#kyle gives in to sternness

[basu-shokikita]

Kyman being whipped for each other obeying each other

A Boy and a Priest & Mexican Joker

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[lovemebutleavemewild]

The term "barrack's bunny" is probably offensive but as a quick way of describing your taste in men, it kind of works.

You like soldiers. A specific type of soldier, though. Not the young recruits who are rowdy and uncouth and don't know how to act. Not the stern pot-bellied paper pushers or the career types who spend more time polishing medals and rubbing shoulders than they do on the field, either.

No, the soldiers you like have experience. In all the aspects that matter. They're few and far between but when you find a good one ...

The 141 are perfect examples. They're the reason you've stuck close to this particular base for the last few months. You've never actually seen them, of course, and you've only heard whispers about them, but if the rumours are true, they're back on base, which means you're in the nearest bar, scoping out the scene, waiting.

It's starting to look like a bust. You've had three drinks, turned down four men, and are just getting bored when a new prospect slides into the tight space at the bar next to you.

He catches your eye, looking away, then quickly back. You see him look you quickly up and down and smile.

"Hi," he says. You smile back.

"Kyle Garrick," he says, holding out a hand, and you smile wider. Oh yes, you think, the rumours were right.

Kyle is just offering to buy you a drink when you're jostled from behind. He reaches out to steady you and you find yourself pressed to his chest.

"Soap, you idiot," he chastises and you twist your head to see who he's talking to. Another impossibly huge man is grinning down at you, seemingly unapologetic.

"Hello," he says. "M'name's Johnny. Where did Gaz find you?"

Things move quickly after that. You like a flirt, a tease as much as the next girl, but you know what you came here for and you've already waited long enough.

The three of you end up in a dark corner of the bar, squeezed into one side of a booth, and when Kyle kisses you, you lean into him. He's all hard lips, pulling back to feel you chase him, just to dive back in, again and again, leaving you hungry, always, for more.

In contrast, Soap's kisses are wet, messy. He doesn't pull away from you, even when it means he ends up panting heavily right into your face. When the two lean into you together, it's dizzying. You pull back, needing a second to just breathe and they barely seem to notice, crashing into each other instead. They're rougher when it's just the two of them, nipping, fighting for dominance. And meanwhile, as though without thinking, their hands squeeze your soft thighs and stomach.

You gasp when Soap's hand slips up under your skirt, looking around automatically. No one is looking in your direction; the corner you're in is so dimly lit you don't think you could see the next table over, even if weren't empty.

When you look back, Johnny is staring at you, eyes hooded. He keeps eye contact as he slips his hand further up, brushing over your panties, smirking when you squirm. And then they're slipping under your panties, pressing in and you have to close your eyes.

You feel hot breath on your ear and hear Kyle's voice.

"Give us one here, doll, show us how good you can be, and we'll take you home to give you the rest."

His hand joins Johnny's, rubbing circles on your clit and your head falls back. They start kissing you again but you don't even have the mental energy to kiss them back. Your brain seems to have dribbled out of your ears onto the cracked vinyl. They kiss you anyway, until your face is slick with their spit.

And you give them your first orgasm of the night right there, shuddering against them. If you could care about such things, you'd be glad the music was loud so no one could hear your moans. When you can force your eyes open, you blink at Gaz. He smiles sweetly before taking Johnny's hand. You just have time to focus on the sheen of yourself on his digits before he's sucking them into his mouth.

"Ready to get out of here, love?" he asks and you nod, dazed, letting him pull you up. You're nearly limp against him and he supports you with an arm around your waist. Distantly, you hear Johnny chuckle. You instinctively push back when he presses against your back, tilting your head back to receive his mouth at your ear. He nips it teasingly and his whisper sends a full-body shudder through you.

"Oh, Price and Ghost are gonna love you."

[frudoo]

reader convincing slasher 141 to let her help when they kidnap and torture someone. she wants to be the victim that escaped or found a why to escape but in reality she's leading the other victim(s) into a trap to be caught. its all to see the look on their face and get praise from the 141 I love all your writing and hope you stay safe.

You are so sweet! I'm glad you're enjoying the series!! <3

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Suggestive content. Mentions of bad people. MDNI.

“No. Absolutely not,” John crosses his arms, stern voice booming throughout the dining room.

     “Why not?” You huff, setting down your fork to focus your full attention on the guys.

     “Jus’ cuz y’live with it doesn’t mean we want y’involved,” Simon grunts, unimpressed.

     “Ah dunno, hen,” Johnny frowns, crystal blue eyes boring into yours. “Wha’ if one of us mistakes ye fer one o’them?”

     “Do you really think that would happen?” You challenge, cocking an eyebrow.

     None of them seem sold on the idea, but you’re not giving up. There’s a need for vengeance hidden deep inside of you that’s just begging to burst out, and although you can’t stomach anything the boys actually do, just knowing that you’ll be helping them scrape the scum off the face of the earth is enough. There’s only one of your husbands that hasn’t voiced his opinion—the very one who can’t resist your charms.

     “Kyle,” you puff your lips out into a pout, batting your eyelashes at him. “Please, baby, just let me help you all out?”

     His eyes widen and he throws his hands up in surrender, shaking his head vigorously.

     “Uh-uh, don’t put tha’ on me, dove.”

     You groan dramatically, standing from your place at the table. 

     “I’m thinking about practicing abstinence.”

     Long story short, they took a chance, and now you’re covered in blood and dirt, wearing nothing but an old nightgown and leading a group of horrified victims into the barn with the promise of hidden escape routes just inside. It surprises you how gullible each of them are, and you almost feel bad for leading them straight to their death. You have to remind yourself that these are rapists, abusers, and cons getting what they deserve. You have to remind yourself that your lovers would never do this to someone undeserving of only the worst fates.

     “No, it’s okay! I-I’m just- hey, you’re fine,” you coo to the sobbing woman who refuses to let go of your arm.

     Eventually you just have to shove her down and slam the barn doors shut, locking her along with every other piece of walking garbage inside. You pass John on his way towards the very building you’re leaving, yelping when he pulls you right into his burly arms.

     “Clever girl. Shoulda never doubted you,” he murmurs, lifting his mask to press a hot, lingering kiss to your lips.

     “Get it over with. I need to wash the fucking bitch’s germs off of my skin.”

     John laughs, giving your ass a tight squeeze before replacing his mask over his face. 

     “Hope you were jokin’ about that whole ‘abstinence’ thing,” he hums, pointing his pinky finger up to a window on the second floor of the barnhouse, where your remaining three lovers have been watching the whole thing play out, hands down their trousers. 

     “They look hungry.”

[thebeesatemyknees]

141 with a gf who has been cheated on in the past and it kind of destroyed her confidence?? Like just how they would prove themselves as true and how they would go about a relationship with her. Love your writing, friend!!!! <3

141 with a (fem)partner who's been cheated on in the past

Some headcanons about things that Simon Ghost Riley, John Price, Kyle Gaz Garrick and Johnny Soap MacTavish do to reassure you after learning that your previous partner/s cheated on you.

Word count: 1k || No warnings. || Reader: FEM reader. Pronouns "you", but feminine terms used ("missus, girl, lady") [I could make a gender neutral version too if anyone would want it!]

Simon Riley, who, half joking half serious, reminds you that he’s a difficult bastard to get close to. So you don’t have to worry. I mean, look how much time it took you to make him open up and let you become part of his life. He has a hard time openly admitting how he feels about you and how he only has place for you in his heart and mind. So instead, he jokes that you’re the only person on this planet, crazy enough to approach him. Though sometimes, when you have late night conversations, he admits in a hushed voice, that as much as he enjoyed the solitary life, leaving it behind for a lifetime with you was the best decision he's ever made.

Although he prefers to avoid crowded places, he starts taking you to pubs more often to prove that he’s right about being unapproachable. It also gives you a reason to dress up all pretty, so he can shamelessly compliment you and tease you about wanting to show you off.

If someone is silly enough to walk up to you two and try chatting him up, he immediately cuts it short, not even trying to be polite – “No, we’re alright. We’re busy.” And if they’re persistent, he uses his “Lieutenant Ghost” voice on them – “You’re interrupting my date. With my girl.” He keeps his hand on you for the rest of the night.

He asks you if he should get your name tattooed on his arm and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But he is dead serious. Have you seen his tattoos? Not to be judgemental, but… He wouldn’t mind tattooing your name on himself once he thinks you’re the one.

John Price, who relies on communication. He asks you to talk to him whenever something feels wrong – whether it’s caused by your thoughts or something he’s done. But he doesn’t just wait for you to bring the issue up either. He’s a true leader and he’s very observant. Sometimes he notices the heavy thoughts starting to cloud your mind before you can even cotton on. He’s also really good at reading between the lines. If you ever do that self-sabotaging thing, where you ask his opinion about other women on the street or on the internet, he immediately gives you a stern look and, without even looking at the lass you’re pointing at, gives you a lengthy pep talk. Why would he even need to form an opinion about another woman’s appearance, when he only cares about you? 

