#were!john would lean in and answer

[enniewritesathing]

I like to think that were!John has accidentally startled Brian one too many times and got threatened with putting a belled collar on him.

It's absurd that he has the ability to not make a sound in the house when he moves. And he has snuck up on both Brian and Spaghetti (though the latter is more of a game and it's very amusing to see her jump, lol). He has to be careful with Brian and he'll only do it if he doesn't have anything in his hands or something within reach.

Joke's on him tho, Were!John likes getting belled every now and then.

He does make it a game with Brian during their yearly trip to Granite Falls (to satisfy the urge for hunting and that other urge) when they go do their hide-and-seek deal.

[zhelin-thames]

Tiny baby ghost

idea from Prompt for @silverblueglitter

part 2 and 3 are out Masterpost

The summoning circle glowed an eerie green, casting sharp shadows around the Justice League's meeting chamber. John Constantine, sleeves rolled up and cigarette dangling from his lips, muttered the last words of the incantation. The room held a tense silence, broken only by the faint hum of the magical energy.

When the green smoke cleared, instead of the imposing figure of the Ghost King they’d expected, a scrawny teenager in a black jumpsuit with white gloves and boots appeared, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Seriously?!” Danny Phantom groaned, throwing up his hands. “It’s a school night!”

The room collectively blinked. Superman and Wonder Woman exchanged confused glances. Batman’s eyes narrowed behind his cowl, while the Batkids—perched around the room like chaotic gargoyles—leaned forward, intrigued.

“This… is the Ghost King?” Nightwing asked, his voice skeptical but amused.

“Ghost King?” Danny repeated, holding up a hand. “Nope. Wrong guy. Try again.”

“Clearly, this is a child,” Robin said flatly, stepping forward with his arms crossed. “Either the summoning ritual failed, or we’ve been deceived.”

“Who are you calling a child, mini-Nightmare?” Danny shot back, floating an inch off the ground to look taller. “I’m fifteen. How old are you, eight?”

“I am fourteen, you insufferable spirit,” Robin snapped, glaring daggers at him. “And you are woefully unqualified to speak to me in such a tone.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Robin Junior. Let me know when you grow a sense of humor.”

Red Hood, perched casually on a table nearby, barked out a laugh. “I like this kid already.”

Robin scowled. “You would.”

Red Hood swung his legs off the table, standing to his full height. “Alright, Casper, if you’re not the Ghost King, why’d this ritual grab you instead?”

“That’s a great question! Wish I knew!” Danny said, throwing up his hands.

Constantine frowned, stepping closer. “You’re definitely ghostly, mate, and half-alive by the looks of you.” His sharp gaze softened just slightly. “You’re a bloody halfa.”

Danny froze, eyes darting to the swirling green barrier still holding him in the circle (not really). “I’m a ghost. And yeah, I’m alive. What’s it to you?”

Batman loomed closer, his deep voice cutting through the room. “If you’re not the Ghost King, why does this summoning work?”

“Great question! Wish I knew!” Danny threw up his arms again, his ectoplasm glowing faintly in frustration. “I don’t even know who you are, and you’ve already ruined my night! or Maybe the universe hates me. That’d explain a lot!”

“Who even made this circle?” Red Hood asked, pointing at Constantine. “Did you check it? It’s glowing green. That’s ghost vibes, man.”

“Thanks for the observation, Red Hood,” Constantine said dryly. “What gave it away, the ectoplasm or the ghost?”

“You are in no position to demand answers,” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re worse than my parents,” Danny muttered.

Before Batman could respond, the air grew colder. A heavy, oppressive presence filled the room as green flames erupted in the middle of the chamber. From the flames stepped Pariah Dark, fully armored and radiating raw power, his glowing eyes zeroing in on Danny.

The League tensed, weapons at the ready, but Pariah didn’t even look at them. Instead, his expression softened in a way that could only be described as paternal as he reached out and plucked Danny out of the circle like a child grabbing a stuffed animal.

“Who dares summon my child?” Pariah rumbled, his deep voice shaking the room. He cradled Danny in one massive hand as though he were the most precious treasure in existence. Danny, for his part, just sighed and leaned against one of Pariah’s fingers.

“Dad, chill. They’re not trying to hurt me—” Danny shot a glare at Batman, “—yet.”

“‘Dad’?” Robin echoed, utterly baffled.

“They stressed him out,” Pariah continued as if Danny hadn’t spoken. “This is the third time in two weeks. Do you know how much sleep he’s lost? He has school!”

Pariah’s gaze darkened. “The third summoning this week,” he growled. “And for what? To disrupt his rest? His studies?”

“Studies?” Robin repeated incredulously. “This alleged ‘Ghost Prince’ is concerned with—”

“School,” Red Hood supplied helpfully, smirking. “That tracks. He’s just a kid.”

“I’M NOT JUST A KID!” Danny protested, his voice cracking slightly. Jason snorted.

Before anyone else could respond, Fright Knight materialized beside Pariah, his armor gleaming and his sword crackling with ghostly energy. He took one look at the summoning circle and grimaced.

“Shall I eliminate the offenders, my liege?” he asked Pariah, his grip tightening on his sword.

“No!” Danny yelped, waving his hands frantically. “No eliminating, no smiting! We talked about this, remember?”

Pariah sighed, his massive shoulders slumping. “They stressed you out,” he rumbled. “They should pay.”

“They’ll be fine,” Danny muttered. “Just… let me handle it, okay?”

“‘Fine,’ he says,” Red Hood muttered. “We’re seconds away from getting blasted into the afterlife.”

Robin's hand drifted toward his sword, his eyes darting between Pariah and Fright Knight. “This is absurd. We are the Justice League. Surely, we are not so easily—”

“Shut it, kid,” Consttantine interrupted. “Unless you want to test if we’re actually ‘fine.’”

Danny groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We summoned you because we need the Ghost King’s aid to stop a catastrophic magical event threatening the world.”

“Then why not summon him?” Danny snapped. “I’m not the king!”

“Yet the ritual brought you,” Batman said, his voice a mix of curiosity and accusation.

Pariah’s gaze darkened. “The crown does not transfer unless challenged. And none shall dare challenge my son.”

Danny squirmed in his ghost-dad’s grip. “Okay, Dad, they get it. Can you not threaten to destroy the world for five minutes?”

Pariah huffed but gently set Danny down, though he remained close, a looming shadow of protective menace.

Constantine rubbed his temples, muttering something about “bloody teenagers” and “overprotective ghost tyrants.” Meanwhile, the Batkids exchanged glances, clearly plotting something.

Danny sighed. “Look, I’ll help you guys with your big, scary magical problem, but can we make it quick? I have a chem test tomorrow.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

rafe having no boundaries and grabbing his girlfriend's ass in front of family during a family trip

A little Rafe and Sarah being siblings

—

‘’Can you not do that here?’’ Sarah grimaced after Rafe wandered in and smacked your ass on his way to the fridge. ‘’We’re cooking. That’s gross.’’ 

You and Sarah had woken up earlier than everyone else and decided to whip some pancake batter. They were coming along nicely, slowly piling up on a plate.

Rafe rolled his eyes in response and leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘’Chill out, Sarah. I’m just saying ‘good morning’ to my girl.’’

Sarah scoffed, giving him a glare as you flipped out the pancake in the pan. ‘’Well, keep your 'good mornings' to yourself until after breakfast and when I’m not around, alright? I’ve seen and heard enough things I didn’t want to.’’ 

Your cheeks turned red and you kept your eyes on the pan, embarrassed as memories of Sarah catching you topless in their pool and all the times she heard you through the walls of Tannyhill before Rafe got his own place. You’ll never apologize to her enough. 

‘’Stop acting like a prude. I’ve heard you on the phone with that pogue you’re seeing. Ahh, John B., I wish your fingers were inside me. I’m so close, I need to—’’ 

Sarah grabbed a blueberry and threw it at her brother, her face burning hot at his mockery. If eyes could kill, Rafe would be a dead man. She looked murderous. 

Rafe smirked, unfazed by the blueberry that was thrown his way. He crossed his arms crossed over his broad chest, and his blue eyes flickered with amusement. ‘’These walls are old. Did you think I couldn’t hear you?’’ 

To avoid a Sarah vs Rafe duel from happening, you asked Rafe if he wanted chocolate chips or blueberries in his pancakes. You already knew the answer, but you needed to defuse the bomb before it would explode. 

‘’Blueberries. You know how I like my pancakes, baby,’’ he said, pushing himself off the counter and closing the distance between you and him in a few strides. 

Sarah shot a glare in his direction, her eyes narrowing, but Rafe chose to ignore her and kiss your shoulder, standing right behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back and resting his chin above your shoulder.

‘’Rafe, you’re distracting me,’’ you warned, pouring batter in the pan and adding some blueberries. 

Rafe laughed lowly, his chest rumbling against your back as his arms wrapped tighter around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear, his lips lingering on your skin for a few seconds. ‘’These look good. Think we can take the pancakes to bed after you’re done?’’ 

Breakfast in bed, away from everyone else, sounded tempting. You've had breakfast with the Camerons since you arrived, sticking to the polite routine. You missed being alone with Rafe in the morning, taking it slow and engaging in non-PG activities.  

Before you answered, Sarah cleared her throat beside you, a disapproving look on her face. Rafe thought he was subtle and sleek when he had his hand wander under your robe. 

He lifted his head and gave her a cocky grin. ''What?'' 

‘’In case you forgot, I’m still here,'' the blonde recalled, taking a few plates from the cupboards and deciding to set the table. ‘’And Wheezie and Dad and Rose are gonna come down soon.’’ 

‘’I know,'' Rafe replied, stepping back and letting you finish the pancakes. ''If you had not been here, I would have her bent over the counter already.’’ 

His words should have shocked you, but you were used to his bluntness by now. Rafe never held back, always saying exactly what was on his mind, no matter how outrageous. No matter the audience. You thought he would behave and tone it down with Wheezie in the house, but he didn’t. 

Thankfully, her young ears were not around.

You looked over your shoulder, failing at hiding the smirk that tugged at the corners of your lip.

—

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[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react to you placing your hand on their upper thigh in public:

Captain Price:

This 40 year old man wouldn’t let you get away with a stunt like that in public. The moment your hand is on his upper thigh, he’d firmly place his own over yours, squeezing it just enough to warn you. "Behave." He’d say quietly, eyes locking with yours to make sure the message lands. If you were cheeky enough to push your luck and keep going, he wouldn’t bother with more words.

Instead, he’d order you up, his voice firm as he tells you to get to the car while he takes care of the bill. The drive wouldn’t last long before he’d pull over somewhere secluded, roughly bending you over the bonnet. "Thought you’d act up, did ya?" He’d mutter, hands already on your hips, ready to teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.

✰✰✰✰

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Kyle would notice your hand sliding onto his thigh but he’d stay still, just to see how far you’d take it in the dark of the movie theatre. He’d pretend he didn’t feel it, keeping his eyes on the screen but he’d be holding back a grin. As your hand moves higher, closer to his growing bulge, his patience then would snap. He’d grab your wrist suddenly, leaning in close to whisper, "Fine, then. If you're so brave, let’s finish it here."

Without waiting for your answer, he’d drag you to the dirty bathroom, pushing you into a stall. "You wanna act like a dirty girl? Then you get treated like one." He’d say, motioning you to kneel on the filthy floor just to make sure you understood the consequences of teasing him like that.

✰✰✰✰

John "Soap" MacTavish:

Johnny would light up like a Christmas tree. The moment your hand rests on his thigh, he’d lean back with a grin, his legs spreading just a bit wider to invite you in. "Aye, don’t stop now.." He’d whisper, clearly enjoying the game. He’d egg you on, guiding your hand even higher, fully aware of the risk of being caught in the middle of the cafe.

If you hesitated, he wouldn’t let you off easy and his own hand would find its way between your legs under the table, not caring who might see. "Guess we’re giving ‘em a show today, bonnie."

✰✰✰✰

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

There's no beating around the bush with this man. He would catch on immediately and wouldn’t let you get away with it. He’d grab your wrist before you could move further and give you a knowing look. ''You’re not doing that here.'' He’d say, his expression serious.

He’d tease you a bit, asking if the three times he had you earlier weren’t enough and calling you greedy. ''Be good until I finish my whiskey, then we'll sort you out.'' He’d promise. You’d know to behave, or else he’d make sure you’d regret it but only when he decided it was time.

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Captain’s Girl. [Part I]

John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)

Synopsis: After Laswell pitches you a favor to join 141, you're left with no choice but to accept. The only problem arises when you and the Captain start to butt heads, but if the two of you hate each other as much as you say, then why is the rest of the team calling you his girl?

Tags: Enemies to lovers, tension, military romance, forbidden love, smut, fighting, secret feelings, slow burn.

Word count? You know the drill, it’s long.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

‘Captain John Price.’ You skimmed the document again, his name catching your eye for the third or fourth time. The black ink seemed to bleed together against the crisp paper of your enrollment documents into Special Forces Task Force 141. It was a promotion, and an honor at that, special forces to begin with were selective.

But 141 was almost unheard of, a combination of British special forces and American special forces. They were one of the best, and you were about to become a part of it. You read the documents again.

‘All personnel will be working under John Price and answering to Kate Laswell, respectively-’ Your eyes trailed further along the mess of columned words, making sense of the legality aspects of transferring to a new team. You hadn't expected to be transferred over, not until Kate had contacted you with an offer. You could tell she was put under pressure by the way her voice strained against the receiver…

“Look, I need you here. Ever since Shepard went rogue, we've been a bit tight over here. John has stepped in as commanding officer; technically, we already have a sharpshooter on 141. But we could use a hand, just until we sort out our bearings. Then, if you'd like, I can transfer you back to your current team…”

You'd raised an eyebrow, “Laswell, you're acting like I'm the only one who can fill these shoes. Why don't you hire a private contractor from KorTac? I'm sure they have more experience anyway.” You heard her blow out air from her nose, amused. “[Name], I don't think I have to tell you how much these guys hate private contractors. We need someone who can work as a collective team, you know… integrate themselves for the time being.”

You pursed your lips together, weighing out the pros and cons. However, Laswell was one of the best people you had ever met, a long-time friend since the baby days of your recruitment. She was a woman of her word, and she had your back. And if she said this team needed someone, she was being serious. You sighed, leaning back, “Okay, send me the details, Laswell. I'll think about it.”

…You read the contract one last time; it was simple enough. You would be transferred to 141 at the end of the month; it was a year-long contract. Which, in a way, made you a private contractor, too. The rest of 141 was under the impression that you were there to stay, everyone except the Captain and, of course, Laswell, not that she was on 141. If they decided they didn't need you before the contract ended, you could pick to stay for the remainder of the year or transfer back to your original task force.

A sigh left your mouth; you picked up your pen and flipped to the last page. Etching your signature into the blank line. You had till the end of the month; as of that moment, you were officially a member of 141.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Well, you had to give Laswell credit where credit was due. It had been a few weeks since your arrival and you fit in quite smoothly into 141; you believe she called it “integrating.” To nobody's surprise, the team was almost entirely men, aside from Ferrah, who was stationed elsewhere. It hadn't been long since your arrival until you were bound to run into someone; Jhonny was the first…

It was later in the day and you were wandering about; transferring to a new location was something you never got used to, so you tried to get a head start on mapping out the place. Everything was similar to your last base, but you still felt a bit alien. A small room tucked off to the side caught your eye, and you followed in that direction. It was a small break room, a kitchen, and a fridge tucked away in the side; there were a few cupboards and a single run-down couch.

You mosied over to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside drawers. You found the usual silverware, mugs, napkins, junk, and tea bags. You stopped; tea actually sounded pretty good. Sitting on the counter was one of those electric tea kettles; you reached for it.

Waiting until the water was boiling, you grabbed the first mug you saw in the cupboard. As you dipped one of the tea bags into the scalding liquid, the door handle jostled across the room. You heard him before you saw him; his voice was deep, a bit raspy, with a thick Scottish accent. Walking through the door came a man dressed in sweatpants and a military-issued shirt. His head was shaved aside from a cropped mohawk of brown hair. His face was pulled into a subtle frown with his eyebrows furrowed. A phone pressed against his head by his shoulder.

You locked eyes with him, the pale spheres of his eyes boring into yours. You could tell he was studying you, maybe trying to deduce if he had seen you before or if you were a stranger. Suddenly, you heard muffled talking coming from the receiver of his phone. You looked down at your tea, not wanting to be considered rude for staring.

The man's voice came again, but it was almost unreadable. It was like a different language, probably Scottish, and then it stopped. When you looked back up, he was standing a few feet away from you, reaching into one of the cupboards.

“Sisters.”

