#with Price and Ghost tied for last place

[dragonnarrative-writes]

If you were to pick, who out of the 141 do you reckon is genuinely kind? Whatever that looks like for you ♥️

Oh, this is such a good question, Anon!

I think... Ghost would be the most kind. I imagine he's certainly not the nicest person to be around. I think he'd be jumpy, suspicious, stand-offish and more than a little rude, if he's not thinking about it. But I like to think that he's thoughtlessly kind. Little things like holding doors and elevators, but also things other people might not think of.

He's a big guy, so I imagine he knows which conference rooms have chairs that feel sturdy and don't have armrests. He makes sure to check with the bigger guy in admin before reserving it to make sure their meetings aren't conflicting with each other.

Fluorescent lights hurt his eyes and can trigger migraines. So when he sees that there's going to be a meeting with that private who's always wincing, he dims the lights in that room as he passes, even if he's not in the meeting himself. (He's been asking admin for lamps, but someone higher up the chain is dragging their feet.)

He keeps anti-nausea tabs and ginger candies on himself for flights. He doesn't get nauseated anymore, but sometimes privates (and sergeants) do. Especially after a fire fight, especially if they've lost someone. He's not gonna offer a shoulder to cry on, but he can at least make the flight less shitty.

Of all of them, I think he's the one to notice the little things that make other people uncomfortable and address them.

(I'm a Simon Has A Sweet Tooth truther. Always grabs the dessert in the canteen. I believe this man grabs candies from the bowls on people's desks. But if it's the last one, he always tilts the bowl back toward its owner, and only takes it if they have a refill ready. )

Thanks for asking!

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Random headcanons: You set their wallpaper of a spicy picture of you

Featuring: Task force 141

Warnings: suggestive, NSFW

Captain John Price:

He rarely unlocks his phone during the day, so you assume it is safe to set his wallpaper to you wearing nothing but his hat, sitting on the bed, legs spread, hands tied in the front with a silky ribbon and one of his cigars between your lips.

You did not account for the fact that sometimes Price shows memes to his team or fact checks stuff in front of others, so you can imagine the shock on his face when he unlocked his phone to show Soap something.

Soap: Sir? Is this-

Price: Yes, it is

The conversation ended there, with the Scotsman leaving the room in a subtle, yet fast manner, trying to hide the forming buldge from his captain, who, on his side noticed everything, but decided not to comment on it, in order not to make the situation more uncomfortable than it already was.

Yes, Soap avoided Price for the entire day and they have never spoke about the incident again. Even though the captain notices his Sergent hungrily eyeing you from time to time, which makes his mind wonder of certain possibilities. (If you are into it)

As for you, you did get your punishment, after you spent 20 minutes laughing at your husband story.

Y/N: Poor Soap

Price: What about me? I had to avoid unlocking my phone all day.

Y/N: You never unlock your phone.

Price: There was not a reason for it, luv.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This man is phone rotting, whenever he is away from others and has some free time. Whether it is Reddit, Tiktok, or texting you - obsessively, he is on his phone - period.

For his picture you wear a sexy black lingerie, barely covering you and his balaclava. You are sitting on the sofa, with your elbows on your knees, leaning into the front camera, his dog tags hanging from your neck.

Simon goes feral.

He is immediately finding a quiet place from where he can call you and jerk off, while staring at your picture.

He will beg you to praise him, order him around and guide him in what to do and you can say anything - and I mean, anything.

This man is a slut for you. He is a huge switch. When he turns submissive he is completely at your mercy. Just, please, tell this man what to do and how you want him to do it.

Bonus points if you video chat and touch yourself, while edging him. He will try to hold himself back, but if you push him enough, he will cum within minutes.

This is how much power you have over him. Use it wisely.

And yes, Simon will absolutely fuck you stupid the moment he gets home. And will insist on taking pictures together, so he can keep something while on deployment.

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

He will open his phone in front of Ghost and get lost, staring at the photo of you, hand mindlessly grabbing Simon's tight.

For his picture, you are laying face on the bed, back arched, wearing nothing but tight blue panties with the scottish flag on them. Side boob is slightly showing.

Soap doesn't even register Simon or where his hand is, who is shifting from side to side, but not peeling his eyes off of you, nor removing Soap's hand from his tight.

When the Scottsman finally snap from his trance, he is texting you every spicy thing he can think of and sending you pictures of his, and Simon's buldges with the caprion:

"Look what you did, darling. LT wants to stop for some dinner tonight, now too. Make sure to recreate the picture once we get home. We are gonna put some English in you too."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another chronic phone user. Gaz is on his phone 23/19. He is obsessed with animal videos and staring at ya'll pictures. Editing and candid photo stuff is his drug.

You warn him in advance that you will send him something, as he has the habit of showing off his editing skills*ahem* your cutesy couple photos *ahem* to either Price, or Laswell.

The last thing you want is to flash his superiors.

So, you tell him to unlock his phone at a specific time and make sure he is alone.

The picture for him is you wearing his sunglasses, naked, on the balcony. You are sat on a chair, legs crossed. The picture is taken at sunrise, right when the sun is softly highlighting your chest.

Somehow Gaz didn't time this right, he expected a attachment, not a wallpaper - in his defense, and he opened his phone in the middle of a briefing.

The sergeant dropped his phone on the ground while trying to catch it, creating the (trying to hold a hot stone effect). Price shot him a questioning look, but kept talking, pretending not to notice how Gaz picked his phone face down and put it in his pocket.

For the entire briefing Gaz couldn't focus on anything but your picture. He tried so hard, not to get a boner, but knowing you took the said photograph while he was sleeping, maybe 15 minutes before he got up for work - got him wild.

He went radio silent the entire day and when he got home, he didn't bother talking, or greeting you - Gaz just lifted you up from the couch and smashed his lips into yours.

[lethalchiralium]

Seasons Change ⋆⭒ Part One

Retired!Cowboy!John Price x F!Reader, “arranged” marriage AU - Series Masterlist

summary: You’ve responded to the ad, traveling for days to a secluded farm in Montana to marry a man who would free you from the loneliness that infested your life back home - at the cost of your freedom. Or so you think.

Are you truly sure about this?

Your coach wasn’t extravagant by any means, wood splintered off of its wall and the cushions almost as old as you. You were sure that if you placed your Mama’s suitcase onto the floor, it would fall through. Your nicest shoes were on your feet, tied tightly and uncomfortable as they ghosted the top of the rotting wood floorboards.

Your hands were settled in a pair of your finest gloves, which shielded away the nicks you got from farming at your parent’s small ranch; lima beans, beets, sugar peas, radishes and tomatoes. The ground was tough in Illinois, trying to learn how to farm behind your mother’s back was essential - for you to be able to have freedom when you leave for the West, you had to have a source of income. Unless, God gives you a little ad from Montana on a Sunday afternoon.

Your nails hurt every time you scraped off the top soil from your radishes, the hot sun boiled your back through your stifling dress. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand before you pulled out the last one, a sore hand wiped away dirt to show a deep violet color. There was a smirk on your face, the vegetable settled in your small basket. Your Pa was to be back by noon, taking his horse to town for some supplies and a new sewing kit for Mama. Her time was spent inside, usually under the watchful eye of a needle and feeder as her brand new sewing machine droned on. Pa spent the better part of the money from last year’s harvest for that, she took it with a soft smile.

Mama’s clothes were good, she can sew four shirts by noon and sell them by two o’clock, her blankets still have a waitlist from last winter. You were lucky to have her sew you a new dress with how busy she’s gotten - it’s good for you, it means you can learn how to tend a farm from Pa. Independent living always intrigued you, wanting to live off the land in a quiet house with a shepherd dog. People weren’t interesting enough for you - you got that from Mama - but romance was. Wanting to be loved without the hassle of courting was a dream of yours, but it wasn’t feasible. No good man would want a woman with cuts on her hands, your Mama always said, a lady doing a man’s work insults God. That and you didn’t go to town much, never going without your Pa for fear of being harassed by men like you had been before. You were always escorted through town by your Pa, he always had a smile and a swift draw with his revolver.

You twisted a tomato from the vine, a decent size yet still not big enough - it seemed the soil was beginning to lose its strength of growing your crops bigger than the palm of your hand. Every year they kept growing smaller, every year it seemed that Mama’s sewing hobby was looking more profitable than the cornfields Pa tended to alone. Even your contribution of an array of vegetables wouldn’t bring four dollars to the table; when it used to bring seven.

There were footsteps along the side of the house, heavy and with a gentle huff as he walked on the solid Earth. It wasn’t hard to recognize your Pa by sound, your hands kept twisting off undersized tomatoes as he approached from the side.

“I’ve got something for you, Sugar Pea.”

You shook your head. “If it’s one of those Seed boys’ letters, I don’t want it.”

“It’s somethin’ you oughta consider.”

The trail began to grow bumpy, your hands held onto your small suitcase as you gazed out the window. The fields expanded as far as your eye could see, mountains clustered in the distance made you excited. You had never seen mountains before - Illinois was flatter than most states. It had taken you a day by coach then three days by train from busy Chicago to reach the calm Montana landscape, excitement bubbled in your skin. This is where you would be living the rest of your life, you hoped. You prayed this ad your father had given you wasn’t a trick for the man you had been corresponding with for the past two months.

The coach was stuffy, you already tried to open the windows in the doors but they were sealed shut, your hand waved your fan to try and keep cool in the brand new dress you sewed just for this occasion.

“No daughter of mine is leaving to go to Montana by herself!”

“Ellen, she wants to go! I won’t stop her.”

“And how did she get this ad? She certainly doesn’t have the penny to pay the damn clerk for the newspaper.”

“If she wants to go to Montana to marry a farmhand, let her. None of these boys here are worth the scum on my shoe.”

You laid in your bed, you watched as your curtain billowed from the night time breeze - moonlight dancing along with the thin fabric as the only sound you heard was your parents arguing.

“What if we need her? What if the soil runs dry?”

“I’ll learn to sew.”

“It’s a woman’s job.”

“It’s also her job to be married by now. She’s 20 for God’s sake, Ellen, she needs to have her own freedom.”

“And it’s a world’s away from us?”

Your fingers tapped your nightgown, tears running down the side of your face. You hated that you would be so far from them, but this was your chance. Romance without courting, hopefully. You were naive enough to not understand that romance is nothing without courting.

“She’s not a child anymore. She just wants to be wed.”

“And not have her husband love her?! Courting is how she should be doing it, that Joseph is a fine boy-“

“Not again with that preacher’s son-“

“-that would treat her right!”

“She doesn’t want to be here! She just wants to be wed and to be left alone, this man promised us a cash amount if she replies. All she would need to do is wed him, give him a child-“

“Gerald-“

“-then shoot him if she likes, just like I taught ‘er.”

Pa’s silver revolver was smothered by an old scarf in the deepest part of your suitcase, just in case this man in the ad turned out to have lied about his identity. A 35 year old man in need of a wife to start a family with. Payment to family if wed. You had written to him four times during the winter, spring had come in full bloom to welcome you to your new home. He had promised a warm house and a dog in his lengthy letters, detailing where he lived and where his family came from. Said he was a farmhand, tending to horses and a farm he partially owned. You didn’t have much to say back, only that you lived on flat farm land your whole life, you know how to garden, cook, and sew. And to your surprise, he found that knowing how to garden was great. You always had the idea that men hated women doing any of the dirty work, but that always came from Mama’s mouth. He wrote in detail that he found your hobbies interesting and would be more than happy to let them continue, if you agreed to marry him.

“You’re set on meeting this man. Are ya sure you want to go?”

“I am.”

“Get up. Pack quickly before your Mama hears ya.”

“Pa-“

“Hurry. The train leaves soon and the carriage can only go so fast.”

And here you were, in a coach this mysterious John Price had rented to bring you from the center of Missoula to his farm an hour away. You had enough money to get you to him, but he insisted on paying the train ticket and for you to be promptly delivered to him. Perhaps you should have considered if he was truly lying and was a one-eyed bald man named Bob. That or it was that crazy preacher’s son trying to get you to marry him again. You silently prayed that this seemingly sweet man you had been writing to all winter was actually kind and respectful.

The coach stopped abruptly, it jerked you forwards and forced you to press your shoes into the withered floorboards - yet nothing happened; you were surprised. Your gaze fell to the window, gazing out to see beautiful fields and dozens of trees. Even in the early spring with the remaining spray of snow on the ground, it was gorgeous. You could hear talking, the horse neighed at the front and all you could do was gaze out the window to the massive farm.

There was talking, a deep voice who initiated the conversation with the coach driver - your heart rose into your throat. Was this where you were going to live the rest of your life? Sprawling countryside with whinnying horses, barking dogs, lush trees and dark mountains as far as the eye could see? If it was, you were content - it was better than the flat farmland you lived on your entire life. You spotted a dark brown horse, coming into your view - a nice saddle sat on its back, deep brown hair combed and black spots dotted its belly. You would have spent the next hour admiring the gorgeous horse if it wasn’t for the coach door opening. Your eyes settled on the man who held open the door, covered by a long brown coat and brown shirt. He then held his hand out, you handed him your suitcase.

The man held out his free hand to you with a smile, eyes blue like a stormy sky. It shocked you just how gentle his gaze was, every man who ever looked at you always seemed like they would rip you apart at the seams.

Not this one.

He set your suitcase down, still holding your hand in his calloused one.

Oh. He is pretty.

Dark brown beard with mutton chops somewhat kept neat, teeth a light yellow - better than most men you’ve seen.

“What if he’s mean, Papa?”

“Then you leave.”

“If I can’t?”

“Shoot him in the head. You know how.”

His hold was gentle, better than any man who had grabbed at you when you were a teenager. Disgusting men laying hands on a young girl in the streets, but scrambling back like cats when Pa snapped at them.

“You’re prettier than what I imagined.”

Your jaw almost went slack with shock - he was British? He never disclaimed that to you in his letters, but his subtle drawl of his accent made your stomach quiver. Your lips pulled a smile.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“She speaks.” He chuckled a little. “Thank you, Miss.”

The coachman closed the door behind you, John then began to lead you towards the horse you were admiring earlier - now noticing the cart attached to it. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something to pull heavy items around. Your trunk already sat on it, he led you towards the seats.

You gazed at his face, the jawline that faded into his neat beard - the way his brown hair seemed to glitter in the sunshine. He was perfect - like the daydreams you had for years.

“It’s a small ride to the house,” John turned to you, holding up your hand to help you into the seat. You stepped up onto the cart, settling down and letting go of his gentle hand so he could set your suitcase beside your trunk. You looked down at your powder blue dress, one you spent all winter making by hand - Mama wasn’t fond of you using her machine. You were proud of this dress, even if it was meant to wear for one day, you’d always be so proud of how nicely it came together, how your first meeting with the man you were to spend the rest of your life with was perfect. Being optimistic is a good trait, Papa always said.

You spent your time watching the landscape as if it moved with you, the short journey felt centuries long as your heart beat faster than a race horse. Life here would certainly be harder than home, seeing that neither of your parents allowed you to help them most days - you were left on your own. Always alone, always doing what was needed without overstepping. This was a whole new challenge; learning where to push and where to pull boundaries with one John Price.

“Have you eaten?”

You glanced to John, noting his one hand on the reigns and the other resting on his leg. Your eyes flickered up to his face, his eyes kept on the trail in front of the horse.

“I have not.”

“I will make you dinner when we arrive. Won’t be long.”

You nodded to yourself, your own hands settling in your lap, squeezing tightly together. You gazed down at your hands, the blue of your dress meant to calm you. What you missed was a soft smile from your betrothed, his gaze memorizing your face for a few seconds before looking ahead.

This is a good choice. New scenery. New people. Far, far away from that damned pastor’s son and Mama’s snide remarks.

I have faith in John. But I hold no trust yet.

Use the gun if you’re ever scared.

Dinner was quiet. He was a good cook, much better than what you were used to and you were secretly delighted. Just a simple pork and potato dinner was better than the porridge your mother barely made edible. You stood like an awkward stranger in the small living room of the one bedroom home, unsure of what to do as John had not asked anything of you yet after dinner. In fact, he was silent the moment you stepped foot into his home.

Were you doing this wrong? What had you done to make him suddenly grow quiet?

There was a dusty couch, a dirt covered rug and a barely used fireplace in the room, your hands clasped together as a way to ease your nerves. He hasn’t opened the door to the bedroom yet, that was the most nerve wracking part. You haven’t shared a bed with a man, not since you were a toddler in your Mama’s bed. It was a terrifying prospect - especially to a quiet and reserved lady, having been chased by many men back home.

At least you won’t have to worry about those leeches anymore. You have a… husband now. You will be a wife. He can protect you. Right?

“I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You jumped a little, turning to look at John as he stood a few feet away - hands settled in his pockets. The awkwardness clung to your clothes, worry brewing deep in your belly. Does he not like you now?

John settled back on his heels, to your eye he seemed calm - what you couldn’t see was the tensing of his muscles, trying to not be as nervous as you were. The way he forced his jaw open to speak wouldn’t be noticed by you either. “I wanted to uh… thank you. For agreeing.”

You curtly nodded, you fought the urge to pick at your nail beds - a nervous habit. Silence befell the room again, your gaze didn’t disconnect from John for more than a few moments, where he held his hand towards the closed door - what you assumed was the bedroom. Your stomach dropped unexpectedly, your blood grew cold and you could only watch him with a nervous glare. He gazed back at you for just a moment before he spoke to himself, seeming to chastise his previous gesture, before he opened the door. He nodded towards it again.

“I’ll bring your chest in if you want to have a look around.”

Your legs felt like they could give way at any moment, but you still walked silently towards the room - John moved out of your way, making sure there was no chance to accidentally touch you. Acting as if you were made of thin porcelain, one wrong move and you would shatter on the floor. He turned away as soon as you passed, you didn’t miss the near-silent wince he made as soon as he started walking. You looked to him, a fleeting moment, just to memorize his figure before ducking into the quaint bedroom.

A large bed was pushed into the corner, only able to crawl onto the bed on one side. A fireplace across from there, connected to the one in the living room. The floor was bare hardwood, your shoes most likely shielded you from miniature splinters. There was a mirror in the corner, reflecting the entire room from where you stood. Only a few pictures adorned cleaned spaces, photographs of places that you’ve never seen before. A bay, with ships sailing in and out. One with snow covered trees. Another with a decrepit looking house.

You were quick to change. Your eyes watched John through the mirror, his back completely to you. You threw off your nice dress as soon as you untied it - not without a little struggle - before you pulled on a long nightgown, sleeves down to your wrists and hem grazing the top of your feet. You pulled the pins from your hair,

You pulled your quilt from your trunk, your hands gripped it tightly as you turned to face your… fiancé. His back was to you, showing many light pink scars. Some were the size of your pinky, others the size of your palm. If you were brave, you would walk up to him and trace the edges of them - but you weren’t. You waited for John to finish the bed, nerves swirled in your belly. You hadn’t shared a bed with someone since your Mama stopped letting you in hers when you were six. You’re a lady, she said, ladies don’t sleep in beds with men if they’re not wed.

“We’re not married yet.” Your voice was soft, John’s hands halted as they set a pillow on the far side of the bed.

“We are not.”

“We can’t sleep in the same bed.”

The man chuckled a little before he took the pillow closest to him, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. “I forgot you wrote about that.”

Your grip tightened on the quilt. “About what?”

He yanked off the blanket from the bed, leaving the brown sheets before he dropped the blanket onto the floor next to the pillow. He turned around, it was hard not to try and gaze at his bare chest but you still kept his gaze. “Not sleeping beside each other until we were married. I meant to make my sleeping arrangements earlier but a man’s work is never done.” He shrugged, his smile softened as he nodded towards the bed. “Go on.”

You stood there for a moment, contemplating if you should sleep in his bed when he was to work the farm in the morning, but he held out his hand, the smile never fading.

“You’ll sleep alone just for the week, love.” He nodded again towards the bed. “I promise I’ll be fine on the floor.”

