gore/darck12exe (Hog sprites)

Gavin’s Golden Entertainment (old Hog sprites; tweaks and edits by Pico231)

NotSoDevy (his character’s sprite)

miniluv73 (Trip sprite)

SuperGoku809 (Amy Rouge sprite)

RatherNoiceSprites (Turbo, Somari and XE!Sonic sprites)

khalifax10 and Xeric (Zonic sprite)

Deebs (UG!Sonic and OMT!Sally sprites)

DerZocker (Emperor Metallix sprite)

LegoLoco7 (LEGO Sonic sprite; recreation by Pico231)

Miles The Duck (Sunky and Tlels sprites)

GalaxyTrail (Carol and Lilac sprites)

SFG1235 (Antho, Barry and MV!Tails sprites)

KostyaGame the Fox (E-21 sprite)

JunkeyBot (Milly sprite; edits by Pico231)

Nebula (Super Tails sprite; edits by Pico231)

randidesu (RAW sprite)

Gardow and Overbound (OVA!Knux sprite)

Gabriel_aka_Frag (Rob o’ and OMT!Cheese sprites)

FlewayAmysprite (Fleetway Amy sprite)

TheCrushedJoycon (TTS sprite; edit by Pico231)

MarkeyJester (Pana sprite)

NickyFan7 (Nicky sprite)

Shinbaloonba (Eggman Nega sprite)

Xeric (Uma sprite)

Willosonic (Zeena sprite; disguised form in one mockup based on a sprite by Teh2Chao2)

ManiaMadness91 (Surge sprite)

Lone Devil (Johnny sprite)

mtallic (Sonic.OMT sprite)

Rosabelle (S1 Extended sprite; edits by BECDoesDA and PrimalKoopaPictures)

NotSoDevy and NightAkio (Talrareth sprites)

paveldechev0604 (Original Sonic 1-based sprite; edits by Pico231)

Louplayer (Ohshima Eggman sprite; edits by Pico231)

Tonberry2k (S.S.S.S.S. Squad sprites)

Smoke-the-Pyroling (OMT!Cream sprite)

KoolTimYT (Dr. Beeman and Exeller sprites)

LiefBnuy (SMA Milla sprite)

HyperTails12 and LillyDragon (Carrie sprite)

NICKtendo DS (Time Eater sprite; edit by Pico231)

RaulHedgeBomber (FNF trio sprites’ palettes)

Hyperknux6 (custom NiGHTS sprite)

[https-genesis]

nightmare on elm street | 141 x gn! reader

Sypnosis; The rookie is... strange.

Contents; swearing, reader is a psychopath lmao, drabble

there's something unsettling about you.

sure, ghost wore a mask adorned with a well drawn human skull on it, konig from KorTac towered over every man in his squad and others, alexandro from los vaquiros' iron will was unmatched.

you weren't the biggest. you weren't the fastest nor the smartest.

you weren't as big and bad as the other soldiers. so what made you have such an uncomfortable aura?

your sickeningly sweet smile that seemed to stretch to your ears made ghost squint. the way you tiptoed into rooms with not even a sound suprised even konig. the way you managed to guess what alexandro was gonna say before it even left his mouth made him shudder.

☆

it was late. maybe 11:35 at night, most of the squadron was asleep. ghost was never much of a sleeper - not knowing what could attack while he was at his most vulnerable brought back bad memories. he sat quietly outside his tent, joint loosely tucked between his unmasked lips.

"hi ghost."

the latter shot up from his idle position on his stool to pull his mask up after throwing his blunt somewhere further along.

"fuckin' 'ell. ya scared me, rookie."

you grinned. that awful, god forsaken grin. it made your face contort into something strange - almost scary. the smile felt like it came out of one of those trashy horror movies from the 90's. he could tell your cheeks strained from how large it was, and he shifted in his seat.

your head tilted to the side and a silence took over you before you answered.

"sorry, ghost." your smile didn't falter and ghost felt his skin crawl.

"'m headed back. go too." his reply was rushed and he couldn't muster up the courage to look into your eyes again.

☆

working with the 141 was a pleasure in disguise. konig was shy, anxious too, and his almost seven foot tall frame didn't do him much of a favor. but even though his rough exterior frightened others, they didn't seem to even bat an eye at him. most of them, at least.

captain price was speaking to everyone and his gaze seemed drawn to konig. like he was watching something. surveilling it.

then price shifted his eyes to him again - rather, behind him, and he paused. within the silence he could make out slow breathing from behind him.

"I'm listening, captain. don't worry."

konig jumped and turned to your figure standing oddly still. your eyes already were scouting his features and even though his mask was heavy on his face, he felt as though you could see right through it. he felt sweat pool at his forehead

"sorry for scaring you." you smiled, and walked further into the room.

ghost whispered to him.

"weird lad, that one."

he can agree on that.

☆

it was rare for alexandro to say he loved his job, but in moments like this, where his hand brushed the drink in his hand ( probably vodka, maybe whiskey, who knows? ) and he could hear the laughter of his squadron behind him, he felt content. after a successful mission, los vaquiros and the 141 decided to have a jolly frolic at the pub in town. that's what soap said.

alexandros feet tapped the stool lightly to the rhythm of the music until price's voice brought him back.

"ya okay, mate?" soap whispered to him. "ya good enough to drive back?" he grinned, and alexandro chuckled.

"yeah, si. i don't feel like drinking, I guess." he turns his body towards the scottish man, and sighs. complaining to a very much not sober johnny doesnt sound appealing. somebody takes the empty seat next to him but he doesnt bother to turn.

"you've had a rough week, huh? it's hard being a soldier, but you'll get used to it." your voice. the 141's infiltration operator. the ... strange one.

alexandro turns to your face already staring back at him. it's unsettling, and the little alcohol in his stomach stirs inside him.

"oh, I forgot. you've been in here for a while, haven't you?" his browns connect in his frown. did you not know who he was? or did you not care? or were you trying to spite him?

how did you know him? he never talked to you before.

"guess so." alexandro never felt like that before. like prey. like a lamb staring a lion into its eye.

you didn't speak much after that. you stared at the group of men playing darts and chuckled when one of them almost got hit.

who are you?

A/N; this sucks lol