You blinked; it took you a moment to understand he was talking to you. “I-What?” You asked, caught off guard by his comment. He looked back at you, holding up his phone. “S’who I was talking to.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you nodded slowly; it was an odd way of making conversation. “Oh, okay…You uh- don't look too happy about it, family troubles?” You asked, his lips cracked into a soft smile, and he shook his head. “Nah, she's just a bit dafty. She's auld, so she feels the need to boss me around from time to time.”

You nodded along, trying to use context clues to understand some of his choice words. You watched him fill his mug with some water you had just boiled. “Ah, I see. I'm not sure I can relate; I'm the oldest sibling, so maybe I do all the bossing around.” He nodded, one of his thick eyebrows rasing, “How many siblings?”

You smiled, “Just two, a brother and sister.” The man hummed, looking down at his tea. “Gotcha…” A silence enveloped the room, and after another agonizing moment, he spoke up again. “You a new hire around here? Can't say I would forget a face like yours, lass.” You nodded, glad that the silence had been put to rest, a smile growing on your face at his comment. “Yeah, new transfer to 141.” Suddenly, his eyes grew more comprehensive, “You're the newbie?” He said, astonished.

You chuckled softly, “I wouldn't say newbie; I'm just a transfer from another unit.” His face cracked into a grin, “No kidding, apologies, didn't mean to come off as rude.” He held his hand out to you, “Johnny McTavish, team calls me Soap.”

Your eyebrows raised, “You're a part of 141?” His smile didn't fade as he nodded, “Aye, sharpshooter and sniper.” You felt a grin creeping up on your face; this Soap guy was friendly. Way friendlier than you thought the people on 141 would be. “I’m [Name]. I'm also a sharpshooter, but I also work with mechanics and firearms. Soap is…uh pretty interesting call sign, any meaning behind it?” You saw something in his eye; maybe it was pride, or perhaps something more sinister, “Well, when you clean out a room as fast as I do, people notice. You ain't got a callsign, Bonnie?”

You shook your head, “No, I guess my name has always just done the job.” Soap pat you on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you one.” You and Soap just talked for the next few minutes; it was nice. The conversation ebbed and flowed without problem; he nodded to the door after your tea was nearly empty. “Aye, Bonnie, why don’t I take you to meet the rest of the team? Give you a head start on the meet and greet.”

You smiled, “Yeah, why not?”

…The more time you spent with the team, the easier it got; it helped that they made good conversation. Jhonny was…well, Johnny, good sense of humor but never knew when to quit. Ghost was quieter; he didn't trust you immediately, but you'd managed to pull a few chuckles from him and the occasional polite conversation.

Kyle Garrick, or ‘Gaz,’ was an all-around good guy, funny, polite, and incredibly talented. You could never get over the time that you had gotten drunk off your ass, and Ghost told you a story of when Gaz fell out from a helicopter and was shooting at people while he was swinging from the airborne vehicle.

And then there was Price. Captain John Price, you'd met Price a day after Soap introduced you to the rest of the boys. To say the atmosphere was tense between you would be an understatement. From the minute he laid his eyes on you, they went stiff. His whole demeanor around you reminded you of a rock; it was like he didn't even want you on the team. His voice went curt, and whenever you spoke, his eyes bore holes into your head like he wanted to shoot lasers into your brain by just staring.

You'd talk about it to the rest of the team, but they shrugged it off. “Maybe he ain't used to you yet; it takes a while for the lad to trust anyone. He usually puts on the tough guy act for new recruits.” Ghost had said; Jhonny snorted at that. “Tough guy act? Dinnae, nothing bout that; when I first joined, the man made me want to pull out my hair. Think that's more than a tough guy act L.T.”

Usually, this wouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. But for some odd reason, he got under your skin like nobody else could. And believe, you were no stranger to difficult co-workers and bosses. Even worse, your first interaction with him was incredibly awkward, and you couldn't have left a good impression even if you had tried. It was almost etched into your mind like a stone tablet…

It was your last day to set up, get used to the team and your surroundings before you started working. The three days you had to relax were mostly spent either in the base gym, or eating in the cafeteria. What could you say, you were a creature of habit.

Until this point, you had met almost the entire team besides the captain. Technically, you weren’t required to meet him until you started working, but you'd already met everyone else. So, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. You pried the information about Price’s whereabouts from Gaz: “I haven't seen him up and about today; usually, he's around. It probably means he's hauled up in his piss-poor office. The guy hates it there but usually locks himself up there when he's in a bad mood or has paperwork.”

Despite his warning, you went ahead and searched for Price’s office. That was mistake number one. After a minute or two of searching, you came across a door with the engraving “Price” carved into the wood in neat lettering. You reached for the door and tried to turn the handle, but nothing. It was locked; you frowned and tried again. But to nobody's surprise, the door remained shut.

So, you resorted to the next best thing. You knocked a few times but were met with radio silence. Maybe he wasn't in there, you chewed on your lip, thinking. There was a small window in the door, but it was covered by blinds. You squinted, pressing your hands to the wood and moving your face inches from the glass; you tried to peer inside despite the closed blinds. That was mistake number two.

“Can I help you?”

You jumped. The voice came from behind you. It was deep with a smooth British accent; you whirled around to face the person. Your eyes met what was possibly, in your opinion, sex on two legs. The man was tall and built like a tank, judging from how his biceps and chest filled out his cotton shirt. His face was stern, with short-cropped brown hair and a muttonchop beard. His eyes a deep shade of blue, you swallowed.

Damn.

You didn't believe you had a type, but this guy probably would've checked off all the boxes if you did. You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment; when he raised his eyebrow, you snapped out of your trance-like state. “I’m-uh looking for Captain Price. I thought I'd check his office, but I don't think he's there.” You cringed; your voice was rushed, a pitch higher, too.

The man crossed his arms; god, he could probably pop your head like a balloon with those things alone. “Well, you found him.” He said plainly. You stared at him briefly; of course, he was the captain. Why else would he be here? You wanted to punch yourself in the gut. “Oh,” you breathed, “great then. I wanted to introduce myself; I'm the new transfer.” You tried to muster up a confident smile, which most likely had the opposite effect, given he was looking at you like you'd grown a second head.

“[Name], I know. I read your file.” He deadpanned. His voice caught you a little off guard; he wasn't irritated per se, but he didn't seem happy about this introduction. You cleared your throat, “Great then, I'm sure Laswell told you I was coming?” You were grasping at strings here, trying to prolong the conversation.

“Yes. I'm well aware you are here. Laswell has a way of inserting help into my team.” You paused; well, that wasn't meant to be a compliment. Your smile faltered, and you looked around the room like this was some prank. “She said you guys needed someone…?”

Price nodded, his demeanor unsettlingly calm, “That’s her opinion. Now, I respect Laswell; she knows what she's doing. That doesn't mean I always agree with her; 141 was just fine, this is just a precaution on her part.”

You felt your eye twitch a little; you transferred from your other unit, the unit you were extremely close to, mind you… for this? You joined out of the kindness of your heart, only for this jackass to say you were ‘just a precaution.’ “Well, I hope you won't hold a grudge.” You said a bit curtly. Price pursed his lips together in a tight line.

“Wouldn't dream of it; a year is an awful long time to hold a grudge.” He said, the malice and ego coming off his tongue so strong you could almost taste it. What was this guy's problem with you? You did the nice thing and took time out of your day to introduce yourself to him. And he was treating you like you'd personally wronged him. “Good, then I won't either.” You breathed, frustrated. Price looked down at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “Well, that's good to hear; now, are you going to let me into my own office or keep standing there like a human blockade?”

This guy.

Your palms squeezed into fists, shooting him a nasty glare. You forgot you were standing right in front of the door, the embarrassment making the tips of your ears heat up. You pushed yourself to walk away, “It was nice meeting you, Captain.” You spit, venom in your tone, walking away like a wounded animal.

Suddenly, you somehow forgot about how hot he was; at that moment, you wanted to smash his gorgeous face into a wall. You liked your new Captain a lot more when he didn't speak. But the reality set in: John Price hated you for some unknown reason, and you were starting to hate him back.

…You had calmed down since that first encounter. Maybe it was a one-off thing; after all, you did go when Gaz warned you that he may already be in a bad mood. Maybe you had jumped the gun? and Price didn't hate you.

News flash: He hated you, and it was not a one-off encounter.

You were now a month into your new job, and if it weren't for Price, you would've actually been enjoying your time with 141. Everyone else was great; they were warming up to the idea of having you as a teammate. The training was hard on you, but you expected that, you were improving day to day. But no matter how well you did, you always had Price’s voice in your ear telling you that you could've done better. The man was running circles around you.

Slowly, you started to lose patience with him; when he laid out the bait, you bit. It was getting easier to react instead of keeping calm and passive-aggressively telling him you were grateful for the friendly criticism.

Even the team started to watch every interaction you had with the Captain keenly. They would tease you ruthlessly, saying his name while your back was turned just to laugh at the way your whole body seemed to go as stiff as a board.

“I swear the two of ya seem to bicker like an auld married couple. It's like watching my parents fight.” Soap had said to you once after an agitated conversation you'd had with Price moments before.

Was it your fault for causing some of the arguments between you two? Possibly. But he instigated just as much as you did; it was like a competition of who could get under the other's skin the most. And you couldn't even avoid him; Gaz wasn't kidding when he said he was out and about when Price wasn't in his office. He was like your shadow.

You were in the cafeteria? Oh, so was Price. You were in the gym? That's funny; Price was just about to do his workout. Training? He was practically glued to you and nitpicking everything you did. You were trying to go for a fucking walk around base past lights out? Price couldn't sleep, and as your captain, it was his obligation to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.

Intrusively, you wondered if he had implanted a tracker into you while you were sleeping. That had to be it; there was no way you just happened to experience so many ‘coincidences’ back to back. 

Eleven more months, you had eleven more months stuck with him. Maybe in that time, you could come up with a detailed plan on how you would murder, hide, and successfully get away with killing your Captain.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was one of those off days where you didn’t have much to do. Like the calm before the storm, 141 had an incoming operation; plans were laid out, and everyone knew what to do. All that was left was playing the waiting game before you loaded into the helicopter and landed in a checkpoint base in Urzikstan.

With nothing to do, you figured it wouldn't hurt to hide away in the break room with some tea and scroll on your phone. You rarely had time to yourself, so you might as well make the best of it. You peeked into the break room and smiled when you found it was empty. You made a beeline to the small kitchen counter; you'd managed to snag some different types of tea for yourself over the few weeks you had been at base. It was the floral and sweet kind that nobody touched, despite Ghost's comment that: “It's not real tea.” You found it incredibly enjoyable.

As you turned on the electric kettle, the doorknob jostled. You looked up, and your eyes met Price. Well, shit. He made eye contact with you. Obviously, the feeling between you two was mutual based on how his lips dropped into a frown when he saw you. You stared at each other for a beat before you turned your head away.

You weren't doing this today; you were too tired to bicker with your captain over something useless. You stared at the counter, waiting for him to leave or speak. But he did neither. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug. The silence between you was so loud that the room might've been quieter if you were arguing.

He was close, not enough that you were touching, but enough that his presence almost tickled your skin.

You just continued to watch the counter and your mug. Glancing at the kettle, you almost grimaced; it was barely bubbling. When did boiling water take so long? The tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. But, Price was the first to crack.

“Interesting mug,” he commented, his voice as it always was when he spoke to you. Dry. You debated not responding, but the silence was killing you just as much. “It's my favorite.” You said back, matching his tone. However, your eyes were soft as you looked at the mug before you. It was ceramic, with hand-painted fish drawn onto it. Cod, salmon, tuna, and swordfish, too, their colors vibrant compared to the barren beige of the rest of the cup.

He made a low hum sound, almost like he didn't believe you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you finally turned to look at him. You stopped briefly; his eyes had heavier bags than the last time you'd seen him. He didn't look as stern or unshakeable as usual; rather, he looked more weary, human. You forgot you were going to say something to him, “What?” You said, suspicious.

His eyes broke away from yours, looking down at his hands as they tore away the top of an instant coffee packet. Price emptied its contents into his plain white mug and cleared his throat. “Nothing, s’just that's my mug.” He said; his voice wasn't mad or accusatory. Instead, it was just like he was stating a fact.

You frowned, your eyebrows sinking further down your face. What was he talking about? You'd been using this mug for weeks; in fact, this was the first mug you'd used here, back when you first met Jhonny and the rest of the team. “That's not true; all the mugs in the cupboard are communal.” You pointed out, looking at him like you'd caught him in a bad lie.

He looked back at you, an almost smugness to his gaze. “Look at the bottom of the cup.” He said plainly. Your frown deepened, but you grabbed the mug and turned it over in your hands out of curiosity.

JP. It was painted in small lettering in the middle of the circular bottom. Your face dropped. Oh. JP, standing for John Price. It was his mug. Your face reddened as you realized you had been drinking out of his cup for the past month. Why hadn’t he said anything about it to you before now? He obviously knew, considering he'd seen you drink from it before.

You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a good defense. “But- Jhonny told me all the mugs in the break room were for everyone. Including this one.” You said, pointing at the mug in your hands.

Price raised one eyebrow, “And you believed him?” He said. The gears in your head started to turn; the guy had a point. Why had you trusted him of all people? You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “fucking christ Soap.” You muttered, primarily to yourself.

The steaming whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought, and your head snapped in its direction. You looked from the boiling kettle to the mug in your hand, a sigh exiting your chest. You held out the mug to him, “Here. It's yours, I'll get another one.”

Price looked surprised for a beat before his face went neutral again. He shook his head, pushing the mug back towards you. “No need; I've already got this one.” He grunted, nodding to the plain white mug sitting on his side of the counter. Before you could protest, he grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into his mug. Your nose scrunched as the aroma of instant coffee hit you.

He raised an eyebrow at your visceral reaction, “Not a fan of coffee now, are we?”

You cleared your throat, looking away from the blackening devil concoction. “I like coffee-” You clarified, “-just not that instant crap; it tastes like sewer water.” The curve of his lip twitched into a half-amused smile. Bringing the mug to his lips and taking a hearty sip, “noted.” Price hummed. You reached out to grab the kettle, but he handed it over to you before you could.

You raised your eyebrow; this was the closest thing you'd ever had to a friendly conversation with your Captain. You skeptically took it, breathing a ‘thanks’ to him. A comfortable silence fell on the both of you; Price could drink his coffee while you waited for your tea to brew.

Your eyes seemed to pull towards his direction as you waited, observing the curve of his lips, his nose that was just a bit crooked, and the coarse hair of his beard that thinned into stubble the further down his neck it went. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed his drink and how his large hand seemed to make the mug seem small. He somehow pulled off looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, which ticked you off somewhat.

He shot you a sideways glance, “You're staring.” Price said flatly; you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I was…zoning out. And for the record, I was looking at the-uh wall behind you.” You cringed at yourself; the long pauses and uhs weren't adding to your credibility.

Price gave you a funny look, turning to look at the refrigerator behind him, which was most definitely not a wall. He turned back to you, “The wall you said?”

Well, shit, thanks, captain obvious. You frowned, giving up, “It doesn't matter-” you huffed, “Point is, I was zoned out.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him or at least force him to drop the subject; Price shrugged and took another sip from his mug. “Let's hope you don't make a habit out of it. Wouldn't want to add that to the other list of…qualities you have.” Here we go again. You raised an eyebrow, the edge in his tone all too familiar. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Which are?”

Price cleared his throat, gesturing his mug to you and your tea. “Theavory, for one.” Well, he got you there. You blew out air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you'd let him pull from you.

“Funny.” You said sarcastically.

A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah, well, just trying to lighten the mood between us.”

There was a pause.

The way he said ‘between us’ didn't sit right with you; what he said had undertones of bitterness, almost similar to the layers of an onion. Now, was it possible that you were reading too much into this? Yes. Was it also a tone-deaf thing to say, considering he was the primary reason you two didn't like each other in the first place? Also yes.

Don't bite the bait; don't bite the bait, “The mood you created?” You bit the bait.

He glanced at you, one of his eyebrows arching. For a second, it was silent, like he was mulling over whether it was worth it to engage. Price sighed, setting his drink down. “Look… [Name], if this is about that time when we first met, I was in a bad mood. I wasn't trying to be harsh; I'd just had a shit day. Nothing personal on you.” He craned his neck to the side, sliding a hand over his nape.

You crossed your arms. “You could've apologized,” you pointed out. Price paused, staring at you quizzically, “Why would I need to apologize?”

You almost gaped at him; his ego seemed to know no bounds. If it wasn't so irritating, it might have been comical, “You called my job a ‘precaution,’ and me, a ‘human blockade-’” You deadpanned, “-I don't like when someone downplays my whole career.” Price just stared at you blankly, his face morphing into more confusion.