You silently made your way to the bed, hoisting yourself onto it before you spread your quilt over your body and the bed. It was cold, comfortable but not inviting. You supposed it wouldn’t be - you had been in this house for less than a day and the only thing comforting you was your belongings from home.

Home, you chuckled in your head. I suppose home is here now.

John fluffed his pillow on the floor, you didn’t hear an ounce of complaint as he pulled the worn blanket over himself. Your fingers traced the stitching of Mama’s sewing machine, your quilt sheltered you from the scratchy sheets on John’s bed. You could hear your mother droning on about marrying a farmhand, that you needed to go for someone with more money like a politician or a Christian - you didn’t like any man she chose, you shook your thoughts of that away. The first man you had chosen for yourself was far better than any lowlife scoundrel your Mama could find, and she would find ones that couldn’t have kindness anywhere near their greedy hides.

You slightly jumped when John spoke your name.

“Yes, John?”

He cleared his throat. “We’ll marry by the end of the week. I’ll sleep on the floor ‘til you decide you want me up there.”

“Okay.”

The stitching reminded you of home, of your cozy room with as many blankets as your Mama could make. It reminded you of quiet nights sitting with Pa on the porch, letting your mother stew inside after she made a comment that made Pa defend you. It reminded you of being little and standing outside Mama’s sewing room, hands holding your stuffed toy while you watched her sew by hand - one footstep into her room was ten minutes worth of scolding.

As you closed your eyes, you pressed your hands into your sternum. John was to be your husband, which meant children sooner or later. You promised yourself you would never scold your children for wanting to love you.

You hoped John would hold the same value.

[sant-riley]

Yeah but like what if one day Gaz walked into a room and saw Y/N FNAF lore dumping to Ghost

[Infodumping the boys]

(Mostly Platonic tf141 x gen neutral! reader, hints at Ghost bc it’s me and I’m biased.)

Summary: Teddy aka You, decide to gather the gang and tell them about five nights at Freddy’s before the movie comes out.

Word count: 800 ish

Warnings: Possibly of for the boys (idrc tho lmao), Teddy is this readers callsign, reader is implied to be at least early 20’s, I can’t think of anything else tbh but lmk if this does need something tagged!

It wasn't uncommon for you to infodump your teammates, they're all older than you and have significantly less screen time than you (it ties into being older). Most of the information you give them is something they take as fact, this is no different.

Gaz of all people knows your interests best, you two being the closest in age means you both realistically grew up with the internet and its most popular series.

The last thing he expected walking into one of the many meeting rooms on base, was you at the front of the room, your laptop hooked up to the projector and Price and Soap sitting down, dutifully listening with varying degrees of attention.

Price is to your left, staring down at mission documents that no doubt need to be turned in by tomorrow. A glass of some liquor next to his stack, a cigar box that's propped open right by it as well.

To anyone else, it would seem like Price isn't listening and he's just here to keep you from bothering him to come but Gaz can see the Captain's eye flick up every so often, his eyes softening when his gaze falls on yours, listening for a few beats, a miniscule upturn of his lips until he's looking back down again, grabbing a pen to make a correction.

Soap on the other hand is sitting next to Cap, a hand resting under his chin, the other flipping around a pen in his hands. He's nodding and asking questions as you flick through. Below him is a notebook that seems to have scribbled in it, if Gaz walked in further he could see little drawings of Monty Gator and Soap himself, a Venn diagram with a large red writing saying "Mohawk!!"

Ghost being there probably should be a shock but it isn't. The man is known to follow you around like a shadow, he humors you arguably the most out of the four men, letting you drag him to and from places with minimal complaint. He bets Ghost is gonna be the one to take you to the five nights at Freddys movie premiere.

Simon's dressed down to just his hoodie and his balaclava mask, attentively watching you as you speak passionately about each character and their role in the series. his dark eyes flicking around to stare at the drawings you inserted so everyone could see what the animatronics and others looked like.

You would've thought this was a mission debrief with how focused he was on your words.

Gaz lets out a fake cough, announcing himself to the room and he watches as your eyes immediately latch onto him, he ignores how his heart skips a beat when he sees the crinkles of your eyes, seeing you shoot a glowing smile his way.

You always look at him like that but he never tires of it.

"Gaz! Finally, you're here!"

Rushing over to him, you grab at his hand, quickly intertwining fingers, and start dragging him to the seat next to Ghost. He sits down with a huff, amusement swimming around his eyes. You move to go back to the front of the room, gleefully rocking on the balls of your feet as you look at them.

"What's all this about?" He questions, after getting nods in acknowledgment from the other 3 men in the room.

"Teddy here is tellin' us about five nights at…Frankies?"

"It's Freddy's, Johnny." You roll your eyes playfully.

"No shot you're making Ghost and Cap listen to this."

"I'm not making them do anything, they're here of their own free will, thank you very much." Sticking out your tongue, moving to click to the next slide.

"Is that true Cap?"

"It's background noise," John murmurs with a shrug, taking a swig out of his glass. He leans back in his seat, seemingly taking a momentary break as he looks around at the table.

"Got nothin' better else to do," Simon answers easily, looking at Gaz from the corner of his eye.

"You ain't gonna ask me, Garrick?"

"Nah, you of all people would enjoy it."

"What's tha-"

"Boys! Shut it! We're getting to the good part!" You clap your hands together and Soap immediately cuts himself off, looking back at you.

With all the boys' eyes on you, you clear your throat and push a button, there, from when Gaz remembers, is Michael Afton in all his purple nasty body glory.

"Fucks wrong with him? Why does he look like that?" Simon remarks, an eyebrow shooting up.

"I'm so glad you asked, you know actually the more I think about it, You and Michael actually have a lot in common.”

"How so?"

"Asshole dad, the oldest brother, daddy issues, I can keep going if you want."

Ghost just grunts in acknowledgment, raising a hand to his head and rubbing at his temples.

Price chokes on his liquor, coughing as it goes down the wrong pipe.

Soap audibly drops an "oh."

And Gaz just stares, truth be told, yeah. Yeah, he can see the resemblance.

[agentmarvel]

Can we have headcanons of fem!reader wife x 141 guys and how they each handle her leaving for girl’s night out in a really skimpy dress?

I think they’d all have hilarious reactions.😂

Omg yesssss

NSFW under the cut

MDNI - 18+

♡ Price:

Oh lord, that man is NOT letting you out of the house.

"Where ya think you're going in that?"

gets a little pissy when you remind him you have one girls night a month, and you have every right to wear whatever you want

"Doesn't mean you have the right to show anyone else what's mine, love."

will physically block the door with his whole body, knowing you won't be able to move him unless he allows it

he isn't mad - no, quite the opposite! it's taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to rip that damn thing in half and have his way with you right there on the foyer floor

"John, move. I don't want to be late!" - "Shame... You should've thought about that before you put on something you know damn well I can't resist."

he thinks it's cute when you argue with him, but you both know this ends up with your front pressed up against the door, panties pulled to the side, and his cock buried to the hilt inside you

after he cums, he pulls your panties back into place and gives you a harsh swat on the ass, not caring that your make up is a little smudged or that your legs are jello while he's giving you that smug look he wears so well

"Enjoy your night out, Mrs. Price. Hurry home."

♡ Gaz:

he's on you before you even walk out of the bathroom after you finish your hair

wraps his arms around your waist, puts his chin on your shoulder, tells you how pretty you look

"This dress new? Haven't seen it on the floor before."

ohhhhh, he is so down bad for you, even after as long as you've been together

makes it a point to grab a quick selfie bc he knows it's a solid confidence booster, and he wants you to feel as beautiful as you look

it doesn't really cross his mind that anyone would try anything on you - you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and he knows who you'll come home to; he knows who's bed you'll be in tonight, who's name you'll be calling in the dark

he even helps you pick the right shoes, even though you know he picks his favorite pair in hopes of seeing you in just those when you get home

ever the gentleman, he walks you out to your car, reminds you to drive safe, call him if you have too much to drink, etc.

he does, however, make it a point to send you some downright raunchy texts and a photo of his more... physical reaction, just in case you needed some motivation to come home a little early

when you get home (early), he's still riled up; he's too impatient to wait for you to make it upstairs, much less to unzip your dress for you, so you end up riding him on the landing until he's too tongue-tied to keep telling you how hot you look

♡ Soap:

you're not making it out of the house. Period.

the SECOND Johnny lays eyes on you, it's over

he's grabby as hell, digging his fingers into any part of you that he can - squeezing your ass, your hips, your thighs, tits, tummy, anything - while he navigates you to the nearest surface

"Yer so fuckin' pretty, baby. Never seen something so fuckin' perfect in my god damn life."

it doesn't matter if you end up on the couch, the kitchen counter, in the back yard; he's eating your pussy like a death row prisoner's last meal until you're crying, trying to wrench his head away with the hair tangled in your fist

he has your dress bunched up around your waist, straps pulled down so he can play with your nipples, but uses the whole garment as leverage while he fucks you stupid

you should've known better than to put a t-bone in front of a starving dog and expect it not to bite

"Go ahead, bonnie; text your little friends, tell them you're not gonna make it, yeah?"

♡ Ghost:

"'course, love. Have fun, be careful, call me if you need a ride."

Simon isn't too worried initially; he knows there isn't going to be a single soul in that bar willing or able to face his wrath should anything untoward happen. but then he actually sees what you're wearing, and all bets are off

that's why he follows you, he tells himself, it has nothing to do with the insatiable urge to destroy your ability to walk tomorrow

nothing trumps your safety, in terms of his priorities. he's simply here to look out for his wife, right?

wrong. he spends the next hour and a half watching you from a darkened corner of the bar while his palms itch with a need to touch

opportunity knocks when you excuse yourself from the table, and he follows you into the restroom, slipping in before you have a chance to lock the door

you're not surprised to see him (duh, you know him better than just about anyone), but you are surprised to find yourself bent over the sink, looking Simon in the eye through his reflection. he's fucking you mercilessly, spewing absolute filth while he pulls your head back by your hair

"My perfect little whore, hmm? Waltzing around in that tiny dress, wearing my fuckin' ring, rubbin' it in everyone's faces that you only open those pretty legs for me."

he wants to cum on your face, but you pout about the possibility of it getting in your eye, or worse, on your dress, so he settles for letting you swallow it instead

his impulses return not much longer after you return to your table; instead, he texts you that he's ready to head out, and you are all too quick to oblige

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

[dmitriene]

cw: dark content, dubious consent, spanking, humiliation, thigh riding.

you were a proper brat, the one that town sheriff jonathan price couldn't stand at all, every outing you made to the town was leaving him with bulging veins all over his neck and forehead, jaw grinding harshly as his calloused hand stroked his mutton chops.

price just hadn't a single nerve for your antics, wandering around the town in the tight little shirts of your daddy that you sewed to fit your body, the slinkiest denim shorts that was possibly existing were hugging your rounded ass cheeks, soft flesh barely peaking beneath when you were bending against the shop's wooden counters.

you were john's menace, stealing for your own fun some fresh juicy fruits from some poor lad's shop, never paying and always giggling, charming his brains out of his head so he wouldn't notice your arm full of sweetest peaches.

wandering around john's office, twirling your ass all around and chatting with muppets that were sitting in jail cells, the same place you should be sitting at least couple of hours as well, but price doesn't have a strength to run after you, and his boys were failing on catching you as well.

you outrunned every one of them, from charmingly annoying scott, to the politely sunny man that was called kyle, and even the behemoth of a man that everyone was naming as a ghost, mostly because he gave up the first time you shoved your tongue at him and sprinted away by jumping through the gates.

your biggest fault was stealing something from sheriff himself, wandering to price's office while he was out for some deal as you wiggled yourself through the open window, just «a silly joke» on him for not letting you having your fun and reporting each movement you did to your daddy, but oh, you shouldn't have touched his things at all.

shouldn't turn his neatly organized office upside down, climb through his shelves and touch folders with important documents, as well as shouldn't open the jail cells and let out those who were sitting there for malicious mischief and other, similar to this one, things.

it really wasn't worth it to end up bent over a hard, muscular lap, with your tight little shorts dangling at your feet and cotton panties crumpled just enough to expose your rounded, soft rear to the silent room, where the only sound that resonates off the brick walls is loud, raw spanking slaps.

it's the first time in a long when john was that much furious, making his face go deep shade of red out of anger, fists tight and whitening at his sides when he opened the door to his office, catching you off guard in the middle of your antics, azure eyes darkening almost immediately as his fingers twitch and grasp at your hair, rippling out a loud, strained squeak off of your pretty lips.

you clearly didn't expect to see him, that john could tell, as well as end up half naked before his intense, burning gaze, a complete mess with your hands literally tied, now you couldn't run away from him, not when he finally caught you up.

maybe he enjoyed it too much, the thrill of having something that was constantly running from him made warmth bubble in his bulky body, like a game of cat and mouse, but finally you got exactly what you deserved, and john intended to feed it to you till the last spoon.

— “cocky, impudent little brat„ he all but barks and growls, making you shook not only from the stinging pain on your bulging ass cheeks, but also because of slightest fear that grip your body in its clutches, holding you unmovingly on john's thick thighs as you let out whimpers and tiny, ringing mewls.

tiny rope bites at your sore wrists, calloused palm slaps against your completely raw, reddened flesh with licking pain, your limbs feel absolutely putty, useless in your current state, with fat salty tears rolling against your fluttering eyelashes and down the flushed cheeks.

he smells of musk and gunpowder, sweat, scent with which he came back at least hour ago, and you knew that you're in for trouble, because he reeled of irritation.

all this situation was supposed to scare you away, make you beg for forgiveness, but you welcome each and every harsh slap with pooling wetness in the gusset of your cotton panties, the gentle lips of your pretty pussy visible just enough for john's gaze to catch on, and he straight on slows down.

the only thing that you register in your buzzing brain is harsh puffs that comes off his mouth, before dry ungloved fingers slide up against your folds, gathering the sticky, pooling mess, and you jolt, sobbing out a high gasp, which makes price huff out bewilderedly — “fuckin' hell, you're getting off to this, sweetheart? enjoying the humiliation?„

that makes your blood run incredibly hot, cheeks and ears burning up harder than the sensitive flesh of your perched ass, and you wiggle intuitively, pussy throbbing on itself and making you whimper, sincerely plaintively, cotton fabric sticking to your slicky folds, as you gather the courage to wobble out the small — “n-no„

but your body doesn't agree, you're aching, every limb feels as if it's itching and pulsing, you don't see how price bores his cerulean eyes into the slick gathered on his thick fingers, his own body rolling with waves of heat, clothes feels suddenly too tight for his own good, before he yanks your tied hands.

sudden movement makes you choke a squeak, rope still biting into the thin flesh of your wrists as he moves you to straddle his thighs, sitting securely, making your denim shorts slip off your legs completely and to the floor, as air in his messy office bites your sensitive ass cheeks, before there's another delivered, stinging slap.

you cry out, body jolting and pressing against his as you fall face first into his shoulder, inadvertently inhaling his cologne and hints of leather, his rough fingers knead your ass, calloused thumb rubbing strangely soothing circles that make your plush thighs squeeze together around his, desperate need for some kind of relief wells up hot and bothering, in your tummy and pulsing, currently neglected cunny.

price drinks up your every reaction like the most delicious whiskey, the labored breaths and the feel of how your pussy throbs, he can feel it all, together with hardening sensation in his boxers that makes his pants feel too tight beneath you, but it all will end up more than soon, cause his free hand moves to grip the back of your neck.

he's tugging, making your spine arch as your mound rubs against his leg just the right way, and he growls, head tilting to whisper out in your ear, his facial hair rubbing your skin harshly — “let's see how brave you are for real, darling? get off what's bothering you, and maybe.. maybe i'll consider to not telling your daddy what happened here today„

that makes you mewl so embarrassedly, nod your head silently into his muscular shoulder as your rounded hips roll cautiously, sudden pleasure sparks all through your shaking body as you still hide your face from him, but it doesn't matter, cause you're already signed the deal with sheriff jonathan price.

and no one in this town, if it's not the future dead man walking, will risk betraying the deal with him.

so you roll your hips rhythmically, letting your sopping pussy glide smoothly against his clothed thigh as your ass perches up, with his thick hand still caressing and kneading shamelessly, your strained, panting voice huffs out ashamed and delirious — “y-yes, sir„ which pulls a wide grin to his lips and a dark glint to his vivid eyes.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[neoarchipelago]

Cotton candy pacifier

A/N: Was this scheduled? No. Did I wrote it? Yes. I have a blank page problem right now and went out to an amusement park last weekend. My own hormones have made me fantasize and throw together this shit. Please have mercy on me at this point.

Warnings: (f! Reader x Simon) ADULT CONTENT. 18+ pregancy talk, breeding kink, cursing, p in v. Oral receiving. Slight blood, biting.

Simon never wanted to be a father. Too much baggage and trauma, too much fear of never having a good role model to be a good father. You had talked about it. You had long conversations. And even if you were understanding, accepted this fate, saying that he was all you could ever wish for, words hitting him like a mix of pain and pleasure, he saw the hint of sadness behind your eyes. 

He had tried to be extremely soft, and passionate for months after those discussions, trying to show you how much he loved you. 

So here he was. Black t-shirt tight around his torso, mask on and black cargo pants. Looking at the large group of recruits in front of him. Price Laswell and another higher up beside him as the last warnings were given. 

Soldiers and their families had been offered a full day at an amusement park the military had privatized for the occasion. 

As much as he tried to remain professional, his eyes often turned to you, pretty little excitement sprawled across your face, almost jumping in place. Jeans shorts and tank top with your little backpack, hair messily tied up. Soap was a menace next to you, already giving him a headache. But you were such a lovely sight. 

When finally, the briefing was over and everyone made their merry way into the park, Price, Laswell and Ghost walked towards the group. Laswell joined her wife and so did Price, the two little munchkins jumping at the sight of their dad. You immediately rushed to Ghost's side as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Soap was practically bursting at the seams with excitement, gaz not too far behind causing Price's kids to be overexcited. Ghost sent them a warning look before everyone headed for the first attraction. 

The morning went smoothly, Soap and Gaz betting on who would handle the worst roller coasters while Price and his wife indulged in some of them, as you accepted to look over the kids during the ride time. The kids were thrilled to simply spend time with their Uncle Ghost, sometimes joined by Soap and Gaz, for small carousels or mild roller coasters. The parents were thankful and indulged in some time without taking care of the kids too much. 

It was what first started bugging him. The way you were happily cleaning up Kyle's chin as ice cream had dripped down. The look in your eyes made something burn in him. Or the way the little Lily munched on a few fries in your arms while you made sure her little hat was secured and her skin hadn't been too touched by the sun. 

He didn't mind at all John's kids. He even liked spending time and taking care of them, feeling a sense of protectiveness over the small cute beings. He sometimes grumbled that Soap and Gaz were even harder to take care of than John's well behaved kids. 

Something else bothered him. Not the little heart strings being pulled when he saw you smiled at him when he won two plushies for the kids. He was almost sure you looked at him with something between happiness, adoration and pure fucking need. He was almost taken aback by it but also by the way he absolutely adored seeing that look on your face. That same look that seemed to show up more and more through the day, as he held Kyle on his shoulders, or held Lily as she fed on her bottle.

But it vanished quite quickly. When another recruit whispered to you that the lieutenant seemed to be the perfect dad and you two would be amazing parents. He had heard. Of course he did. He was a trained soldier with years of experience and trauma. 

After that, you had avoided eye contact when he held up the kid unless it was a polite smile or kind smile. You'd turn to the child in his hold for something but ignore his gaze on you. You weren't exactly sad. Something else was laced with your new avoidance. It was growing on his nerves. That and the new intrusive thoughts of you, holding a child. The image far in his mind, a high resemblance with you and a mix of him. 