He’s got the patience of a saint when it comes to you. He’s told you what he feels towards you and how you are the only one for him many times already. And he would repeat himself, over and over again. Until he loses his voice.

If he got approached by someone and offered a drink, while you’re hanging out in a pub, he would point towards you and say “I’m alright, but you can buy my lady a drink if you insist,” with a cocky smile on his face.

Kyle Garrick, who attacks you with “I love you”-s and compliments whenever you start doubting yourself. Literally. Won’t let you finish your self-derogatory comments, even if they’re well hidden in what you’re saying. Starts yelling ILYs from afar. Then once he gets closer, he grabs you and holds you close, repeating it against your ear until you laugh from the sensation. But he doesn’t ignore your worries. He often sits you down so that the two of you can have a conversation about your feelings, your boundaries, behaviours and things he can do to assure you of his loyalty.

He has pictures of you everywhere and he’s proud to show you off. There are polaroids of you alone and both of you together in his wallet, in his car’s sun visor, in the pocket of his uniform. You’re his phone’s wallpaper. He posts pictures of you on social media. Obviously, he does all that while making sure it won’t affect your safety. And as for him bragging about you, you probably learnt about that from Price. What you don’t know though, is that he went out of his way to introduce you to his captain in hopes of Price telling you how often he talks about you. And only you.

If someone tried to chat him up while he’s with you, he would give them the nastiest, most offended glare possible. He looks at them, at you, at them, at you… He throws a simple “Uhh, no thank you,” while he grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest, using it to ground himself. Before the person can even turn away, he’s looking at you with a “can you believe this shit” stare. He gets upset for the both of you.

Johnny MacTavish, who’s physically glued to you.While off duty, he doesn't give you much space for doubts or anxieties cuz he follows you everywhere. You’re going to run some errands? He’s coming with you. He’s going to run some errands? Can you please come with him…? One time, when you went to the toilet in the middle of the night, you found him sitting half-awake on the floor next to the bathroom door. Later, he can’t even explain why he did it. He wasn’t even fully conscious. It was pure instinct – you go, he follows.

He takes you to buy matching rings. You can take your relationship at your own pace, but others don’t have to know it. He’s more than happy to pretend to be already married to you. Especially when he’s deployed away from home. And when he comes back, he proudly shows you a tan line on his ring finger, proving he’s been wearing it the whole time.

If someone approaches him and offers him a drink, he scoffs and tells them that HIS MISSUS can buy him his drinks just fine, thank you very much. If you’re there with him, he turns to you and, before the person can walk away, he starts playfully flirting with you, saying you can take him home if you buy him a drink. If you’re for some reason not there, he immediately calls you (or at least texts you if he’s with the lads) and proudly tells you about how clever his response was.

I hope that some loose headcanons like these are alright.

Also, if this happened to you – I'm really sorry and I wish you all the best! And if anyone needs to hear it: remember, the fault is never in the person who got cheated on but the one who cheats. Screw them. You deserve to be treated kindly.

[peachetteprice]

Call of Duty - Masterlist:

The Complete Masterlist of: peachetteprice.

Asks and submissions are open!

Feedback Policy

External Links | Ao3 | Wattpad: Peachette_Price

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Key

× NSFW content - ranging from sexually suggestive themes to explicit smut. This content is not to be interacted with by minors. I give you my partial trust to adhere to this, but I will regularly check the age of the blogs following me and block when necessary.

// This is an ongoing work.

< / > This work is unlikely to be completed now and/or in the future.

(REQ) This work is published as a request by a user.

TF141 Headcanons:

Driving Habits - How would the boys usually drive? What are their habits when in the hot seat?

Cheating Partners - POV: I let an anon down by not fulfilling their request and still posting it anyway. Ft. Phillip Graves. ×

Captain John Price:

42-Year-Old John Price - He isn't as sprightly as he used to be. ×

Eighth Date - John reveals to you about his profession, but you're much too taken by something else!

Speak Up, Love - Uh-oh. John's lost his voice. Wouldn't it be such a shame if someone teased him about it? ×

Stern Captain John Price - He really... really... becomes accustomed to the life of a cat owner despite his penchant for dogs. ×

How it Should Be - John's a hardened war veteran... but he still gets flustered every time you call him handsome. ×

A Deal of Cards - (REQ): How might Price deal with his gorgeous, talented partner: a spiritulist, working in the creative field with a rather earthly aesthetic? With love, of course.

What a Bargain - John is a man who loves bargains. That's it.

Jeweller!Price - Uh... John's a jeweller. That's it. Pretty straight-forward, innit. Pt. 2 ×

Accountant!Price - He's an accountant. You get it by now, right? ×

The Gloves are On - The gloves stay on, even when he's finger-fucking the ever-living daylights out of you. ×

Neuroscientist!Price - Price is a neuroscientist with a dark present. ×

Coworker!Price - don't get it twisted. This isn't 'accountant' Price. ×

Domestic!Price - He's just a little guy with fuzzy socks on.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Strangers in the Night - Simon has a waking nightmare; you're always there to provide comfort.

A Hand for Radio - You're not just on the team to dilly-dally, something that everyone, including Soap, finally needs to understand. ×

Some Days - (REQ): Simon and Reader have a spat. Reader feels invalidated and rightfully tells him so, because what a bitch, honestly.

Fisherman!Simon - it's Simon... but as a fisherman. I don't know what more you want from me.

Full-length works:

27 Hawthorn Court - Simon "Ghost" Riley finds himself in hot water after the Greater Manchester Police suspect him of murderering his family: his brother, his brother's wife, and their son. < / >

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Could Have Been - Didn't you know, Gaz could have been a professional footballer?

One of Those Nights - It's your favourite thing about him, truly. ×

Born For It - Oh, but he's just so rich and handsome, whatever shall you do? ×

Morning Brew - Kyle likes his coffee like he likes his coffee, and his mornings, entirely unlike his coffee: full of lazy sex! ×

Backshots with Kyle? - The one thing he loves to do more than anything ×

John "Soap" MacTavish:

The Ever-forgetful John "Soap" MacTavish - Poor bastard never remembers not to use the water when you're mid-shower!

A Dream to Build a Life On - It's tough to have almost everything you've ever wanted right at the tips of your fingers, but have one thing... just one thing... that seems entirely out of reach. ×

Days of Old - It's never easy to watch something drag the life out of a loved one's eyes. ×

The Highlands - A short drabble about Johnny coming back to Scotland every once in a while to re-live the simplicity of rural life. Ft. Part 2

Charity Dinner Ball - Soap relieves his OWN Charity Dinner Balls... pause... after being drawn to you the entire evening. ×

Needy Soap - I need him biblically, I fear. ×

Phillip Graves:

Full-length works:

Mister Commander - (DBF) Winnie Collins knows better than anyone that a homestead requires up-keep. When she returns home to Texas, following the dissolvement of her engagement to the man she thought she loved, there's a stranger on her parent's ranch, during the height of May heat, in a town where nothing but dirt and sweat remain. Phillip Graves. He's her father's best friend - and he's here to stay. × //

Keegan P. Russ:

Nothing here - as of yet!

[saksukei]

saving simon ghost riley’s life

masterlist | angst, injury mentions, he's being a bitch

they say some instincts are good, some are bad. yours have landed you in hell though.

being part of task force 141 had its own perks which included borderline deadly missions, a whole lot of adrenaline and a shit ton of risk taking. so that's exactly what you did when you saw a gun aimed at your lieutenant, more specifically, simon ghost riley.

you jumped in front of the gun without any hesitation, disobeying his orders to stay put. he was your senior, someone you definitely respected and looked up to. you were absolutely okay with letting yourself get injured for him. something about loyalty, right?

“a word, sergeant,” he interrupted your train of thought, his presence overwhelming the nurses present in the med bay as they stitched your wound.

“yes sir?” you thought he was gonna thank you for saving his life. apparently, he had other plans.

“who gave you the fucking right to disobey my orders?” he growls, his eyes piercing through your very soul. you imagine what it would be like if he didn't have his mask on, the very mask that is acting as a shelter from his rage.

you blink in confusion. “i beg your pardon, sir?”

“i said, who gave you the right to disobey my orders?” he repeated, his tone stern.

“i–sorry lieutenant,” you reply curtly, confused at his rude behavior. but then again, simon isn't known for his niceness.

“sorry isn't going to cut you the slack,” he retorts, voice laced with venom. “you are going to be reprimanded for failing to comply with your superior’s orders to stay put.”

and while you desperately want to argue, give him an explanation or maybe yell at him that you did save his life, you ignore and nod.

“i don’t hear a reply sergeant,” his voice booms.