“But you are a precaution.” He said, “That's the whole reason why Laswell put you here.” It was like he was explaining something to a child.

You huffed, “Captain. With all due respect, I'm a part of this team whether we like it or not. I don't want to be treated like an outsider- everyone else here seems to treat me like I belong here so why don't you? What's not to trust?” You questioned, your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pressed into a not-so-subtle frown.

“You don't belong here, though,” Price said frostily. “You're here for a year [Name], no more, no less. You belong to a different task force, so excuse me if I treat you as such.”

You stood there, stunned for a moment. A familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside you like the electric tea kettle. Your hands squeezed the ceramic of your mug, “Just because I'm not here to stay doesn't mean I'm any less committed to my job. I work my ass off every day to show you that I belong here. I just don’t understand why you’re too stubborn to even see that.” You huffed.

Price pursed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. “I don't have time to micro-manage everything you do. That's not stubborn; it's having other responsibilities besides making you feel included.”

Well, if he hadn't made you feel like a toddler before, he definitely was now. “Well, that's funny because you seem to do a perfectly good job at micromanaging everything I do despite your ‘lack of free time.’ And- I’m not asking you to make me feel included; I’m not an infant. I’m asking you to treat me with the same respect you treat everyone else with.” You hissed.

It didn’t surprise you how quickly the polite interaction with him turned into another bitter argument. When it came to Price, emotions ran high. Higher than you would like to admit.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a child, I would respect you more.” He bit back, and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I’m not though- I’m clearly telling you the problem between us. But since you have this…this grudge against me you won’t even listen to me.” You huffed.

Price shot you a look that said, ' I'm winning this argument, and there is nothing you can say to stop that.’ 

Internally, you wondered if getting dishonorably discharged was worth throwing hot tea into your captain's stupid face. Instead, you decided to look away, setting your mug on the counter with a sharp ‘clank.’ “Fine then, don't listen to me. That works, too.” You breathed through your teeth.

Price downed the rest of his coffee, throwing his head back and then setting his mug upside down in the small sink. He turned his whole body to you, crossing his arms. His blue eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows pinched together in scrutiny. “You want me to listen? Go ahead. Say what you want; I'm all ears.”

Your voice died in your throat. As much as you wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you didn't put up much of a fight against him, especially not with his ‘I'm the Captain, and you are one word away from cleaning toilets’ voice.

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, and the silence between you hung dangerously quiet for another moment. “Nothing, Captain.” You said through your teeth.

Price nodded, his eyes drilling holes into you, “That's what I thought. Now, it better stay that way for the duration of the next week or so help me; I will take away every privilege you have.” With that, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out. Leaving you, a seething statue.

You looked down at his mug, still held tightly in your hand. You glared at the painted fish, “Fuck you.” You whispered to the watercolor salmon. Your frown deepened, substantially disappointed that whispering ‘fuck you’ to your Captain's mug didn't carry the same satisfaction you'd feel if you said it straight to his face.

Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall. Scratch that. Arguing with Price was worse than arguing a brick wall, a brick wall wouldn't intimidate you and then storm off.

You didn't feel like finishing your tea anymore. You grit your teeth together, dumping the liquid into the sink and watching as it slides down the drain. You had a few days before the mission, and you were going to make sure that you didn't fuck anything up. Lest you suffer the wrath of Price and your own self-doubt.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Shit!”

Your head snapped toward the voice, even with the night vision gear you had everything was difficult to identify. It was safe to say you weren't a fan.

It had been 72 hours since you landed in Urzikstan, and 4 hours since you left the checkpoint base. If you had to guess, it was most likely around 0300 standard military time. Which meant you and the rest of 141 only had another two hours before you had to evacuate and hop on the trucks back to the checkpoint.

Your orders were simple enough, break into the compound and locate the underground terror group that was allegedly creating a bio-warfare laboratory. While it wasn't concreated information British and American SAS couldn't risk not sending a team to see if the tip was accurate. Being the genuine pigs of the situation didn't sit right with you but you weren't employed for your opinion on what the government chose to do and not do.

Still, being sent on a wild goose chase or worse into a trap made you more on edge. Everyone had paired up in case this was a setup and because the universe could never let you win you were grouped with Price. Which brought you back to the present moment.

“Price whats going on? talk to me.” You said in response to his curse. Trying to keep your voice as low as you could while still being audible. You weren't an expert but typically someone hissing ‘shit!’ wasn't a good sign.

In the split second before he could respond you heard the click. Along with the sound of Price’s footsteps trying to get out of the way, then came the sharp boom of a gun being fired. Only after the sound had left the barrel of the gun did you see it. The building wasn't finished, half of the construction was halted, leaving rooms unfinished, walk-offs, and random piles of rubble. Hidden behind a cement pillar a floor above, looking down at you was a person. More importantly a person behind a giant ass gun.

Shit!

You immediately threw yourself out of the way, ducking yourself behind a large amount of rubble. Your eyes scanned for Price in the darkness, frantically making sense of the objects around you. Another fire. Followed by another one. You didn't have time to look for Price. You turned your body, shielded by the debris, and pointed your gun up. It didn't take long before you locked onto the figure, you drew your breath in and pulled the trigger. The firing stopped.

You peered up over the rubble just in time to see the limp body flop over the drop-off and slam into the concrete. You were met with a deafening silence, “Price you copy?”

After a moment you heard someone move, “Yeah-” Your shoulders dropped, a breath you didn't realize you were holding escaped. You never thought hearing that deep British voice would ever make you this relieved. “Yeah, I copy.” He breathed. You stood, carefully making your way over to the corpse of your attacker. Looking down at the body, their face hidden by a cloth and glazed-over eyes looking up at the ceiling.

You grimaced, it was like looking at a dead fish. You looked up, nobody else was above. The only thing remaining was the unaccompanied sniper.

“This guy was alone.” You said, eyebrows furrowing. “And his aim was shit.” You deadpanned. Your head turned, expecting to meet Price. But were only greeted by an empty space, “Price?” You asked looking around.

“Over here.” He gruffed, you turned around. Price was standing next to a wall, his palm flat against its surface. It was like he was leaning against it, your eyes narrowed. His left leg was slightly raised off the ground, something wasn't right.

You jogged over to him, “What's the matter?” you asked, because of the night vision goggles coupled with the amount of gear he was wearing you couldn't see his face well. However, you didn't miss the way his jaw flexed. Before he could respond you pinpointed the issue. The leg that was raised had a small bullet-sized hole in his boot.

“Shit.” You breathed.

This really wasn't what you needed. You and Price had to be out of the compound in the next hour and a half, being shot in the foot was a major problem. At least it wasn't an organ, you thought. “Can you still walk?” You asked.

Price put his foot on the ground, putting his weight on it. You cringed as he let out a quiet hiss, “Yeah just fuckin’ hurts like hell.” He took a step, he was limping but he could walk. Which was a small win for both of you. Just as you opened your mouth someone spoke in your ear piece.

“[Name], Price, you copy? We heard shots.” The voice was grave, deep, with a thick British accent. Ghost.

Price answered, “We’re fine. Bastard with a sniper nicked my foot. Did any of you find the lab yet?” He said through clenched teeth, despite your dislike of your captain you felt a little guilty. If you'd seen the shooter before Price would probably be fine.

“We just found it, nobody’s here. S’a fuckin’ ghost town… no pun intended.” Ghost’s staticky voice rang in your ear, if you were in a better situation you might have laughed. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned.

“That makes no sense.” You chimed in, “If this guy was here there should be more people. It doesn't make sense for only one person to be set up here.” You looked at Price. His head was already turned to look at you. It was a beat before anyone spoke again.

“Price.” A raspy Scottish accent this time. Soap. “The labs empty, no inventory at all. Everything is sterile.” You felt your throat run dry, the silence on the radio spoke louder than anything you or anyone else could say. Either they evacuated before the team had gotten there or the whole building was a ruse.

You looked back at the corpse lying a few feet away from you and Price. “They knew we were coming.” You breathed. The weight of your words seemed to carry for miles, but the implications might have been worse. You looked at Price, the same thoughts you had probably already running through his head. “We need to fucking leave, right now.”

Price gave a small nod, “Everyone get out. Gaz, call for emergency evac now. Leave the same way we came do not under any circumstances go further into this building.” Price demanded. Which was followed by a series of ‘copies.’ You started for the way you entered, just as you reached the empty doorframe you heard a grunt behind you. You looked back, fuck. You forgot Price was hurt, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could walk but there was no way he could run with his foot.

You doubled back, and as you ran to him Price raised his hands. Almost in protest, “I can keep up, I'm not immobile.” He exhaled, and you shot him an unimpressed look. The situation was bad enough, you weren't going to deal with this. You couldn't waste time and walking on a bad foot would only worsen it for Price in the long run.

You grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulder, one arm grabbed the back of his vest, holding his side up so his injured foot didn't hit the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable but it worked.

Price opened his mouth but you spoke before he could get a word in. “You can't keep up and you know it. Whatever problems we have don't matter right now, we've got to get out of here. God knows what the people who were here before us did to this place. But we don't have time to think about that-” Your eyes met his, the red hue of the night vision goggles making his navy eyes seem black. “-I’d much rather keep you alive but I would gladly die with you than have it be my fault that you die. So shut the fuck up and move.”

That seemed to do the trick because Price did in fact, shut the fuck up. You quickly exited with Price. It wasn't as fast as you would've liked to leave but it was the best you could do with a six-foot tank of a man leaning against you.

A few minutes later you and Price successfully made it out. The rest of the team was already waiting a ways away from the building, you let out a relieved sigh. Just being out of the compound seemed to lift a weight off your chest and calm your racing heart. Price seemed to feel the same way judging by his taunt muscles relaxing slightly.

You made your way over to the team, Ghost was the first to notice you. He did a slight double-take as he saw Price, “Thought you said the bloke nicked you?” He commented, you gently released Price letting him lean against the outside wall of an abandoned house.

Price grunted, “Yeah well he nicked me good.” He said back, Ghost nodded. Soap and Gaz peered at the bloody hole in his boot, “That’s gonna be a pain to heal I’ll tell you that.” Soap commented, and Gaz nodded along. “No kidding.”

Price’s frown deepened, and he let out a breath. “Gaz how long till evac trucks pick us up?” Gaz looked out at the open area then looked back, “I’d say twenty minutes give or take.” That answer seemed to give Price a little peace.

A few minutes had gone by, and Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all talking with you while Price leaned against the wall silently. You glanced at your Captain, gingerly making your way over you leaned against the wall a few inches away from him. You didn't know what to say if you should say anything for that matter. Making conversation with Price wasn't your strong suit, but you felt bad.

“So…you okay?” You asked dumbly, Price gave you a look that made you want to go right back to the others. He was silent for a beat before speaking. “I got shot in the foot [Name], you tell me.” He deadpanned.

You swallowed, nodding. Asshole. No matter, you decided to take it in stride, “Right.” You breathed, “I just… wanted to check.” On second thought maybe you really should leave, it was like you were communicating with an alien. And after your last argument with Price, you walked on eggshells whenever you were around him.

The stretch of silence between the two of you lasted longer than you would've liked. But after a moment Price cleared his throat and nodded, “Thank you.” He said.

You did a bit of a double-take, thank you? Price never thanked you. It was like he was allergic to congratulating or acknowledging you in any form that wasn't to reprimand you. You must've looked as confused as you felt by the way he glanced at you and then went on. “For helping me out of there, you were prepared for the worst back there and you still had my back. I appreciate that-”

“-you uh, you did good.” He clarified.

Your mouth was probably hanging open at this point, ‘you did good.’ The words hung in the air around you, filling your ears with cotton. Price your captain, Price your mortal enemy had praised you. He gave you a sideways glance, “Don't look so shocked [Name], you're still on thin ice.”

Ah, there it was, your shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing though, “Right, uhm thank you.” You said a bit awkwardly, Price gave you a small nod in return. It wasn't much, but it was acknowledgment.

After some time passed by you and the rest of 141 loaded into the trucks, starting the long drive to the checkpoint base. You tried to lean your head back and get just a little bit of rest, but after thirty minutes of failing to do so, you gave up. There was just too much in your head, too many unanswered questions. You thought about the man you'd killed, why was he there? What was the use of evacuating a building if you just left a single sniper with terrible aim lying in wait for someone to come looking around?

Did that mean they didn't know 141 specifically was coming? The question that worried you the most was the fact that if they did plan for you to raid the lab, who on the inside was feeding these people your team's operations? You shuddered. It was bad enough that commanding officer Shepard went rogue a few months prior. The SAS really didn't need another mole. Especially considering the amount of enemies the American and British military had made.

Your shoulders slumped, it didn’t really matter, what mattered was that everyone made it out. You didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if the previous occupants had left explosives inside the building. It was better to just be thankful that nothing happened.

Your first operation with 141 had been a bust, but considering the circumstances you thought it went as well as it could’ve. Not counting Price’s foot.

Subconsciously your eyes drifted over to Price, his boot had been taken off and his foot was wrapped in white garb. Just until someone could look at it properly, everyone had taken their night visions and helmets off to get some shut-eye. Your gaze drifted up until they met his face, navy eyes met yours. You froze, you hadn't realized Price was awake. The two of you didn't break eye contact for a minute, almost like a challenge of who would be the first to look away.

“You make a habit of staring at people or is it just me?” He deadpanned. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, he could never let you catch a break, could he?

“I wasn't staring, and you were looking at me too.” You defended, it didn't matter if you were staring, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you confess that. One of his thick eyebrows raised, “I glanced at you. There's a difference, you just happened to look up at the same time.” He said back, calm as ever.

You half rolled your eyes, he could word it however he wanted to, but in the end, it was pretty much the same thing. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.” You hummed, matching his nonchalance. Your gaze dropped back down to his bandaged foot, “How’s the foot?” You asked, hoping he wouldn't catch you changing the subject.

Price grunted, his head lulling back onto the seat. You shot a glance at his adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down before averting your eyes. “Feels like I got shot in the foot, so…not great. It's better than an organ so I won't complain that much.” He breathed.

You nodded, “You ever been shot before?” you asked, what could you say? You were curious. He nodded, clearing his throat he cast his head down to look at his chest. One of his hands pulled up his bullet vest and shirt revealing the beginnings of his abdomen, right above his hip bone there was a small scar. “Two years ago, caught me while I was down. Took forever to heal, fuckin’ hurt like hell too.”

You zeroed in on the exposed skin, it was all muscle, no surprises there. The man was built like a 4x6 brick, his skin was shiny with sweat, and from what you could see his bullet scar wasn't the only one that littered his skin. Just below the dipped fabric of his shirt was the start of a happy trail. You swallowed.

What the fuck was wrong with you? A few days ago you were plotting how you could murder him and now you're ogling a sliver of his stomach like a horny teen girl.

You absolutely did not find a single part of your boss attractive. Forget your first interaction with him when you were practically gaping over him like a fish. That didn't count. This was Price you were talking about. Sure, he was conventionally attractive with just the right amount of ruggish charm to make him mysterious. And yeah, he was built like a tank, so what? And you couldn't forget about his stupid fucking British accent, who the hell was into British accents anyways? (You were. Embarrassingly so.)

Price looked up at you, the silence making you raise an eyebrow. “See something you like aye?” He said, amusement dripping from his voice. Your eyes immediately snapped back to his face, embarrassment churning away at your insides.

“You wish,” You said back. So maybe you found some parts of your Captain hot, that didn't matter. In the end, it was still Price. And the flames of hatred don't die out just because one's enemy is a little (a lot) attractive.

Price breathed out what sounded like a laugh, he dropped the shirt. “Keep telling yourself that [Name].” Your fists squeezed together as he threw your words back at you.

You glared at him, “You're so full of it you know that?” You breathed, which only seemed to pique his interest further. You were glad the rest of the team was either sleeping or so used to your fighting that at this point they tuned you out. Jumping off a cliff seemed nice in comparison to the ruthless teasing that Soap and Ghost would enact if they found out you'd been caught ogling Price.

“Didn't realize this would strike a nerve, any particular reason why?” He said, you grimaced. You could almost taste the smugness from his tongue like syrup, “It didn't.” You said through your teeth, “Then again, egotistical men are a pain to be around. Especially ones that think everyone around them wants them.” You grumbled.

Your words seemed to have the opposite effect, Price straightened. A small tug at his lip made you want to slap that smirk right off. “I never said you wanted me, but liars always do have a way of telling on themselves don't they?” He grinned.

Something flashed in his eyes, you didn't have time to see what it was. But right now, all your willpower was devoted to not picking up your gun and giving him a matching hole in his right foot. “I think I'd rather shoot myself than be anything but professional with you.” You said frostily.