He could feel his fists clench as the images rushed through his mind. You, glowing under the sun, swollen with his child. The idea mixed with his fear. He tried to pull you closer to him as you held the little girl, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest as the little girl reached for his mask without an ounce of fear in her eyes. He could feel your breath hitch and the shiver that ran through you. His hand reached for the little girl's cheek, barely pinching, making the girl giggle. The soft skin against rough calloused one, hands that saw more horrors than the child would ever witness. 

"S..Simon?" You stuttered, turning your head to send a questioning look. 

He didn't answer, only dropping a kiss on your head through the mask. The idea crept in his mind, nesting there and haunting his mind. Price noticed. Of course he did. He knew Simon all too well, even through the mask. 

"Ghost. What's on your mind?" He asked, sitting on the bench next to him. 

Simon remained silent, eyes looking at you as you ate the soft cloudy pink thing in your hand. 

"If you keep looking at her like that she'll notice." He teased. 

"She wants kids." Simon blurted out. 

"And you don't.." Price deduced. Simon groaned, closing his eyes. "Simon. Talk to me." Price added. 

"I… shit." Simon felt the frustration grow. "I'll never be a good father. Fuck. I don't know what's a good father." 

"Now you're hurting my pride and feelings." Price added. 

Simon's head snapped towards the man who arbourded one of his signature smiles. 

"I didn't mean… Price, you're an amazing father." Simon caught himself. 

"I wouldn't say amazing. No one's perfect." He clarified, straightening himself. "But I try." He smirked. "Simon. It is your decision whether or not you want to have kids, and her decisions to accept it or not. But don't take that decision based on your past. You are not that man." He said, eyes locking into Simon's one. "I'd like to think, I raised you all to be better than that." He joked. 

He was right. Price was the closest thing to a father he ever had. The best role model he could think of. It didn't erase the fear of it all. But a tiny part of his brain was unlocked, one that might see himself with a baby later on. Price patted his back, smiling again before getting up to join his wife. Simon tried to look at you, falling into your pretty eyes. He frowned at the worried look on your features. He straightened himself, subtly patting his thigh. He cursed under his breath watching you obediently skip to him to sit on his lap. 

"Are you.. ok, Simon?" You asked, a low voice. 

"I'm ok baby. Are you ok love? " he asked as well. You looked away for a second, making him slightly squeeze your thigh. "Talk to me Y/N." He insisted. 

You bit your lip before looking up at him with your pretty soft eyes. 

"I'm sorry…" you whispered. 

"You're sorry baby?" He frowned. "Tell me why." 

"For.. I mean.. I've been with the kids all day so far.." you stumbled on your explanation. 

"Yes. You have, why are you apologizing about that?" He was confused. 

"I know… you don't want kids… we've talked about it. I don't want to annoy you by playing mama-" 

He groaned, eyes shutting closed. Images of you playing 'mama' making his cock twitch in his pants. Now where did this new attraction come from? 

"I'm sorry Simon!" You whined. His eyes snapped open.

"No baby. I'm not mad. I'm not annoyed.. don't think that." He reassured, his hand leaving your thigh to softly caress your cheek. 

"You're… not?" You asked, a slight hint of relief in your voice. 

"Of course not baby. Shit… you've been.. beautiful, playing mama.." he hissed. 

He watched you blink, with a little shocked expression on your face. You tilted your head slightly. 

"What..?" You asked. 

"So fucking pretty… with Lily at your hip.." Simon groaned again, face burying in your neck, his pants getting uncomfortable. You shivered slightly. 

"S-simon…" you whined a bit. "There's… people…" 

As if on cue with your words, his hand caressed your thighs, featherlight fingers up and down your skin, sometimes too close to the burning heat growing in between your legs. He was supposed to behave. Just like he had instructed the recruits this morning at the briefing. But you looked tempting. And the new images in his head, him fucking his seed deep in you, with the slight possibility of watching you later on with your own baby. He was a pleaser after all. Your hands squeezed slightly his shoulders, trying to squirm nearer to him. 

"Fuck.." he cursed against your neck. "Need you baby.." he growled against your ear. 

"We… the car.." you tried, making him grin at your already hazy mind, just from the thought of him fucking you. 

"No. Too long." He shook his head. He tapped your thigh lightly to make you stand, as you looked at him with a questioning look. He intertwined the tip of your fingers with his, barely pulling you forwards in front of him, your obvious compliance making him eager. He made you walk, sending a last glance to the group as Price caught his eye, shaking his head playfully at him. 

His hand on the small of your back as he guided you towards the nearest 'staff only' door. 

"S..sir, you can't-" 

Simon threw a death glare to the poor employee who simply walked away, pretending not to have seen anything. You were softly pushed inside, the door closing behind the both of you.

"Simon-" 

He had already lifted his mask above his nose, hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed your lips softly. A sigh escaped him, as if he finally felt the tension release from his muscles. You stepped closer to him, hands on his chest, a burning touch that made him crave more. Perhaps you were the sun, burning brightly for him, and he was Icarus, with the only goal to fly to you, no matter if you burn down his wings. He made sure to wrap his arm around your waist, the other hand cupping the back of your head as he pushed you back against the wall. Once he was sure you were safely against the wall, his hands now caressed your body freely, pushing and pulling at your clothes, only aching to feel your skin against his. 

You were already whimpering, your hands slipping under his shirt, nails softly scratching his lower back giving him goosebumps. He ached for more. Needed to feel you. His hand pulled on your top with a rougher pull, freeing your perky breast. 

"Simon! Someone could… walk in-" your complaints turned into a moan as his mouth found your sensitive nipple. You pushed forward your chest, giving him more access. 

"So willing for me princess…" he groaned against your skin. You whined, hand at the back of his neck, trying your best to stifle your moan. His cock was painfully hard, images of you pregnant with his child only bringing him over the edge of control. He kneeled suddenly as you gasped, his hands undoing your short's button and zipper with expertise before pulling them down with your panties. He lifted one of your legs making you grab onto his shoulders to keep balance. 

"Need to taste you.." 

His hands hooked under your legs, wrapping around your ass before he planted a soft kiss on your naked lips. He could almost make such a sinful act look like the purest of them all. His eyes looked up at you, the sight of him down on his knees, mouth against your already soaked pussy made you whine pornographicly. His eyes were firmly planted into yours as his tongue slowly darted out, almost lazily, licking a stripe across your folds, not dipping in. You whimpered at the sight, your hands meeting the side of his face as you looked down at him lovingly, abandon written all over your gaze. 

He groaned, closing his eyes, feeling unworthy of such dedication. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting you as he groaned, feeling the wetness of his boxers as his cock leaked precum. He swirled the tip of his tongue on your puffy clit a few times, delicately before losing once again all control. He ate you like his life depended on it, his hips thrusting forwards slightly at a higher moan from you. 

"Simon!" You hissed, scolding him from making you be so loud. 

You weren't truly mad. How could you when his tongue was dragging you to the pits of hell where he sat on his throne ready to fuck you just like you like it. He was your devil, your beast, the one you'd happily sin for, give in your soul and life to. You shut your eyes, feeling the familiar high approaching. You whined his name, but he knew. Of course he knew. One would say you were an open book to him. He'd say you were a holy scripture. You'd say that he was the only one able to decipher you. 

When you felt your body shake, stars behind your eyelids from pleasure and your hand hitting the wall behind, Simon's grip tightened on you, making sure to hold you up. You were panting when he pulled back, licking his lips greedily. He let his forehead fall against your stomach as his fingers traced down lazily to your still pulsating pussy. Two fingers at your entrance, toying with you before slowly pushing inside. 

"Simon… ah.. please.." you moaned, unable to keep your level down. 

He thrusted slowly, making sure to stretch you slightly, preparing your tightness to him. The impatience was killing him. Now was too much. His fingers left your heat, his tongue lapping at his fingers as he moaned against them. He got up, kissing you again, tongue demanding and dominating. His hand flew to his belt unbuckling it single handedly without breaking the kiss. Your breath hitched at the sound of it. 

"Need to have you now… need to fuck you.." he said, his voice deeper and tone darker. The heavy contrast with the screams and laughter from outside of the door. Yes. Your devil. 

But as he lifted you up, hands hooking underneath your knees, his tip at your entrance- when did he even?!- you snapped into reality. 

"Simon wait! We don't have any condoms!" You yelped. 

Condoms? Ah yes… you had stopped the pill two months ago for some hormonal problem. Shit… his mind went blank, neurons gone to play cards or something while the little naughty thoughts of his newly found kinks spurred his nerves. He bottomed out in one thrust, your wetness helping but the stretch and burn still present as you yelped. 

"Si.." you tried to shake him out of his trance. 

"Shh.. baby, let go… it's ok…" he shushed, hips thrusting up into slow movements, easing the burn and letting his fat cock rub against your walls the way he knows you like it. You were trying to keep a stern face, trying to scold him, but you'd lie if you'd say his behavior didn't truly turn you on. The position only helped him grind your clit, sending little electricity waves up your spine. When he finally had your brain into a cockdrunk mush, he grinned, picking up the pace. Your hands holding on to dear life around his shoulders as you whined and moaned loudly, eyes glossy and brows furrowed in a little pout. 

"That's it baby… good girl… god you look so pretty, fuck, look so pretty taking this fat cock…" he groaned, making you squeeze around him, second orgasm way too close already. How did he even get you there so fast? He was damned skilled but shit… the way he looked at you. Logic gone, pupils dilated, muscles flexing underneath your palms. He looked ready to devour you… or devote himself to you. At this point you were sure both were knotted into a messy curse. What had happened to have him completely lose himself? Risk it all for a wild fuck? 

A ping sadness coursed through you, probably flashing through your eyes as he thrusted deeper once to grab your attention. 

"What's wrong baby?" He panted, slowing down his pace to slow, longing thrusts. 

"You're… ah…Si… you're risking.. a lot…" you whined, trying to focus through the pleasure. He was. He definitely was. And he loved it. Loved the idea to fill you up with his seed and pump you full until he was sure to see you round with his- 

"God.. fuck." He cursed loudly, craving giving him goosebumps as he slammed roughly into you. His mind was dirty talking him into a mess. "Yes. Shit. I'm risking it. I want it. Fuck. I need it." He chanted. 

The heat rose to your cheeks, you didn't know if his words did something, but you came hard, unable to keep the loud moan echoing through the room. 

"Wh..what..? Simon!" You tried to gather your thoughts. 

A little tsk escaped him. Now that wouldn't do. He needed to up his game. You were thinking too much. His face was close to yours. Eyes boring into your very soul that you knew he had a chokehold on. 

"Did I fucking stutter? You've been so pretty today…" he growled. "Acting like a mama with the kids… shit… been trying to stop myself from bending you over the, fuuuck… nearest surface just to breed this pretty little cunt.." you were going to talk. Say something but he cut you off. "We'll talk… not now… focus on me. Let me make you feel good… enjoy the feeling… the idea of me stuffing you full of my cum.." he rasped against the skin of your neck. 

A curse, a jinx. Perhaps a devil but also some old god that came to ensnare you. You obeyed. Willingly give in. Entrusting him. The idea blooming in your mind, his eyes trapping you in that familiar feeling of no one else in the world but the two of you. No more laughs and screaming from outside. Nothing more but the two of you, the feeling of his length splitting you open at a reckless pace. 

"Good girl… there you go.." he praised, feeling you relax in his arms, finally unable to think of anything else but him. Your legs were shaking from the overstimulation, the grinding of your clit making you jolt slightly, tears overwhelming you. 

"S'good.. so… good…" you whined, tears running down your cheeks now. 

"Yes baby… shit, so fucking good… you're doing good." His thrusts were sloppier, the sound of skin slapping and the sound of wetness filled the air. You were going to cum again, that one would wreck you. But wasn't this Simon's favorite pastime? Wreck you. Ruin you until the only thing on your mind is him. 

"Si-" you moaned hiding in his neck. 

"I know baby… I know… me too… s'close.." he moaned as he let his head back, giving you access to his neck. You nudged the fabric of the mask with your nose, just enough to show skin you could sink your teeth into as he made you bounce on his cock like you weighed nothing. 

"You gonna cum for me? Milk my cock deep in you?" You moaned pitifully as an answer. "Yes you are mama… make me so proud of how well you're taking me…" 

His new found nickname he found for you made something in you snap. You sank your teeth into his neck, the pain making him groan and jolt his hips up, hitting that sweet spot of yours. Now he was focused. Had a goal. His hips slamming into you at the perfect angle to make you crumble. And you were going to. He could feel it. His own high dangerously close. 

"Cum with me mama… milk daddy and keep it all inside baby…" he cooed with a hiss as you bit another spot on his neck. 

You shuddered around him, hips trembling trying to meet his thrusts, not that you needed it. The next wave of pleasure was blinding, your whines lost in sobs, nails digging into his back through the shirt, teeth drawing tiny droplets of blood on his neck. The loud curse, followed by moans as his sticky warm cum filled you up so deeply made your mind dizzy, your hearing gone for a few seconds. 

He remained like this as you both tried to breathe the same air. His cock deep in you, plugging you full.

"Simon.." you sobbed. 

He shushed you, lulled you in his arms, rocking left and right. 

"Did so good baby… proud of you." He kissed your hair, slipping out of you before quickly putting you down on your feet, helping you stand before kneeling to help you slip back your panties and shorts back on. He zipped them up and buttoned the jean fabric. 

"Darling… I'm still dripping with your cum…" you whined through a hiccup. 

He let you slowly back against the wall just enough to shove his cock back in his briefs, closing his cargo pants. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. He looked around the room, now taking in your surroundings, some kind of storage rooms for props. An old couch in a fairy tale against a wall. He picked you up bridal style, walking to the piece of furniture before sitting down, cradling you in his lap. He hugged you tight, praises kissing your skin. 

"Simon… where did that come from…" you tried making him look at you. 

"I…" he tried, clearing his voice. The reality of what he did hit him. "I've been watching you with the kids all day… don't know, what came over me…" he said, in some sort of apology. 

"It's.. I'll get a plan B…" you mumbled. 

"No-" he hurried. You looked at him in shock. "Listen… we'll talk about this… I, need to talk about this again. I don't know if I changed my mind, but I definitely… like, the idea of you bearing my child." He spoke, voice strained, unsure of his own words, feelings running across his mind at full speed. 

"We'll talk about it then… but.. this" you blushed, squeezing your thighs together, feeling the way your panties were soaked with a mix of the both of you. "It happened…" 

"Yeah… it did. I think… we still have a bit of time to think about it… doesn't have to be now. We'll talk at home. Just.. sorry I lost my shit." He apologized. 

"I like it…" you whispered. His heart jumped. 

"Oh mama… don't make me bend you over the couch…" he warned. 

You giggled. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your nose, nuzzled against your neck. Yes. You'd talk about it. You had to. He had to face every possible consequence of his actions. And make up his mind. He kept you in his arms for a long half an hour, making you giggle and cuddling you close to him. When he finally stood up with you, watching close your eyes and bite your lip, probably at the sensation of his seed dripping into your panties, he fought the need to simply fuck you again, or put you in his car and drive home to keep you in bed for the rest of the weekend. 

"Simon! No!" You scolded. 

You had seen his gaze. You knew that burning gaze. He smirked before pulling down his mask, walking to the door with you. The sun was blinding, the noise of the park bringing you back to the real world. Simon glared again at the poor employee who immediately looked away. He held your hand as you both walked through the park, looking for the rest of the group. Soap was the first one to notice you, loudly calling you, bringing your attention to the group. 

"Hey! Where have you guys been?! Ghost you gotta ride that roller coaster with me!" He excitedly blurted out. Ghost sighed, making Soap roll his eyes with an overdramatic groan. 

"Come on Y/N! You're coming then! You splash in the water after" He smirked at you. 

Ghost tightened his hold on you, hand swiftly wrapping around your waist. 

"I think Y/N needs a moment of rest. I think she's wet enough…" John's wife said, a teasing look towards you, making you blush madly. 

"What are you talking about? She's totally dry…" Soap argued with a frown, looking at her and then at you and your blushing face. His eyes widened when his mind snapped things together. He stepped back, widening his stance to point a finger at Ghost. 

"You naughty rascal! In an amusement park?! After telling us to behave?!" He almost yelled. 

You hid your face in your hands. Little Kyle turned his attention to Soap while Lily giggled in her mom's arms. 

"Soap…" Ghost warned. 

"You're an animal." Soap shook his head, emphasizing the last word. 

Ghost smirked underneath his mask. Lily leaned forward, grabby hands towards Ghost. His eyes softened picking up the girl in his arms, slowly rocking her. Soap had gone from his rant to being scolded by Price for being so loud as Gaz laughed and John's wife tended to her son. Simon looked down at you, freezing on the spot. The look of lust, craving and desire in your eyes. Perhaps… This was getting interesting. 

[rpreaperperson]

MOM

Reader is a combat medic, a BIG sweeth tooth and a mother to 141 boys (dont forget can cook too) a waifu material

In case with Los Vaqueros

Masterlist

After they accomplish their mission the 141 task force will be holding a small feast with Los Vaqueros to strengthen their ties of brotherhood

All brotherhood aside...their true intention is....to taste again the meal you made, and now Alejandro and Rudy join the party

Two days before the party, reading your recipe book inside your office, knowing the boys will have a big appetite

'maybe I'll make taco for the snack...or maybe naco with guacamole..?....guhh..but what if they don't like it? I'll be making another country's cuisines, I don't want to offend them or something like that..'

Then you pick up your phone beside you texting Alejandro what they want for the meal, but then you shake your head putting back your phone beside you unfolding your laptop searching for the recipe you're going to make

"I promise them it would be a surprise after all, if I ask him he would know what Im making"

"Making what?" suddenly Kyle barged into your office with his innocent eyes, immediately snapped your laptop shut and gave him a wary smile

"Kyle!~ ohh..hoo...what are doing here hun?"

"Do I have a reason to hanging around with our beautiful Doc?"

"Well since my sweets stock has been decreasing these last few days, Im getting more suspicious with you boys hanging around my office" You shot Gaz a look when he opened your cabinet, and beamed when he saw his favorite candy

"Thanks for calling me beautiful though"

with a mouth full of candy he faced you and gave you a thumbs-up

"Say Doc ...what is the menu for the party?"

"Well...Im just going to research about it..Alejandro, Rudy and some of the Vaqueros will come..I want to try some of the Mexican cuisine...." Gaz furrowing his eyebrow sensing a hesitation in your tone and doubt

"But?" he walks to your desk

"..well our taste buds are different from them and..well..." pursing your lips

"Doc.. Im sure whatever you're making they'll like it.."

"You..sure?"

"Positive..side's who doesn't like your cooking? Ghost always asks for more...."

"hmp...yeah...5 plates,after that he asked for a snack...no wonder he's huge I still remember that one time when the canteen almost lost its ingredients for one month" you huff at him, but because of him it eases all of your worries and you've decided that you're going to make both taco and naco for the snack, now for the main dish and drink...

'Oh well let's just make barbecue and fruit punch, good thing the boys aren't picky....and got a big appetite oh..maybe some cake or pastries would be nice~..'

Notice the beam in your eyes Gaz smiled gladly to ease all your worries

.

.

2 days after, as promised the Vaqueros came to 141 base Captain Price welcomed them followed by Gaz beside him

"Good to see you again Colonel Vargas" Price said firmly shaking Alejandro's hand

"Captain Price, you too comrade!"

"Come Soap and Ghost are waiting for you inside, let just hope they did not gobble up the food..." Price escorted them to the canteen

"I've heard Doc the one who making it?"