“affirmative sir.”

with that he walks out.

the next couple of days are hell. rather than being treated like someone of your rank, the lieutenant decides to treat you like a rookie, making you run almost triple the amount of drills, ignoring the fact that you’ve had an injury.

when captain price decides to finally intervene on your behalf, he promptly replies about how insubordination must be set straight and that he's doing this his own way. soap and kyle both also try to intervene, but they can't seem to change the lieutenant’s mind.

you don't seem to fight it either, just silently accepting whatever task he's given. you know that there's really no room for disagreement given your current circumstances.

today he had pushed you too much though. drained, as you went back to your room, collapsing on whatever shit excuse of a bed you had. you couldn't even get up. the three firm and calculated knocks you heard on your door made you groan. who the hell was it at this ungodly hour?

“come in,” you yell out.

and in walks the man you've been dreading to see the most. the lieutenant himself.

you immediately stand up and salute him, ignoring the pain your body is in.

“at ease,” he mutters, as you sit down on your bed. the air is awkward between you to say the least, but boy does it get worse, when the lieutenant kneels and lowers himself right at your feet.

“what the hell–lieutenant?” you question.

“quiet,” he orders, his tone stern. you have no choice but to comply and watch, as he takes out a bandage from his side pocket. “your feet are bruised,” he mutters. why was he acting like he didn't know the reason? that he had been making you run triple the amounts you normally do.

“permission to say something grossly insubordinate sir?” you ask, trying to control your seething anger. what the fuck is his problem?

he nods.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell and it catches him off guard, his warm green eyes meeting yours. “first you punish me for saving your life, make mine a literal hell and then you come in here and act like you care?” your voice raises without you even realizing.

he sighs. he doesn't have a response. you're right. he has been in the wrong but he didn't intend to punish you that far. it just sort of happened. he was so angry, not with your disobedience of course, but because of the fact that he had missed a corner and let you get hurt. he was at war with himself on this one.

so simon does what he does best, ignore your anger filled speech and continues bandaging your feet.

“s–stop it,” you try and push him away. he doesn't budge and you feel yourself reduced to tears. when he does look up and see your eyes coated with them, he stops and says words he hasn't said to anyone in years.

“m’ sorry,” he admits, softly. tears begin to slide down your face, no matter how much you try and hold them back.

and out of instinct, simon reaches out. for the first time, simon riley scoops up someone into his arms, rubbing your back, muttering a thousand apologies for his behavior. god, it would be better if you had let him get shot that day, than seeing you cry like this.

he had made you cry.

“m’ really sorry,” he whispers in your ear. “i was just so upset that you got hurt because of my stupidity, sweetheart,” he tries to explain but his persona is crumbling. he's been so unmerciful to you. “i was wrong, so wrong for doing this,” he repeats again. how could he be so rude to someone he loves so dearly?

he keeps you in his arms. his hand, running through your hair, with his gloves long discard at the side.

you mutter something about how bad it is for you to be crying in the arms of your lieutenant and he tuts, saying that firstly, you should call him simon, and secondly, you can cry as much as you want.

you’re the only one he wants in his arms anyway.

[lewistoferrari]

mdni

thinking about when you’ve finally come home after a long trip. maybe it was a trip with your friends, or maybe it was business or family related. the second you and kyle get home from the airport, he pounces on you immediately.

kyle shoves you onto the sofa and starts tugging at your clothes, not caring if he’s popped a button or ripped some fabric. he’s impatient and your clothes are in his way, sweetheart.

“missed you,” kyle says while he contemplates if he wants to fuck you first, or if he just wants your pussy in his mouth.

“i missed you too,” you grin, before pushing his head down and giving him an eyeful of your pussy.

his shoulders shake with laughter when you let out a squeal and try to close your legs around his head after he drags his tongue across your puckered hole. your legs fall open the moment he drags his tongue through your folds and teases your clit with his fingers, the quick electrifying circles making your vision blur and your pussy drool.

“please, please, please,” you whine when your pussy clenches around nothing. you need something, anything to fill your greedy hole. tongue, fingers, your man’s cock.

“please, please, please,” kyle coos mockingly, before grinning sharply. he loves it when you beg, it only makes his dick harder.

he throws your legs over his shoulders when you begin to whine and tell him he’s being mean. all thoughts are forgotten when kyle buries his tongue deep in your drooling pussy. your little gasps and mewls are like music to his ears. he groans when your fingers sink into his curls, your hand tightening briefly when he nips at your folds.

“kyle,” you whimper when his teeth closes around your clit, your body jerking in his hold.

“missed this pussy so much,” kyle croons, before dipping his head and sucking the slick out of your hole, eliciting a high pitched keen from that pretty mouth of yours.

“oh god.”

you can feel your thighs start to shake as kyle continues to eat your pussy like a man who hasn’t eaten in days. he swirls his tongue and nips at your clit before giving you a hard suck that has you seeing stars as you arch up off the couch. kyle just shoves you back down and devours your pussy until you’re creaming right on his tongue.

it’s obscene, absolutely filthy how your man just buries his face further into your slick after he demands for you to cum again. kyle doesn’t even bother asking you if you can cum again, because you will. you always do.

the grip he has on you to keep you in place loosens up when he replaces the tongue in your drenched pussy with two fingers. you start clawing at the upholstery when those talented fingers begin to press up against your g-spot. brown eyes watch you in amusement as you try to fuck yourself on those fingers, while babbling incoherently. he shuts that down quickly with a light pinch to your clit and a stern stop fuckin’ moving.

kyle ignores the annoyed hiss you let out, and speeds up his movements, fucking his fingers into your pussy while you yowl and dig your nails into the cushion as the pleasure builds. when your pussy starts to flutter, signaling your second orgasm, you start begging.

“please, ky,” you whimper, while thrashing a little when the pleasure starts to becomes too much.

“please, what? you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you choke out breathlessly. you’re so fucking close.

a feeling of euphoria washes over you when kyle tells you to put your pussy to use and cum for him. you cum with tears in your eyes and his name spilling from your lips. and you’re so out of it, you’re only vaguely aware of the squelching sound coming from between your legs as kyle gently removes his fingers from your hole. the only response you can muster up is a soft whine when he caresses your plush thighs and coos words of encouragement in between belly kisses.

“well, that’s one way to welcome me home,” you murmur breathlessly once you’ve come down from your high. when your man leers at you.

kyle just leers at you while he’s tugging his sweatpants down and says, “yeah? i can think of another.”

seeing you fall apart on his dick might be enough for him to forgive you for leaving him with nothing but a fist to fuck and no pussy to eat.

-

kyle’s masterlist | main masterlist

[shootingstarwritings]

A Single Kiss with Matching Singlets

part 2/2

Coach Reynolds was an older man and head of the wrestling team. Standing tall and clearly proud of the team he had led to victory year after year, he intimidated most of the other coaches throughout the state. He was stern and assertive on the wrestling mat, yet patient and forthcoming in his office. Many former members of the wrestling team described him as having an ‘uncle-like’ air. Not quite immediate family, but trustworthy nonetheless. At least, that’s what Kyle gathered about the man.

Appearance-wise, he was an older, bearded, and hairy man with years of experience. He was the former champion during his days in university, and he reminded the team of that at the start of every new semester. Though the coach had grown a slight gut as he aged, not a soul doubted the muscles one could gain only through years of dutiful devotion to the sport. Perhaps he wore such tight shirts and jackets to accent the body he was so prideful of.

“It’s rare to see you so talkative,” the coach said, not looking up from the documents he was filling out. He sat by his deck with a pair of rarely-seen reading glasses.

All I said was, “Can we meet in your office after practice? I wish to talk about something personal.” Just how little does Zack even speak?’ The more time spent in Zack’s body, the less Kyle understood about him.

“So,” began Coach Reynolds. He removed his glasses with a swift and practiced flick of his wrist and set them down on the table. Smiling with the warmth that someone who was a father to his students, he asked, “What can I help you with? Come to think of it, this is probably the first time you wanted to talk to me like this. What brought this on?”

“Well, um…” How was he supposed to react? It wasn’t easy, staring at the man who was essentially his romantic rival. At first, Kyle went through a barrage of excuses to distract the coach, but he found it difficult to come up with a lie as he stared at the coach’s genuine and questioning eyes. How Kyle wished that the coach had Namba’s shaggy hair to cut off the eye-contact.

Lowering his gaze, Kyle’s eyes locked onto the golden band that Coach Reynolds always wore proudly wore to work. Kyle knew the story. They had split a few years ago, but Coach Reynolds still wore that wedding ring. Whether it was loyalty or denial, he wasn't certain. “I wish to talk… a-about love.”

Chuckling, Coach Reynolds relaxed and shifted back into his seat. “Love, huh?” he said with a playful smirk. Kyle could tell that the coach had been waiting for someone to ask him about that. “Well, this ol’ dog could certainly teach ya some new tricks. Have a seat, let’s hear you out.”

“There’s someone I love, but they clearly love someone else…” Kyle began like that, and then continued. On occasion, he would accidentally slip and say, “he,” while speaking, but aside from a curious eyebrow raise, the coach didn’t interrupt. Was it another of Zack’s quirks that influenced Kyle, or was Kyle simply waiting for someone with coach’s demeanor to influence him? Whatever it was, it certainly seemed to help get his mouth moving and his lips flapping.