Price hummed, the smirk never leaving his face and he leaned back. “Glad the feeling is mutual.” He spoke calmly.

Your eye twitched, he was pulling that card now. Reverse physiology or whatever it was, the ‘I don't have to want you but you have to want me.’ Well too bad you didn't care, you couldn't care less. If Price didn't want you that was great-better even.

“Yeah,” You huffed, “Super glad.” You turned your head away so you didn't have to look in his direction. Maybe you should've left him in that building, it was a tempting thought. The rest of the drive back to the checkpoint was spent in silence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The base felt dreary, everyone was still in a funk from the previous night. Everything felt just a bit more surreal, nobody was talking about what happened either. Not that there really was anything to discuss.

The checkpoint base wasn't as nice as your previous base. It wasn't even a full building, there were a few small ones but those were mostly used to store weapons. Everything else was industrial-sized tents, making privacy a luxury. It didn't even have a proper barracks, just a large tent with several stretcher-like beds placed in rows. To be completely honest the entire thing was a pile of shit. But it was a roof over your head so there was that.

You sat at a bench in the ‘commons,’ a poor excuse for food sitting in front of you. Gaz sat next to you while Ghost and Jhonny sat across from you. They all had similar grimaces plastered on their faces as they ate their protein paste.

“If I have to eat this shite for another day I'm going to go into that food storage room and light the thing up. They got us eating like dogs.” Ghost said after draining the last of his rations. You half-heartedly agreed, humming a sound of approval that was accompanied by Gaz’s small chuckle.

Soap grinned, “Don't get yer panties in a twist just yet L.T, heard they're serving dessert paste too. Courtesy of Price’s injury.”

You shivered, it sounded just as bad if not worse. Then a thought popped up, you looked around the common space. “Hey, you guys seen Price? Isn't he eating?” You hadn't seen him for almost the entire day, which was a blessing for you but it did strike you as odd when normally you couldn't get rid of him.

Gaz shrugged, “He was in the medical tent last time I saw him. The guy was getting his foot looked at, he’ll probably show up soon.”

Ghost turned his head to face you, while it was a little hard to tell with his balaclava, one of his eyebrows raised. “Awful concerned about Price aren't you? Thought you hated the man.” Your lips curled into an exasperated frown.

“I'm not. And I do hate him. I was just curious.” You brushed him off, trying to avoid his stony gaze. Soap and Gaz exchanged looks that made your eyebrows furrow.

Gaz looked at you, “What about the other day when you helped him out of the building?” Soap was next to chime in, “Or that you use his mug all the time and he lets you?”

You shot Gaz a glare, “First, he's still my Captain I'm not going to leave him in a building where I think he's going to die.” Then you directed a similar glare at Soap, “Second, I didn't know it was his mug because you tricked me into thinking the mugs were communal.” You said through your teeth.

Ghost smirked, “Sounds like you care.”

Your hands gripped the table with unnecessary force. “I do not.” You defended, the looks exchanged between them made you want to crawl into a hole. Suddenly you weren't as inclined to finish your meal. You stood, grabbing your tray of half-eaten food and trash. “I'm not hungry anymore.” You said dryly.

Soap laughed, faking a disappointed frown. “Come on lass we were just getting started with ya. Where's the fun in leaving before the real jokes start?” You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the bench and walking towards the trash.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” you replied as you dumped the remanence of your ‘lunch’ in the trash. Just as you were exiting the tent Soap's voice called out to you.

“Oh, if you see the old fart, tell him his dessert paste is waiting for him!” That earned an amused tug at the corner of your lips, shaking your head in exasperation as you pushed past the floppy tent entrance.

You didn't even make it a foot outside before your momentum was halted by a larger mass. Your face met something hard, but also somehow soft at the same time. You stumbled back, gaining back your balance from the force of running into something. Or more specifically, someone. You looked up in dismay to see what kind of idiot ran into you.

It was Price, because of fucking course it was.

But it was Price with the addition of a single crutch and a newly wrapped foot. Your eyes slowly crept up to his face, the mortifying reality that you slammed right into his chest setting in. What’s worse was that the previous conversation with the guys was still very fresh in your mind.

‘Sounds like you do care,’ Ghost’s words echoed in your mind, haunting you like a…well a ghost. Ironic.

“Do you mind?” Price's words snapped you out of your trance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was silent for a moment before your vocal cords decided to actually comply and let you speak.

“You ran into me.” You said lamely, the tips of your ears felt hot. Like lava was slowly being poured onto your head. Price’s eyebrows furrowed, his navy eyes studying you. Even on one crutch, he seemed to tower over you in a way that made you antsy.

“Why are you red?” He asked, the question caught you off guard. Making you falter for a second time, “I-What?”

Price’s eyes narrowed a bit, a finger pointed directly at you. “Your face. It's red,” It wasn't a jab, more like he was observing a simple fact. Suddenly you became hyper-aware of the heat spreading across your face. You touched your cheek, and the pads of your fingers burned at the touch.

Oh my god.

Your face was hot, it was flushed. You were blushing. Blushing. In front of Price.

You swallowed, feeling a bob in your throat. It was like you were in one of those dreams where you showed up to school naked. “I'm allergic-” You blurted out.

A beat of silence ensued, and Price raised a single brow. “Allergic?” He said, to which you responded with a hard nod. Think, think- what was a believable lie? “Yes… to the dessert paste.”

Price didn't look skeptical now, he just looked downright confused. “What the hell is dessert paste?” He questioned, while a good question, you didn't want to stand around to explain it to him while your face looked like the cover of a period ad. You shook your head, steering around him like a robot.

“Ask soap.” You said as you made your escape, “I'm going to the med tent so I don't go into anaphylactic shock.”

That was a lie, you were going to the bathroom to rethink your career and splash cold water on your face. Leaving Price a standing statue, a perplexed look on his face.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A pack of 8 beers was slammed down onto the small table in front of where you were sitting. The bottles lightly clanked together, you looked up. “What’s this?” You asked, Soap stood in front of you with a confident grin.

“This is how we’re going to make it through our last 10 hours in this shit hole.” He proclaimed, his hands on his hips.

It was late, everyone but Price was in the sleeping tent. True to Soap’s words, in 10 hours you and the rest of 141 were finally going to load up into the heli and return to the original base. Thank goodness too, you didn't think you could stomach another meal here. Ghost looked over from his cott, “The hell did you get that from?”

Soap waved him off, smoothing over his poor example of a mohawk. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, grabbing one of the bottles he flicked the cap off with a soft pop’ “Since it is our last night, why not celebrate?” He went on.

You eyed the pack suspiciously, if it came from here it was probably shit beer. But it was still something, you shrugged. You reached for one, “I'll take what I can get.” You sighed.

Grabbing a bottle you snatched Soap’s knife to knock off the cap. Throwing your head back as you took a generous swig, it burned down your throat. The pungent flavor making your nose scrunch and your mouth curl. Soap did the same, smacking his lips as he swallowed. “Well…It could be worse.” He muttered.

Ghost and Gaz followed suit, walking over to your space and grabbing two bottles. After some time had passed the four of you had settled into a sort of circle, you were two beers in and things were already getting fuzzy. You didn't normally drink, mostly because you were a lightweight. But when you did drink, you got drunk. You were tipping your head back with laughter at every story, the warmth in your stomach making the tent somehow feel cozy.

Soap reached for his third bottle but Gaz swatted his hand away, “Leave some for Price Jhonny.” He scolded, Soap simply rolled his eyes and groaned. “The old man won't care, he only drinks at those shitty pubs. He's a stickler bout not drinkin’ on base, something about ‘not mixing business with pleasure’” He mocked, doing in your opinion, a decent Price impression. You chucked.

“I don't think Price takes ‘pleasure’ in anything, he's such a stick up the ass he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face.” You breathed, and while not the most articulate thing to say, your tongue and thoughts were loose enough that you didn't care.

Ghost’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk, “For someone who hates Price, you sure do love to talk about him any chance someone brings him up.” He said smugly, earning snickers from both Soap and Gaz.

“Oh fuck off will you?” You grumbled to Ghost, this whole teasing you about Price thing was getting old fast. “I say one thing and you guys act like I have some schoolgirl crush on him.”

Soap grinned, “You said it lass, not us.” He coughed abruptly when you smacked him in the stomach, making him lean forward to catch his breath. You glanced at Ghost who’s hands were now raised in surrender.

“Come off it [Name], we’re just teasing, you're not doing yourself any favors by acting with him the way you do.” He commented, which only confused you. All you did was argue with him, where was there room for speculation? The look on your face must've told them everything they needed to know.

“What do I do that gives off that impression even remotely?” You said defensively, they all exchanged looks.

Soap spoke up, “It's not just you bonnie, Price acts differently around you too. It just gives off a certain impression. Some people just take it the wrong way.” There was an underlying uncomfortableness to his words that you didn't miss. And who were ‘some people??’

Ghost smacked him upside the head, earning a startled grunt. “Fuckin’ twat, Soap doesn't know what he's saying.” Ghost said facing you. “He's already tipsy, don't take what he's saying to heart.” Soap was holding his head, shooting a glare at the lieutenant.

You shook your head, not ready to let it go. “No, who's some people? And what did you mean when you said ‘taking it the wrong way?’” Your eyes narrowed in on all three of them, waiting for someone to speak first. Gaz looked away, immediately giving him away as the weakest link. “Gaz what's he talking about?” You asked firmly.

He tensed up, glancing at Ghost and then back to you. “It's really nothing, it's just a silly rumor.” Ghost shot him a firm look, “Kyle-” He warned.

A rumor? What the hell was there to talk about? The last time you'd heard of a rumor going around about yourself was in high school, it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. Your lips pursed into a tight line, something about how secretive they were being set you off. “What rumor?” You said, after a minute of silence, you slowly got more frustrated. “If it's about me I deserve to know.”

Ghost didn't speak, neither did Gaz, but Soap did. He blew out a sigh, glancing back at Ghost who was maintaining strict eye contact with you. “There is a bit of a widespread rumor back at base that you've been shaggin’ the boss. People started calling you Captain’s Girl.”

The pit of your stomach dropped.

You felt dizzy, looking between the three of them. Waiting for one of them to break, to smile and say ‘got you!’ but it never came. “You're joking right?” You said, laughing nervously, the longer the silence the more nauseous you became.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes hard but his demeanor a bit solemn. “We didn't want you to know for obvious reasons. Thought it would make things worse between the two of ya’ and it was just too far.” You swallowed, this was a joke. This was a joke and they were just teasing. When nobody spoke after the reality set in.

Of course, this would happen to you, you worked your ass off just to be respected in a field dominated by men. You were asked to be a part of 141. But all people saw was a slut who worked her way up the ladder by playing Miss ‘Hard to Get.’

“We tried to stop it as best we could trust us, it's just a little hard to keep quiet when word spreads fast,” Gaz interjected, his eyebrows scrunched in…guilt? Second-hand embarrassment? Sadness? You couldn't tell.

You sat there in silence, processing everything. “But- but I'm not. I'm not sleeping with him.” You sputtered.

Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, “We know you ain't. You don't need to listen to those people anyways, it's just barrack talk, people needing a story to make their lives more interesting.” A well of emotions started to flood your senses, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the gravity of the situation hitting you.

Captain’s girl.

What. The. Fuck.

This was Price’s fault. It had to have been, Soap said he was acting weird. Maybe this was all his elaborate plan to destroy your career and kick you off 141 for fraternization. It had to have been him, right? You weren't thinking as clearly as you would have liked considering you were borderline drunk, but that didn't matter. You shot up from where you were sitting, making Soap jump.

Stumbling you started to make a beeline for the entrance, Gaz also got up and followed you, much to your chagrin. “[Name]? Where are you going??” He called after you.

“To find Price!” (And kill him.) You shouted back angrily, storming outside before Gaz had the chance to stop you. Obviously, you didn't think this through enough because it was pitch dark outside. And Price was nowhere in sight, fuck.

Whatever, you could search this place for hours if you had to. He was bound to pop up somewhere, like how the tide is drawn to the moon you and Price always had a way of being pulled into each other. You stormed through the dark, almost tripping on your own feet once or twice in the process.

You'd been there long enough that you could tell what area was what. Even in the pitch-black cloak of the dark, you could feel your heartbeat in your head. It was like your body was pulsing with the rhythm of your anger. Just as you were about to start shouting his name a light caught your eye. You swiveled your neck so fast it burned the muscles in your nape. Low and behold it was Price walking out of the medical tent with his single crutch.

He stopped when he noticed you, his face a mix of confusion. “What are you doing? I thought I told you guys not to go outside after lights out?”

You felt every emotion rush back to you at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the fucking absurdity of the whole situation. Your hands clenched into fists, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought you sucked before but I underestimated how much of a jackass you could be!”

Price stood there like a deer caught in headlights, so baffled he couldn't even speak. “Excuse me?”

You marched straight up to him, “You heard me. Apparently making my life a living hell wasn't enough for you was it? You sadistic fuck. Do you get off on torturing me? Is that it?” You spat. The heat in your face rising with each word.

He didn't say anything, his navy eyes looking at you like you belonged in an insane asylum. After a minute of silence, he breathed, “[Name]. Realistically I should be laying into you right now and giving you every single punishment there is for the rest of your stay here for cursing me out after lights out with no provocation on my end. But, I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you're acting like a screaming banshee before I send your ass straight to the bins.”

His words only ticked you off further, well two could play dumb. “You know exactly why I'm angry! No provocation is such bullshit. You- You just think I'm so stupid don't you?!” You were stumbling, your mouth felt heavy. It was like your mind was moving faster than your body could keep up with.

“Are you drunk?” He asked incredulously. You shook your head, “No! I mean yes I had a few drinks but I'm not drunk. Stop deflecting-” You rambled on.

His eyes turned to narrow slits, “I don't even know what I'm deflecting- you can't just start making a scene and expect me to know why you're angry. I'm not a mind reader.” He groaned.

“The name! The rumor- whatever you call it. You spread a rumor about me to the entire base that I'm sleeping with you! People are calling me your girl! The guys told me, everyone thinks I'm some slut because of you!” Everything in your body was burning, it felt good to finally yell at him but the words hit you hard.

You were labeled as the slut. No matter what you did there was always going to be a man overshadowing you just because of a preemptive notion that you were weaker. Something you'd spent your life fighting was now your reality.

Price’s eyes went wide, he almost resembled a wooden board. For a moment his eyes softened, like he was taking pity on you. “That's what this is about.” He breathed, “Look, I’m just as upset about that rumor and the name as you are. I don't know who started it but I can give you my word it wasn't me. You can ask any one of the guys and they will tell you the same thing.”

You started to speak but he raised a hand to stop you, “-I know it's not fair. But the damage has already been done, the thing about rumors is that they pass. And nobody thinks you're a slut. You're just as capable as anyone else on this team.” He said calmly.

It was silent for a moment. You didn't really know what to do or what to believe. All you had to go on was his word, which wouldn't normally hold much weight but something about him seemed so genuine. “I- how do I know you're not lying to my face? You hate me. And I’m just supposed to believe a random person made this rumor up when you've been trying to kick me off the team from the start.”

Price halted for a moment, his face reflecting a series of conflicting emotions. “I don't hate you, and I am not trying to kick you off.”

“Well, it sure as hell doesn't seem that way, even Soap said you act differently around me. I don't understand why you fucking hate me so much when almost all I ever do is try and suck up to you!” You shouted, your voice slightly slurring with how fast the words escaped your lips.

A vein bulged in Price’s temple, his jaw working with his growing temperament. “I don't know how often we have to go through this same conversation before you get it through your thick head. I don't hate you, I'm hard on you. There's a difference.”

“Well, that's not what it looks like to me. Especially not to the mystery person who just conjured a rumor that we’re sleeping together out of thin air.” You seethed, until now you'd been standing a few feet away from him. But somehow, amid the argument, you found yourself now uncomfortably close.

Price scowled down at you, “What do you want me to say to you?! That I'm sorry I also got caught up in some dumb rumor. That I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt because I was a little harsh.”

Your mind was telling you to communicate your feelings like a normal person. The alcohol and your heart told you your fist connecting with his face was the better option. And right now, your heart (plus the alcohol) was winning.

“I want you to fucking show me you don't hate me! You can say all you want that I'm just being dramatic but there's obviously a reason why I think you hate me.” You fired back.

The two of you stood there for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours. A scowl on Price’s lips and his eyebrows pinched together, there was something about the heat of the moment that made you more on edge. You were hyperaware of everything around you, most importantly you were hyperaware of your proximity to him. The night air was cold but you were on fire.