"Aye...along she my best medic she is the best cook here, I sure you'll love it Colonel" Price proudly boasts about you

"Can't wait to taste it then...I've heard a lot from Soap"

"heh bloke always bragging about her ..a lot" Price huffs a smirk planted against his face, as they arrive at the canteen

They could smell the barbeque....and hear the arguing of Soap with Ghost

"THE F**** Johnny! you almost burnt it!" barked Ghost furiously fanning the smoke out of his masked face

"Well WHY don't YOU try it?!" challenged Soap as he tried to undo his mistake...but alas what was already done...is done

"Both of you! please just sit down!" you intervene them before getting heated, placing your hand against Soap's chest you quickly flip all the meat and the other vegetables, ordering both of them to sit down with your 'mom stare'

Like a disobedient child they sat, but not before kicking each other legs

Price facepalming as Alejandro just chuckles along with Rudy

"Hermano! We've come!" announced Alenjadro

"Alenjandro!, good to see you again brother!" beamed Soap as he rushed to Alejandro giving him a brotherly hug

As they reunited you huffed and took care of the barbeque, really you just took a minute to take some of the sauce in the kitchen and you asked for Ghost and Soap to take care of the barbecue

"Damn...this one is burnt...oh well..I guess this one is on my plate" mutter you the ever sacrifice placed the burnt one on your plate can't let any these boys of yours eat any burnt food on their off day

"Good to see you again Doc.." greeted Alejandro, as Rudy politely nodded at you

"Ah! yes Alejandro, Rudy! sorry I little late for the prepare, damnit Soap.." you mumbled cursing for your own stupidity to leave the cooking to the boys

"You want any help Hermana?" asks the sweet Rudy, you smile kindly at him

"No need Rudy, you're the guest here-"

"I insist Doc..." he insisted with a soft look in his eyes that made you melted

"Alright then...um..ah could you pour the soda inside the fruit punch there"

"Sure thing..all of it?" you nodded and he obediently poured all of the transparent soda inside the fruit punch, Alejandro stared at you in the slideness focusing on the barbecues pleased to see you again

"Okay..Boys!! the food ready!"

Then Soap immediately rushed to your side and raised his palm, reminding him to eat the vegetables you gave him his plate as you give all of them their portions you take your plate

Rudy  noticed that your portion was full of burnt BBQ, and he huffed at the ever the sacrificed you, when he offered you his good portion you refused him as you chuckled softy at him and said ‘Nah it's alright you enjoy your own I will make it again sides it brings more flavor to it’ tenderly gazing at the boys reminding you of your troublesome siblings

Damn he really want to take you away to his house and make you his wife

With so much laugh and joy they all eat, not forget the snacks and some pastries you make all of their exhaustment and the gore memory of the battle gone when they eat your cooking

"Ahh..s****...mine gone.."

"Damn Soap.. that's your third plate" grumble Ghost

"Betta’ me then you LT" Soap squinting his eyes at Ghosts who munching away his food like a hamster his cheeks storing the barbecue on his cheeks

“need more barbeque Gaz?” ask you noticing his empty plate, shaking his head Gaz takes one of the tacos on the big plate

“no need love, I’ll take the taco”

“ask me if you need more barbeque okay? I’ll make it again” smiled softly Gaz nodded, and then Price walked to you placing his rough hand on your shoulder

“Just take it easy Doc, I’ll take care of the boys  just enjoy the feast yeah?”

“you sure Cap?”

“Positive” he rubbed your shoulder and pushed you gently back into your seat, both Alejandro and Rudy noticed the tender gaze from Price as he caressed your head this went unnoticed by you

Deep inside both of them felt a pang of jealousy, and then Alejandro approached you with his plate in his hand

“Evening Doc”

“Ah Alejandro!  Sorry, I'm not greeting you properly...” Shaking his head Alejandro chuckles

“don't mind it Doc, I really enjoyed the feast you made though wonder Soap bragging about it” he gave you a charming smile that made you flustered (Oh God I thank you for making such a dashing creature like him)

“i-its not really something to brag about...I just love to cook for the boys thats all..” his thick eyebrow twitching

‘for the boys’...now that REALLY making him jealous of the 141 men

“Ever thinking of transfers to another team Doc?” asks Alejandro suddenly

Out of instinct, the 141 task force eavesdropped the conversation, squinting their eyes at Alejandro while Rudy quietly observed them slurping his fruit punch

“Well...”you trail..staring at your half eaten burnt barbeque (made with love by SOAP) the atmosphere becomes tense of course this goes unnoticed by you, glancing at the boys who immediately act like they didn’t eavesdrop on your conversation

Smiled at the boys you glance at Alejandro

“Nope not at all..” raised his thick eyebrows, a disappointment filled his chest alas he still smiled and faced his body towards you his gaze flickering to 141 who smiled proudly at your remark, then back to you

 “...may..I ask why?”ask him

“I..enjoy the time I spend with them..well..except when we are on the mission that is..heh..and I doubt they’ll allow me to transfer  to another team” After that you drink the fruit punch

“Ah..right..of course...they are deeply in love with you Doc” claims Alejandro, you bashfully chuckle while the others snap their head towards Alejandro with their eyes popping out

“yeah...more like they in love with my cooking heh those rascal..”

The 141 sighed in relief but was somehow frustrated that you didn’t take a hint

The Colonel again raised his eyebrow as he glanced at the 141 who were slightly slumped but still munching away their food, then Alejandro realized

‘she..doesn’t notice it ..does she?’

“Why the question?” ask youwhile taking a bite of your taco, Alejandro smirking wiping a speck of sauce on your cheeks with his thumb as he leans toward your face

“A-Alejandro?” your face flushed red and squeak when his nose touched yours

“If you would change your mind..would you like to become one of us? Besides..I would be at ease to have the woman I am attracted to in my team”

“W-wha?!”

A looming and rage aura came from the 141 body , Rudy just could pray that Alejandro came home safely

Suddenly Alejandro chuckles and leans away from your flushed face, booping your nose as you stare at him dazed and confused

“Kidding hermana, but really if you ever change your mind Vaqueros would always welcome you~”

“A-ah..okay..thank you..for the offer..” nomming the nachos you faced away from Alejandro, when you faced away from him Alejandro glanced at the 141 and shot them a smug smirk, Rudy just stared at him deadpan

‘oh...Ale..I hope you are back home safely..’

Note:

Arghhh..!! Sorry for the delay! Im really busy with my project and all

Coffee please?

[fortheloveofkonig]

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request the 141 x Male reader, they know alot of medical like they use their knowledge of the human body against anyone whom threatens them (or people the care about). They aren't a medic are doctor parday but have extensive knowledge of the field that helps the team. Seem cold uncaring and ruthless but if anyone of them is injured its like a total switch of 'mom bear mode' checking them over the gentle hands and worry.

(Kinda of trope of don't mess with the doctor lol)

Summary: TF 141 reacts to Reader who knows a frightening amount of medical knowledge.

Note: I'm going to do this as more of a headcanons type of post ^^ hope this is good enough! ^^ I did 95% of this all in the last 2 hours

Content: Medical speak, Injuries, Slight Torture, Slightly Bad Medical Research, But I Did Research. Roach Talks.

Word Count: 1085

TF 141 x Knowledgeable in Medic Field M! Reader

Ghost

Probably first heard about your knowledge from Soap talking to him about how terrifying it is to see it come into play

Doesn't believe him.

You've always been good at what you do but have never shown any previous knowledge or interest in the medical field so, who can blame him?

There was also no way you could've went to medical school unless you were years above your usual education range

He finally sees it come into play when you two were 'interrogating' someone.

"If you're gonna stab, don't do it right there. Price said he needs to stay alive."

Ghost looks at you, annoyed. "I've stabbed many people and seen many people survive stab wounds of surrounding areas."

"In lower places of the abdomen and with quicker medical care, if you do it there" You point to where he had the knife, pointed at the tied up man's skin. "It could puncture an intestine and we will be fucked. If you want to stab, move the knife below the belly button...about right... right there. Do not remove the knife once it pierces through."

He did as you said, with questions, but still followed your lead.

From then on he watched everything you did, even noticing that you took care of some of the rookies that ended up with minor cuts and damage that wasn't enough to bother the medics with.

Needless to say, he also ended up coming to you for some patch ups, mostly when he wanted to keep his new damage a secret from Price.

He ended up finding it kind of hot during the interrogation thing so he often asked to do things like that with you again.

Soap

Honestly, probably figured out about your medical knowledge after he was being a dumbass with explosives and almost got hurt.

"Go change into some shorts and a tank top." Your voice was in a serious tone as you went to grab a nearby first aid kit.

"Already wanting to see me strip?"

You just glared at him until he actually left and did what was told.

Despite having only a few scratches, you still cleaned them up as best as you could.

You also went on a rant about it too, about how dumb he was

"Do you realize how dumb you are? What if you actually made a big explosion and a piece of shrapnel flew and hit one of the carotid arteries in your neck?

"My What?"

"Do you realize how fast you would've died? Why weren't you wearing any protective gear?"

"I'm pretty bad at forgetting protection."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead.

That was not the last time you had to clean his wounds, he seems to be a magnet for them.

Asks you more about medical stuff, just to get an idea on how much you know.

You know a lot.

Unsure at this point if he hurts himself in new ways just to hear you yell at him for what dumb way he could've gotten himself killed this time.

Gaz

He falls out of helicopters a lot, that's the truth. What's one more time?

This time (and somehow not the last?) he ended up hurting his foot, you were there the whole time when it happened.

When the both of you were both safe in the safety of a van, you got him to put his leg up so you could check it.

"This is stupid" He mutters, "It's nothing more than it has been in the past."

"Shush, let me concentrate" You mutter feeling around his bootless ankle, nodding your head when you hear him hiss at a pointed touch.

"Any pain when you walk on it?"

"Possibly....yes."

"I'm gonna say it's a sprain for now but I think we should take you to the infirmary after we get back to base. Doesn't seem dislocated. Possible fracture though."

It was just a sprain

Was surprised when you spoke fluent...doctor to the doctor.

Honestly felt like a little kid in the doctor's office, watching his parent's converse with the Doctor telling them what was wrong.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

Price

Always knew, almost nothing gets by him unnoticed

Was probably one of the reasons he wanted you on the task force.

He knows how soap and gaz the boys are

Has you teaching rookies how to probably put a tourniquet on.

"What the fuck are you doing? That's not how I taught you."

The rookie you were speaking to just looked down at the dummy that they were working on and the tourniquet, "It looks-"

"Terrible! He's still bleeding out! Retry it."

Definitely has to sit in on these sessions, some rookies have complained to him that you take it too far.

You always just use the excuse that if those were real people and not training dummies, they'd be at fault for letting them die.

He agrees with you.

The rookie looks over at Price.

"Get to it. He told you to retry it. The man is bleeding out."

Mostly just sits in because it's less complaints now that he is showing he agrees with you in front of everyone.

Roach

This fucker needs a friend that has medical knowledge

Much like Soap, it seems like he is a wound magnet

Was probably the first of the 141 that you had to go full protective, medical knowledge out and work on him.

Man's like a tank too, no matter what the day brings to him it seems he's just able to walk it off

You don't let him

"You're limping, sit down."

He just waves it off, "'m good."

"Like hell you are." You walk up to him and grab his wrist, dragging him to a nearby chair and pushing him onto it. "Stay or I'll have Ghost lay on you."

Does not stay.

You cannot get Ghost to lay on him.

You just end up pelting pillows at him until he joins into a pillow fight, and you both end up getting exhausted.

"I'll rest right here."

"Good."

Stubborn but still okay with medical help

Often comes to you with oddly specific questions.

"Hypothetically, if a car blew up in the near vicinity of where I was at, what is the possible health issues that could arise?"

"Well, burn marks obviously, depending on the distance it could be any degree. If it was enough to knock you over, then a possible concussion. Depending if you hit the ground and hard enough, possible broken or fractured bones. Not to even mention the possible pieces of metal and glass flying, and just blast trauma in general. Could cause damage to internal organs with enough force."

"Okay, so...hypothetically, if that happened, I should go to the infirmary?"

"Roach, were you next to a car when it blew up?"

"..."

"Gary???"

You immediately dragged him to the infirmary.

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

cw: mention sex work and slight toxic work place

The club buzzed with electric anticipation, fueled by a swirling rumor that someone important to Don Price was visiting tonight. You had no idea what your boss had done to arrange to host this visit for the Don—and honestly, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that, while you were on the clock, you were the club's star singer. But when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, you became just another pawn—another sex worker your boss dangled before wealthy patrons, provided they played their cards right.

With a sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing it back with a touch of pomade. In the mirror, you checked the fading bruise from last night’s "guest," ensuring the makeup the kind bartender lent you concealed it. Satisfied, you leaned back, drawing a deep breath to steady yourself.

Knock. Knock.

The door swung open, and your boss' voice crashed into the room—gruff, sharp, and impatient. “Don’t screw this up. Got it?”

“Got it,” you replied coolly. As his footsteps retreated, you muttered under your breath, “You bastard.”

Rising from your chair, you adjusted your suit, making sure the lapels were sharp and every detail flawless. A final glance in the mirror—your practiced smile in place—and a sip of water later, you strode toward the stage, your heart thudding in rhythm with the faint murmur of the crowd.

As you approached, the band filled the room with a sultry, polished rhythm that kept the patrons engaged, the melody weaving through the dimly lit club like a spell. You lingered just offstage, nerves buzzing, waiting for your cue. The announcer stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand, his polished smile betraying just a flicker of unease beneath the surface.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests from all walks of life,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “please welcome our star performer, Mr. [Your Name]!”

The crowd erupted into applause as you stepped into the spotlight. The familiar warmth of the stage lights greeted you, casting a golden glow over the room. Your eyes scanned the sea of faces until they landed on one that sent a chill down your spine—a man seated next to Don Price. His vermillion suit and open black coat were striking, but it was the skull mask obscuring his face that unnerved you. Though his expression was hidden, his gaze felt piercing, unrelenting. You tore your eyes away and accepted the microphone from the announcer, who leaned in close.

“Good luck, songbird,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and warning.

The lights dimmed, the room quieted, and the moment was yours. Drawing a deep breath, you began your performance with one of the club’s favorites—Antes de Ti by Mon Laferte. The band played a soft, smooth melody, their instruments blending seamlessly with your voice as it filled the room. You swayed gently, letting the music guide your movements as you sang:

"Antes de ti

Yo no conocía el amor

Estaba sola y triste como esta canción

Transitaba el lado oscuro de la luna."

Despite the music and the adoring crowd, you could feel his gaze. The skull-masked man’s attention was like a tangible weight, burning into you. A quick glance confirmed that he and Don, in front, were engaged in a quiet conversation, their heads close together. You silently thanked the heavens as the song neared its conclusion. Just one more chorus.

"Antes de ti (Before you)

Yo no conocía el amor( I didn't know love)

Por cada estrella una decepción ( For every star a disappointment) 

No había nada-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah~

(There was nothing-ah-ah~) "

The final note lingered in the air as you extended your hand toward the crowd, lost in the emotion of the moment. But then, your hand accidentally locked with his. The masked man. His gloved fingers briefly brushed yours, and the intensity of the connection sent a jolt through you.

"Antes de ti, mi amor! (Before you, my love!)"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, oblivious to your inner turmoil. But as you froze on stage, the masked man rose from his seat and began walking toward your boss. Your heart sank.

The announcer, sensing something amiss, stepped forward quickly and dismissed you with a practiced flourish. You retreated backstage, your thoughts racing.

What did I do? Did I offend him?

The uncertainty gnawed at you as you slipped into your dressing room, waiting for the inevitable knock that would summon you to face Your boss' wrath. 

The knock came, sharp and deliberate.

You braced yourself, then opened the door, expecting your boss’s fury. Instead, the man in the vermillion suit stood before you, his tall frame filling the doorway. The mask caught the dim light, casting shadows that seemed to deepen its ominous design. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—an aura of authority, mystery, and something darker emanated from him.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tie to mask the unease creeping up your spine. “Can I help you?” you asked, voice steady.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. The air grew thicker, more charged. His gloved hand rose, brushing over the edge of his mask before he finally spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying an accent you couldn’t quite place.

“You performed beautifully tonight,” he said, his tone a mixture of admiration and something else—something you couldn’t name. “But I came to discuss something more… more important than music.”

Your instincts screamed at you to tread carefully. “I appreciate the compliment,” you replied, carefully neutral. “But I’m not sure what business we could have.”

He chuckled softly, the sound both disarming and chilling. “You sell yourself short. A voice like yours… and a presence like yours…” His gaze, though hidden, felt like it was peeling back layers, scrutinizing your very soul. “... has value far beyond this club.”

You stiffened, unsure if this was flattery or a veiled threat. “If you’re looking to negotiate something, you’ll need to speak with My boss.”

“Your Boss?” He scoffed lightly, the corners of his mouth barely visible beneath the mask. “Your boss’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t about Club’s business. This was about you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at you.

The man stepped closer, his presence enveloping the small room. “What I want,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, almost intimate murmur, “is to offer you something this Club never could.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of something sharp and expensive. “Freedom,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a forbidden promise.

Your breath caught. Whatever this man’s intentions were, one thing was clear—tonight was going to change everything. He extended a single crimson rose, its petals almost too perfect, as though crafted rather than grown. You hesitated before taking it, the velvety texture brushing your fingers. 

Lifting the rose, you studied it carefully. “You promise me freedom,” you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “And I don’t even know your name. What do you want from me in return? We both know nothing is free in this life.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and smooth, as if amused by your boldness. His gloved hand reached out, brushing against yours as he gently adjusted the rose in your grip. “Clever,” he murmured. “You see through the illusions most are blind to.”

Before you could step back, his arms encircled you with a deliberate slowness, not forceful but undeniably commanding. The leather of his gloves was cold against your skin as he pulled you closer, his presence intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, his voice now a near whisper, inches from your ear. “Not yet. But I see what others overlook—the fire in you, the defiance you try to bury under obedience. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

His words struck a nerve, stirring something deep within you. You tilted your head to meet his gaze—or rather, the unyielding mask that shielded his face. “And you think you can free me? Just like that?” 

His hand trailed down to your waist, holding it lightly but with undeniable intent. “Freedom comes with a price, it’s true. But it’s not what you think. What I want,” he paused, the room heavy with his words, “is you. Not as a pawn, not as a commodity. You, as you are—your loyalty, your will. In exchange, I’ll give you a life you never dared to dream of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words sank in. The rose in your hand felt heavier now, its beauty tainted by the weight of his proposition. “Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “Because you’re more than you think you are. And with me, you’ll finally realize it.”

The room felt impossibly small, as though the air itself had thickened under the weight of his presence. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of the club faded into an afterthought, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence. His towering frame loomed close, not menacing but magnetic, drawing you in despite the warning bells ringing faintly in the back of your mind.

He leaned in, his movements deliberate yet unhurried, and the faint scent of leather and something darkly intoxicating mingled with the cheap perfume you’d hastily dabbed on earlier. His voice was low, smooth like velvet over steel, sending a soft tremor through you.

“By the way,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin like a whispered secret, “people call me Ghost.” He paused for a heartbeat, his words hanging in the air before he continued, softer this time. “But you, dollface…” His lips tilted into the barest hint of a smile, one that held both mischief and something deeper, something almost tender. “You can call me Simon.”

The name hit like a soft ripple in the storm, grounding him in a way that made your heart lurch unexpectedly. Ghost spoke of shadows, danger, and the unknown. But Simon? That felt real. Intimate. A name not given to just anyone, but to someone who mattered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze—hidden behind the mask but still piercing—seemed to hold you captive. His gloved hand reached out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw, light as a whisper, before retreating. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, unbidden.

“Simon,” you repeated softly, the name rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar ease, like it belonged to you now, like it carried a piece of him that he was offering. A nervous, fluttering feeling settled in your chest as his head tilted slightly, watching you with what felt like infinite patience.

In that moment, the world outside dissolved, the distant hum of the club fading into nothingness. It wasn’t about the suffocating glamor of the stage, the shadows of his mask, or the bruised dreams you carried in your heart. It was about him—a man who had given you more than just a name. He had given you a sliver of himself, something real, something raw.

The silence between you felt alive, stretching and pulling like a taut string, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged with something unspoken, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your bones. Your hand, almost without thinking, reached out. Fingers trembling, you lifted his mask.

And there he was.