Still, Kyle felt himself able to speak freely. Calmly. Not only that, but he felt… heard. Namba would sometimes tease or cut in to talk about his own opinion, but coach’s gentle prodding and listening was far more effective. “And… and that is all,” finished Kyle.

“Well, that’s certainly the intense revelation you gave, Zack,” the coach said, each word carefully measured. “But! That doesn’t mean I don’t have any advice to give you. Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing for you.” He stood up and wandered over to his desk, giving a great view of his ass hugged by those gray sweatpants he always loved to wear.

Kyle definitely preferred Zack, but he couldn’t deny just how hot the coach was. He had seen the man sweating it out in the gym when he wasn’t coaching the players—and he loved seeing the coach drench his clothes with sweat. Kyle couldn’t help but wonder how the coach smelled. As Coach Reynolds stood up and walked over to his file cabinet—just what was he searching for?—Kyle silently stood up and made his move.

“Sorry, coach,” said Kyle with Zack’s voice as he wrapped both muscular arms around the coach’s meaty frame. As Coach Reynolds began to panic, Kyle leaned into his ear and whispered, “I do think you’re a great man, for all that’s worth,” and made his move. Exiting through Zack’s trembling torso, Kyle forced his spiritual essence to phase through the coach’s back and into his core.

Like a puppet cut from its strings, Zack fell on the ground, unconscious after over a day of not being in control.

Coach Reynolds, on the other hand, remained standing and trembling as he felt a student’s essence overpowering his own. “N-No, get outta… nrgh…! Outta me!” Coach Reynolds reached out for the door, but his legs were already under Kyle’s control. Then, his own arms betrayed him as they gracefully shed off his sweatpants, shaking his hips the whole time. “The fuck…?” was all he managed to say as his cock, bulging beneath his used jockstrap, flew at high mast and began to leak precum. His bare ass shivered as a breeze blew through the office.

Coach Reynolds struggled and moaned as he tried to reclaim control over his body, but it was too late as Kyle grabbed his shirt and windbreaker and tossed them off. Clad in just a leaky jockstrap, Kyle explored the coach’s wonderful body in the privacy of his new office. Zack continued to sleep, even as Kyle let out a roar of pure ecstasy and blew his first load all over the office, some drops even landing on Zack’s open and drooling mouth.

“I can see why you think this hunky piece of ass is your ideal man,” Kyle said, smirking as he flexed and kissed Coach Reynold’s bulging biceps. “I’ll have a bit of fun with him before asking you out on our little date.”

~o~

Sitting down on the booth of a burger joint, Tim scrolled mindlessly through a phone that wasn’t his until the burly Coach Reynolds sat down in front of him. “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite coach,” he said, putting his phone down and resting his chin on his hand, smirking. “How’s the body feeling?” He took a quick whiff and chuckled. “Already beat one out or two?”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “How did you now? You got some kinda bloodhound nose or something?”

“Nah, but Tim’s got a sharp sense of smell. Probably cuz he doesn’t wanna get glasses.” Namba shrugged. “Already ordered for ya, by the way. Asked for the, urgh, the bacon triple burger," Namba's borrowed nose wrinkled as he said that.

“Oh, thank god. Dunno why, but Coach Reynolds’ body is constantly craving meat. Was about to go insane with hunger once I was done with a quick workout and jerk-off session. I haven’t had a single fruit or veggie all day. Not even a snack. Just craving meat, meat, meat.”

Namba chuckled. “A strong soul like the coach’s will naturally force more of his personality onto you.” Grinning lewdly, Namba lifted up his shirt and rubbed Tim’s toned and distinctly hairier core. “You have to tame these hosts we’re using. Usually, you gotta force them to submit, my friend.”

“Submit?” Kyle tilted his head. He had thought that jerking off was enough to wrangle coach’s soul. At the very least, shouldn’t the possession itself be enough to force someone’s soul to submit?

When Kyle asked that, Namba wagged his finger, letting Tim’s shirt fall and regaining some semblance of modesty. “No, no. This is why you’re to remain a novice without someone like me to teach you the ropes, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m in this body,” said Kyle, lowering his voice. “People’ll give us weird looks.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I put up a few precautions before you arrived.” As if to illustrated his point, Namba climbed up the table and lied on top of it before peeling off Tim’s cargo shorts and throwing off the shirt in just a few quick motions.

Kyle looked around, but nobody came to protest. Not even any of the staff. In fact, looking over at the staff on the counter, none of them were moving. Not even blinking. “What…?”

“Time bubble. Advanced stuff,” said Namba in between moans as he started to touch and pleasure himself. Tim’s boxers-briefs were still on, but didn’t seem to care. He still caressed and licked every bit of Tim’s body he could reach, occasionally rubbing the cock beneath the fabric as a dark spot began to form. “In public places like these are a great way to tame unruly hosts, y’know. How about we make sure that our host bodies enjoy the remainder of our three days?”

Kyle stared at the scene before him, hunger temporarily forgotten. Already, he could feel the testosterone in Coach Reynolds’ body working overtime as he beheld Tim’s naked and tempting body. “I-I… sure. Sure, let’s do it.”

“Well?” Namba spread Tim’s legs, his feet hanging off the booth’s table. “What’re you gonna do to me, coach?” he asked with a playful sincerity. “I thought we were just gonna eat together?”

“Oh, I’m about to devour the snack before me, all right,” said Kyle as he stripped himself, having already had plenty of practice with it. Coach Reynolds’ used jockstrap was the last thing he took off, and he twirled it on his fingers and a few times while playfully slapping Tim’s hole with his erect cock.

“O-Oh, now that’s a keeper…” said Namba, his expression, while still smug, growing a bit concerned. “A-Are you sure that’s gonna fit inside of me, my friend? T-Tim’s not exactly used to stuff up his ass.”

Kyle leaned in, chest resting against Tim’s own, and he said, “I’ll stretch it out real nice for ya, kid. Once I’m through with ya, you’ll be able to fit a whole cucumber inside.”

A tiny dribble of precum launched from Tim’s cock and landed on his stomach. Namba gulped and said, “Go for it.”

Kyle went was slow at first, just to make sure Coach Reynolds’ cock didn’t hurt too badly. Whenever Namba would groan in pain, Kyle would caress his cheek or give him a calming kiss as he pounded Namba’s ass.

“Ngh…! Oh, f-fuck…!” said Namba, writhing in Tim’s body as Kyle thrust in and out Tim’s tight ass. The table creaked and moaned from the sheer force that Kyle was using in the coach’s body. “F-Fuck me harder, c-c’mon!” Namba shouted, his eyes fluttering from the sheer pleasure and strength Coach Reynolds used. “We-We’re really doing this in public? Ohhh, you’re such a pervert, coach! Wh-What if someone walks in?”

Kyle forced the coach’s body to grin. “What’s wrong, Tim? ‘fraid that someone’s gonna see how much of a slut you are?” he said, punctuating ‘slut’ with a particularly deep thrust. Another strong shot of precum launched out of Tim’s cock. Namba reached down to jerk himself off, but Kyle slapped his hand away. “Oh don’t worry, boy. I’ll make ya cum hands-free!”

He lifted up both of Tim’s legs and slung them over his shoulders. With every thrust, he would pull him by the ankles to get just a tiny bit more leverage. Namba seemed to be enjoying it, as his hands gripped the sides of the trembling table until his knuckles were white.

Inside, however, was a different story. “N-No, not in public,” the voice of Coach Reynolds said inside of him. Kyle nearly stopped, but he was far too horny and far too deep inside of his new fucktoy. “G-Get out of me. This is my body!” There was a bit of pressure from inside of Coach Reynolds’ body, but Kyle didn’t mind.

“You’re mine,” Kyle found himself saying, flexing on his arms and enjoy the rippling muscles as he posed and increased the speed of his thrusts into Namba, who looked like he was about to fall unconscious. “This is my fucking body, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it! I’m a fucking stud of a man that does nothing but breed young men, and that’s the truth of it! This is who I am!”

“Yes, coach! It’s who you are!” Namba joined in, staring up in the ceiling as his mind continued to experience unbelievable pleasure. “Ohhh, breed me! Breed this hairy hole I got just for you.”

“I’m gonna breed ya and mark ya. Fuck, fuck…! I’m, I’m gonna—WOAAAAHH!” Kyle let out a cry as his climax reached its peak, and he blew his load and coated all of Tim’s inside with the coach’s thick cum.

“Holy fuck, coach!” Namba cried out as his own cock, still untouched, shot its own load. Most landed on his borrowed chest, but a few shot far enough to land on his face.

Coach Reynolds’ voice became softer and more quiet as Kyle continued to dominate his body. “I-I’m… This is your body. Use it as you like...” Coach Reynolds’ voice said before finally becoming silent.

So… I tamed him. But what does that even mean? And, is it bad that I want more? thought Kyle.

“Mm… tasty,” said Namba, knocking Kyle out of his thoughts. He reached down and scooped up some of the cum with a finger and licked it. “Tim never gets any less tasty. Though I think it’s my essence making him so delicious.” Chuckling, he lied back, head resting on his hands and hole overflowing with cum. “Drink up this sight, my friend. This is what we get with magic. See how rewarding this is?”