“You want me to show you? Fine.” He grit out, and before you had time to react he was on you.

His hand was on your neck, thick and warm. Pulling you close so that his lips captured yours in what you could only describe as ‘a hungry kiss.’ The coarse hair of his beard tickled your skin and before you even knew what you were doing, you started kissing him back.

Fuck. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, a woody smell clung to him like sap. Greedily your hands pulled at him, your fingers bunching the cotton of his shirt like he'd disappear. You'd kissed men before but never in your life had anyone kissed you like this. The kiss was hot, desperate, almost angry. His tongue slid along yours, you felt the drag of his teeth nip at your bottom lip and his throaty groan when you only pulled him closer.

You couldn't remember why he was kissing you, or why you started kissing him back. You didn't know why you were so angry, nor did you pay mind to the chance that anyone could walk outside and see the two of you.

You heard his crutch absentmindedly fall to the ground, clattering against the hard dirt. Price's other hand snaked to the back of your head, curling his thick digits into the locks of your hair. His nose brushed against yours, he felt so warm. Asshole or not this man knew how to kiss.

“[Name]!”

Gaz’s voice broke you out of the trance you seemed to have been under. Immediately you and Price tore apart, your heart jackhammered in your ribcage. You looked at Price, he looked at you.

His blue eyes were blown wide, his lips parted and shiny with the reminisce of your spit. A reddish tinge colored his ears and cheeks. He looked horrified.

You didn't fair much better. You probably looked like a gaping fish. You'd just kissed Price. Price had kissed you. You two had been kissing. Holy shit.

Footsteps snapped your attention away from him, Gaz ran to meet you. His breath heavy like he’d been running around for a good amount of time. “[Name] Price didn’t start the rumor- you left before I could tell you. I-” He stopped, his eyes darting between both you and Price. You probably looked as guilty as you felt. “I…uhm I guess you two worked it out?”

There was an awkward silence before anyone spoke, Price cleared his throat, quickly wiping his lips. “She’s aware… You two go back to the tent, it’s late. We leave early tomorrow so get a good sleep.”

You were still in shock, could you even move your limbs? Another silence hovered over the three of you like a looming dust cloud. Gaz awkwardly shuffled to you, patting your shoulder as if to say ‘party's over, let’s go.’ He nodded at Price, “Right, see you in the morning Cap.”

Before you knew it, your legs were moving as Gaz led you back to the tent. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You alright?” He said hesitantly. You didn't know what to say to him, you didn't even know what you were feeling. And you doubted saying, ‘Honestly I don't know because two seconds ago Price's tongue was down my throat and I can't tell if I'm turned on or horrified,’ was appropriate.

So, you settled for a simple: “I’m fine.” Gaz gave you a skeptical look, but he chose not to comment on it. Once you got back to the tent Soap and Ghost had already started to get into their respective cots. Soap gave you a funny look over his shoulder, “What happened to you? You look shell-shocked.” He laughed.

You didn't even have the energy to respond, giving him a disgruntled grimace in return. You fell into your cot, burying your face into the thick sleeping bag. Your cheeks burned, and the taste of Price still lingered on your lips.

Apart of you wished that you were blackout drunk, then maybe it would be easier knowing whatever happened would disappear by the morning. But his groans, his hands in your hair, his lips, they were carved into your brain. And they weren't leaving.

You had to grapple with the reality that Price had kissed you. And you had kissed him back.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Hey, wait! Don't go!

Well… hello there. It's me again! To those of you who aren't familiar, you can call me Baebae. And to those who are welcome back! I've written fanfiction a bit before (check out my other stuff on my home page) but nothing like this. So that makes this special, and I'm happy you can join me while I embark on this new journey.

There is no spice in this chapter but it is coming in the next part. There are only two parts to this so you won’t have to wait that long. Trust me I am trying my best to crank out the next one so I’ll try my best to be quick!!

I would be so, so, so, soooo grateful if you would like, follow, or repost. Don't feel any pressure but I love hearing any feedback you can provide as I am relatively new to this and it spurs me on to know people enjoy what I put out. If you so choose you can message me or comment if you'd like me to @ you in the next part so you're notified. <3

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you in the next part. Toodles! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Part II of Captains Girl!

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Poly!141 x fem!Reader

TW: sexual content ahead, choo choo

Part 1

“Wake up, love.” A groan left your lips and you flipped over, burying your face further into the fluffy pillow beneath your head. “Five more minutes.” The dark chuckle behind you betrayed that it was John who was trying to wake you up. He rounded the four-poster, and you cracked an eye open, glancing at him “Do I really have to carry you downstairs?” Your lips twitched, and John immediately knew your answer. With a slight huff, he picked you up and carried you downstairs. He plopped down on the couch with you in his lap, as you cuddled up against him, your eyes closed again.

“Look at her, I think we tired her out too much last night.” Johnny chuckled, gently scratching your scalp and running his fingers through your hair. A pleased hum left your throat as you leaned into his touch. “Yeah, you hurting, pretty?” Kyle sounded concerned and you quickly felt his body heat behind you. “’ M fine.” The Sergeant chuckled, kissing your head, before standing up and walking away.

“Okay, time for breakfast, huh?” Your eyes shot open immediately and you glared at Simon, who stood next to the gigantic Christmas tree you had forced the boys to buy and put up. “No! You promised that we would open the gifts first thing if…if…” Simon grinned, his eyebrows raised as you began to grow bashful. “If what, love?” Your lower lip jutted out as you pouted. “If I were a good girl and took a few more…orgasms.” John chuckled behind you. “Look who’s awake now. Don’t tease her, Si. Let’s open the presents.”

And with that, the present marathon began. The guys got presents for each other and opened them one by one, thanking each other. They were usual guy gifts - alcohol, cigars, socks, etc. Things the others could use, but nothing overwhelming. By the time they were done, you had finally woken up enough to point to the presents you had gotten each of them.

Johnny was the first to unwrap his. It was an expensive sketchbook and art set he had been eyeing for some time, but never decided to buy. “Aw, bonnie. Thank you, I appreciate it.” You grinned. “Open it.” With a slight frown, he did as you told him to, his eyes widening as he saw what was decorating the front page. It was a beautiful portrait of the two of you. You had gotten his favorite indie artist to draw it for you and he even signed it. “No way!” With a giant grin, he jumped to his feet. “How did ya- no, when did ya-?” He jumped over the table that was separating him from you, not waiting for an answer. “You are amazing.” Still grinning, he bent down and pressed his lips to yours, keeping it chaste for the moment.

After Johnny pulled back, Simon reached for his present and ripped the wrapping paper off. He eyed the box for a few seconds, suspicious of its content, but finally opened it once you insisted that it was fine. To his surprise, he pulled out an old-looking camera, his eyes immediately jumping to yours the moment he realized what he was holding. “Where did you find this?” You shrugged, still wrapped in John’s arms. “Did some research. Is it the right one?” Still looking dumbfounded, he nodded. “Y-Yeah. It’s uhm…it’s the right one. Thank you.” You smiled at him, thinking back to when he opened up to you about his hobby when he was a child, how his mother had bought him a second-hand camera just so he could find some joy in life. You spent months trying to find the same model and make, and when you did find it, you knew it was the perfect present. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Simon was standing right in front of you until you felt his lips against your forehead. “Thank you, love.” A smile formed on your lips as you gazed up at him. “Of course, Si.”

Kyle was next and he made quick work of the wrapping paper, just like Simon. He grinned the moment he realized what it was and skipped over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Thank you, sweets.” It was a quiet mumble against your lips before he kissed you again and pulled away. Johnny immediately grew curious, trying to see what you had gifted to Kyle, but the Seargent quickly pulled away, hiding the present. You giggled as you watched Johnny chase Kyle around until the left the living room, both of them yelling at each other. Simon glanced at you, a slight frown on his face. “Do we want to know?” Still giggling, you shook your head, thinking about the different colored yarn balls and crocheting needles. He had confided in you not too long ago that he wanted to try it, but was too shy around the others. You just hoped that he would see the encouragement and take it up.

“What about me?” John gently squeezed the fat on your hips, gathering your attention. “Oh.” You pointed at a small, beautifully wrapped box and Simon handed it to you. With his free hand, he took it, turning it over as if trying to guess what it was. “Just open it.” With a dark chuckle, he did, quickly shredding the paper and frowning as he saw that it was a watch box. But when he opened it, the frown disappeared and his eyes widened. “Where did you find this?”

A few months ago, during an op, his watch broke. Usually, that wouldn’t be all too bad, better the watch, that can be replaced, than his hand or wrist. But the watch was ancient, vintage as he called it and it meant a lot to him. He didn’t act like it, but it broke his heart whenever he looked at it, hidden away in the top drawer of his desk. And it broke your heart. So, together with Simon, you scoured all different kinds of jewelry stores and online until you found the exact same model, working and in good condition.

John closed the lid of the box and pulled you even closer against himself. "Thank you." His voice was barely above a whisper as he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips moving slowly against yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek. You melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened. But before it could go too far, Johnny and Kyle came barreling back into the room. “I want a hat.” The Scot was grinning at the other male. “I’m not making you a hat.” Kyle shook his head, but the grin on his face betrayed him. You and John pulled apart, him looking annoyed while you just chuckled at the familiar antics.

“Oh? You guys done?” Simon nodded as Johnny and Kyle sat down again, a smirk growing on their lips. “So, now it’s time for her presents?” And oh, there were presents. From lingerie and jewelry to plane tickets for your dream vacation. By the time you had unwrapped and opened all of them, Simon and Johnny had disappeared into the kitchen to make breakfast. “You guys are crazy. That’s way too much!” John shook his head, squeezing you tighter against him. “Nonsense. You deserve so much more.” Kyle interrupted the Captain. “And some of this may be compensation for having to put up with Johnny.” Immediately, Scottish curses sounded from the kitchen, making you chuckle.

“Thank you, guys. I love you. All of you.” John pressed a kiss to your cheeks, Kyle matching it on the other side, before both of them pulled away, making eye contact. “There is actually one more gift, wait here.” Price shifted you from his lap and sat you down on the couch, before he and Kyle disappeared, closely followed by Simon and Johnny who left the kitchen and followed the other two soldiers. You were curious but decided to be a good girl and wait patiently. While doing so, you glanced over all of your presents again, a font smile tugging on your lips. You really loved these idiots.

Someone clearing their throat pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up, finding the four soldiers standing in front of you, naked, safe for a pretty bow wrapped around each of their cocks. “Ready for your final present, love?” They all grinned at you and you couldn’t help but grin back. Hell yes, you were ready!

A/N: If you're seeing this, it means I can finally upload again! Yay! Idk why but Tumblr wouldn't let me upload the last few days, no matter what I tried it didn't work. But whenever this goes up, I hope I can go back to my normal schedule! Love you guys!

[obxsummer]

leave me again ii // rafe cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x routledge!reader (she/her), ex!jj maybank x reader

summary: you left the cut with nowhere to go. it’s rafe cameron that finds you and shows you the life you deserved to live

warnings: sorry jj lovers, that man does not get our girl back so sad jj and probably ooc rafe but i love it when that man is soft

navigation || part one

--

Six months.

It had been six months since any of the Pogues had seen you. No social media, no sight of you around town, no letters. Nothing.

The past six months left you to do a lot of reevaluations. You’d walked aimlessly after the group had left for the dive with nothing but your backpack and phone, no destination in mind. Until you found one.

“Lost or something?”

“Fuck off, Rafe,” Your response was instant as you continued to walk without sparing him a look. The car shifted into a different gear, you guessed by the noise, before Rafe was hopping out to approach you.

“Are you okay?” When you didn’t answer, he moved in closer and grabbed your shoulder before turning you to face him. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You stared at him with the knowledge that you probably looked like a mess with the tear streaks across your cheeks. While Rafe had a lot of issues with your friends and brother, he usually stayed clear of you. Whether that was because you were close with Sarah, or what, you didn't know.

Twisting your fingers together, you dropped your gaze as tears started to build again. “You ever watch someone you love choose someone else over you, every single time?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut to Rafe. He had. His whole life he watched his dad choose Sarah. Watched his mom choose another family over him. Watched Wheezie choose another sibling over him.

“Get in, I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

Six months ago, you hopped in Rafe Cameron’s Range Rover and left The Cut behind. You didn’t question the decision, knowing you’d worry about everyone else before taking care of yourself, and that clearly didn’t work in the past. You felt horribly guilty about leaving John B with no indication whether you were okay or not, but you knew if one of them found out, JJ would be busting down the door to Rafe’s bedroom before you had a chance to say no. 

While you weren’t sure what the original intentions had been, Rafe was so different with you after bringing you back to his new house. One he’d bought after selling Tannyhill, free from the haunting of his father and the screams that echoed off the walls, he had turned it into a safe space for himself and anyone he invited in.

Things blossomed quickly and you realized the Rafe in front of you was not the bully, coke-head addict you’d once known. He was such a gentle person, and so much more attentive to you than JJ had ever been. Whether it was making you breakfast in bed before you left for the day, or prepping a warm (actually warm, like hot water you’d hadn’t had in forever) candle lit bath, or popping an expensive bottle of wine just for you to taste, he was there in ways nobody had been. You were his girl, his only girl, and you never once had to question that.

Rafe had even invited you to sit in on his investment meetings and he was slowly pulling your name into his business so you’d have a professional background to grow into. You were steadily becoming an educated little couple in his home, something he was so proud and grateful for. He had someone to lean on for advice and give him fresh eyes on new projects with no judgment or fear of anger. The two of you soaked up your bubble of peace for as long as you could before shit hit the fan. 

Little did you know, on the other side of the island with your brother, there had been absolutely no peace. John B and JJ barely spoke, everything ending in an argument when they did. Pope was sick of playing mediator, and Kie had more of less shut down out of guilt. Sarah was still searching for you, but you’d gone ghost. Cleo was treading lightly with the knowledge that everything would explode eventually. 

So, they did what they could, and dove into treasure hunting. When JJ pulled the amulet out of his pocket in the back of the Twinkie, John B’s emotions were mixed. Sure, he was stoked that he’d found the object the group was looking for, but he wished you were here. It was your birthday, and John B was inches away from losing his shit without you.

“Dude, are you okay?” Pope asked as the group stood in the office area of the house, trying to find more information on the amulet’s inscription.

John B tossed the heavy object on the desk in frustration. “No, I’m not okay! We can find decades old treasure like it’s the easiest thing ever, but we can’t find jack shit about my sister? That’s bullshit, Pope. And you know it.”

Pope knew things would be sensitive today. Even JJ woke up grouchy, which John B told him was deserved since he caused your absence in the first place. The lack of your presence weighed heavy on the group, so Pope suggested going to visit one of your favorite beach spots. 

Little did he know what he was getting himself into.

--

“Rafe!” The house was filled with your laughter as Rafe twirled you in the kitchen lighting, your favorite song playing from the interactive speaker on the counter. The two of you had spent the day together, visiting the country club for lunch before Rafe took you shopping for something to wear tonight.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme love on you, it’s your birthday” He mumbled as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, hands squeezing your hips teasingly. The soft fabric of the dress he’d picked out covered your frame, the color matching your skin perfectly. 

You hummed in content, fingers holding his biceps tightly as if your knees would give out any second. “You loved on me a lot this morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Rafe’s thumb traced your bottom lip before he kissed you softly. “You make it so easy.”

The two of you got lost in each other for a few more moments, soaking up the quiet as the orange sunset started casting through the windows. Today had been the best day you’d had in so long and you were so grateful of Rafe for giving you so much patience and love.

It had taken time for you to adjust to this kind of life. You walked in here with three outfits to your name, a busted cell phone, and a stuffed animal John B won you at the town festival as kids. And Rafe embraced every bit of it, let you keep your Pogue pieces while building you a life around it that was filled with items you needed but would never ask for, all while loving you so gently.

You climbed out of his car (technically the one he’d bought you but you refused to acknowledge that), and stepped down into the soft sand below. This was your spot, the spot you came to whenever you needed to clear your head or take a moment alone. You’d shared it with Rafe shortly after everything changed, and now, it was a shared spot that you both considered special.

Rafe moved around the car to grab your hand and guide you toward the area he had organized for the two of you. A small white table had been set up with your favorite snacks and two glasses of wine, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket and pillows you’d seen. 

“Did you do this?” You squeezed his hand tighter, tears in your eyes at how sweet and thoughtful the gesture was. Your jaw dropped as the two of you walked closer; everything was thought out down to the tiny forks you loved so much being there to pick up the appetizers. 

“Course I did, baby.” Rafe kissed your temple softly and grabbed one of the glasses to hand to you before taking hold of his own. You clinked your glass against his, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply in appreciation.

And then everything went to shit.