The face beneath the mask took your breath away—not because it was flawless, but because it was human. His features were strong yet softened by a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. Scars etched across his skin told stories of battles fought and survived, and his eyes—those eyes—bore into yours with an intensity that felt like it could unravel your very soul.

You stared into the deep, stormy pools of his gaze, searching for the truth behind his promises. His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw not a shadowy enigma, but a man—Simon. Just Simon.

He leaned closer, his movements slow, deliberate, as though giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The world stilled, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his lips brushed yours in the lightest, gentlest touch.

It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of a hope neither of you dared to name yet. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a tender path along your jaw as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch melted the walls you didn’t realize you’d built around your heart.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice, low and intimate, broke the silence.

“You deserve more than this, dollface. Let me give you more.”

"Okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with a newfound strength. The simple utterance of his name felt like a key turning in a lock, freeing something long buried within you. His eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t expected—hope.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, more was possible. A life beyond the suffocating confines of the club, beyond the bruises hidden beneath layers of makeup, beyond the weight of a world that had always demanded too much of you.

Simon’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with an aching tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding as the last remnants of doubt began to fade. In the intimacy of the moment, the world outside seemed impossibly far away. There was only the warmth of his presence, the safety of his arms, and the quiet certainty that, whatever lay ahead, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And as his lips met yours once more, the kiss soft yet brimming with unspoken vows, you felt it—hope blooming in the spaces where despair had once lived.

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times PART 2 (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price + Reader x 141 Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.3k Summary: Some flirting, hot springs, a cosy cottage in the snow, and lots of sex Note: This is the part 2 I promise with lots of smut, enjoy!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, smoking, praise kink, heavy smut, fivesome, oral, PiV, light ass play, overstimulation, dom/sub vibes, aftercare, fluff

MASTERLIST // PART 1

It doesn’t happen this very night, but the day after. 

The men are a little bit more rested after their long trek out in the open, and they are all very enthusiastic when you suggest a short hike to reach the hot springs hidden in a small valley just east of your cottage. It’s too remote from the touristy locations for random people to show up there, or for amateur hikers to stumble upon by accident. You’ll be alone and safe. And warm - most importantly. And it’s also a convenient opportunity to see them half naked. 

The hot springs are tucked against the side of a small glade, where the snow melts to reveal rocky arrangements forming shallow pools. Steam hovers above the clear water, signaling its warmth. The afternoon is sunny enough to make the snow gleam, painting a decor so pretty even the rugged men around you remark on it.

“Gosh lass, you didn’t lie when you told us about this place” Soap’s voice shakes you out of your contemplation. 

“Hope you don’t mind but I did not bring a bathing suit for our snow trip” Gaz is already stripping down, ready to dive into the steaming water. You take a beat too long to respond, mouth open at the vision of Gaz’s very naked and very ripped chest, muscles of his back rippling as he’s trying to remove his boots as quickly as he can. 

“Don’t you worry, she’s seen a lot worse back in the days”. It’s Price who comes to your rescue, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes fixed on your face. Warmth pricks at your cheeks - and it’s not because of the springs. It’s true though, you’ve seen quite a lot of men in all states of undress during your previous life. Missions after missions after training sessions after stays in the infirmary, you all tend to lose any sense of modesty. A body is a body after all. Just that. You repeat yourself as you undress as well - still, you intend on keeping the two-piece bathing suit you put on under your winter gear before leaving. You also try to keep your eyes down as the men strip and sink in one of the natural pools with satisfied grunts bordering on moans. Their sinful sounds don’t help with the warmth already creeping up your face. 

The steam covering the surface and the warping of the water does a good enough job at hiding the most intimate parts of their bodies. It’s not enough to hide how massive their bodies are though. You catch the glimpse of reddish or silvery scars on a muscular back or on a corded forearm. Dark hairs are dusted on the large pectorals of Price and Soap, while Gaz and Ghost are more smooth. 

Ghost has kept his usual facemask, even though he traded the skull mask for a printed balaclava, with a wider opening, framing doe-like brown eyes looking intently at you under blond lashes. He’s the biggest of them all - and it’s saying something considering Price and the two younger soldiers are far from small men - the level of the water had visibly raised when he lowered himself into the shallow pool. He beacons you with a nod of his head, and you finally muster enough courage to remove the last of your garment - except for your bathing suit - and join them in the water. They’re nice enough to not make any comment on your choice of covering yourself while they are shameless in their nudity.

The enveloping warmth of the spring is a blessing for your body, immediately soothing the goose bumps you got from the cold. You let yourself relax until the little waves are lapping at your nape, free of the hair you carefully tied up earlier. Your whole body goes slack as you take deep breaths, and close your eyes, sun rays lazily kissing the skin of your face. On your right, Price is doing the same, and when you readjust your posture, your arm brushes against his, and then your thigh touches his leg. You don’t move away though, you both stay like that for a moment, the joyful chatting of Soap and Gaz on the other side of the pool, a surprisingly relaxing background noise. The simple contact with his skin is warming you up from the inside, the memory of the kiss he gave you last night making you unconsciously squirm against him, clenching your thighs together. You’re feeling… hot. And the temperature of the water is not the only thing to blame. 

“Stop it, love.” the warning is uttered in a low gravelly voice, that does the exact contrary of what it was intended for. Liquid heat blooms between your legs as Price pairs his remark with a solid hand catching your right knee, immobilizing your whole leg. 

“Stop it, or I will be tempted to catch on all the time we missed.” It’s still a warning, but definitely not a threat, his voice goes gentler, almost sad at the last words. Fuck. That’s what did it a decade earlier, what made you cave in to your attraction for this man, the intoxicating mix of confidence - in his skills and authority - and vulnerability - emotions and kindness just bubbling under the surface. 

You can’t let this chance slip. Not again. Last night, you stopped at kissing, even though you wanted more, and you’ve been desperately horny since. You catch his hand on your knee, guiding it higher along your thigh, until it reaches the hem of your bathing suit. “What if I don’t mind it?” you whisper back, angling your body to better face him.

You can see the internal fight on Price’s face. 

“They will see” he mumbles, looking above your shoulders to the three men chatting just a few feets away. 

“I also don’t mind that…” you answer against the side of his head, pushing the words out before you chickens out  “... do you?”.

“I did not remember you to be such a menace” he chuckles darkly, before one arm snakes around your waist and lifts you up so you’re fully braced against his side. His other hand dips under the band of your bottom to cup your cunt. Your lips part around a gasp. His skin is somehow even hotter than the water. The hand on your back climbs until it clasps on your nape, bending your head in the crook of his neck, at a not-so-successful attempt at muffling your sounds. 

The captain waits for you to settle before he dips the pads of his fingers between your folds, grazing at your entrance where they meet the sirupy evidence of your desire. The tranquil water is not enough to wash away the sticky liquid, and Price takes advantage of it to glide effortlessly up your slit until he finds your aching clit. You stifle another gasp when he starts rubbing it in slow circles. 

“Quiet love” He squeezes your neck, trying to remind you of your surroundings - and especially of your audience. You don’t dare look behind you, but you can imagine how you look. For Price’s men, it must look like he has you in a tight hug, which is telling already. But if you start moaning on top of that, it’s not gonna look like a chaste hug for long. 

It’s difficult not to though, because the length of you is plastered against his formidable body, your tits pressed on his chest, he has you straddling one of his thighs, and you can feel his hard dick pulsing against your leg. Your teeth bite into your lower lip in an attempt at staying silent, and you would be scared to draw blood if you weren’t too far gone. Price’s fingers keep their pressure on your clit while he keeps you pinned to him with nowhere to go, and you know you’re not gonna last. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms, to feel his warm skin, and underneath it the strong muscles that keep you at his mercy. Not when he remembers exactly how to touch you to make you shiver in pleasure in mere seconds. Not when his most loyal men are probably looking at you from the other side of the pool. The idea that they might actually be, that they might understand what their Captain is doing to you, that they might even get hard at the view - you feel so dirty at admitting it, but it is what really makes you go over the edge. 

You come with a silent sob, biting into Price’s shoulder, until he redirects your mouth on his own. He kisses you with a hunger, a desperate thirst, like it pains him to want you this much. You answer with your own passion, careless in your display of affection for him. Low whistles and impressed Damn, captain erupt from the three other men. You part from Price with a chuckle, still not daring to look behind you. Until you feel someone gently tugging at your wrist. 

“Don’t keep her all to yourself Captain” Gaz beautiful eyes find yours, checking if you’re okay to follow him. You’re pretty sure he’s the only one to be able to snatch something from Price’s lap without too much trouble. John grumbles something that is lost in your soft laughs as Gaz brings you back with him near Soap and Ghost. 

“Now, tell us a story from your time with our Captain, I’m sure you have some funny ones!” he offers, and you comply, not minding the fact Gaz’s hand is still on your wrist, absentmindedly drawing circles in your skin with the tips of his calloused fingers.

❄️

You get back to the cottage just before sunset. The heater is still broken, but it’s a blessing in disguise, corelling you all into the living room, where the nice warmth of the fireplace makes for a mellow atmosphere. Soap has managed to find your stash of scotch, a vice you don’t indulge often in, but you still keep a few bottles at hand, to celebrate happy occasions or cushion hard news. You guess your reunion with Price is worth bringing those bottles out. 

The evening feels like one of those too-perfect fuzzy memories, made of laughter, comfort food and enough of the brown liquorous beverage to dull the last of your awkwardness around those newfound friends. Price has procured a cigar, spicy smoke weighing heavy on your senses. Someone has chosen a vinyl from your collection and turned on the old record player. Slow tempo music with suggestive lyrics. Gaz tugs you up from the ground, has you two sway along to the song - he moves his hips with a disconcerting easiness. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but he’s happy enough you follow him. You laugh in the dance, and he gets bolder, holding you closer with each new chorus. It drives you crazy.

Your earlier release at the hand of Price is long forgotten, and your whole body has been on fire since you came back from the hot springs. You can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, every little touch to move you out of the way in the kitchen, to lead you to your seat on the couch, every time they lay a finger on your waist, your arm, or even your face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Everything they do to you makes you go crazy with want. Of course Price is the bolder of them all, large palms holding your hips while you step on a chair to reach something high in your kitchen, kisses stolen in the corridor, hungry eyes following your every move. 

He might be guilty of teasing you to death, but the three others are not that innocent either. And Price is letting them. He’s very clearly allowing them to flirt, watching with a small smile as they make you laugh, as they make you crave their attention. Yes, guilty, they are all guilty. And you’re their very willing victim.

Your glass is still in hand, your eyes are half closed. Ghost and Soap are sitting side by side on your couch, bodies relaxed, eyes on you and Gaz. Simon’s balaclava is bunched up on his nose, still hiding a part of his face, but allowing him to sip on his - yours actually - scotch. He’s watching you dance like you’re the prettiest girl in the club, although his hand is possessively holding Soap’s knee. You noticed they were close, but you did not expect this open display of affection. It means they trust you to some extent. It flatters your ego, makes you balance your hips more boldly.

As the song comes to an end, Gaz has you in a tight embrace with your back against his firm chest, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips so close from your nape, you wish he would kiss you there already. It’s not calculated, more instinct than wit, but you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, baring your neck to his mouth. It must be instinct from his part also, because he immediately takes the bait and lays a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. You leave out a shaky exhale at the sensation and sink a little more against him. He leaves another kiss, a little lower, going down where your neck meets your shoulder. And another one. It’s not about instinct anymore, it’s deliberate, it’s a clear choice. The gentle warmth of the alcohol, the smoke of the cigar, the tiredness of the afternoon spent in the water - it all makes your body pliant and your mind happily dizzy.

“Let us thank you for the stay, lovie” Kyle murmurs against the shell of your ear, his hands solid on your hips, leaving no doubt as to how they intend to thank you. The shock of his demand forces you to use your brain for a second. You kinda knew this was coming - you wished it too. But it’s one thing to fantasize about it, and another to live up to it. Your eyes fly open to Price, searching for his opinion on this. Not hard to guess he already had his word to say in the situation, but still. 

“Don’t look at me. It’s up to you darling.” His voice is thick, thicker than usual. “You can say no. At any time.” he adds, words carefully chosen. The fire in his eyes when you nod your consent matches the fire between your legs.

Price rises from his chair while Kyle stays glued to your back, holding you upright, like an offering to his Captain. John stands in front of you, locks eyes with you and takes a long inhale on his cigar. His hand catches your chin, and he bends toward you until his mouth is a hair away from yours. You willingly part your lips to let him breathe out the smoke in your lungs. You can’t take it all, and the smoke spills out, engulfs your field of view, drowning you in the smell you have learned to recognize as his. Something rich and spicy, heavy and masculine, powerful and his, his, his- 

Price takes advantage of the way the smoke makes you even dizzier to kiss you on the lips. A hungry kiss, mirroring the one he gave you when he had you in his lap earlier in the springs. Before you close your eyes to focus on the way his tongue is licking inside your mouth, you vaguely register Ghost getting up and taking the cigar from his captain’s hand to let it drop in the ashtray. You feel his giant presence, can feel him nuzzling at the top of your head, smelling your hair, fingers ghosting over your shoulder and upper arm. It’s becoming overwhelming very quickly to be surrounded by them, and if not for Gaz holding you upright against him, you’re not sure you would still be standing up. 

Simon’s fingers find their way down your arm, until he gently takes your hand. His hold is feather-light, leaving you the opportunity to retreat. It’s a stark contrast with the raw strength you know he’s capable of. Price reluctantly stops kissing you, his large palms still holding your jaw from both sides angling your face towards his lieutenant. He wouldn't want for you to miss the show of Simon’s tongue peeking from his rosy lips to give a little lick at the pad of your fingers. Once, then twice. He groans, content with the taste of your skin. A predator confirming he caught the right prey. Without any warming he engulfs two of your fingers in his mouth, and sucks on the digits like he’s trying to get to the marrow of your bones. But instead of sharp teeths, all you get is the strange feeling of warmth and wetness, the powerful swipe of his tongue - he’s the one shoving your hand in his mouth, yet you have the intuition the big bad wolf is just a lost pet looking for a master. You press your fingers on his tongue, and down, until your flesh is flush against his teeth, and you keep pressing. He has no choice but lowering down too, unless he risks hurting you. 

The hands of Price and Gaz on your body tighten ever so slightly, when Simon finally puts his knees on the floor. With just two fingers between his lips, you have managed to make the giant kneel at your feet. He’s gazing at you with glassy eyes, the black make-up fading on his skin making his blond lashes pop. 

Simon nuzzles against your legs, and despite him being on his knees, his impulse for action is still there. He pushes his face against your crotch, his balaclava is bunching up on his nose and the bump of the fabric is providing some nice friction against your clothed cunt. Definitely not enough to quench your desire, but it’s welcome. It’s visibly an offense to Ghost that you’re still wearing clothes, so while Price is taking your attention with passionate kisses, he removes your pants and panties, until you can feel the air against your tender flesh. You’re already dripping, you can feel it against your inner thigh.

That’s when Soap, who is behind Ghost, a hand under his balaclava, fisted in his hair, pushes his face against your weeping cunt. Simon gives your folds a broad lick, and you let a heavy sigh out on Price’s lips. Ghost is lapping at you without any shame, his wicked tongue goes everywhere, no inch of the delicate skin between your legs is free from his attention. You have to grasp at Price’s shirt to steady you, because you’re squirming from the delicious wet warmth on your cunt. Gaz is still behind you, supporting you upright. His hands have found their way on your ass, he’s playing with the supple flesh, fingers inching between your cheeks. 

“Can I touch you here?” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, and you nod your consent without second thought. He lets his broad hands wander fully between your ass cheeks, thumbs gently petting at your hole. Each sensation is not entirely new, but layered like this, happening all at the same time - it’s so much, intoxicating in the best sense. Ghost tongue in your cunt is making sinful noises, and you’re drowning in it all, body fully shivering between all of them. You feel a knot tighten in your gut with alarming speed, and you come for the first time of the night, moaning against Price’s neck. 

Price sweeps you off wobbly legs, and places you delicately on one of the mattresses. After this first orgasm, the warmth of the fire with the softness of the many blankets makes for a divine sensation. 

“All good love? Wanna keep going?” John asks, his blue eyes set on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

“Yes!” you answer with a fervor that makes the men chuckle.

“Wanna taste you too, hen” it’s Soap - he lies between your legs, folds them on your chest, so he can look at your cunt like it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, before starting to lick, drinking the juices from your previous orgasm. He’s eating you messily but with enthusiasm, spending some time fucking you with his toungue, his thumb pressing on your clit. Your soft moans soon fill the air. It makes him bolder, and he goes even lower, his tongue licking at your puckered hole, not searching to go in, but feasting on every patch of skin he can find between your thighs.

Ghost is kneeling again, this time next to your head. He bends at the waist to kiss your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. He’s disciplined in the way he kisses you. After Price’s hunger, it’s a clear contrast. He makes you submit to his rhythm and is not afraid to make you feel the scrape of his teeth on your already swollen lips. He’s precise, sharp, calculated. Unlike you, he can’t be easily overwhelmed, and if you can coax a reaction out of him, it’s only because he lets you. 

Soap has you come on his tongue, and you don’t even have the time to let your legs go down before Price hoists them on his shoulders. An undignified little yelp escapes your lips in confusion and surprise that John is quick to sooth. 

“Shhh love, I’m here, you’re ok.” his gravelly voice making you so insanely hot that it has you clench on nothing. You’re not empty for long though. He fills you up in one slow inescapable move. It burns, but in a good way, a searing warmth seizing your whole body. The stretch is a lot. It has you clamp up on him, in a vicious reaction circle. 

“Fuck, you’re… a… lot.” you whimper, eyes shut to try and focus on relaxing.

“Don’t fight it” you recognize Ghost’s voice. “You’re doing great, bonnie” Soap echoes. “Breathe, gorgeous” Gaz adds. 

You open your eyes to see the three men in various states of undress, lounging on the mattresses around you both. Their gaze is fixed on you both, eager for the show you’re offering.

“Look at me, love.” John falls on his forearms, folding you in two. He cradles your face in his big palms, demanding for your full attention - the blue of his eyes is so dark, yet they are shining, like you’re watching a night sky full of stars. 

“You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. I know you can take it.” He punctuates his affirmation with a delicious rolling thrust of his hips, that has your lips part around a soft moan. 

“So let me make you feel good”

You can’t remember a single time in your life when you felt this good. This level of passion, not only from one person, but from four men. They take turns and team up to make you feel good. There are too many fingers and tongues on your body for you to count - sucking at your tits, leaving bruising kisses on your neck, hitting the most sensitive places inside of you, rubbing at your swollen clit. They discover they love giving a spank or two to your ass to hear you cry out in surprise then laugh and groan when the gentle heat of the blow reaches your cunt. They tie your wrists with a scarf for a minute, so you won’t disturb them in the very important task of finding out which one of them can make you come the fastest.

You love what they do to you, but you also want to please - want them to feel a tenth of the pleasure they offer. You follow the trail of hair on Soap’s belly with your mouth until you reach the tip of his cock. You ride Price until the muscles of your thighs give out. You swallow every drop of Gaz’s cum. You let Ghost come on your chest. 

“you’re taking me so well” “look at you, so pretty” “there you go, just like that, perfect" "you’re so good for us" 

You bask in their encouragement, let your brain short-circuit with their heady dirty talk, let your body go floaty, your limbs grow sore, let your flesh bruise under ravenous lips, let your skin get covered in sweat and spit and cum and your own wetness. The night is not young anymore when you shatter one last time on Price’s cock. He gently lay down your legs from his shoulders where they were perched. You don’t have any strength left in you to protest when Simon sits between your open legs to lick you clean for a couple minutes, ignoring your soft whines of overstimulation. It’s Gaz who comforts you, letting you know how good you’ve been, that you need to let them clean you up. He gently pets your hair while Simon and Johnny return with a damp clean cloth and try their best at cleaning your skin, before cleaning themselves. 