Kyle nodded, thoroughly exhausted. He sat down on one of the booth seats, rubbing his sore thighs. “That was… amazing!”

“Amazing and so much more, my friend,” said Namba. “So, what will you do now? Visit Michael or…?”

Nodding, Kyle said, “Yeah, that was the plan. But, honestly…” he hesitate before finally saying, “I was thinking… what if I stayed in coach’s body? What if I made this permanent?” It had only been a day and a few sexual experiences, but the urge to never leave was slowly becoming more and more attractive to Kyle. “Is that even possible?”

Namba cocked an eyebrow, his smile disappearing. “Yeah, but… you sure this is the body you want? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad body and all, but this is a big decision. And…” he let out a thoughtful hum, tapping his fingers on the table. “I can make it for sure, but not yet. Probably not until the semester’s mostly over. Until then,” he grinned and ruffled Coach Reynolds’ short hair, “I’ll keep cooking up some of that concoction for the two of us. Build that little relationship with Michael while I research for a way to make this sorta thing permanent. And, prepare yourself. You’ll be leaving your life behind.”

“And you? Are you gonna take over someone permanently? Like Tim?”

Namba shook his head. “I wanna take over someone hot and rich. Tim’s just a nice ride to chill out in for a few days.” He flexed Tim’s much lither body and ran his hands down his torso. “In the meantime, we gotta finish up our lease and this semester, my friend.” Namba looked down at his watch. “You got one more day until my next concoction, what’ll you do?”

Now it was Kyle’s turn to grin. “Whaddaya think? I’m gonna win over my new love."

~o~

Walking around in Coach Reynolds’ body felt like a reward of its own, so Kyle elected to do that to head back to his office. Zack was long-gone, believing he had just passed out while coach asked him to stay behind for a brief talk. With the office clear and most classes done for the day, Kyle sent an email to Michael asking him to meet up to discuss the team’s future as well as discussion regarding the next captain.

As he walked back, Kyle thought back to what Namba had explained. Their hosts wouldn’t remember exactly what happened while being possessed, but their experiences would leave little marks on their souls. It wouldn’t be anything significant without repeated possessions and behavior adjustments, but it had its merit. “It’ll make it a lot easier for us to take them over. Though I’ll probably hop inside someone else,” Namba had told him. “But you can even influence their behavior even while you’re not inside.”

I could probably get coach to keep seducing Michael while I’m not inside of him, thought Kyle, a spring in the coach’s step. Then, once I take over coach forever, I’ll already be in a relationship with Kyle. It seemed so perfect that Kyle had little belief it would ever fail. With that, he soon arrived.

Michael was seated on a bench right outside the office, but brightened up once he noticed Kyle approaching. “Oh, hey coach!” he greeted with a radiant smile that Kyle knew would soon enough be reserved only for him. “Dunno how of much my experience is gonna mean much, but I’m more than happy to help out!”

With a hearty, almost fatherly, chuckle, Kyle patted Michael on the back and assured him that, “You’re far more helpful and valuable than you think, Michael.” Slowly, he allowed his hand to slide just a bit further down before pulling back. “C’mon, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” The rest of the visit was full of small touches and mild flirting and winks. Michael would flush at most of Kyle’s light advances, but didn’t shy away from it.

Throughout the next few weeks, Kyle would use the coach’s body to tease, caress, and flirt with Michael, who subtly invited them in. Towards the end of the semester, during the final of their little meetings, Michael said, “Are you flirting with me, coach…?” There was a longing tone in his voice as he looked up at Coach Reynolds’. He was hesitant, nervous, embarrassed, and hopeful.

Just how long had Kyle waited for Michael to see him like that? He wasn’t sure, but he knew that, at least, that time was at an end. With Coach Reynolds’ thick fingers, he gently guided Michael’s chin for a passionate, sensual kiss. Kyle’s borrowed tongue guided Michael’s more inexperienced one, and the two soon collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs. “I’ve waited so long for this day,” said Michael, unknowingly voicing both of their thoughts.

~o~

The day arrived. Namba served two bowls with a concoction that somehow smelled like lilacs this time. After agreeing to keep in touch, the two went their separate ways—towards their new lives. Namba went to his rich uncle’s company while Kyle paid one last visit to Coach Reynolds’ office.

Brimming with confidence, he knocked on the door and shouted, “Coach, daddy’s home!” without a hint of shame. So much had happened this semester, and now he was ready to finally embrace the future as someone new.

Coach Reynolds opened the door with dread on his face. “G-Get away from me,” he managed to utter, even as he allowed Kyle to strut inside. He shut the door and began to strip his clothes. It made the possession much easier. “H-How are you doing this…? What is happening to me?” Just speaking with his own will seemed to be a challenge for him, let alone resisting the power of Namba’s concoction.

Kyle walked over and planted a kiss on the coach’s neck. “This is your destiny, coach. This is how your story ends,” he said, placing two of his hands on both of coach’s pecs. His hands began sinking into his body as though Coach Reynolds was nothing but a pool of water. He let out a low groan, trembling. “And this is how our story begins.”

Pushing Coach Reynolds against the wall, Kyle slowly forced his way inside of his future and permanent body. “N-No! Get outta me, kid! D-Don’t do this!” Coach Reynolds clutched his head with both hands, almost ripping off his hair as he felt Kyle’s consciousness and memories swallowing his own. It was as if he was being consumed from the inside out. “You’re g-gonna kill me… I’m disappearing… N-No, please stop…!”

“You won’t die,” said Kyle. By now, most of his body was inside of the coach. All that was left was the top part of his torso and his head that awkwardly hung from coach's burly chest. “We’re becoming one, coach. Isn’t it great? You can feel it, right? How pleasurable this is for us? For me?”

Coach Reynolds grit his teeth, but soon his arms fell limp by his sides. “Y-Yes… this is hot for me,” he admitted, both ashamed and aroused as Kyle’s essence began to bind with his own. As two souls became one, Coach Reynolds became convinced that he was Kyle, that he was another half that was returning home and becoming whole. “Keep it up,” he moaned, thrusting in the air as Kyle fully dove into his body. “Ahhh! Oh, fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Coach Reynolds slid down the wall and fell to his knees, his whole body trembling as a merging of souls occurred inside. Memories of pleasure, pain, madness, and ecstasy all blended together into a cocktail of euphoria until, “HOLY FUCK!” The new Coach Reynolds let out a guttural roar of pleasure as he achieved the most intense orgasm of his life—and the very first of his new life. Streams of cock shot high into the air. One, two, more and more until he lost count. He came his entire load until he was shooting blanks, hips still thrusting into the empty air until he just collapsed on his side, entire body alight with a pleasurable soreness.

There was no need to explore his new body, Coach Reynolds was already accustomed to it after half a semester of taking it over. He just stood up on shaky legs and stretched. Kyle was gone, but he wasn’t at the same time. A new being was born, but he still carried the name Coach Reynolds. The old coach wasn’t gone, either, but it was mainly the one who used to be Kyle in control. The new Coach Reynolds put his clothes back on and checked his phone.

One message from Michael, asking the coach when their first official date would be. Coach Reynolds smiled and gleefully began his brand new relationship to celebrate his brand new life.

[pfhwrittes]

have some domestic price x gender neutral reader fluff that floated into my head.

pairing: john price x gender neutral reader

word count: 711

tags/triggers: domesticity, fluff, humour, pet names (love), mild bashing of the reader character's sister, slightly older than canon john price, long term relationship, no Y/N, 2nd person POV.

a/n: unedited as per usual. please don't interact with my writing if you're under the age of 18 despite this being a fluffy little something. also, i'm not judging people that want to get married or have kids, you do you but this is for those of us that don't want either of those things.

"john, what do you think about getting married?" you ask as casually as possible between sips of tea as your long term partner perches on the sofa next to you, his eyes focused on the liverpool game on the telly.

"i think you called it a "monument to compulsive monogamy and heterosexuality" and then you swore loudly about henry the eighth for twelve minutes on our first date." he replies before groaning loudly as his team bungle a free kick.

you smile into the rim of your mug because, yes you did say and do that when he brought it up all those years ago.

"mm, i know. one of my better rants i think."

john's hiss of triumph as one of the little red shirts on the screen peters off into discontented grumbling as half time is called and you place your mug on the coffee table.

john turns to face you when you settle back into the deep cushions and you trace the salt-and-pepper in his beard with loving eyes. if there's one thing you can say about retired captain john price it's that he's only got better with age, much like the whiskey he has stashed in the spare room/office. forty six is a damned good look on this man.

"what's got you asking about marriage, love?" john questions you with a raised eyebrow and you grumble, curse your overly observant partner. even when he's distracted his mind is still turning over every interaction and sniffing out a motive.

you sigh.

"my sister is having a baby."