“What the fuck?”

Rafe’s hand tightened against your lower back, both of you looking over to see the handful of figures standing a few feet away. Your heart went to your throat went you made eye contact with your brother, whose hand was wrapped in Sarah’s. JJ stood behind him along with Kiara, Pope, and Cleo, all of them looking at you expectantly.

“Shit,” You whispered and took a step back from Rafe, eyes meeting his in dread. His expression had hardened at the sight of JJ, all the anger rushing back when he thought about how you’d been treated in the relationship, how unfair everything had been. You clocked the frustration in his gaze and placed your fingers on his cheek to redirect his focus back to you. “Don’t. I’ll handle it.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked but he didn’t argue as you slipped your wine glass back into his hand and left his side to approach the group standing in front of you. You weren’t even worried about JJ or Kie, you were worried about John B more than anything.

“Hi,” The greeting was so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself. How do you talk to people you disappeared on six months ago?

John B’s only response was to pull you into the tightest hug he had ever given. You stumbled with the force of his body colliding with you before regaining your balance and returning the embrace. 

“You’re okay,” He repeated the words to himself as if convincing his mind that they were true before stepping back and holding your cheeks in his hands. The smile on his face was huge, and you were so so confused. “Holy shit.”

“Hi,” You laughed quietly, placing your hands on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”

John B shook his head, his thumb brushing the random tear from your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I told you to take a break, yeah? And you did.”

You glanced back to where Rafe was surprisingly conversing with Sarah with no anger in sight. The pit in your stomach slowly disappeared as you took them in and turned your attention back to John B. “I um… there’s a lot to catch you up on, and I want to tell you. I wanna tell you all of it, JB, but-”

“And I wanna hear it,” He reassured softly. “But someone put a lot of effort into your night and I don’t wanna steal any of it.”

You were so goddamn grateful for your brother. Pulling John B into another hug, you spared the look over his shoulder to see Kiara stomping away from the beach. You tried to keep a smirk off your face but it definitely made its way through. 

Stepping back from John B, you shared hugs with Cleo and Pope, promising that you would see them soon before you were face to face with the reason you made it here in the first place. JJ looked rough. His hair was chaotic, arms thinner than you remembered, and he just looked tired.

“I don’t want your apology,” You spoke as he opened his mouth. “And it looks like you have a girlfriend to go find anyway.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JJ replied quickly as he stared at you. “Not anymore.”

You pulled your lips in and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you around, JJ.”

He reached a hand out toward you when you moved to walk away. You paused just out of his reach and looked back. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You nodded. “I know. I should be thanking you actually, because if you had said it back to me that day, I wouldn’t have found something so much better.”

And with that, you walked away from JJ and the empty promises he had always given, walked away straight into the arms of someone who would give you the world and more, if you just so much as asked.

--

navigation 

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi! I would love an imagine for the boys that includes the reader getting held captive and they rescue her, maybe a little Angst to Fluff?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Only a little angst? Friend, I may have gone and made this more angsty with just a sprinkle of fluff. I can't help myself sometimes. So, fair warning to y'all, that it is angst-ridden with a bit of fluff at the end of each. Sorry?

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

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): angst, canon-typical violence, swearing, reunions, light fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

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

John Price

John’s heart is thunderous, beating so loudly it’s like a bass drum in his ears.

To be successful, to execute this rescue with precision, he needs to remain calm, to be the leader he knows he is. It’s not a lack of confidence, but a growing dread that he might be too late. There is no room to show fear—to let everyone in on how important this is.

Because it is important.

You are important.

Not just to the team but to him. Maybe the team knows. Laswell likely does, but the boys might not. Sure, they have suspicions, but you and John have always been discreet, have always tried to keep the relationship between the two of you private.

Now, with the mission ahead, all those secrets and subversion might overflow. Become known to everyone.

John breathes in through his nostrils, and exhales through his mouth. Box breathing. It’s helping. But only a little.

“We’re ready, Captain,” says Gaz, crouching beside him, gaze scanning the land before them.

There’s open ground and then a building. Someone stands guard near the door, head on a swivel. Soap silently appears next to Kyle, taking a knee. Simon is somewhere in the dark, ready to snipe every enemy in sight before they enter the building.

Price nods, and then speaks into the walkie. “You’re clear, Ghost.”

“Copy.”

Seconds later, the man guarding the door jerks like he’s been electrified before crumpling silently to the ground. A few more moments and a body plummets from the top of the building, landing with a sickening crunch.

“No signs of life,” comes Simon’s voice over the comms.

Soap snorts. “Cheeky bastard.”

John wants to join in, but you’re consuming his every thought. It’s only been twenty-four hours since you were taken, yet it feels like an eternity.

“Let’s move,” murmurs John.

They advance in unison with Simon emerging from the dark to bring up the rear. Entering the building is easy, but they’ll have to go slowly and silently inside. Up close and personal is the way to go in a place like this. One wrong move might spook the rest.

Kyle and Soap take the front, breaking necks and slicing throats. It’s clean. Efficient.

John signals with his hand and everyone shifts down a different hall, heading toward the internal bunker. That is where they’re holding you, along with other hostages.

A few more quick deaths and then John is kicking in the door.

There are screams. Shouts. Rapid gunfire.

John is already searching, seeking your face.

“Targets are down, sir,” shouts Soap.

There are cages. Rows of them. He searches each one, looking at every face.

“Contact base and tell them we need civilian pickup,” says John.

“On it,” answers Kyle, already leaning his head to the side to speak into his radio.

John searches. And searches.

“John.” Your voice cracks but it’s soothing. Soft.

He murmurs your name, going down on one knee, reaching through the bars to grasp your hand.

“I’m here,” he murmurs.

“I knew you’d come,” you reply, smiling. “I knew.”

With his back turned to the rest of his team, John silently mouths three little words. “I love you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is on the mission, but he isn’t. Not really.

He’s watching it all on monitors at a safe distance. Others are taking the lead. Others are executing the mission. And Johnny must step aside because while he is physically capable, he’s too emotionally invested.

Too explosive. Too irate. Too volatile.

But this is about you. Of course he’s going to be angry.

Yet here he is pacing, gaze glued on the screens, listening to the chatter. Every muscle is primed for movement, ready for action, but Johnny cannot expel the energy. It’s building—shifting into anxiety.

“What’s taking so bloody long?” he growls.

Laswell glances over her shoulder at him. Though she appears calm, Johnny notices a small flicker of sympathy.

“They’re returning,” she replies. “Waiting on e-t-a.”

Johnny’s pacing worsens.

“You’re going to wear a path in the concrete,” says Laswell.

Johnny opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of helicopter blades reaches his ears. It’s not loud, just a hint of sound, but as it increases, his heartrate spikes.

Laswell doesn’t have to say anything. Johnny is already moving, rushing out to the landing pad, watching as the helicopter approaches and descends. The seconds pass in small eternities. Nikolai is in the pilot’s seat, and it is Captain Price who opens the sliding door just as the helicopter lands. Johnny is rushing forward, almost throwing himself inside in his search for you.

“Johnny.” It’s Simon, his large hand coming down on Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny wants to tell him to move, to get the hell out of his way, but it is your voice that Johnny hears. As the helicopter blades slow, the air calms, and it is easier to understand—to recognize your familiar tone that Johnny has missed for all these days.

There’s a blanket around your shoulders and a sunken quality to your features that speaks to malnutrition. Other than that, you appear fine. Unharmed.

Johnny, no longer impeded by Simon’s hand, moves toward you, coming down on one knee. You immediately reach for him, and Johnny takes your hand. You’re cold, and it pains him. Placing both of your hands between his, he brings them to his lips, brushing kisses along the knuckles, attempting to warm them with his own heat.

You bend forward, and as Johnny glances up, you rest your forehead against his.

The fight is over. You’re here.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

There is a hunger in Simon.

Like the snake, he will consume his prey headfirst.

It is eerie how calm he is—how focused. A mission is a mission is a mission—until it isn’t. Until there is no target, no capture or kill, no sense of duty. This is all primal rage boiled down into a thick, viscus consistency. It is invisible, smeared over Simon’s eyes, drenches the world around him into a grey haze.

Simon could be the rapid dog let loose from a broken chain. Poisoned saliva. Bared teeth. Prone to biting.

The knife in his hand is bright and hot and burning. It itches for blood, for Simon to take these fuckers down a peg. He has it in him, but all Simon needs from his superior officer is the affirmative. And then, like the ghost he is, they won’t ever see him coming.

Come on, Price. Call it.

A part of him is missing—shredded. He did his best to protect you, to keep you secret from the world. Cruelty and deception move quickly though, and now your life is in danger.

Give the fucking word.

“Path is clear,” comes Captain Price’s voice over the radio.

It’s all the affirmation Simon needs. He is up and moving in seconds, a wraith in the dark, a silent shadow out for blood. His blade is his guide, sheering and cutting, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. There are no shouts, no cries of pain. Simon is clean, brutal, efficient.

But there is only one thing—one person on his mind. And that’s you.

A set of stairs. A hall. Rooms. More stairs.

Ascending. Ascending. Ascending.

The rest of the team isn’t far behind, but they stay back and leave Simon to it. They know this mission is for him. That he’s not only doing it for you but for himself.

It’s a wonder his knife doesn’t grow dull. It cuts true. Cuts clean. And it isn’t until the last enemy has fallen that some of the tension in Simon’s muscles melts away. He has consumed his prey, and there is only a singular door left to open.

There is the moment before he opens it, a space of breath that feels like eternity packed into single moment. The hinges creak, revealing a tiny room no larger than a walk-in closet. And there you are, on your side, ankle chained to the wall.

“Simon?”

You sound so broken. So…hollow.

As he sinks down onto one knee beside you, the unsteady confusion on your face gives way to hope. Simon’s arms reach out instinctively, wanting nothing more than to be around you. You throw yourself into him, and there is nothing sweeter in this moment.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

Your sobs of joy nearly break him, nearly fracture Simon into pieces. But the fact that you’re alive, that you appear unharmed—at least physically—is more than he expected.

“I’m here,” he repeats, even as your tears stain his balaclava. “I’m here.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It is impossible to measure the love you have for someone until they’re taken from you.

Kyle thought he understood. Yet for these last few weeks, he’s been a fractured creature. A small illusion. A flicker of a man.

But you’re not gone, just far away. Alive, he hopes.

Alive, is what he repeats. A mantra in his head. If he says it enough, it will be true.

Price, Soap, and Ghost are in front of him, moving like shadows through the building while Kyle brings up the rear. With them beside him, there is calmness in the chaos, a softening to his chaotic emotions. They are his support, the ground that he can stand on.

Price motions, and then Ghost kicks in a door.

There are shouts first. Then gunfire. Then silence.

Each of them enters, walking amongst the corpses.

Price digs around in the pockets of one of the men, and then tosses a set of keys over to Ghost. Kyle is already following, moving into position as Ghost unlocks a nearby door. He points the firing end of his gun inside, and then steps back.

He glances at Kyle, and nods.

Lowering his weapon, Kyle pushes the door wide, the light bleeding into the dark, revealing a shape he knows well.

Kyle’s surroundings melt away, leaving only you. He cradles your cheeks, thumbs rubbing away the dirt and blood and tears. You’re smiling, but there is red there, too.

“I knew you’d come for me.”

“Always,” he whispers, voice cracking in pain.

Captain Price appears at his shoulder, glancing down at the two of you on the floor, face grim. He speaks into his radio. “I need a med evac now.”

“You’re going to live,” reassures Kyle. “I promise.”

“Please don’t leave,” you murmur, fresh tears pooling in your eyes.

Kyle shakes his head. “Never. I’ll never leave again.”

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[dawneternal]

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1

“What is going on?” Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.

John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.

“Constantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,” Superman explained. “He is working on the summoning circle now.”

“Is that safe to do on the Watchtower?” Batman asked, as cautious as ever.

“Yeah, mate,” John answered for himself. “This one is a good one. Haven’t met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything I’ve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.”

Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadn’t stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.

The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.

Another hand joined it.

And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.

John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.

“Who dares to call upon the Ghost King?” the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through John’s head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.

Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.

Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the being’s view.

The being didn’t seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. “B?”

Batman inclined his head slightly, “Phantom.”

“Shit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,” the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.

“Understandable,” Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.

John could only shrug incredulously at Superman’s questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.

The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. “You could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."

“Painful?” Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.

“Yeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the maker—”

“Thanks, I think?” John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.

“—so it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,” the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.

“We'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.”

The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half cape— one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.

Like it was just waking through a door.

Like it was nothing.

John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.

“All good,” they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. “So, what did you need the Ghost King for?”

-

Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruce’s head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.

Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.

The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to after…

Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Phantom,” Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.

“I didn’t say I could assist. I’ll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,” Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. “My influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Of course,” Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. “Listening is a great start. If you’ll take a seat.”

Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“Um, King Phantom, your majesty?” Flash started nervously. “Batman doesn’t really like to be touched?”

“Really?” Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldn’t see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruce’s shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)

Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.

J’onn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see J’onn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantom’s ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.

“Ah,” J’onn said softly.

“Ah? Ah what?” Flash asked, his words almost a whine. “What do you know?”

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantom’s hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Ah,” Wonder Woman said with a little smile. “J’onn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.”

“Good to meet you also, Wonder Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Phantom said as she sat down next to them.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said with a teasing smile directed Bruce’s way.

“Hn.”

Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. “It’s okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. He’s just bad at doing things the normal way.”

Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantom’s side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.

“Holy shit!” Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. “You’re Batman’s husband!”

“Guilty as charged,” Phantom said.

“Wait, no, you’re what?” Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. “Huh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but you’re so… lively! Wait— is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?”

Phantom laughed again and shook his head. “No, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I don’t mind and besides, I’m only half-dead.”

“Half-dead?” Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.

Phantom just waved the concern away. “It’s complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so there’s not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.”

“So,” Hal started, ignoring Bruce’s glare and sliding into a seat finally. “You’re married to Batman in your civilian form as well?”

“Of course, it would be silly otherwise,” Phantom said and then added, “and no, I won’t tell you who B is. That’s for him to choose.”

“Okay, but like, we can talk to you, right?” Flash asked, eager as ever.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?”

Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantom’s back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.

--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!

[drgnflyteabox]

daddy cool, side B ⋆˙⟡

simon riley x fem!reader (background price x reader) summary: you make a movie with simon. ↪or, john produces. tags/warnings: making a porno, rough sex (p in v), oral (f + m), please forgive my dialogue i'm trying my best, degradation / slut shaming, squirting, a little dubcon, size kink, a little pain, unnegotiated kink, john is mostly in the background but he's there

“Alright honey, move a little to the right.”

“Like this?”

“Just like that, sweetheart. Spread those legs a little.”

John had been your fluffer earlier, licked you until you were rarin’ to go, wet and soft and needy. He can probably still taste you on his mustache.

You’re taking photos now, leaning back on the bed, bare wet pussy spread for John and the camera. Your two fingers create a perfect V, showing him your winking hole, your pert clit.

He really wasn’t lying about producing– you hadn’t deeply suspected him, but there was a niggling little thought there that he was maybe putting it on to get you in bed. It had worked either way, but nice to know he’s honest.

Ghost, the masked man. Cheesy, but popular with women, John says. They like the mystery.

“Touch yourself a little,” John shifts the camera as you do, lightly petting your clit with two fingers, “that’s good, that’s real good.”

You dip two fingers into your hole, wet from John’s earlier attention, biting your lip in what you hope is a seductive manner for the camera. John chuckles low in his chest, cock pushing against his tight pants. The view makes your mouth water, but you aren’t here for John today.

You’re here for the giant of a man that walks through the doorway, wearing scuffed blue jeans and big black boots. The mask isn’t what you’d imagined, but it fits over the tight white t-shirt he’s wearing. A skull.

“Ah, Simon,” John turns to greet him, “there you are.”

Simon’s cock is already chubbed up in his jeans, long and thick against his leg. For a perverse moment you imagine what it would look like for he and John to push their bulges against each other, groaning, pec squeezed against pec, and your pussy clenches.

You wish John would perform, if only just to tag team you with this meaty specimen of a man.

Add it to the spankbank.

“John,” Simon greets him back, stepping into the room. He’s not even looking at you, which is hot for some reason you don’t care to parse. He lifts a boot and steps onto John’s stool, “fresh meat?”

John laughs, which seems to be the only answer Simon needs before he turns towards you finally and pins you to the bed with his gaze. 

Your fingers pause, still dipped halfway inside, clit pulsing against the heel of your palm.

“Pretty,” he says, and just as you’re about to say thank you, “nice, Cap,” a pause, “picked a ripe one.”