They help you into a warm hoodie - it’s so oversized it obviously belongs to one of them. They feed you pieces of dried fruit, tilt a cup of water to your lips, cuddle with you in front of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire is the background to their gentle chats and laughs, and the occasional muffled moans when Ghost keeps his lips on Soap’s neck. The view is sinful - those two men, built like Greek gods, half-naked, kissing each other - it would be enough to re-ignite your desire if you weren’t feeling so sore. And yet there’s something more than lust between them, something tender you guess they don’t show often. 

You eventually drift to sleep against Price, his body solid and warm by your side. Just like old times, you think just before he gently kisses your forehead - and you fall asleep understanding that maybe love has no fixed timeline.

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Mafia AU!

Chapter 3: Epilogue

{A/N: Here's the link to my masterlist } Link under for ch 3!

Ghost thought that you had to be a desperate bloke that happened strolled in to the hotspot of mafiosos.

‘A muppet!’ As Price would like to put it, but oddly enough, you looked more like a sad and pathetic one than a desperate one.

He well knows the reputation this bakery holds in this city, and you just stumbling along here- cold to the bone and hot to the head- didn’t quite add up to him.

An itch in his brain you were for some reason, even more so now when his boss had called for an immediate meeting back at HQ, even though they had a mission to go out for that night.

He digresses, nodding in agreement to Price before going back into to get Gaz— who was currently negotiating with a worried Nonna and Nonno about your sudden presence at their place.

“Hey,” all three turn their heads to his sudden entrance, “Price says we gotta head back.”

Gaz nods, his gaze hardening in understanding- he caught a snippet of it as he came back down.

“Nonno, Nonna,” he smiles to them in appreciation, “we’ll come back tomorrow for her.”

They nod in understanding.

Nonno then follows up with a- “we shouldn’t be too worried about it, right?”

Ghost quirks a brow, making eye contact with Gaz, as if to gauge that— were you really just a nobody? Or somebody they should be concerned about?

Gaz then shakes his head, “you shouldn’t,” he reassures.

Nonno smiles in appreciation, “then go on your way then boys- we know you got your jobs to do.”

Giving one last goodbye to the two, and reassuring Nonna once again that they would be okay, they finally get to leave and meet up with Price by their car, who was was just leaning on it with a lit cigarette hanging at the side of his mouth.

“That took a while,” Price comments, his eyes not leaving the paper in his hand, to which both took interest in.

“Are we gonna have that meeting before the mission?” Ghost asks, ready to nick pick the hell out of what’s going inside of Price’s head at the moment but pouts internally, seeing him shake his head.

“Mission comes first,” he says assertively, “we’re already short time— and we need to wait for Soap.”

Gaz groans, “ugh, why does he get to be left behind!”

His boss chuckles, “you’re the better driver, Garrick.”

Gaz instantly perks up and Ghost couldn’t help the chuckle as he watches the man quickly run to the driver side and lock into his seat.

“Well, hurry up then— we better get goin’, yeah?”

They both rolled their eyes, doing the same and hopping inside well- making sure to focus up for this meeting with an underground kingpin.

“Be sure to check your six down there,” Price reminds as they near the entrance to the under ground bar and casino in the west-end side of the city— where the growing red light district started to bud and grow.

It was a pain to go here, but this was a hub for information aside from the usual sleaze bags and scum that drowns themselves into greed and lust.

Ghost now knew that this became a 2-in-1 mission, take out the kingpin wanker that’s currently cheating off of 414’s good graces, and to get intel on that…paper.

Once Gaz buzzed in that he locked into the target, he knew this was going to a breeze for them, “like clockwork” as Price would put it.

As if it were a daily occurrence to them, Price and Ghost quickly dispatched the Kingpin’s men one by one, while Gaz instantly knocked out the man who was sitting and drinking with girls in his arms. Those women screamed and instantly ran away, not wanting to be the next person Gaz’ll take out.

Just like that, they had this man tied up in a chair in his office, with Price leading the interrogation.

“So Pierre,” Price starts with an inquisitive grin, “how’s the business comin’ along?”

Pierre glares, thrashing relentlessly against his binds but Price knew he wouldn’t be able to get out, Ghost’s handiwork will never room for any kind of that possibility.

“Fuck off!” Pierre growls, “I said I was gonna pay next week!”

Price tuts, “did I say we agreed on that date?”

“Seems like he’s weaselin’ and havin’ too much fun boss,” Gaz grins from behind the man, hands fidgeting with a butterfly knife.

His boss nods and Gaz takes that as signal to throw the knife right by the man’s temple, barely grazing his ear and the skin near it, then landing onto the wall across from him.

“Whoops,” Gaz giggles, “my hands slipped!”

“You bastard!” Pierre shrieks, “I’m fucking bleeding now!”

“Oh, you’ll be being doing more than bleeding, ya wanker,” Ghost snides, whipping out his own choice method of getting answers from this man.

“I suggest you start behavin’ Pierre,” Price smiles, “or else that tiny scar would be the least of your worries.”

Eventually, they got the man to talk as Price finds his secret bank book with receipts of where all his and their money went.

Though that went well, on the other hand- getting answers on the paper were proven…futile.

Pierre insisted he never saw it and even double downs- unlike before.

Though Price is a the type of man who wastes time for anyone, so he nods to Gaz, and he is all-too-happily ending him with the displayed gun in the man’s office.

“Dispose him,” Price commanded and Gaz pouts, hating the clean-up work but goes on with it anyways.

“He’s lying,” Ghost mutters, “wanker was pissin’ his pants.” He had a knack for these things and he could tell the genuine fear that grew in the man’s eyes. His legs were bouncing more relentlessly, eyes constantly glancing back and worth— all the signs were there.

“Figured,” Price lights a cig and then huffs out a response, “was too quick to reply— too antsy for my taste.”

Ghost observes his boss and brother, that itch coming back in and bugging him even more that he had no choice but to scratch it.

“Can I have a look at it, John?”

Price turned to him, silently debating whether he should let Ghost know now or later.

He pinches his brows yet hands it over to him anyways, Ghost taking this opportunity and snatching it.

He reads the direction paper side first, looking at it oddly before overturning and—

“John what the fuck?”

Price nods, “I know.”

“We have to fucking go now.”

“No,” John glares at Simon, “we don’t.”

“And why the fuck not?!” Simon roars in his face because he knows John wouldn’t fuck them over with something so important, but at the same time was frustrated that he didn’t tell them sooner.

“Told you guys earlier,” John puffs another out, “need everybody to be together.”

“You weren’t kiddin’,” Simon mutters and he thinks about you happening to meet them at the front of the bakery again.

“Was it really from ‘em?”

Simon couldn’t really wrap his head around you and this goddamn piece of paper. It was hard to believe that you would pop out of nowhere, just to send ‘em this sweet nifty reminder of their past.

“Yes,” Price nods, “nabbed it from the purse myself.”

Ghost gives him a look, opening and closing his mouth before ultimately deciding not to say anything and just nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

“All done here~,” Gaz enters back to the room, wiping the sweat of his brow but immediately stops, his easy-going attitude gone with sensing the heavy air that permeated the room.

He sighs and leans by the doorway, “its the paper isn’t it?”

“We’re prioritizing this as number one priority now on the intel team,” Ghost decides, standing and leaving through the door where Gaz was.

“That was quick,” Gaz’s eyes rows jumped to his forehead, “number one?”

He sees him nod and Gaz just hums, looking back to Price who just seemed to accept it then and there as well.

“If that’s rolling,” he claps his hands and juts his thumb out the door, “let’s skiddaddle and hop on it, then?”

They both nod to his proposal and head back to the car.

Ghost was reeling in his emotions in the car ride back up until the meeting with everyone now present. Even with Soap at his side, squeezing his shoulder in comfort— his mind was a mess.

“What the fuck…” Soap drawls, head thrown back and hands weaved through his hair.

Silence hung in the air as everyone digested the information passed on from Price and everyone stares at that simple drawing of a horn.

“It can’t be him, right?” Soap’s elbows were now on the table but his hand were on his face, voice seeped deep into denial.

“Has to be,” Ghost mutters, legs thrown on top of the desk and crossed over each other while his hands laid on top of his lap. “Can’t be anyone else.”

“Unbelievable!” Gaz denies loudly by slamming his hands on the table, “do you think they’d be his lackey?”

“A bait,” Price interjects, “an innocent or passer-by that might just be a little too unlucky.”

“Unlucky?” Ghost scoffs, “there’s no such thing as coincidence boss— you of all people should know that.”

“That’s fucked up,” Soap comments before growling to Ghost, “you saw ‘em— sick and whittled to the bone!”

“The perfect candidate.”

Soap is immediately at his brother’s collar, pulling at it and putting everyone into a panic.

“Soap, Ghost- chill-!” Gaz immediately moves to part them.

“He’s being a fuckin’ wanker!” Soap grits.

“And you’re being a dumbass.” Ghost seethes.

“Everyone down.”

Price voice booms, cold as ice with his eyes steeling hard as he takes in the mess of the room. He waits for everyone to get situated again before talking, now standing before everyone with his hands on hips.

“Ghost.” He called out and he nods in response, “go with our initial plan.”

“Yes, boss.”

Ghost nods whereas Soap protests, though he was immediately silenced by both his superiors.

Back at the bakery, Ghost gets time to thinks to himself as he replays the scene of you and Soap go at it in his mind. With Soap even acting like a gnat with his stupid grin— all because of you.

You.

With the itch finally seizing, his mind is now clearer. Fully deciding how to treat you in the face against his family—

“You’re driving cara to the market district for me.”

Ghost turns to him as if he was even offended at the thought of doing it. With a glare and Nonno giving one of his own, Ghost knew he wouldn’t back down, so he had to look at Price who gave him a smile.

“Nonno asked you to, Ghost.”

He huffs, his chair making a loud enough shriek that makes you jump once as you get to the last step of the stairs, making you almost slip, catch yourself, then breath out a sigh of relief.

“Where to?”

He hears you ask Nonno, and he couldn’t be bothered to hear the rest as he approaches the door.

“You should get going sleepyhead,” Soap advised you, “he ain’t gonna wait for someone like ya’.”

You give him the bird before quickly chasing after the weird brooding man with a mask on.

“Get the fuck in already,” Ghost commanded irritatedly while he stares you crossing your arms in indignation.

“Can’t you move your stuff so I could sit at the front?”

He deadpans at your comment.

“No.” He clips, “To the back.”

He sees you huff and slam the door shut before opening the one behind it, sliding into the seat smoothly then buckling in.

Once he hears the click, he is revving it.

And dear whatever-deity-is-out-there hope that this wouldn’t be your final moments.

He hears you let out a sigh of relief once he cools down and enters the busy streets, letting the traffic be then turning to you for questions.

“Hey,” he calls for your attention, “you know anything about gangs or mafias?”

You shook your head no then follow up with a- “why?”

Ghost stays quiet for a moment, stewing in your response.

“The city’s full of people like us,” he decides to explain, “and that’s common knowledge.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “really? Did not know that…”

He hears your mumble and nods all the same.

“But what isn’t,” you feel him break the car suddenly and you slam into the front seat, “is that bakery.”

Your eyes couldn’t tear away from the glare he gave you, it was stilled onto you and you were afraid that even breathing in this man’s capacity would end you for good this time.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, “I got lost.”

“What a laughable excuse,” he huffs, leaning back on the seat, gaze now directed again at the traffic and you feel free to move now.

‘Now that Medusa’s eyes weren’t trained on me.’

“Well,” you shrugged, “up to you to believe or not but that’s what happened.”

You hear his growl of complaint so you shot him another before he could reply.

“I know you have your issues and I got mine,” you started slowly, “but I got nothing to do with it and frankly— I don’t care.”

You yelped back to your seat when he grabs your collar, pulling you forward and come face to face with him.

You tell that— from the way his nose was flaring, the crease on his forehead growing deep, and the frown that could be seen protruding through his mask- he was pissed.

“You would care if it involved your family.”

With a click of his tongue, he tosses you back and goes back to driving, the silence less palpable than ever.

Ghost can’t believe he lost to his whims, it was supposed to be an interrogation— he fucking stepped over a line he shouldn’t and his ass would be had by Price.

He told himself that he’d treat like an enemy but that seemed to be less likely, the more he learned about you during lunch.

Now, he isn’t confident.

And that makes his stomach churn.

“Then tell me about it.” He hears you speak, and just like that— the clouds parts.

“What do you mean?” He grunts, and looks up at the rear view mirror.

He was quite surprised at the expression you wore- it wasn’t one of resentment or fright, but a compassionate one.

An unfamiliar one, he notes.

“I don’t have family.” You put it bluntly. “So I don’t know how it…feels—“ your hands wave wildly about, “—so tell me about it.”

‘Oh.’ He sucks in his teeth. ‘That’s what you meant.’

It takes him a moment to digest and reply, and frankly, you were quite used to that reaction.

“Well…” you wait patiently for him to continue, “…it makes you feel like you care.”

And you nod, letting him know that you were listening.

“Makes you feel… like they’re a treasure,” he starts tapping on the wheel, “makes you feel… like you got treasure ‘em.”

“Like a pirate and their booty?”

He chuckles at your sudden quip.

“You could put it like that.”

From then on, you both continue throwing questions back and forth- letting you ask about him and the family.

Furthering confirming that you were just a passer-by.

Furthering proving that Price is right- you were a bait.

A quite unfortunate one at that.

Once you both get to the market, you turn to wave him goodbye, Ghost- shocking you- did the same, then pulling up the window and leaving as soon as he came.

Ghost wasn’t confident— but he is sure now.

He feels his stomach settle from lunch, making him sigh in relief.

The day was long and rough, and you finally got what you wanted— a place to yourself (for now) and a job (for now).

Once you got up to the room, you were surprised at how clean and homey it was— quite a stark contrast to the building it was held in.

From the carpet to the drapes, everything matched perfectly to what you would say a, “academia aesthetic with flora.”

Well, more like dead flora.

You digress, brushing that aside for the more important part was a good shower and some nice sleep— until the morning welcomes you again in the form of a knock at the door.

Opening it then gets you a,

“Hey shortstack! Missed me?”

Making you instantly slam the door and trudge back to bed.

A/N: A bit of in between moments during previous chapters with this one focusing on Ghost’s POV this time! Already cooking up the next one✨

Taglist! <3

@astreaaaaaa6 @accidental-obsessionist

[cod-thoughts]

And he stood by and waited to be called

Word count: 3.7k Relationship: NikPrice, PriceNik, Nikolai/Price Tags: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, surprises, anniversary

Price and Nikolai are supposed to be celebrating their anniversary today, what if Nik has to cancel last minute? What if he makes it up to Price anyway? Keep reading under the cut or on AO3 I've been working furiously on ghostprice week but i wanted to get something up before then so here we are! I just wanted some fluff and something wholesome its been a rough couple of weeks 0_0

John Price ran his fingers through his beard, inspecting it in the mirror under the bright, unforgiving bathroom light. He’d gone to the barber the night before, the guy taking care to trim his hair just right, shaping the beard until it was exactly the way Nikolai liked it. Price had watched in the mirror as the barber worked, the hum of clippers and the snip of scissors oddly soothing. He’d wanted it to be perfect, the kind of effort he didn’t make often, but today was special. It was for Nikolai, after all. The man who had waited, who had been patient through the endless nights apart, through the missions that had stretched longer than expected, through the calls that never came when Price got tied up in things beyond his control.

This morning, he’d taken his time getting ready, savoring every small step. He’d used that fancy beard oil Nikolai had given him on their last anniversary—the one with the cedar and sandalwood scent that Nikolai had said made him “smell like a forest, but a handsome one.” The words had stuck with Price, replaying in his mind every time he used the oil. He could almost hear Nikolai’s voice, that warm, affectionate tone, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he teased. It made Price smile to himself, a soft, private smile that lingered even as he moved through the rest of his routine.

He even went the extra mile, too, shaving away the rougher edges with a precision he hadn’t bothered with in a while, making sure every line was clean and crisp. The razor glided over his skin, the scent of shaving cream mingling with the cedar and sandalwood, and for once, Price allowed himself to enjoy it. This was, after all, their anniversary. Years of shared missions, flights, quick getaways, and late-night talks when the weight of command felt like too much, each adding up to something neither of them had ever quite expected. They’d found each other in the chaos, in the midst of everything else, and that was worth celebrating. It wasn’t just about the time they’d spent together—it was about the fact that they’d chosen each other, over and over again, despite everything.

After one last look, Price pulled his shirt collar into place, brushing his shoulders free of any stray hairs, adjusting the cuffs. It wasn’t fancy—not by a mile—but it felt good to put himself together just for the sake of it. For the sake of Nikolai. It made his chest swell with a quiet sort of pride, knowing that he could still find joy in the smallest of gestures, knowing that after all this time, Nikolai was still the one who made him feel like this.

As he strode out into the hallway, there was no hiding his uplifted mood. Gaz spotted him first, pausing with his coffee mug halfway to his lips, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Captain… you look sharp.” His tone was playful but warm, with an edge of real surprise. Price’s grooming routine was normally more utilitarian—efficient, maybe a bit rugged, if he was lucky.

Soap, however, was less subtle. “Christ, look at you, Cap,” he said with a dramatic whistle. “What’s the occasion?”

Price rolled his eyes, but he could feel his face heating, which only encouraged them further. Gaz gave him a knowing smile, and even Ghost, leaning against the far wall, raised an eyebrow, catching his eye with an amused nod.

They knew, of course. It was no secret that Nikolai and Price were together. It hadn’t always been easy—Price had grappled with it for years, all those ingrained habits and fears from a past where he’d never felt able to be himself, to be openly happy like this. It had been Nikolai’s patience, his kindness, that had chipped away at those walls, showing Price that he didn’t have to keep that part of himself hidden.

Instead of keeping quiet or dancing around the subject, the team encouraged him, embraced him in ways that went beyond words. They teased him, sure, but it was with warmth, with affection that made Price feel lighter than he’d ever imagined he could. After all those years of thinking he had to keep that part of himself locked away, he was here—respected and accepted not just as a captain, but as a man with a heart that belonged to someone else.

Soap, however, wasn’t about to let him go with just a blush, and brought him out of his reverie with an excited shout, “Hey, we should give him an escort!” He looked around at the others, his grin widening. “Make sure the captain here arrives in style. After all, a bloke doesn’t get gussied up like that every day.”

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I’m just overdue for a proper clean-up,” he muttered, trying to sound casual. But the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him, and he knew it. There was no hiding his excitement—not from the team, not from himself.

---

The hours passed, each task feeling like both a distraction and a countdown. Price moved through his duties with a kind of restless energy, his thoughts drifting constantly to the evening ahead. Every so often, he’d reach into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small, carefully tied pouch nestled there. He’d spent weeks searching for something that would be meaningful—something that would last. In the end, he’d settled on an old-fashioned pocket watch, the kind Nikolai had once mentioned fondly in passing. It wasn’t flashy, but Price knew it would suit him, a small reminder of them that could go wherever Nikolai did. It felt right—something timeless, something that held weight, just like what they shared.

He imagined Nikolai’s reaction, the way his eyes would light up when he saw it, the warmth in his smile when he realised what it meant. Price’s heart swelled at the thought, a small smile tugging at his lips as he made his way through the base. Each step felt lighter, each mundane task a little less tedious, knowing that at the end of it all, Nikolai would be there.

As the evening approached, he found himself glancing at the clock more often, anticipation bubbling just below the surface. He was ready early, his heart thrumming with excitement as he made his way back to his quarters. They’d planned to meet there—just the two of them, an arrangement that had quickly become a ritual on the rare occasions they both had the luxury of downtime. He paced his room, unable to sit still, a smile tugging at his lips as he imagined how the night would go. They’d share a quiet meal, maybe a drink or two, and just be together—no missions, no distractions, just them.

Then his phone vibrated in his hand. Price opened the message with a grin, expecting to see Nikolai’s usual playful greeting—only to feel his heart drop as he read the words on the screen.