"christ, really?" he looks so scandalised that you laugh at his expression. it's a familiar one when the topic of your younger sister is brought up, a combination of bafflement and mild disgust that pulls his mouth down into a frown even as his eyebrows reach up towards his hairline.

"mm." you make a noise of agreement.

"with the estate agent?"

"yep." you pop the 'p' obnoxiously.

"christ. she's only known him for five minutes," he shakes his head disapprovingly before reaching for your hand to give it a squeeze, "but what does this have to do with us getting married, hm?"

you shrug a little helplessly as he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

"i don't know, i just started thinking when she sent me a copy of her scan and -"

"of course she did." john interrupts you with a weary sigh. "your sister is nothing but a self centred cow and i'm positive she sent it to you to get you to feel bad."

he looks at you, pinning you in place with a fond sort of sternness that you had seen a few times before when kyle had been over for dinner espousing his worries about being the right man for the job.

"listen to me when i say this, yeah?" he taps your knuckles with his thumb gently to make sure you're fully focused on him, "i'm happy exactly as we are, love. i don't need a bit of paper telling me that we're bound together for the rest of eternity. god knows we already are, what with the mortgage and the bloody cat."

"be nice john, she's a sweetheart." you chide as you glance over at your middle aged tortoiseshell moggy curled up on the armchair.

"she's a bloody demon and you know it." john snorts good-naturedly as the cat in question makes a noise similar to a creaky gate at the sound of his voice.

he releases your hand so that he can reel you into his side to press a kiss to your temple.

"stop trying to distract me with the cat and stop focusing on your bloody sister. you've never wanted to get married and that's one of the reasons i love you, you silly arse."

the small knot of worry you'd been carrying since the start of the conversation unwinds and you release a long breath, taking the opportunity to snuggle into his side more comfortably.

"i love you too."

john simply presses another kiss your temple in response as the football match starts again and you settle in to enjoy an evening with your not-husband.

(tomorrow you'll threaten him with a rolled up tea towel after you find that he texted your sister off your phone calling her baby scan a "badly made lasagne".)

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Lonely Hearts Club

Mr. Wayne never brought his partner home. You saw no swingers' parties, orgies, or even a single panty on the floor to hint at the wealth of lovers he supposedly had. In a way, you were disappointed, because you found nothing more entertaining than soaking up the drama that billionaire playboys could offer.

Alas, Mr. Wayne was boring. 

He went to work, played with his kids, attended charity balls and galas, and was a good, boring single father and philanthropist. The only interesting part about him was his troubled relationship with Selina Kyle (and some messy drama with Damian’s mother that Alfred refused to delve deeper into), who had been slowly creeping back into Bruce’s arms. When Alfred told you, you were a little surprised since it seemed he, and the children, were affected by the breakup. 

It was a little past two in the morning when you ventured to the kitchen for a glass of water, and the entire house was relatively quiet. There was the pitter-patter of rain against the windows and the shuffling on your feet, but, distantly, you could hear a conversation between Mr. Wayne and a woman. 

You tried to mind your own business, but, as you poured ice into your glass, you heard Mr. Wayne say, “Selina, please.”

“No, Bruce, we can’t keep doing this,” Selina’s voice was clear, almost stern. 

They must have been in the side hall by how loud their voices were. You paused, partially due to fear of being caught in an awkward position but mainly because of your curiosity. There was a witty back and forth before Bruce demanded her to go loudly before the door slammed shut. It went silent, and then you heard Mr. Wayne make his way toward the kitchen.

Panicking, you hurried to fill your glass with water so you could get out of there lest he think you were listening in. Just as it was filled and you started to leave, Mr. Wayne entered the kitchen. He seemed surprised to see you, and you were so scared by the sight of him that you dropped the glass—sending it to shattered pieces. 

“Mr. Wayne,” You gasped, kneeling to clean up the mess. “Sorry, about the cup.”

He shook his head, rushing over to urge you to stand up. “No, don’t use your hands. You’ll cut yourself. Give me a moment, I’ll find the broom.”

Now that you were looking at him, there was a flush on his cheeks—Wait, you thought, could he have been embarrassed? You never knew he could have such a feeling. He also seemed disheveled and smelled a bit like perfume mixed with cigarette smoke. 

“Here it is,” Mr. Wayne said after opening nearly every closet and cupboard in the kitchen. “Move, I’ll do it.”

You sidestepped, eyes flickering between Mr. Wayne and the broken glass on the floor. By the way, he swept, it was clear he was rich. That man looked like he had never held a broom in his life, and, with how much Alfred did for him, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t. 

“No,” You said, hand going to the broom handle. “Let me do it. It’ll be quicker.”

“Are you saying I can’t sweep,” Bruce spat. 

You looked up at him, tired and agitated all of a sudden. “Yes!”

Bruce let go of the handle and huffed, moving across the kitchen to find a glass. He then turned to the cabinet under the island to pluck out a bottle of scotch. He watched you momentarily before rounding the island while holding his hand out expectantly. 

“I’ll do it,” He said plainly. 

You laughed. “Mr. Wayne, I’m nearly done. Plus, we already established that you can’t sweep.”

“Can’t sweep,” Bruce mumbled under his breath. “Ridiculous.”

“Don’t be so upset,” You remarked. “It’s hardly your fault for being born with a silver spoon.”

“I’m not upset!” He said, raising his voice enough to scare you a little. There was a little silence before he sheepishly apologized. “It’s been a stressful night,” was the excuse he gave you. You wanted to be angry at him for raising his voice, but you quickly got over it. 

After throwing away the glass, you looked at him before moving to sleep. You stopped halfway to return to the island where Mr. Wayne stood. 

“Get me a cup?” You asked. 

Bruce stared at you before doing as you asked. When the glass hit the table, he quickly grabbed the bottle to fill it. You were never one for alcohol, but you were always one to rise to the occasion. 

“What happened?” You asked. 

“Relationship troubles,” He said plainly. 

“I used to say the same thing,” You said. “It’s never just relationship troubles, Bruce.”

The two of you stared at one another for what felt like forever until he let out a long, tired sigh and said, “I don’t know. I thought I loved her, and I thought she loved me—but…I think we want different things. I want her to be a part of my family, but she’s afraid of risking her independence.”

“You can’t fault her for that,” You said, not sure of what else you could say. 

“No, I can’t. No matter how much I want to hate her for it to make myself feel better, I know it’s still her choice.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he threw back the entire glass before reaching for the bottle to pour another. He cleared his throat, before asking, “What happened with you and, uh, whatever his name was?”

“Ah, yes, him,” You said, looking down at the glass and swirling the scotch around inside it. “I thought he was great. He was kind, loving—”

“He was a man,” Bruce said, cocking an eyebrow. 

You chuckled. “Believe me, I know, but I was in love with him, Bruce. I wanted to marry him, ya know?”

“Too bad he fired you,” He said. 

That stung a bit, and Bruce must have seen it on your face because all of a sudden was mumbling an apology. Sucking in a breath, you pulled the bottle toward you to pour yourself more scotch. 

“How’d you know that,” You asked, trying to hold back tears and act like your usual humorous self. “I don’t remember mentioning I was fired in my interview.”

“You didn’t mention much in your interview at all, but you honestly didn’t expect me to look?” He scoffed. Yeah, you should have guessed that he would do some sort of background check since he was a crazed control freak. Sniffling, you tried to keep your gaze on the bottle to keep from crying as you thought about your ex. You hated the man, but part of you missed loving him and, in turn, being loved. “I’m sorry to have upset you,” Bruce said, reaching out to awkwardly rub circles on your back. 

“No, no. I don’t mean to cry,” You said, laughing lightly at yourself. “I shouldn’t be crying in front of my boss, anyway.”

“I don’t mind,” Bruce mumbled. 

“I found out the other day that he’s getting married, too,” You mumbled, voice cracking. “Kind of makes me wonder why not me?”

Bruce was quiet, and you took that all the emotion made him uncomfortable. Quickly, you began to suck your feelings back in. You already felt foolish enough, especially when you felt your nose start running. When you began to excuse what you had said, Bruce quickly stopped you from doing such a thing. 

“Every time Selina and I would break up,” He started, “I used to wonder what I had done wrong, and I don’t think I ever realized that it wasn’t just me until tonight. It was just us.” 

“Maybe,” You said quietly. “I hope you find your person one day, Mr. Wayne. You’re a good man.”

He looked down at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Thank you…and I hope you find your person, too.”

Silently, you agreed with the sentiment. You hoped to one day find that person and prayed that he wouldn’t be your employer this time. 

[rowarn]

okayyy but simon and kyle both fucking your ass at the same time and leaving your cunt completely untouched

YESYES!!!! they're so mean abt it too )-:

kyle coos sweetly telling you to just ask!!! he'll touch your clit for you if u just ask!!! but the second u do simon is reaching around and slapping kyle's hand away with a stern "cum like this or not at all" and kyle just gives you a shit eating grin bc he knew it was gonna be pointless, he just wanted to hear u beg and see the look of devastation on ur face when u were denied )-:

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro���s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

[writeforfandoms]

Homeward Bound 1

Find the series masterlist

Welcome to my newest wip, because dragons are my absolute favorite fantasy creature. Also, please leave canon at the door, this is a full on fantasy AU we're now entering.