He walks until his shins hit the bed, looking down at you and your spread legs, where your hand is still and your pussy drips onto the sheets. His eyelashes are pale, ghostly, strangely beautiful against his brown eyes. 

You wish you could see his face, his expression, but John was right– they do like the mystery.

There’s a little hint of a scar that pokes up from his cheekbone, pulling the skin of his bottom lid a little, but there’s no time to examine him in detail.

“Right then,” John interrupts, “let’s take a few pictures.”

The first pose he puts you in is on Simon’s lap, explicitly directing you to press your pussy against his jeanclad thigh and make a little wet spot for us, will you, love?

It’s honestly humiliating, but you’re so tuned up that the heat of your embarrassment only adds to the tension.

“That’s good, that’s real good,” John murmurs, instructing Simon to put a heavy hand on your lower back, pressing you further into his leg.

Your clit drags against the fabric, and the camera snaps your open mouthed gasp.

“Pull her shirt down,” and Simon does; pulling your tanktop down until your tits fall out, soft and peaked, pressed against the worn fabric of his shirt.

You’re looking over your shoulder, hazy, bottom lip between your teeth. John snaps a few more before he places you in the next position.

All you can stare at is the dark patch on Simon’s jeans.

“This one’s for the cover,” he says, getting Simon to lay down and pull his jeans a little down– showing off the line of hair leading to the biggest tease; the beginnings of his bush, trapped under just his jeans.

He’s gone commando. All you can see is the little pudge of his pubis as it’s squished by his waistband, a tasty little tenderloin you want to bite.

You’re next; standing over Simon, legs wide open, looking down at him with your tits out and your thighs wet. It’s a movie-esque kind of pose, and in another universe maybe you’re decked out in cheap sci-fi costumes for a blockbuster.

Then he’s ready, and you have to re-dress. Tanktop goes back on, shorts get slid right back up your legs, and he puts you on top of the covers.

Simon prowls like a panther, graceful in his movements despite the sheer size of him. You’re leaned back, elbows on the bed, breathing harder the closer he gets.

“Felt that wet little pussy,” he says, voice low, “she’s more than ready for me, isn’t she? Probably soaking those slutty shorts.”

“Uh huh,” you murmur, legs outstretched and straight before him. 

John had told you a little bit of the ‘script’ beforehand, a loose skeleton to follow outside of improv, so you aren’t shocked when he pulls the button open on your shorts and pulls them down in one fell swoop.

“Look’it that,” his lips move under the mask. You wonder if he’s licking his lips, looking at your pussy like that.

He takes you by the ankle, dragging you across the mattress until you’re flat on your back and looking up at him.

“Haven’t even seen my cock yet,” he laughs meanly, his other hand reaching to take a big squeeze of his cock through his jeans, “and look’it that. Slag if I’ve ever seen one.”

Your face burns, breath stuttering. This wasn’t a part of the little warning John had given you, but you’re not that mad about it. Hot, humiliated– but not opposed.

Simon looks at you for barely another second before he’s crawled up to your face, knees on either side of your head.

Oh.

“Gimme a kiss.”

You lean forward, lips pressing against his rough jeans. He smells good, a little like cigarettes but there’s that musk you love so much. You mouthe against him until he pulls your head back to the mattress by your hair.

He pulls down his jeans, freeing a mostly plump cock that flops onto your cheek. Oh man, it’s weighty. The nestle of curls at the base of it is like a magnet for your eyes, too.

“I can take it all the way,” you look up into those inscrutable eyes.

“Yeah? Prove it.”

You take the tip first, licking it lewdly, turning to the camera every so often like John had told you to– just let them see those eyes, honey. Show them how much you like it.

So you do. You give big, wide eyes as Simon gets impatient and starts tunnelling down your throat, shoulders trapped beneath his heavy thighs.

When you gag, he laughs lowly, keeping you there. He runs a rough thumb over the taut stretch of your upper lip, down to your lower lip, palm cradling your jaw.

“That’s a good girl,” he slides backwards, jeans scraping your nipples through your tanktop, hardly giving you but a moment before he's pushing back in. Rinse and repeat.

It’s like with John, only Simon’s cock is a little different. Longer, and curved where John’s is thicker. The tip pokes you in the back of the throat, sometimes at the roof of your mouth from the awkward angle.

You feel crushed underneath him despite your entire lower half being free, legs coming up and thighs squeezing together as the camera pans towards them and John murmurs, “show me that pussy, honey.”

So you spread your legs, humiliated at the gluk-gluk-gluk sound coming from your throat but gushing impossibly more under the camera’s lens.

“That’s a pretty picture,” Simon grunts, sliding out of your mouth to tap the head against your lips, letting you stick your tongue out and drool drip down your chin, “yeah. Keep your mouth open.”

This is mostly for the camera, the way he rubs himself on your face, the way you lay there and keep your mouth open. You don’t have to fake the desperation, but still.

Simon’s a pro.

He leans back, fingers finding your bare cunt and sliding a finger along your slit. Slippery, swollen, the contact is like drinking water in the desert. Like the satisfying pleasure-pain of pressing down a bruise.

His finger slides up and down shallowly, never stopping where you need it while you kiss the underside of his cock.

“This cock-hungry pussy’s soakin’ my fingers,” his eyes squint, like he’s grinning under the mask, “reckon I could solve a drought with this,” he lifts his finger to your mouth, slipping them in for you to taste yourself.

Where the fuck did John find this guy?

You play along, face burning, sucking his fingers with a soft moan.

After a moment, he leans back and gets off you, pulling your tanktop down as he does so your tits bounce back out. Hello again, ladies.

There’s a small moment of stalling where John sets the camera up on a tripod near the end of the bed and Simon drags you so your head is towards the headboard, and then it’s 3 2 1 action again.

“Hands on the headboard,” Simon gruffs, then slides onto his belly and presses his mask to your cunt. Your hands fly to the headboard, hanging on for dear life as he inhales through the fabric.

Jesus. He rubs the knit on your swollen pussy, up and down, spreading you open with his covered chin and then pressing his nose to your clit.

You don’t have to exaggerate your sounds. They come naturally, rising in pitch when he pushes his mask up just enough to see his pink, scarred lips wrap around your engorged clit.

He’s greedy, eating more to taste you than to please you.

When he lifts his head, mouth wet and tongue poking out to lick the remnants of your slick, stopping at the cusp of your orgasm, you give the camera at the end of the bed your best wounded animal look.

Simon doesn’t take his jeans off when he gets back up to his knees, shuffling to kneel between your legs.

You notice all too late that he hasn’t fingered you, not even a little dip. He’s licked you, sucked on your clit until you were keening, but there’s a deadly focus in his eyes as he puts the fat head of his cock against your hole that tells you you’re in trouble.

“Got a good look at this?,” he grunts, tilted towards the camera, “this is the best part.”

Oh fuck, he pushes in and it feels like a hydraulic press; crushing pressure, a sting, stretching taught around him as you gasp–

“Pinching me,” he curls his lip, abdomen tensing, “Jesus.”

“Oh god, fuck,” you shiver, trying to keep your knees spread, wincing and gasping in deep breaths for air as he carves a space inside you for himself.

“Relax,” he squeezes in further. Stretching, painful, intensely delicious, “relax that cunt for me, sweetheart. Let her get what she needs. ”

You try, only noticing John as he palms his bulge, watching your pussy struggling to take Simon’s cock.

It takes a few see-sawing movements of his hips before you finally loosen a little around him and he really lets loose. Doesn’t let you take a breath, just starts pounding like he’s getting a bonus for it and you shout with surprise.

A vision of an adventuring viking comes to mind, beaten and lashed by storm, the only respite to hang onto the mast in the middle of a ship… that’s the headboard for you.

He fucks like animal, but it’s still as graceful as the way he moved when he first entered the room. How can a man that looks so rough, is so big, roll his spine and slap his hips into yours in such a dancerly way? His pace is inhuman.

His cock spears into you like he’s digging for gold, tilted just so that you’re loud with how good it feels and almost wincing every time he pokes a little too deep.

You think maybe it’s on purpose, what with the way he stares down at you, big hands coming to hold your midsection and dig his fingers into your skin. 

Yeouch, that feels good.

“There she is,” he fucks you deep, unrelenting, groaning when he feels your hole start to squeeze, “doesn’t even need a hand, then,” he laughs.

He’s right. You don’t. Your abdomen squeezes, orgasm building, the first of its kind– without any kind of contact on your clit, that is.

You try to hold back for as long as possible, try to make eyes at the camera again, but you’re lost to the feeling of getting fucked so good and so deep. The feeling builds and builds and steamrolls you, legs shaking where they’re spread, ears going deaf with the blood rushing in them.

A scream bursts forth from your throat at the same time as you literally spray, slick soaking Simon’s jeans and the bottom of his t-shirt. 

There’s no time to be embarrassed with the hard, punitive thrusts he gives you as he rides his orgasm out behind yours, filling you up with hot come.

You’re boneless, after. Laying nice and still for John to get closeups of your creampie’d pussy, for Simon to rest his spent cock between your pussylips and grin under his mask, tucking himself back into his soiled jeans as John dismisses him.

He’s damp everywhere, but he strolls over to John’s little minibar area and pours himself a whiskey like it doesn’t bother him.

John doesn’t give you a break, either. He pans the camera to the mess on the bed, the wet spot you’d caused by squirting all over Simon’s cock.

John grins at you from behind the camera.

“You’re a natural, honey.”

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 9)

It was snowing.

Actually, 'snowing' was an understatement. It was a freaking blizzard. And it really came out of nowhere too, just a thin layer of snow covering the ground during the early hours and now, you couldn't see anything besides white throught the window.

Oh yeah, you were also sick.

To be fair, you knew you would get sick eventually thanks to this huge change in temperature. It wasn’t even because you were out with Johnny yesterday night; you would have gotten sick regardless. It just happened that everytime the seasons changed, a flu would strike you.

It happens, you were used to it, but still...

You certainly weren't used to the attention.

First of all, you woke up with someone already in your room. Two someones, actually. Johnny was anxiously pacing close to your bed, a frown on his face as he sniffled the air around you. Kyle was with him, head tilted in your direction as he also frowned in concern.

And in a second, Kyle's large hand was pressing against your forehead, then your warm, red cheeks, and then your small neck. His hand felt warm, as always, but even you could feel it that you were warmer, making him tsc in concern.

So, they decided to place you on the large living room couch, still in the sweater and sweatpants you were wearing as pajamas, propped carefully against the many pillows and cushions, with a blanket draped over your lap and legs.

The same blanket John had bought for you the day before.

"Temperature?" Price asks, voice gruff and arms crossed as he watches Kyle staring at the thermometer with a frown.

"37,7ºC. That's high for humans." He sighs, putting the thermometer aside.

Johnny frowns a bit at the information, sitting close to you so he could also check your temperature for himself.

"Almost as warm as a werewolf..." He mutters with his own frown on his face, leaning close enough to almost lay his head against your lap and torso. "How are ye feeling, wee pup?"

"F-Fine..." Your voice sounds a little rough, your throat a bit raspy. "I... I have... I usually get sick when the temperature changes... too quickly..."

He nods and croons at your quiet answer, now actually leaning to rub his head and fluffy ears against your chest.

"Here you go." Simon says quietly as he approaches with a light blue mug on hands, passing to you carefully as he kneels in front of the couch.

The mug was big and warm on your hold, but it was also enveloped in a small white cloth to make sure you wouldn't burn your hands, even tho the liquid inside wasn't even that hot. It was warm, just like it has to be.

"Lemon and honey tea, darlin'. Helps your throat nicely." He grunts out, heavy hand coming up to your forehead too, making you close your eyes slightly in satisfaction. His hands are much cooler thanks to his Wraith nature.

As he takes his hand away, you take a small sip of the tea. You weren't a fan of tea, but considering it's just lemon and honey... you can manage.

"With the way it's snowing outside, it's an indoor day for all of us." Price notes, looking out the window with his burly arms still crossed.

"Ah'll 'ave fun shoveling the snow later..." Johnny murmurs sarcastically as he sits up once again, glaring outside the window.

"Darlin', the tea." Simon reminds you gently after you took too long for a second sip.

You blush a little, nodding quietly as you take another sip. At least it felt soothing going down your throat; it didn’t hurt like it usually did when you forced yourself to drink water all the other times you were sick.

"Okay, I searched, and… it seems to be safe for humans to take Tylenol, but only in small doses." Kyle warns seriously, his wing twitching for a moment as if to reach for your small form sitting on the couch.

"I'll go get it." Simon gets up quickly, going to the bathroom closest to the living room.

You were sipping on your tea, distracted, staring at the direction Simon went off, enough to startle you as John kneels by your side on the couch, fixing the blanket on top of you to make sure it wouldn't slip off.

"Tell us if you feel worse or need anything, yes, hatchling?" he murmurs gruffly, leaning close enough to bump his forehead against yours. You were small enough to do it without his big horns getting in the way.

"O... Okay..." You mumble, a bit caught off guard, shyly looking away. "B-But... I'm fine..."

"Mhm, yeah, lassie, ye are. An' Ahm gonna know if ye aren't..." Johnny murmurs in the most omnious way possible, making you shiver a bit in place as you stare at him wide eyed, John just rolling his eyes with a smile on his lips. "Can smell ye, gonna knae right awa' if you worsen, yeah, wee pup?" He croons, scottish accent strong, leaning closer with a big, smug grin.

"Stop scaring the kid, mutt." Simon growls as he comes back, slapping the back of Johnny's head with a bit too much force in your opinion, but all the werewolf does is snap his teeth at the bigger man's direction with a huge smile still on his face.

"We only have in tablets?" Kyle murmurs, face scrunching in displeasure.

"Unfortunally. I'll buy drops later for next time." Simon rumbles back, gently running his hand over Kyle's ruffled feathers, making the harpy relax a little. "The tablets are good for now."

"These the 500mg?" Kyles asks, humming in consideration as Simon nods.

"Too strong." John rumbles lowly from his place kneeling by your side, hand firmly planted on your blanket.

The harpy nods, agreeing with the dragon as he stares at the tablet he popped out on his hand. In a quick movement, Kyle bites more than half of the tablet off, leaning over the back of the couch to give you the rest.

"Here you go, baby. Swallow it with your tea." He smiles lovingly, sharp nails gently putting the small piece against your small palm.

"Y-You swallowed...?" You mumble, slightly shocked with his actions.

"This medication is not enough to have any effect on me, chick." He smiles, a small and gentle laugh coming out of his mouth.

"Garrick has taken much stronger shit just to stay awake during missions." Ghost huffs humerously.

That comment certainly makes you curious, but your attention is called back to John as he gently pushes your small hand close to your mouth.

"Take it, doll, come on."

You nod quietly, quickly putting the tablet in your mouth and taking a sip of the almost-finished tea to swallow it under the watchful eyes of the four of them

"Good." John croons deeply, his eyes getting lighter for a second, startling you a little.

"Pup needs food." Johnny mumble, once again leaning close to your body.

"I'll make it," John huffs, climbing back to his feet. "Make a good bean soup with some bacon. Gonna liven up the pup right away."

"Add collard greens, great for the human flu." Ghost notes gravelly, leaning over the back of the couch where he and Kyle were standing to grab the empty mug from your hands.

They’re starting to give you a small headache. They truly didn’t stop, did they? They were always moving, always doing something. They worked so well together too, on top of their own game and each other’s.

"While they do that, it's time for a nap, don't ye think?" Johnny rumbles, pulling you to him in a quick motion that gets you almost dizzy.

"I-I just woke up..." You mumble, unsure, trying to look up at him from where you were laying against his body, but you were unsucceful as he simply pulled your blanket over you once again and made you lay sideways, putting a pillow over his stomach so you could lay your head on it confortably.

"And ye're sick, pup. Ye sleep." He rumbles gently, patting your small head of hair.

"That's good. We'll call you when the soup gets ready." Kyle nods with a loving smile on his face, his wings puffing out now for a different reason than his stress from moments ago.

Simon rounds the couch to reach the fireplace, adding more firewood with expertise, moving the still-not-burned logs with his bare hands to make sure the fire keeps going. Kyle takes the time to also draw the curtains close, immediately bringing darkness to the room now that all that expanse of white snow was covered.

You were still a bit in alert, but the darkness helped your mind to settle a bit, Johnny's warmth under you making you sleepier than you though you would feel as his giant hand kept caressing your short hair, sharp nails scratching oh so gentle against your scalp. Apparently, he's going to be with you all the time to make sure you're safe and sound, healthy and comfortable.

He cooed something very quietly, but you didn’t manage to understand it before your eyes fell closed, exhaustion brought on by the flu making you fall asleep quickly.

Your social worker was right... they are so nurturing... you have been with them for barely three days, and yet...