John, I am sorry, my love. I will not make it in time. Got pulled into something last minute. I will make it up to you, I promise. Be safe. Love you, Mishka.

The excitement that had carried him through the day deflated, replaced by a heavy emptiness that settled deep in his chest. He stared at the message, rereading it as if somehow the words might change, as if maybe he’d misunderstood. But they didn’t change, and the ache that followed was sharp and immediate. He knew he should be fine with it. This wasn’t the first time duty had forced one of them to cancel plans, and he’d had to do it to Nikolai more times than he cared to admit. He knew the job always came first—had always come first. But somehow, the disappointment cut deeper today. Maybe because he’d let himself look forward to it so openly, maybe because he’d let himself believe that, for once, they’d have the time to themselves.

Price sighed, running a hand over his face, the freshly smoothed skin reminding him of the effort he’d put into this day, the way he’d hoped it would go. He tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but the ache in his chest lingered. He’d wanted tonight to be special—not just for himself, but for Nikolai too. He’d wanted to give them both a moment to breathe, to remind each other why they kept fighting, kept coming back.

He let out a slow breath, pocketing his phone and trying to gather himself. There was no use dwelling on it—he’d see Nikolai soon enough, and they’d make up for the lost time as they always did. But the ache in his chest didn’t ease, not fully.

Price made his way to the rec room where the team were gathered around a table playing cards. The room was filled with the sound of their banter, the shuffle of cards, the occasional clatter of a mug being set down. Normally, it was a comforting noise, a reminder of the camaraderie they shared, but tonight it felt distant—like he was watching it all from the outside.

He started making a cup of tea, his hands moving on autopilot. The motions were familiar, almost comforting in their simplicity. As the kettle clicked, Gaz sidled up next to him, nudging him lightly. “Everything alright, Captain?”

Price forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Change of plans,” he said, shrugging. “Nikolai’s not gonna make it anymore. Duty calls.”

Gaz frowned, glancing back at Soap, who was already watching Price with a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you come out with us?” Soap suggested, his voice unusually soft. “Just for a bit. Make a night of it, yeah?”

Price shook his head, his smile faltering. “Appreciate it, lads. But I’ll just finish up some reports. Been putting them off anyway.” He tried to keep his tone light, but even he could hear the strain in it. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden, to bring down the mood. The disappointment was his to carry, and he’d manage it as he always did.

He watched as the others exchanged glances but didn’t press. There was a kind of understanding in their silence, an unspoken support that made Price’s chest tighten. They cared, in their own ways, and even if they couldn’t change anything, they were there, grounding him with their steady presence. It was enough—it had to be enough.

They let him go with a quiet nod, and Price slipped into his office, burying himself in paperwork to fill the time, to ease the ache he didn’t want to admit was there. He worked through reports, reviewed mission details, anything to keep his mind occupied, but the hours dragged, each tick of the clock a reminder of what he was missing. By the time he finally called it a night, the disappointment had settled into a dull, familiar ache. He knew he’d see Nikolai soon—knew they’d make up for the lost time as they always did. But tonight, there was no denying the ache of that missing presence, the empty space that seemed to echo louder than ever.

By the time he finally headed back to his quarters, he’d resigned himself to an evening alone, the carefully wrapped gift weighing heavier in his pocket. He paused outside his door, taking a slow breath before opening it. He knew it would be empty, knew he’d have to wait a little longer to see Nikolai, but still, a part of him hoped.

As he opened the door to his room, he froze. There, standing by the bed with a small, mischievous grin and a bouquet of wildflowers in hand, was Nikolai.

Price blinked, his heart leaping at the sight. For a second, he could only stare, his mind racing to catch up with reality. The exhaustion of the day, the disappointment he'd pushed down, all seemed to vanish in an instant. He blinked again, as if to make sure this wasn't some tired trick of his imagination. But no—there Nikolai stood, just as real as the ache in his chest had been moments before, now replaced by an overwhelming rush of warmth.

Nikolai’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he saw Price’s stunned expression. “Sorry I did not message you again, I was in a rush,” he said, stepping forward, his voice softening. “I had to see this…handsome Captain, I am sure you understand.” He winked, his grin widening as he took in Price’s carefully put-together appearance.

Price’s heart clenched with something fierce—relief, love, gratitude—all of it swelled up at once, nearly making his throat tighten. He let out a breathless laugh, his lips curving into a smile that he couldn’t contain. Slowly, he stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “You… how…?”

Nikolai closed the distance between them, the flowers still held loosely in one hand. “Did you really think I would miss this? Not when you put in this effort.” He reached out with his free hand, his fingers brushing against Price’s cheek, tracing the line of his freshly trimmed beard. “I’ve missed seeing you like this,” he added, his voice dropping to something more intimate, something just for Price.

For a long moment, Price could only stare, his heart swelling with relief and happiness as he took in the sight. Then, finally, he let out a quiet, breathless laugh, stepping forward and pulling Nikolai into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the crook of Nikolai’s neck, his voice muffled but thick with emotion. “You sneaky bastard.”

Nikolai laughed, his arms coming up around Price, holding him close. He pressed his face into Price’s shoulder, breathing him in, the familiar scent of cedar and sandalwood filling his senses. “Did you really think I would let you spend our anniversary alone?” he murmured against Price’s ear, his voice warm and gentle.

Price pulled back slightly, just enough to look Nikolai in the eyes. He could see the affection there, the sincerity in every line of Nikolai’s expression. It made his chest feel tight, and he swallowed hard, nodding. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “But I… I wasn’t expecting this.”

Nikolai smiled, lifting the bouquet between them. “I believe these are for you, Captain.”

Price chuckled, shaking his head as he took the flowers from Nikolai’s hand, brushing his fingers over the delicate petals. They were a little worse for wear, some petals bent, a few stems slightly bruised, but Price found it made them all the more perfect. They were real, just like this moment, like the man standing before him.

“Wildflowers, Nik?” Price asked, his voice laced with affection. “You know you didn’t have to…”

Nikolai’s smile softened, and he took a small step closer, his hand coming to rest on Price’s hip, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. “No trouble, my love. Besides, I think they suit you. Strong, resilient… beautiful.”

Heat rose to Price’s face, and he looked away, huffing out a laugh. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

Nikolai came up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, pressing his face into the side of Price’s neck. He took a deep breath, his voice rumbling softly against Price’s skin. “Only for you.” He pulled away slightly, just enough to spin Price around to face him instead. He pressed a kiss to Price’s lips—soft, lingering, full of all the words they didn’t need to say.

When he pulled back, Nikolai’s eyes were gleaming with mischief, and he whispered, “I cannot wait to unwrap my gift,” his gaze running up and down Price’s form, appreciation evident in his eyes.

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite,” he said, his tone teasing. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small box there. “…or at least not yet,” he added quietly, holding it out to Nikolai. “I… I got you something.”

Nikolai’s eyes softened as he took the gift, his gaze flicking up to meet Price’s before he carefully unwrapped it. The wrapping was simple—Price hadn’t been one for extravagant touches—but it had been done with care, and that was what made it special. Nikolai peeled back the paper, revealing the small box within. He opened it slowly, and the soft click of the pocket watch filled the quiet room.

A look of quiet awe crossed Nikolai's face as he took in the pocket watch, its metal glinting in the soft light. He ran his thumb across the engraved initials on the inside, his eyes taking in every detail. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to still around them, and then Nikolai looked up, meeting Price’s gaze with an expression so full of love it made Price’s breath catch.

“John…” His voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion as he ran his thumb over the watch’s surface again. He looked back at the initials, tracing them gently. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly.

Price felt his heart swell, the weight of the day’s disappointment finally lifting as he reached out, his fingers brushing against Nikolai’s. The warmth of Nikolai’s skin under his fingertips grounded him, the way it always did. He smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Only the best for you, Nik.”

Nikolai took a deep breath, his gaze flicking back down to the watch, his thumb still tracing the initials. He closed the watch with a soft click, slipping it carefully back into its box before he looked back up at Price. “I will keep it with me always,” he said, his voice still thick with emotion, his eyes meeting Price’s. “Wherever I go, a piece of you comes with me.”

Price swallowed, feeling his throat tighten as he nodded. He couldn’t find the words to respond, not properly, so instead, he took a step forward, pulling Nikolai into another embrace. This one was different from the last—slower, more deliberate. He wrapped his arms around Nikolai’s shoulders, burying his face in the crook of Nikolai’s neck, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The weight of command, the responsibilities, the expectations—all of it faded, leaving just the two of them, wrapped up in each other.

After a long moment, Price pulled back, just enough to press a gentle kiss to Nikolai’s temple. When he finally let go, Nikolai smiled, a playful glint returning to his eyes. He reached into the bag he’d set by the bed, producing a small, aged bottle of whiskey. Its amber hue gleamed in the soft light as Nikolai held it up between them. “I did not come empty-handed either,” he murmured, his voice laced with that familiar warmth. “Thought we could have a proper toast, my love.”

Price’s face softened as he looked at the bottle, recognising the label immediately. It was the same whiskey they’d shared once before—on another night, one that had felt just as full of quiet understanding and love. He met Nikolai’s gaze, touched by the small gesture. “You remembered,” he said, his voice quiet.

Nikolai’s smile softened. “Of course I remembered.” He stepped closer, nudging Price gently toward the small table by the bed. “Now, let us toast properly, hm?” He poured a couple of inches into each glass, handing one to Price before raising his own. His gaze settled on Price, warm and unwavering. “To all our years, past and future, but there could never be enough time with you.”

Price felt a grin break across his face as he raised his glass, his heart swelling with a rush of affection. He clinked his glass to Nikolai’s, the soft sound filling the quiet room, and took a sip. The warmth of the whiskey spread through him, soothing the edges of the day, and he felt the tension that had lingered melt away completely.

They moved to sit on the edge of the bed, shoulders brushing as they savoured their drinks, the silence between them comfortable, filled with a quiet kind of joy. Price leaned into Nikolai slightly, their legs touching, the warmth of his partner grounding him in a way that nothing else could. He let out a content sigh, his gaze drifting down to where their hands rested side by side on the bed.

Nikolai seemed to notice the direction of his gaze, and with a soft smile, he set his glass down on the nightstand before reaching over, taking Price’s hand in his. He laced their fingers together, his thumb brushing lightly across Price’s knuckles in a slow, soothing motion.

Price turned to look at him, his chest tightening with emotion. There were so many things he wanted to say, but as he met Nikolai’s eyes, he realised he didn’t need to. Everything he felt, everything he wanted to say, was already there in the way Nikolai looked at him, in the way he held his hand, in the warmth of his touch.

Slowly, Nikolai leaned in, his forehead resting gently against Price’s. “I love you, John,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the words were just for the two of them and no one else.

Price closed his eyes, his heart swelling with a warmth that filled every part of him. He squeezed Nikolai’s hand gently, his voice equally soft as he replied, “I love you too, Nik. More than anything.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their foreheads resting together, their hands intertwined, the world outside forgotten. There was no rush, no need to move or speak. Everything they needed was right there, in the quiet space between them, in the love they shared.

When they finally pulled back, Nikolai grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief once more. He nudged Price gently, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Can I still unwrap you?”

Price let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he pulled Nikolai closer, their noses brushing. “Not arguing with that,” he replied, his voice low and affectionate.

Nikolai’s grin widened, and he leaned in, capturing Price’s lips in a kiss that was soft and slow, filled with the promise of everything still to come. Price melted into it, his arms wrapping around Nikolai’s waist, his heart full to the brim.

In that quiet, stolen moment, everything felt right. The world outside could wait a little longer; tonight, this was all they needed.

[lethalchiralium]

High Water | Happiness Series

a/n: okay guys, I have ONE MONTH left of school for the semester, THEN I WILL HAVE TIME FOR THIS I PROMISE. a lot has happened since I last updated, this was all written over a six month period and of course finished three weeks after my major breakup w my bestie of 7 years LOL ENJOY

a/n 2: and thank you always to @as-is-above-so-below for not killing me over taking forever to update and for letting me fall down her stairs and (separate incident) get a splinter from her floor LOL

warnings: military talk. TW: TORTURE

summary: Price has to make a difficult decision.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Night vision, gloved finger tensed on the trigger of his rifle. The back alley was secured, Soap kept two feet behind him at all times as Price unlocked the side door of the “abandoned” factory warehouse. 

Four pairs of boots were muted against the cracked concrete, rifles pointed upwards and watching for any hostiles in their way. The mission was to collect intel and neutralize any threats - hopefully this would deliver them to the target. A man who was a ghost just like Simon Riley, but just… tied up in debts that span decades. Expendable men were set in the center of the warehouse, a table set up with chairs, chips and cards strewn about the wooden surface. Silence was a friend to the Russian men’s killers, but not to them. A small radio lowly played some sot of music, it was melancholy and heavy on the sax. Blues, Simon reflected, fitting.

One Russian - wearing a white shirt and black pants, a deep purple bruise on his fair face - pulled a chair from the table, setting down a laptop on a handful of worn cards.

“Boss has two targets with him, they’re to be sold by the end of the week.”

The man with a green jacket shrugged, as he sat down too; kicking his feet onto the table. “Not sure if there’s a big enough market for screaming babies, друг.”

“We’ll be getting a big payout if we get them to auction before their family finds out.” 

Simon’s stomach clenched, he almost shot them both right there if it wasn’t for Gaz grabbing his arm and squeezing it. He couldn’t imagine it being you and the girls, it wouldn’t be anyway. Calm down. He focused on slinging his rifle silently over his shoulder, taking hold of the corner of sturdy boxes, wrapped up in plastic film. He hauled himself up, keeping his balance and grip focused on climbing up since the crate was the height of his shoulders. He placed his right foot on the top, pushing himself up before repeating the action with the next and final crate. It was routine the way he retrieved his rifle from his back, laying prone on the hefty crate with his finger parallel to the trigger and his eye in the scope. He was swift, it was second nature; his breath didn’t falter when Gaz settled on his torso beside him with his tact scope in his grasp.

“Bravo 0-7, do you have sight on the target?”

Ghost’s eye closed, the other focusing through the scope of his rifle. 

“Affirmative.”

There was a loud screech of the door Gaz was watching, Ghost’s chest clenched with anticipation as he watched the intel walk in - wearing joggers and a long sleeve shirt, talking loudly on his phone in Russian. 

“Soap, detain the target as soon as he is within range. Gaz, Ghost, drop ‘em as soon as Soap is clear.”

There wasn’t a beat of silence after that, as everyone launched into action. Johnny was quick to tackle the man, the other two dropped dead within milliseconds. His gloved hand seemed to cover the man’s whole jaw, fingertips pressed uncomfortably into the man’s skin. Ghost had dropped from his position in seconds and across the room in a few strides.

“Where is yer boss?”

Gaz slid a chair behind the man, Soap shoved him into it. Struggling hands were strapped to it, the man with dark blond hair and joggers spat out vicious words towards the skull balaclava. He barely caught Price snatching the open laptop from the table before he looked back to Soap and the hostage, the Sergeant dug his nails into the Russian’s face. The Lieutenant pulled a rag from his vest, watching them intently. The 141 was a well oiled machine, oiled with the saccharine taste of blood. 

“Where the fuck is yer boss?”

“You’ll never find him-“ Ghost shoved the cloth into the man’s mouth before in a flash, his knife found its new home in the hostage’s knee. The screams muffled, he leaned closer. The words spoken were low, but enough to elicit a snarl from the hostage before another scream.

Price only gazed at Ghost for a moment before looking back at the laptop, checking through folders for measly information. Gaz was stood by the door, watching for any  intruders - hand on his rifle, ignoring the muffled screams of the last threat alive in the room. But he wouldn’t be alive much longer with Ghost’s knives sticking out of his body like decorations. Don’t ask for mercy, my hounds won’t give you any, he remarked.

He looked down at the dashboard, seeing a browser left open. He clicked on it, seeing an encrypted chat log with the target and his right hand man - the man screaming for his life in the chair. 

Don’t be late

The damn baby is losing it

If I have to hear another word from this girl I’m going to kill her

Price is a stoic man, one hardened by war - barely scared of anything; yet, Price wasn’t prepared when he scrolled up. His heart shot straight into his throat, eyes widened by a fraction, his hand gripping the table could’ve broken it in half. He blindly grabbed his phone, taking a picture of the screen before slamming the laptop closed. It was secured between his arm and chest in three seconds, tapping a number on the screen of his phone before he walked past Gaz and out of the room. The building was secured, he knew that - yet, he felt the fear that he may be watched. The secure line droned on for only a moment before there was an answer.

“John?”

“Laswell. What the fuck happened?”

There’s crying in the background, he could recognize Winnie’s voice anywhere. They’ve been gone for three days. Nothing was supposed to get to Simon’s second chance, John thought he was sure of it. No, he was sure of it. He cased the house himself, did all the work to make sure one of their strongest and toughest allies would stay and protect them. What the fuck happened?

There’s a breath. “König’s been shot. Someone took Mellie and Y/N.”

“And the other one?” 

John’s stomach settled like concrete, weighing him down and making him sick. 

“She’s okay. She’s with us at the hospital. We took her to the park like her mother asked and when we came back, the door was kicked in, König was unconscious and bleeding out, and Mellie and Y/N weren’t there.” There was a pause. “There was a fight down here. König killed seven of them before going down.”

Okay. At least they could ID the bodies, link them to the mob - or at least, former associates of the mob. Any lead he could get.

If he could run his hand through his beard, he would’ve. It was a comfort, especially now that he has never felt this stressed in his life. Simon cannot know. Simon will destroy everything we’ve worked for to save them. 

“It has to do with the target.” 

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Their intel is here. I am holding their intel.”

“John, these men are Russian. They are escaped convicts in the mob, known associates of the target.” There’s a pause, a short yell from Winnie, and Laswell sighing. “König left one unconscious. Roach is interrogating him now on base.”

“How long ago were they attacked?”

“Yesterday.” Another pause, soft words from Laswell to who he assumed was Winnie. “Listen, I’m working on this, but I need you. We need Ghost to run the rest of the operation, and we can’t do that if you tell him about this.”

There’s shouting behind the door, screaming from the victim that Ghost was torturing. John looked down the empty corridor, knowing he has to go to keep his friend safe. 

“Because if they came after the girls, that means they’re coming after him. And they need him alive.”

His hand could have snapped that laptop in half. “He needs them alive.”

“I know, John.” 

There’s more shouting in Russian, a loud thud and more incessant screaming. 

“Keep this on the down low. I only need you. Make sure Ghost knows how to proceed.”

“With caution and safety off.” John murmured, muscles clenching in his chest. This is not going to end well. 

“Get back to Manchester immediately. I’ll call if we’ve found something.” The line goes dead, Captain Price slipped the phone into his pocket before taking a deep breath. 

He opened the door back to the room, being submersed in the victim’s screaming as Ghost’s black blade dragged into the muscles of his leg. Price shut the door, standing tall with worry on his mind. Gaz nodded to him, hands out for the laptop - John shook his head. 

“Lieutenant.” 

The skull mask didn’t look away from his target, the one screaming Russian that he didn’t know anything, stop, you’re hurting me, go to fucking Hell- Soap took the man by his throat, forcing his head back before spitting some choice words at his face. Eyebrows furrowed, Price tried again.

“Mactavish, take over for the Lieutenant.” 

The Scot nodded, hand ripping Ghost’s knife out of the man’s thigh - all that filled the room were screams. Ghost finally looked to Price, an enraged look in his eye as he stood and walked towards him. 

“What the fuck-”

“I’ve been reassigned.” The Captain spoke with an even tone. Nothing is wrong. Believe me, Simon, believe me. “You will be running this operation until I get this assignment under control.”

It seemed that anger swelled throughout the Lieutenant like a poison, invading every space of the menacing man. “What the fuck did you get reassigned for?”