Seriously. I have so much world building already done for this. Come ask me questions.

We've got a bit of a slow burn, dragons, baby dragons, and drama. What more could you want?

Eventual Simon Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, fantasy au rules, literal dragons.

Word count: 1k

You huffed as, yet again, Kyle and John invaded the nesting area. They had gotten more polite over the last weeks, but still. 

Truly, though, you couldn't entirely blame them. They were both in the group for this upcoming Hatching, and were very eager. John had been passed over last time, and Kyle was new this time. 

You would never tell them, but you had a good feeling for them, for this season. 

“Quiet down,” you told them, stern and no-nonsense, refusing to smile at their silliness. 

“Aw, we jus’ wanted te see,” John wheedled, his northern accent still strong despite his time in the capital. 

You rolled your eyes. “Quietly, then,” you stressed, taking a quick look round. Most of the dragons were still calm, only one or two first timers fidgety and anxious. Good enough. Nothing to fuss over. 

Kyle nodded eagerly, making a face at John. But the two were quick to look around the nests, whispering to each other. 

You just closed your eyes and leaned back in your seat. They'd be fine. And if they weren't, they'd get hissed at. 

Good enough. 

Yawning briefly, you blinked lazily up at the ceiling of the cave, which stretched far above your head. Strategic perches had been hewn into the rock over generations of dragons, giving plenty of spaces above the hatching grounds for the dragons to observe. The seating had been added for humans to observe, long before you. 

In a matter of weeks, the seats would be filled, and the cave would be the site of great joy once again. 

Kyle cleared his throat softly, prompting you to look at him instead of the ceiling. You raised one eyebrow in silent question. 

“You know best,” he murmured with a little smile. “How are they looking?”

“Healthy,” you murmured. “No issues that I can see. It's a good clutch this year.” 

“Good.” Kyle smiled, clearly pleased. “That's good to hear.” 

“You don't have long to wait now,” you encouraged gently, taking pity on the young man. 

He nodded, looking at the nests and the mothers with something akin to awe in his eyes. “Not long,” he agreed in a murmur. 

Your lips twitched in a smile, a little against your will. You had appearances to maintain, after all. “Go on,” you murmured. “Either go say hi to some of them, or go elsewhere.”

He shot you a look, a little startled and a little betrayed, but he nodded. He made the smart choice and went to the silver near you, greeting her. He'd be fine. 

You, instead, looked for John to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble. It took you a moment to spot him, way out by Ilsbet. Rather to your surprise, she had tucked him into her nest. 

Could be first-timer instincts, although most first-time mothers went the other way and drove everyone away from their nests… 

You meandered your way over there, smiling when Ilsbet chirruped at you in greeting, stretching her head out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart,” you murmured, scratching under her chin. “You seem to have a pest in your nest.” 

“Oi!” John's indignation was muffled somewhat. 

Ilsbet purred, trying to encourage you closer. Probably so she could tuck you into her nest along with John. 

“No, sweetheart.” You patted her nose. “I can't. We've talked about this, remember?” 

She drooped, massive green body only squishing John a little. He oofed. 

“Oh come now,” you scolded gently. “None of that, hm? Or your rider will insist I'm tormenting you.” 

“Are you not?” The dry question came from behind you. 

You didn't jump, but you did slowly turn to look. Ilsbet's rider was big and broad, blonde hair kept short, the usual fabric covering the lower half of his face. Brown eyes stared at you, impassive and unimpressed. 

“No, Simon. I am not tormenting your dragon.” You kept your tone flat as you spoke to him, none of the teasing warmth you had for Ilsbet coming through. 

Simon grunted once and stepped around you, staring down at John in his dragon's nest. “Out.” 

“But–” John started to protest. 

“Out,” Simon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John sighed but got out of the nest carefully. Ilsbet didn't even notice, busy purring and chirping at her rider. You did catch a glimpse of four eggs, shells still soft beige flecked with gold. Good. 

You were quick to back off and leave Simon alone. He was notorious for being difficult to get close to, even among the riders. And since this was Ilsbet's first time nesting… Well. You expected him to be extra grumpy. 

But the hatching wasn't that far away now, thankfully. 

You made your way back over to your seat, settling down again. In a little while, you'd check on the mothers, see if they needed anything. See if you could get another count on the eggs. 

But that would be in a little bit. For now, you found Kyle and John, watching them talk quietly. Your gaze wandered back to Simon, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his body language had softened as he spoke to his dragon. 

He did have a heart. You'd known that, of course. You'd been at the hatching when he'd been selected. Dragons didn't select people who were heartless. 

Although how such a sweet dragon had selected someone as reserved as Simon… You would never understand. 

John and Kyle left, and Simon left not long after them. Your domain returned to quiet, the sand warm even through your shoes. All was as it should be. 

You breathed out slowly, eyes drooping half-closed again. This was better. 

Not too much longer until the hatching. 

Not that you went a single day without seeing Simon, as he came in to check on Ilsbet often. It was almost like he didn't trust you. 

Honestly, you weren't sure if it was just you, or if he was just like that in general. After several days of dealing with him, you were inclined to think he was just like that. 

Well. The hatching would be over soon, and then it was unlikely you'd see much of him for three more years.

[peachesofteal]

İ love! Love! Love! Love! The omegaverse au?!?!? How do you think the guys would react to darling still trying to take care of herself because while she recognizes them as safe she still thinks she has to çare for herself...like trying to self-soothe and cook or whatnot for herself or the other parts of heat y'know y'know while the guys are there an it's just aughhh like they want to take care of her and this is the perfect oppurtinty but she's still shying away from them because that's all her hindbrain self knows?

I see this happening after everything that’s going on currently in the omegaverse au, possibly for darling’s next cycle, first cycle with her mates after she's come clean about everything.

18+ mdni/ dead disco omegaverse au / mature and explicit themes

You're restless.

Johnny can feel you, fidgeting, muscles tensing and relaxing in his hold, where you're snuggled up against his chest on the couch. He blinks, perplexed, because you should be fully enthralled in this movie at this point. It's one of your favorites. You insisted on watching it.

Casually, slowly, he leans forward to give you a sniff, the movement not as subtle as he would like, but goes unnoticed by you all the same. He gets a good draw from your gland, lungful of you, the scent that he knows and loves, the scent that feels like home, underneath it something else lingers.

Something fruited. Something ripe.

His eyes widen. His body responds, blood roaring in his ears, muscles seizing in response, nostrils flaring, trying to get more, and more. Fuck.

"Darling?" He coos, edging closer, wrapping an arm around you to tuck you into his body. "Everything alright?" You must be in pre-heat. You must. You're not nesting, or exhibiting any other symptoms, but you have to be close.

"Mmm? Yeah." you answer, sleepily, not even looking Simon's way when he rounds the couch.

"What's goin' on?"

"Nothing." you snatch a reply from Johnny's mouth, and he shakes his head. Later, the motion says.

They put you in bed sometime after that. You go easily, curling up in Johnny's arms until you're softly snoring, and he's able to slip away, tucking you in tight with a glass of water on the table. Just in case.

"She's in pre-heat." He says in whoosh as soon as he closes the door, and Simon nods, like he already knows. "Ye knew?"

"I suspected. Caught her stockpiling some of our dirty clothes in the closet yesterday. Said she was doing laundry but, it didn't make sense." Johnny pulls at the neck of his shirt, the clothes suddenly feeling too tight, too warm, too itchy, and Simon's gaze narrows.

"You can't." He tells him simply, and Johnny blanches. "This is her first real heat with us, I don't want you in a rut."

"Ah know."

"Tamp it down."

"Ah-" Simon grips him behind the neck, bringing their foreheads together before pressing a long, sweet kiss to his lips.

"I love you. But I will send you to Kyle's if I think you cannot handle this." He's stern, and Johnny gulps. He knows what's at stake. He knows what it means, that you're going to into heat again, so soon, after coming off the suppressants. He knows you're going to need an extra gentle hand, gentle touch, encouragement the whole way. If he's in a rut, he won't be able to give that to you. He'll be too busy fixated on fucking you full of his come and getting you pregnant.

"It doesn't feel like a rut, ah just feel, uncomfortable." he assures, and Simon nods, placing another quick kiss on his lips and pulling away.

"I've called Price. Told him not to expect us for another week and a half, at least." Simon pauses, turning back, looking him up and down. "Anything I can do for this discomfort?" His toes curl, delicious desire heating up his spine, and he's nodding the whole way to the couch.

You're starting to lose your grip.

You can feel it. You wake in the morning a little more miserable, body starting to cramp, and with the pain, comes confusion. Delusion. You have to actively stare at both of the guys for too long, blinking and committing them to memory before you can get out of bed, reminding yourself that you're at home, you're safe. You're with them, and they'd never hurt you. You're okay.