Your eyes go a little misty as you start to lose consciousness.

You don't want to leave.

Part 8 / Part 10

[fidogo]

john price x reader, but accidentally running into the 141 after only going on a few dates with Price wc: 0.9K warnings: mentions of sex, age gap, daddy kink, dacryphilia, use of sweetheart + angel a/n: I make such a stupid joke in this about Ghost and Soap LMAO forgive me part 2

The pub was warm, a sweet haven from the chill outside. It was already decked out with cheap garlands and holiday lights, all hung with care. Your friends tear off to the bar to order a few drinks, leaving you to find a booth. 

You slink through the chairs and the tables, making a beeline to the one available booth. You’re about to get nice and cozy when you stop in your tracks. 

He’s here.

You didn’t know John terribly well. The two of you had only gone on a few very successful dates, but you were not close enough to know who he was sitting with.

What you did know was this:

1. John was older than you.

2. He was an absolute gentleman whenever he took you out.

3. He really liked when you called him daddy and liked fucking you until you were in tears (and after...especially after). 

Back to the three men at the table with him. Given their demeanor, it was safe to assume they were also military. One of them was maybe Gaz/Kyle...bu that was it.

Your feet move automatically. (Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wonder if you should stop walking and go back to the booth you found. Maybe it’s too early to meet his friends.)

The men’s boisterous voices quiet as you approach, and the one with a mohawk elbows one who's masked. You ignore them, focusing on John, whose face softens a smidge (and his eyes light up).

“Hi, John.” You’re a little more nervous than you thought you would be. (He had you creaming on his cock and whining like you were in heat the other night. This should be nothing!)

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he answers, standing to kiss your cheek. “What’re you doing here?” His eyes are warm and earnest, immediately putting your anxieties to rest.

“Just getting a drink with my friends before the new year. Things are about to pick up, so we’re trying to just get a drink one last time.” John looks at you so fondly, it warms your heart. Fuck the alcohol, fuck the fire or radiator or whatever’s in here, all you need is John Price to look at you like this to make you warm and toasty. 

“Would you all want to sit with us?” He asks, knocking on the table. You glance at the table full table, trying not to laugh at his friend's expressions (shock and disbelief coupled with some respect for Price). 

Remembering his manners, John introduces you to his men and places one large, strong, hand on the small of your back.  You lean into him slightly, trying to not seem too pleased to be here with him. 

“This is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost,” John introduces. You freeze, confused for a second. You thought..... Oh. Oh.

“Oh.” You say aloud. Stupidly. John quirks a brow at you, prompting you to ramble on.

“I’m sorry. To be candid, I thought Soap and Ghost were your dogs..." you say trailing off at the end.

To be fair, he had only ever been to your place. You stare at Soap and Ghost. Based on the small amount of information you knew, you had just assumed...

John lets out a deep laugh and pulls you closer into his side. 

“What?” Soap yells. He’s no longer checking you out appreciatively and just looks at you in disbelief. “How could you think that, lassie?” 

“Well, John seems like a man who lives alone with two big dogs that have manly names.” You explain, sinking more into John’s side, trying to embed yourself into this warmth.

His thumb lightly strokes your back, sending shivers up your spine. He's so big and strong and... Your brain turns to mush for a second.

“Well, what about Gaz?” Soap gestures to said man, trying desperately to make any ground in this. Your push away your vaguely horny thoughts. You have to lock back in for Kyle's sake. You smile at Gaz and politely extend your hand. 

“No, I knew Kyle was a man. A pleasure to meet you.” Gaz shakes your hand and beams while Soap slumps over, and Ghost looks like he’s rethinking how he got here.

“Need to work on your manners. That way when Captain talks about you, people don’t think you're dogs,” Gaz says drawing out and emphasizing dogs with a cheeky smile. Soap just grumbles. 

“Anyway,” you start to say, turning your attention back to John. “My friends and I are about to take that booth back there, but thank you for the offer. But call me. Or text.” He nods and leans in to press a quick, chaste to your lips. 

“Have a good night, Sweetheart.” You nod before going to finally claim your booth. 

You hear Soap ask why John ‘calls Kyle by his name but not me or Simon’, making you smile. They seem nice.

And then you hear what you assume to be Ghost, say, “Not bad, Captain. Not bad at all.”

You preen at that, chipper mood carrying you through the night, even as your friends bombard you with questions once they’re all seated.

You wave shyly at John and his friends when they eventually file out into the cold. John sends you a wink that has you sinking into the booth. You’re so fucked. 

About 15 minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Can’t stop thinking about you, angel

Apparently, he’s fucked too.

part 2

[itsthecline]

maybe next time?

black cat!reader x jj maybank

summary four times jj maybank asked you out , and the one time you finally said yes

warnings pining , rejection , simp!jj , ex!rafe , profanity.

18+ minors dni

one it was the night after you’d run into each other for the first time. rafe was throwing another party , and so obviously , you were there despite breaking up the night before. it was coming towards the end of the party , and a lot of people were leaving , but just as many were lingering in the house.

you were sitting on the kitchen counter by yourself , sipping on your last drink of the night. your eyes followed the line out the door , waiting to see if any of your friends were going to stop and grab you. the answer was no , so you slid off the countertop and dumped your drink out. you knew it was dumb , but you might as well take advantage and crash in rafe’s room. get something out of the night.

you turned the corner , about to ditch the closing hour when you run into someone. thankful you dumped your drink out , you still cursed. “can you watch where the fuck you’re going? jesus!” you huffed , straightening your all too short dress for the millionth time that night before looking up at who was in your way. “oh! sorry!”

jj was smiling at you , waiting for you to be done accosting him. “that’s my bad , but there is a bright side,” he replied , leaning against the wall , somehow blocking your path more.

your eyes looked for rafe anywhere shortly before tilting your head to the side. “what’s the bright side? this is a pretty shit party , jj”

that took him by surprise. he truly didn’t expect you to know his name. he cleared his throat , getting back to business. he had planned this for twenty-four hours at this point. can’t back out now. “bright side is you could leave with me,” he suggested , keeping his cool, “y’know , ditch the cameron’s mansion and kick it poguie style for the rest of the night.”

he noticed your eyes flickering else where. rafe appeared behind him , at the top of the stairs— right where you were headed. his blue eyes were easily recognizable as beyond pissed off. “i’m sorry. i gotta go,” you rushed out , watching rafe head to his bedroom, “maybe next time?” you didn’t mean it. you just didn’t want to be mean to jj.

jj turned , eyes following your frame as you skipped steps to make it upstairs faster. how could he forget that you were rafe’s girlfriend? he knew you guys were on and off , the whole island heard your arguments sometimes , but how did he forget? fucking idiot.

two it was about a month later. a month of catching your eye in public , a month of ranting to pope and john b. that’s where jj was at the moment. he called an emergency meeting with the boys at the chateau.

“dude , your little girlfriend is single now. just text her!” pope groaned , wishing the couch he laid on would swallow him whole. granted , he liked you ; you were always nice to him whenever he dropped groceries off at your house , but he was tired of hearing about you. in the nicest way.

jj rolled his eyes. “okay , first of all , she’s not my little girlfriend. second of all , your little girlfriend doesn’t exist. and third of all , i don’t have her number , nimrod!” they had exhausted all ideas to not get him rejected this time.

“i have her number,” john b piped up , swinging his phone in front of jj’s face.

“i’d kill someone for that number , bird shit. give it,” jj threatened , holding his hand out.

hey

who is this?

jj maybank

you can call me your next boyfriend if you want though

i’m okay! thx tho! maybe next time <3

three a week later , you ran into jj at the wreck. you were getting dinner with your parents before they left town for a week. something to do with work. “y/n?”

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath whenever whenever you put the voice to who it was. “y/n , do you know that boy?” your mother asked , nodding to jj who was walking towards your table. you nodded and put a smile on your face.

this was not happening.

“hey , y/n! i thought that was you,” jj smiled , grabbing a seat and sitting down. at the table. with your parents. “do you mind?” he asked , referring to him sitting.

your dad waved him off , standing to go get the bill , and your mother followed behind. what the hell? “hi , jj,” you state , trying your hardest to keep the blush from surfacing on your cheeks, “what can i do for you today?”

“a date. just one,” he answered prepared , like he was certain this was the time you were going to say yes.

you grimace , taking a deep breath before shaking your head. “me and rafe , like , just got back together,” you explained , feeling bad for jj at this point.

jj let his head drop to the table , being dramatic as always. “when are you gonna give me a chance? you’ve given cameron like fifty!” it was a joke. you knew that , and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing a little bit.

“well , maybe next time?” you suggested , catching the eyes of your parents who looked ready to leave, “gotta go. parents waiting on me. see ya around , j!” you bid him goodbye , standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you left.

four you and sarah had plans to go to the beach and watch the baby sea turtles hatch. lo and behold , jj was on the beach with his friends , surfing. “oooh , your boyfriend is here!” sarah laughed at you , using her little singy song voice she always did when she teased you about jj.

she was the only one that you admitted to about liking jj a little bit. “shut up! he’ll hear you and come over—“

“john b!” she was already calling her secret lover over and waving the other boys over too.

“you’re dead. you’re so dead,” you whispered , plastering a smile on your face as they all arrived, “hey , guys!” they all stood above you and sarah as you were both lounging in the sand.

“y/n , you wanna go on a date?” jj asked , scratching his head like the idea just came to him.

everyone laughed , looking to you , waiting for you to finally say yes. sarah had been talking to john b about the whole situation , giving him intel on ways jj could convince you , and he was bitching about how jj wouldn’t shut the hell up about you.

“no , jj,” you sighed , standing up and brushing yourself off before picking your bag off the ground and walking away. you heard sarah whine your name , but you didn’t bother looking back.

you can hear the shuffling of sand coming closer to you and assumed it was her. “is he stupid?” you groaned , continuing to walk, “i mean , like , why can’t he ask me nicely? like , it’s not hard to fucking do some big gesture or , like , make it romantic! fuck!” you slowed and turned back to look at sarah , needing some confirmation you weren’t crazy for wanting a little more than asking you out at a party or in front of your friends. that’s when you actually stop and see jj walking behind you — not sarah. your could feel your heart sink to your stomach. “are you kidding me?” you just shook your head and turned back around , cheeks hot and tears starting to trickle down your face. how embarrassing?

five sarah had advised john b to tell jj to leave you alone. for awhile , if not indefinitely. you had called her crying later that evening , wailing on about how embarrassing that was for you. you understood that it was you that had said all of that to jj , but it was equally embarrassing that he had asked you out in front of your friends so casually. did he think he didn’t have to try? and again the next morning , still just as distraught over the situation as you were the night before.

“it’s just that after rafe everyone just thinks i don’t have standards , sare. like , i know me and rafe weren’t good all of the time , but at least he tried to be romantic. that’s more —“ as you were ranting you could hear people downstairs in your house , which shouldn’t have been happening considering your parents were at work. “i think there’s someone in my house.”

“what?” sarah asked , standing up from her own bed and going to look out her window to check your house herself, “oh , no.”

“what?” it was your turn to ask.

sarah couldn’t believe jj right now. a smile made its way onto her face ; she knew this was good. “i would go downstairs if i was you,” she suggested , hanging up the phone.

you knew you were somewhat safe is sarah gave you the go ahead , but you still crept around to the staircase slowly. you could hear the chattering off people more clearly and them moving around your house like it was their own. “i have a gun!” you lied, “so you better leave!” your voice was loud from the beginning , trying your best to scare whoever or whatever it was downstairs before continuing your trek.

and that’s when you saw it. there were a handful of people moving flowers into your house that was already practically full of them , and jj was there conducting everything. “okay people , her dad said that she usually goes for a walk on sunday mornings , so i think we’re losing daylight here! we gotta get this place full before she gets home!”

you kept walking down the stairs , eyeing your favorite flowers moving in in bundles and filling the floor. “jj?” you called out , not bothered by the fact that you were still in your pajamas , your hair not ready , and no makeup on your face. was this actually happening? “what is this?” you asked , walking to him when he turned at your voice.

“oh , fuck!” jj whined , throwing his hands up in the air, “you weren’t supposed to be here!”

“this is my house!” you laughed, “what are you doing?”

jj turned to the side a little , calling at the people moving throughout your house to take a break. “this was supposed to be all romantic and shit or whatever , and you were supposed to come home and it was all done. fuck—“ he was rambling at this point , hands running through his blonde locks. “i was gonna be all swooney and swift of your feet-y and shit!” he added , pointing at you like you should know what he’s talking about.

“what are you doing , jj?” you asked again , stepping another shy step closer.

“i’m asking you out on a date. a proper one and all,” he finally answered , ocean eyes boring into your glossy ones. this was too good ; you didn’t deserve this. not after what happened on the beach. “so , whaddya say? gonna let me take you out for real?” he asked with a soft shrug.

your jaw dropped to start speaking , but no words came out. you blinked hard a couple of times , trying to wake yourself up from this dream. that’s what it had to have been. “i — this is the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me , jj. yes , i’ll go on a date with you.”

“oh , thank god,” he breathed out , hand clutching at his chest, “i swear i thought about just moving away if you rejected me another time , sweetheart.”

taglist @hotvampdragon @vivian-555 @eivyyy-mstr @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

ahhh here it is! show me that it’s not terrible please<3 it’s not proofread yet , but once i put out the next black cat!reader work it will be:)

[beloveds-embrace]

Can we please get that Duke König with the neglected Reader please Noona I am begging

The sun was beginning to set, painting the garden in hues of gold and pink. You sat alone on the stone bench you’d started occupying often, the cloak König had draped over your shoulders still providing its comforting weight. He had been here again today, as he often was now, seeking reasons to remain in the duchy far longer than any diplomatic duty you knew required.

He never came empty-handed, of course: a carefully chosen book, a delicately wrapped sweet, or today, a small bundle of lavender tied with a ribbon. Simple, yet thought out gifts. Gifts with you in mind.

König’s approach was always quiet, unobtrusive. He never demanded, never insisted, always leaving space for you to breathe, to speak if you wished- or to remain silent if you didn’t. His presence was unlike the others you were familiar with: gentle, steady, unhurried. You felt at peace around him, pressure not pressing down on your shoulders.

Today, he had sat beside you, his massive frame hunched to match your height, the soft timbre of his voice like a balm. “The Lavendel,” he’d started. “is for peace of mind. It helped my mother when her days felt too heavy. She would place it under her pillow.”

You hadn’t spoken much, but the corner of your lips had twitched upward, just slightly. That alone seemed to light his face with a kind of hope you hadn’t seen in years.

Inside the manor, the atmosphere was tense. John stood at the window, watching the garden from a distance. Kyle leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. Johnny sat stiffly on the armrest of Simon’s chair, and the latter simoly stared at the crackling fire.

“She smiled at him today,” Kyle muttered, his voice heavy with bitterness and sorrow. “… Haven’t seen her smile like that in months.”

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, his throat working as he swallowed. “An’ he’s the one who gets it. Him.”

“He’s a better man than we’ve been,” Simon said bluntly, tone cutting and sharp, but not wrong. “And she deserves better.”

John turned from the window, ashen. “It doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is what she chooses.”

“And what if she chooses him?” Kyle asked, his voice sharp, though the anger wasn’t directed at John alone. “What then?” The rumors would be dangerous…

None of them had an answer.

Days slowly turned into weeks, and König’s presence became as steady as the rising sun even as you began recovering more. He never pushed, but he was always there- when you wandered the garden paths, when you sat by the fire in the library, even once when you’d stood on the balcony, staring out at the horizon as though searching for something you couldn’t name.

It wasn’t grand gestures that softened you, truthfully, but his quiet consistency. The way he listened, the way he treated you as though you were more than a shadow. The way he looked at you, not with pity, but with reverence. You were not an afterthought to him; you… existed. Really, trully, existed within his eyes and he treated you as such.

And slowly, against all odds, you began to bloom again. A soft laugh here, a tentative question there. König never rushed you, only offered his steady patience and a safe space for you and only you.

They could only watch from the distant edges, the weight of their regrets pressing down on them like suffocating fog.

They tried to tell themselves it wasn’t too late, that they could still fix this. But every time they saw you smile at König, every time you turned to him instead of them, the truth became harder to ignore. They had chances once- countless chances- to reach out to you. To make things right. And they had squandered every single one and now there was just… nothing left.

And König? He was just waiting to finish this deplomatic meetings so he could take you with him to his nation. The divorce process should be easy to deal with, and he’d finally free you from this miserable life.

You would want for nothing with him, and he will ensure not a single rumor of your unhappiness will ever spread again.

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts. 

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which. 

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling. 

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable. 

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy. 

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed. 

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage. 

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

part two | masterlist