“Diplomat’s wife and daughter have been kidnapped.” The lie slid off of the tongue like butter, smooth as easy to go down for some people. For others… it’s unsettling. Price was a good liar, it came easy, but his lieutenant was always able to tell. Not always immediately, but he will know sooner or later. “I have to run this. Are you okay doing this assignment-“

Ghost patted his Captain’s shoulder. “Got it under control.”

Price smiled, strained. “Knew I could count on you.” He glanced to the man in the chair; blood poured down his face. He then looked back to his Lieutenant, his right hand man with as straight of face he could muster. “We need to hurry this up. Only 10 minutes remaining.”

“Rog.”

•••

The front door was covered in a tarp, the front porch light on and curtains drawn. John Price felt the cold sickle of Death slide down his spine as he could see blood splatter on a home he once considered sacred. Simon’s home, your home, was under red tape, unknown to anyone the military who wasn’t close to Ghost. Simon created a home from nothing for his child, then opened it for you, then his new little one - God, was John proud of him. Creating a life more than worth living, in a quaint house that should have never been found - even when it was hidden in plain sight. Even the most holy grounds have had blood shed upon them. 

Kate knew he was walking up the steps, she always knew, so she opened the door enough for him to slip through. Instantly, he’s met with the remnants of the carnage of your entrance way. Bullet holes and stains of blood decorated the walls and floors, even when they had been mopped and wiped clean. Dents in the walls, the floor - John imagined the beast that was König wrestling some of those fucks to the ground, snapping their necks with the twitch of his wrist. He couldn’t imagine your screams, couldn’t think of little Mellie wailing in terror. 

Did you scream? Did they drug you? Hurt you? Did they dare to touch the baby? God, Simon is going to burn the world.

He looked to Kate, there’s a hardened glint in her eye. He handed her the laptop, which hadn’t been scanned yet - it would take too much time, they both knew that. She took it without a word, turning back into the front room. John strode forwards, stepping over the baby gate that was recently put there. He assumed it was to keep Winnie out of the carnage that was the front entrance, he continued on to the living room where he could see Alex sitting on the couch. A little head peered over the side of the couch and as soon as her eyes saw John, she stood at full height with tears instantly pouring down her face. 

“Unc’John!” 

His heart felt bruised then, the beat of it aching with every stride he took to her. He instantly plucked her from the couch, holding her to his chest as she loudly cried. “Winnie, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

“Where-Where’s Mummy and Mellie?”

John could only bear to mutter a soft, “We’re finding them, sweetheart.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that the bad guys got them, that her daddy couldn’t be the hero she knows she wants him to be because of John’s decision. He was quick to bring her to the kitchen - which seemed untouched compared to the adjacent entryway - and settled her on the countertop, right beside the sink. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet to the right, filling it with water before handing it to Winnie. The five year old took greedy sips, breathing through her nose as tears raced down her face. “Put the water down, love, you need to take some deep breaths.”

He took the glass back, only for her to reach for his hand - he took it, giving it a small squeeze. God, he can’t even remember the last time he had seen his niece cry, let alone sob. Had it been that long since she had gone without you? 

“Are you hungry? Tired?” He set the glass on the counter, seeing her hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. He squeezed her hand again, all Winnie could do was let more tears fall down her face. 

“Where’s Mummy?” She begged, John’s tongue felt dry. He hated lying to her, he hated not knowing anything, he hated seeing her bawl her eyes out. She didn’t witness anything, thank God, but going without you after not having to for years is terrifying to a little girl. “N’Daddy? Why-Why isn’t Daddy home?” Her hand squeezed back, much harder than she did before. “M’scared.”

“I know, Winnie.” His throat began to itch, he wanted to desperately tell her that everything would be alright - that today was just a bad dream she’ll wake up from tomorrow, that her parents will be here in the morning with her baby sister. He also wanted to scream at God and tell him that it was fucked forcing him into sacrificing Simon’s family for a stupid fucking lead, even if it did lead back to you and Mellie. He didn’t want to have the possibility of telling his niece that neither of her parents were coming home, instead of the off chance of one; he hated delivering condolences, but he wasn’t sure he could do it to a five year old girl who he has watched grow up. “I think we need to go sit down again.” A little nod and she was scooped up into his arms again, held tight as he walked back into the couch; Alex nowhere to be seen, which was fine with John. He took his normal seat at the end of the couch, resting little Winnie on his chest and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to lay on her. He tucked it in around her stomach, making sure to cover her socked feet before gently petting her hair. 

His eyes wandered to the TV, to the stupid blue dog show that she seemed to love - yet she held no interest right now. His eyes darted across the floor, seeing little firetrucks and airplanes and dolls scattered across the floor; then to the little mesh play pen that sat underneath the window, the blinds pulled up enough to where Mellie couldn’t reach, the strings tied up even higher. Soft toys and colorful blocks scattered inside of it, not to mention a few blankets and a pillow or two. Winnie’s been sleeping down here. She’s petrified. 

His gaze moved to the ceiling, hand gently patting her head with a calm rhythm. He’d lay here all night, way past when his back would get sore, way past when his legs would cramp, just to give Winnie some sort of stability. He refused to think about the possibility that he may have to follow through with his promise of being her godfather - he just never imagined that it might possibly be just Winnie, not Winnie and Mellie. The thought stirred nausea in his stomach, more than any whiplash, concussion, or shitty helicopter ride could give him. He had already made the silent promise to find you and Mellie, but just for tonight, his whole goal was to make sure Winnie isn’t more scared out of her mind than she already is. 

“Unc’John.”

He hummed at that, looking back down her. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Her little chin swiveled to rest on his chest to look up at him, her sweet brown eyes full of tears as she whispered, “I don’t wanna visit my Mummy at-at the cemetery like Mum G-Grace.”

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace.

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace. 

The words that leave his mouth are soft, spoken like a twisted prayer. “This isn’t like your Mum Grace.” His eyebrows furrowed, petting her hair back with a gentle touch. “I swear it.”

The five year old’s lip quivered, “Promise?”

John doesn’t promise anything, he never makes a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. He never dared enter the realm of uncertainty, knowing he could fail and hurt someone he cared about. Hell, he rarely makes promises on equipment orders for his men. He doesn’t even promise his mother anything, not since he promised he wouldn’t go into the military and did it anyway. But as he watched his friend’s daughter, his niece and goddaughter, sob quietly on his chest, he felt he had no choice but to nod. “Promise.”

At that, Winnie’s head finally fell to rest on John’s chest, he watched her eyes close as it was evident she had only held out to hear his promise. She had stayed awake to see and hear someone she trusted and knew well, she waited to close her eyes until she knew he would find you, even if she didn’t directly ask him to. 

John felt obligated to keep Simon’s family alive since he knew just how much the deaths of his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew nearly killed him, how the death of Grace and embracing fatherhood almost drowned him, and just how much his daughters and wife saved him from saying “Fuck it.” and stepping into enemy fire. Not only that, he felt obligated to you - to find you and Mellie, bring you home, keep Winnie safe too. You had many years left with Simon, John could see it. You couldn’t possibly leave Simon now, not when he needs you the most. 

John’s eyes blinked slowly, looking down to the dozing Winnie on his chest and holding her closer, reminiscent of when she was a small toddler sleeping on his chest when he babysat. Fatigue was catching up to him, the hours in the early morning were spent combing through data for the prisoner the 141 now in had in possession, and now - your kidnapping. Simon is a dear friend, John knew him too well to say otherwise. And he also knew that you, Winnie, and Mellie were his whole world - the monster Simon was, the one John had nurtured and cared for to create a weapon, was sitting dormant in the man’s ribcage because of the unconditional love he had received. John could never argue that Simon had “gone soft” because of it, Simon had weeping and infected wounds healed by the soft touch of his wife. The Captain’s previously abused and petrified weapon was now perfect, he was the epitome of the perfect soldier. But with the knowledge of his wife and child’s safety at risk, John knew what the military didn’t. 

“Captain.” 

There’s a reason your husband wasn’t alerted of your abduction. John Price knew the second he said that you and Melody were missing, Simon would rip his ribcage from his chest with the force of a thousand men to expose the monster underneath. The one you only hear about in movies, the one that is passed down through tongues to generations, the one you fear will come from the shadows to eat you alive. Simon Riley is what the Captain likes to call, the Monster Under Your Bed. 

“Captain.”

He grunted a little, looking over his shoulder to a stoic Alex Keller. “She’s almost asleep, Alex-“

“We might have a location.”

taglist: @idkwtftitbh  @blingblong55  @local-spidey  @sanfransolomitatm  @frazie99  @Awilan @cosmoscoffeee @khadeejarh  @babygirl-riley  @emi-flaces  @marini03  @jeannieboys  @koshehehe  @tutuwuworld @froggy-anon @cxltblood @egdeverauxx @freyjasfenrir @lexi-zsy09 @Hosshihusshi @Isopaine @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @domaniquessidehoe2 @iaur @starsinyoureyes @graciereads @urfavoritepookie @ghost-with-a-teacup @moris666 @ghostwifeyy @ziggy0stardust @live-love-be-unique @magoopi @coririley @lunyyx @sterlizx

[boozenboze]

Hello! I'm unsure if requests are open, if not please do forgive me! I've never done this before- Do reject this if you desire! >.< I wanted to know if you can possibly do- Task 141 x Male! Ghostface Reader, where he's almost identical to the original GF but with a twist, very snarky with his funny remarks despite seemingly being cruel and cold. He's an actual sweetheart when he's comfy around them? Mysterious as they have never seen a photo or proper description of him, as it's either n/a or classified- You can base him off the Danny Johnson Ghostface

An idea for this could be that he's a target from Laswell after various high-status politics suddenly disappear and she orders them to detain him and perhaps even acquire him as a potential ally only for the boys to get to the location and see him absolutely wreaking havoc, almost like a saw movie with how gorey and aggressive he can be? Then he just turns around and just makes a nonchalant comment on how cute they are for being so late? He's partially playful and monotonous with his raspy voice which turns out not to be a device but his actual one- Doing small pranks on the boys as they chase him around the establishment, clearly having the time of his life? Then when they manage to corner him, he's just passive- and he somehow manages to slip away with the promise of 'playing' with them again.

Hyped up on Spooky boys and I love your writing style!!! This has also inspired me to make a Ghostface COD Oc- LEMME STOP LOL -GhostyFaceAnon 👻

Whats Your FavoriteScary Movie~?

Tf!141 x Ghostface!Male reader

Females, She/Her and She/They DNI

A good horror story is made from true events.Luckily thats how M/n’s stories went and thats what made them terrifying.All of his stories would make others uncomfortable,unsettled and to top it off it would captivate the eyes of others.Though there was one part of the story M/n enjoyed the most

The climax

“So your telling me that these politics just disappeared with no trace?”Price asked Laswell,peering over her shoulder.

“Yeah, theres only a little footage of each disappearance. I was editing it and I was able to catch something.”Laswell said as she slowed the video down and pausing it when the figure in black showed up.They were now able to see the Ghostface mask the person wore.

“What the hell?”Soap muttered out, trying to comprehend what he was looking at.The male was sneaking up on one of the many politics that had gone missing before striking a pole across the mans neck.The man fell too the ground and that was the last thing they saw before the footage cut out.

“Do you know who could be doing this.”Gaz asked as he eyed the file that Laswell had been holding.

“I’ve tried but.”Laswell placed the file on the table before opening it.“everything on his file is either scratched out or theres just nothing there.”Laswell said as Priced pulled the file towards him.The only information that was given was the mans code name.Ironically it was S.C.R.E.A.M in all caps.

“This guy is the new Ghostface now or what?”Ghost asked as Soap chuckled.

“Well looks like you two are made for one another, both of ya are Ghosts.”Soap joked as Ghost glared at him in response.Gaz looked at Laswell for a moment before speaking up.

“Where are they hiding these people exactly?”Gaz asked as Laswell showed them a picture of a building.It looked old but it was oddly clean despite the moss that was forming on the front of it.

“I had someone get this for me since all the disappearances happened around this area.Its a crowded area but it has a high rate for people going missing.”Laswell said as Price hummed in response.

The building had moss all over it, and the screams of people could be heard from inside.One had passed out from shock and the others were whimpering or trying to get out of the chair that they were tied to.The room was covered in blood, there were weapons all over the walls, it was just a mess.

“Y-you know we can get pass all of this-w-we won’t tell a soul if you let us go!”One of them yelled out, only to be met with cold metal hitting their throat.

“What makes you think I’d believe you?”A disorientated voice spoke out while running a knife across his neck.The man was shaking now as he felt the tip of the knife be pulled away by the perpetrator.The man in the mask sighed while stomping his feet on the ground like a toddler.

“I’m so bored~!Oh!I have an idea lets play a trivia game!”The male said in excitement as some began whimpering in their chairs, shaking uncontrollably.The masked man made his way to the wall and scanned all of the weapons then smiled once his mic came into view.

“I have a question, whats your favorite scary movie?”SCREAM asked as he put the mic in one of their faces.

“T-the Babadook.”The woman muttered as the male who questioned her grunted in disapproval.

“The Babadook, seriously?Honestly what are peoples taste in horror nowadays”SCREAM said as he moved on to another.

“What about you, whats your favorite scary movie?”The question moved to the man tied next to the woman.

“Holloween you bastard.”The man spat out but was met with a whack to the head.

“No profanity jackass, what about you good sir.Whats your favorite scary movie?”He asked once more with a monotone voice, now eying the man who was still passed out.

“Friday the 13.”He kept his answer short, afraid of what would happen if he said more.The male began to chuckle under his mask as he approached the male who was passed out, still tied to his chair.He lifted the man up and dragrd his chair beneath a dim light that was hanging from the ceiling.

“Time for a trivia~!Answer 3 questions, answer one wrong your little friend dies.”SCREAM said threatening the others with enthusiasm.The man was about to explain the rules until the passed out man woke up and began screaming.The e/c eyes behind the mask looked unamused at the mans cries.

“Please don’t do th-.”The woman was cut off.

“Catagorey:Holloween, who was the killer in the Holloween movie.Come on now one of you have to answer!”SCREAM taunted as the other man blurted out.

“Micheal Myers!It was Micheal you sick fucker!”The man yelled as SCREAM gave him a round of applause.

“Good job....question 2 different Category: Friday the 13th.Who was the original killer of Friday the 13th.”

“Jason Voorhees!”The woman cried out as SCREAM sighed in disappointment.

“Darn, I’m afraid your incorrect.”SCREAM said in faux remorse.The womans eyes widened.

“N-no that is correct I’ve watched that movie to many times to know-“

“If you did watch it as much as you claim you’d know that the original killer is Mrs.Voorhees.”He explained.“Jason didn’t arrive until the sequel.”He continued as the woman shook her head in disbelief.

“Ah...I’m sorry but, seems like your buddy has to go!”SCREAM turned off the light that was hanging over the politician, and the sound of something ripping open could be heard as well as well as a scream.The light was turned back on and Scream was no where to be seen, although the only thing there was the politician, stomach ripped open eith his intestines spilling over his lap.SCREAM moved the males chair away from the light before grabbing the woman who was tied up.She began screaming at him, telling him that “he didn’t have to do this”, he didn’t care it was his job anyway.

“Come on now, the games have to continue!”The disorientated voice said as a smile crept upon his features.

The taskforce made it to the building, weapons loaded and all.The fact that this was just one guy they were dealing with, and they needed all of them together to detain him.

“Just how dangerous is this guy?”Gaz asked himself aloud as Ghost glanced at him.He himself was wondering what they were dealing with.This man kidnapped 4 politicians on his own without being caught, and weeks after their disappearances they’ve just now have gotten a lead on where they were.They began to walk inside but were immediately stopped by the piercing screams that echoed throughout the building.

“Ah shit, I think we may be to late.”Soap said as they approached the room that the scream came from.Price eyed them all as they all nodded in approval, ready to see what was going on behind the door.Price kicked the door down and held his gun up, but almost dropped it once he saw the gorey situation.The others came into the room and Gaz had to cover his noise, the metallic scent of blood and chemicals was prominent and would’ve given anyone a headache.All of the politics were dead, well, besides two.

SCREAM was sawing off the politicans legs off as the other one screamed at him through a gag.He was choking on his own blood due to being stabbed in the stomach multiple times, and was suffocating behind the gag.

SCREAM whipped his head around due too the click of a gun.

“Oh well you all came late how cute~.SCREAM said teasingly as he swiftly pulled out a gun and shot the man whose leg was being chopped off in the head. “Welp gotta go handsomes~!”He continued as he made his way past them all.

The politicians body slumped, already alerting them that he was dead.The team was stunned so the s/c skinned male made a run for it, and Ghost was the first one to snap out of the state of shock.

“He’s running down stairs!”Ghost yelled out as he ran after him.The male being chased slipped while running down the stairs and groaned when he hit the floor.

“Agh-Fucking SHIT!”The male yelled in pain as his ankle throbbed.He suspected he may have twisted his ankle but got up when the other male wearing a Ghost mask footsteps got louder.He stood up and limped away but his adrenaline was high so he started to run again but was immediately stopped by Price who turned the corner.Knowing that he couldn’t turn around he threw one of his knives at Price who dodges it, but it gave him a chance to run pass him,in which he did.He kept running but what do you know, Soap tackled him and they rolled across the concrete floor.M/n got up just as quick as Soap did.The Scot pointed a gun at the mask wearing male who crossed his arms.The others showed up shortly after finding their teammate.

“Hehe...hello?”The man said awkwardly as he backed away from the men who now had him cornered.His eyes scanned the area for an escape which none was there, besides the oh so conveniently placed window that had been opened for some odd reason.Ghost eyed the man up and down, taking note of the dark wear the male was wearing.His outfit had a lot of chains, some of them in which he tied the politicians with.

“Drop your weapons and come with us, don’t make things harder than what it is.”Price said calmly as SCREAM shifted in place.He had been inching closer the the open window and was stopped by Gaz who had noticed the males advances.

“Where are you trying to go hm?”The brown skinned male asked as SCREAM eyed him through his mask.Now that Gaz was upclose, he could see the soft e/c eyes that hidden behind the mask.His heart would’ve melted if he hadn’t known this was the guy that killed those politics.Important politics at that.

“Well I will go where I want if you’d get your pretty ass out my face.”SCREAM said jokingly as Gaz glared at him, blush beginning yo cover his cheeks at the word ‘pretty’.

“How about y’all let me go, and we go our separate ways eh?I mean we don’t want anyone getting hurt do we?”SCREAM asked threateningly as Ghost grunted.

“Can’t we just take him already.”Ghost asked gruffly as Soap looked up at him.

“If he co-operates this could be over with.”Soap said while looking back at the man in black.SCREAM eyed Gaz for a moment before pulling the males hat down to where he couldn’t see.

He then ran towards Price who was ready to pin him down but was startled when the male rolled between his separted legs and grabbing his hat.Once the hat was in his grasp he wrapped it around the man neck before running off.Soap and Ghost started running after him once more and SCREAM made the dumb decision to throw a bar of soap at Soap.The male groaned at the sudden pain on his forehead and stopped to rub his forehead that was now beginning to bruise.

Ghost was hot on SCREAMS tail as they were almost at the exit of the building.Ghost reached out to grab the males mask but stopped in his tracks when the male pulled a bookshelf down, blocking his way.

“Hey!”A monotone voice called out to the lieutenant who glared at him through his mask.He began to step over the bookshelf until the voice was heard again.

“Your shoes untied.”SCREAM said and Ghost looked down to see that his shoe was untied,but was quickly met with a kick to the balls.Out of pure reaction he retracted his movements to bend down and almost curl up.

“Sorry buddy.....I HOPE TO PLAY WITH YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS AGAIN SOON!”SCREAM yelled out as he left the building where the team was now left in bewilderment.The guy that had tortured and killed those politics thought this whole thing was some sort of game.Well luckily for him

THEY WERE GOING TO BE PLAYING ANOTHER TYPE OF GAME NEXT TIME😏

Pt.2