They start to wake up once they feel you shift, and you tell them you're going to the bathroom, where you end up staring at yourself in the mirror for far too long. Who are you? Are you in there? What were you doing in here?

You touch your gland, feeling it beneath your finger, muscle memory trying to force your wrist upwards to rub, and rub, and soothe yourself but you beat it back. You're safe. You're with them.

Instinct drives you to the kitchen. You think you might be hungry, and if not, you will be. You probably need to put some things together, prep all the stuff you bought at the grocery anyway. Like you already knew, your trip earlier this week resulted in extra vegetables and fruit, your heat necessities, and you wash them robotically in the sink as the kettle heats, moving them all to the cutting board for the next step.

Your mind wanders as you slice, and you try to keep yourself on track, thinking about your life now, versus your life then, trying to stay present, keep a grip on yourself. You cannot have a repeat of last time. Not now. Dangerous thoughts grow in your subconscious, fear and doubt filtering through to the forefront of your mind.

Are you sure they even want an omega? Are you sure they don't find heats disgusting? Are you sure this is what they want?

"Darling?"

Why do you think they always spent their ruts together? Why didn't you ever tell them about the suppressants or your past, until you absolutely had to?

"Darling."

They're going to think you're pathetic. A pathetic omega who cannot control herself. Desperate to be bred, to be fucked. Disgusting.

"Darling!" Simon's shout jolts you, and the knife clatters against the countertop, freed from your hand that is now being held in another one, much larger. "Hey, you with me?" He ducks down to look at your eyes, but you can't look up. The room smells, like you, like heat, like panic, and you whimper involuntarily, heart thundering beneath your rib cage. "Alright, you're alright." He starts a rumble, harmonics that vibrate deep from his chest, and then pulls you into his arms, where you bury your face in his chest immediately.

"I'm sss-orry."

"Shhh."

"I don't think I- I- can do this." You cry. You're sobbing, wetting his shirt, your skin, and he picks you up like a feather, carrying you to bed and laying you gracefully back in your spot, between him and Johnny.

You cover your face with your hands, and Johnny matches Simon's purr with his own, emitting a honey sweet calming scent.

"What can't you do, darling?"

"My heat. I can't- I don't want it." You hiccup, breathing shallow, and look at both of them with wide eyes. "Please, can we c-call my doctor and see if, there's something-"

"Darling, no." Johnny hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It's alright, we're with ye now." You shake your head in denial, and then before you can stop, your wrist comes to your gland... rubbing. It happens for a second, maybe two, before Simon plucks it free and replaces it with his own. You try to protest, but you cramp, body curling in on itself, the pain making everything worse, slick starting to leak down your thighs. You whimper, hand trying to snake down between your legs, desperate to tuck your fingers into your cunt for some form of relief, body and hindbrain screaming at you to find something, your mates, anything-

"We're here." Simon coos. "Right here. We've got you. We're going to take care of you, I promise."

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Reveal: android!reader x Kyle Gaz Garrick

Gaz tried to catch you before you fell but just barely missed you. The shock from your sudden fall completely blocked out the loud bang that followed when you face planted onto the floor.

"Oh, fuck." He quickly kneeled down beside you before he yelled out. "Someone get medical!"

He gently grabbed your shoulders to turn you on your back when he saw a blinking red light in the center of your back. His eyebrows knitted together but he elected to ignore it for the time being in favor of helping you.

When he laid you on your back he checked your pulse and his mouth went dry. There was no pulse. A pit formed in his stomach and he immediately got his emotions under control as he went to give you CPR.

However, just as he placed his hands on your chest, your eyes, or rather one eye, opened and you sat up in a flash.

Gaz stared at you with shock and confusion the same way your eye widened as you stared back.

"I have to go-"

"No, you need medical attention."

He tried to get you to lay back down by placing his hands on your shoulders so you didn't give yourself any worse brain damage than you probably had.

You overpowered him easily and were up on your feet without issue. You swiftly walked back to your office while he sat there dumbfounded.

He wasn't sure how you were up and walking after smacking your head so hard. It had to be adrenaline, but if there was anything he knew about it was that it would wear off eventually and soon you'd have to face the consequences.

Gaz shot up and raced after you.

"We have to check to make sure you're alright." He argued and couldn't help but worry that maybe you were trying to save face because of how anxious you were. "You don't need to act tough-"

"The medics are not equipped to fix me." You argued back and he shook his head.

"Trust me, they've seen everything. I'll walk you there-"

"No."

His jaw clenched and he grabbed your arm to stop you. He held you firmly so you wouldn't escape him again but made sure not to squeeze when he felt you tense up.

He gave you a stern look, one that hid his worry before he spoke.

"I know we don't know each other that much but I'm not going to let you make yourself worse. You need help." He hoped that if he insisted enough you'd listen.

He couldn't live with himself if he was the reason you ended up dead.

You looked deep in thought while you stared at him with one eye which made the queasiness in his stomach much worse. You seemed to think for a long moment before you blinked at him.

"I'm an android."

Gaz's eyebrows knitted together and he gave you an incredulous look. He to get you medical attention because you had to have brain damage.

"Look, let's just get you to the infirmary-"

"I was made to be the best data analyst and intelligence library for the military specifically for the 141. My purpose is to make perfect plans and to make your job easier so you succeed at the assignments given to you." You explain but he stared at you as if you had grown three heads. "I will demonstrate my capabilities for you."

He didn't know what to do or think as you broke out of his grasp and walked into your office. He had no choice but to follow you even if he thought you sounded crazy, but he hoped that maybe if he went along with whatever you had planned, he could take you to get help after.

The blinking red light was gone from your back but before he could even question it, you plugged yourself into your laptop and his mouth went agape.

It was impossible. It had to be, you looked completely human and yet your finger was open as mechanical steel and wiring. There were so many questions but he didn't know where to start.

It explained your behavior at least.

"My identity was confidential in order to avoid potential threats such as corrupt data or attempted theft." You explained further and he nodded slowly.

"Did corrupted data cause you to...faint back there?" He sat close to you and still couldn't help but stare at your closed eye.

Did it hurt...well no it didn't. At least, not in the same way it would hurt for him he guess."

"My data has been scrubbed since your accident. After the visit to the pub, my processors began to overload and once it became too much, I was forced into a shutdown to save any of my hardware from frying."

Gaz hummed.

"What's causing it then?" He wondered and you stared at him with that blank look of yours.

Lifeless. Of course, it made sense now.

"You." You said and he scoffed, thinking you were joking for just a moment before he realized that you couldn't. "With the data I've collected about the situation, my processors began to overheat and overload because of you."

He gave you an apologetic and sheepish smile. It's not that he could've known yet he still couldn't help but feel bad since he had inadvertently hurt you...damaged you.

"Sorry about that."

"Your compassionate nature has an unexpected affect on my processors. In fact, it was unexpected that any of you would try to make a connection with me."

A smile tugged on the corner of his lips and he gave you a fond look.

"Are you sure you're not feeling?" He asked and you titled your head.

You blinked a couple times, looking as confused as you could be as something that couldn't have feelings.

Or at the very least, shouldn't.

"I'm incapable of having feelings." You told him but he shrugged.

"Can't rule anything out right now." He said and you looked away from him.

"It doesn't matter. I will contact my engineers about this error so they can remove me and deactivate me to avoid further complications."

Gaz's eyes widened and he shook his head. A strong feeling came over him, one that made him go serious in an instant. He didn't want that, not when he still wanted to get to know you.

"You can still do your job despite you feeling." He argued and your eyebrows knitted together. "We have feelings and we still do bloody good job at what we do."

"But I'm not built for feelings..." You trailed off and looked confused. "And you know I'm an android."

"And that's cool."

You blinked a couple times and got the same look on your face before you fainted. He quickly placed a steady hand on your shoulder to make sure you wouldn't faint again before you looked deep into his eyes.

"If I don't tell them, there could be a lot of risk. It'd be a violation." You said but he smiled.

"Sometimes you have to break a few rules to get the job done." He explained and you titled your head.

"You and Captain Price are alike."

"Learned from the best."

You looked deep in thought and glanced at his hand, causing him to retract it quickly. You looked at him, an unreadable expression across your face that was partly due to you being an android but partly due to the fact that everything seemed to be new to you.

You touched your eye.

"What should I do about my eye?" You wondered expectantly.

"Tell them someone hit you." He suggested and you raised an eyebrow. "And hope they won't ask any other questions."

"I should...lie?"

Gaz nodded with a smile. It was the only way to keep you here but he was hoping that maybe if you did, something good would come from it instead of you fainting again.

He hoped that maybe you'd get used to feeling.

There was a knock on your door and Price opened it with a worried look on his face. He looked between you and Gaz before he stepped in.

"Heard someone yell for medical, everything alright?"

Gaz glanced at you and you glanced at him. When you nodded, his smile grew wider and he looked back at Price.

"Need to catch you up on a few things, Cap."

A/n: i struggled with this for a while because i have no idea how to write someone having this revelation but here we are. Enjoy!