thinkingthougths

[thinkingthougths]

୨୧ friends with benefits concept

୨୧ these are for real just random thoughts abt fwb!with yan!simon

୨୧ Fem!reader, smutty, yandere, non con, kidnapping, simon gets off to tears

୨୧ simon knows he has something good with you, so he holds onto, so tightly and always ends up hurting his lil dove, he's happy to break your wings if it means you can't fly away from him.

୨୧ you're a sweet wee thing, much younger than simon and its like your from another planet. your thighs are soft and plush as his nails grip them so tightly, drawing blood as simon brutalises your swollen pussy. your puffy eyes and quivering lip only serving to spur him on, his hips relentless, hes positive your pretty pussy can take it. your bed is the warmest place hes ever known and now hes been spoiled, finding himself yearning for it when he's away.

୨୧ Simon's got a golden tongue, he'll get you into his bed with the promise of his head between your legs, degrading you for wanting more, or how he's got no one and you quell his loneliness.

୨୧ I think simon could only do this for so long before he snaps and kidnaps you. Simon aches in away that makes him uncomfortable and hes been too mean to his pretty dove for them to stay and as you stop texting, stop coming over to his at every opportunity, replace him with a guy closer to your age and probably doesn't make you cry every time you spread your pretty legs.

୨୧ he can't stand it. you've cut contact with him so now he stalks you round Manchester, until he hears your moving. leaving Manchester, leaving him. simon goes in panic mode, and you wake up handcuffed to his bed and gagged as simon figures out what cabin is secluded enough.

[thinkingthougths]

𝐀𝐱 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟖 - 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Fem Reader Zombie apocalypse AU (all parts here)

Watching the biters shuffle out of view, you can’t help but picture that uncomfortable image: the lifeless bodies of your friends, strewn around the soggy camp as a gruesome feast for the undead.

That’s what you’d surely find right now, if you could somehow teleport yourself to the middle of the brand new red zone. They were just left there to be torn apart. A decoy in death, distracting the biters for miles so their murderer could get away. Barbaric.

“I gotta piss.”

You gape at Gaz when he starts to shuffle out of the overhang, not a full minute after the last biter disappeared through the trees. 

“There’s biters!”

“Eh. They’re not as bad as people make out.” He leaps effortlessly down from the ledge, onto the damp leaves below. 

He may think they’re slow and stupid, but you’ve personally witnessed just how fast they can move when they’ve picked up a trail of blood. Perturbed, you’ve just sucked in a breath to argue, when you witness him shoot a quick glance at you over his shoulder, with a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.

Prick. Baiting you as usual. 

“Enjoy your fucking piss,” you call after him, and mentally add, hope you get your dick bitten off. 

He doesn’t even attempt to get out of eyesight, just puts his back to you and unzips in front of the nearest tree. Of course he makes you listen to the disgusting spatter of urine on the forest floor. Of course he’s that kind of person.  

Averting your eyes, you attempt to gather yourself together and take stock of your various aches and itches. Specifically, you need to check how your new boots held up to the journey overnight. They were remarkably comfortable, so if you’re lucky, you made a smart swap the other day. 

Gratified to find them perfectly intact, your eyes wander further up your body, and your shriek of horror bursts out so abruptly, it makes birds take flight from the trees.

“Fuck, what is it?” Gaz demands, whipping around and yanking at his zipper.

“What is this?” you half scream, half choke at him, clawing your coat off.

The concern on his face quickly drops away to boredom, once he realizes the source of your distress. “A fucking winter coat, that you won’t survive without.”

Throwing the horrible thing onto the ledge past your feet, you jam your hand into the dark crevice of rock and close your fist around a decently sized stone. “That. Is. Nick’s.”

“Got no use for it now. It’s not got any blood on it, if that’s what you’re–”

The impact of a well-placed rock thudding against his shoulder cuts him off real fast, as he’s knocked back a startled step. 

Blazing, furious eyes lock on yours, but you simply don’t have it in yourself to give a fuck. Quickly you grab a bunch of smaller rocks as backup, and sit there breathing fast, silently daring him to come after you. It’ll only take a second for your hand to whip around again and pellet him with pain. 

“That is not,” you growl through your teeth, “what I’m fucking worried about.”

He knows you have the high ground. He hasn’t moved a step towards you since you threw the rock, hasn’t looked anywhere but your face. You’re in the superior position, but you have a limited supply of rocks. Meanwhile his weapons are all up here with you, but you doubt you could get your hands on any of them before he found a way to settle the score. 

“Last will and testament,” he finally says, jerking his chin towards the crumpled brown coat. “Gave it to you. Told me so.”

The rocks in your hand shift around, as you grind them together in fury. “Did he, Gaz? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Said it was the least he could do for being such a disgusting sicko, wanking over you every chance he got.”

“Unlike you,” you sneer, your voice dripping with hatred. 

“Fucking hell. You finished tossing your toys out the pram? We’ve got to get going.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

He belatedly does up the button on his pants. “You really think you’re in a position to be going off on your own?”

“I’ll take my chances with the biters.”

“You won’t last the week,” he assures you evenly, hands on his hips.

The week. This is your last day not bleeding, and then you’ll be cramping and vulnerable, and you need someone to watch your back. Someone to find water, set up shelter, tend to your wounds. It’s slow, cruel suicide to have your period alone in the woods. You just can’t burn the bridge just yet. 

“I don’t want to wear that coat,” you finally admit, relinquishing your handful of pebbles back into the dirt. 

Your eyes drop to his face again, soft this time. Communicating how scared you feel, how innocent and helpless you are. It’s just one thing, your precious little blinky eyes tell him. Come on, Gaz, can’t you give in on this one thing? 

His face turns cold at your attempted manipulation, shifting his shoulder as if it hurts. “Go piss, woman.”

---------------------------------------

It’s like that for the rest of the morning. You don’t talk, and he doesn’t talk. You just ignore your half damp clothes, and trod on for hours. 

The food is nice. Without Doran’s usual rations, and with a burning hatred of Gaz, you quite happily munch away at a decent chunk of what you brought. That’s what puts you in good spirits. That, and stopping to brush your teeth. Clean teeth and a full belly is really all it takes sometimes. 

Until you start to actually pay attention.

“Why are we going north?” you demand suddenly, feet stumbling to a halt. 

“Because that’s the fastest way to get somewhere cold,” Gaz replies over his shoulder, not bothering to stop and explain. 

“Are you… kidding?”

You stare slack-jawed at Gaz’s retreating back, mentally scrambling to comprehend how many hours you just lost, going for so long in the opposite direction of where you’re supposed to be headed. 

It’ll take two days to make up for it. Two days on your period, when extra walking might be the difference between life and death, especially if it means skirting around the bloody camp. 

And Gaz won’t stop walking. 

“Why the fuck would you want to go north for the winter?” you ask, having to run to catch up to him. 

“Biters are made of flesh. What do you think happens to them when it drops below freezing?”

You scowl at the ground as you walk, considering. “They… freeze?”

“Safest place to be is up north. We’re just lucky the weather’s changing.”

Lucky, yeah, right. Switching the threat of biters for the inevitability of losing all your fingers to frostbite sounds fucking genius. 

You’re going to have to get away from him, or change his mind. There are no sanctuary cities in the north, so he’s leading you away to certain death, on some insane theory about frozen corpses. And every step you take in the wrong direction is a step away from the safety Doran was always so sure about. 

Gaz stops suddenly, forcing you to come to a halt as well so you won’t smack into his pack. 

“What?” you whisper, peering around his body. 

“Marsh lands.”

Gaz tests the ground in front of him, his boot sinking a few centimeters into the damp grass. 

Great. Wet feet.

“Walk in my footprints,” he mutters, beginning to trudge through the squelching mass of underbrush. 

You wrinkle your nose in distaste. “What? Why?”

But he’s already begun the trek, not sparing you a backwards glance as he makes his way through the swampy land. 

“I don’t think we should get our feet wet,” you call over at him irritatedly.

“You won’t.”

Somehow, he’s right. Most of the time he weaves around and manages to find the high ground as you go, and the only things you have to worry about are his stupidly long strides, and the occasionally strong suck of mud on your boots. 

It’s exhausting.

In no time, your thighs are burning with the strain. The only options you have are to press on, or to beg him for a break, and both of them seem so impossible that you just get more and more upset at the situation. 

Long step after long step, you dutifully plop your feet down in his stupid footprints, and the uneven land continues to run your energy to the ground. 

Shluck, shluck, shluck.

“Gaz,” you huff finally, stopping to rest your hands on your hips. “Stop taking such big steps.”

He doesn’t stop. The prick keeps going at the same relentless pace, bow notched in his hand and scanning the trees for movement. 

So fuck him.

You start walking at your own pace, well outside of his impossible footsteps. 

And like a total piece of shit, he hears your change in stride and turns to glare at you. 

You give him the same look right back, imagining plunging that arrow straight into his chest with your bare hands. 

“I need you to stay in my footsteps.”

“Why?” 

He glances pointedly down at your independent footprints. “Because you walk like a woman.”

“I don’t think anybody will care if they think a biter is following you.” The idea of Gaz being pursued by the undead is so comforting, you can’t help but smile coldly to yourself. 

“I said you walk like a woman, not a biter.”

“And I, actually, don’t give a fuck.”

Your breath catches as you watch his eyes narrow and a muscle in his jaw tick up and down. It’s not fear that’s rushing through you, it’s relief. It’s so nice to be able to cuss someone out for once. Someone who deserves it, more than anyone else you’ve ever met out here. You can say what you want, because it really doesn’t matter if he likes you or not — you’re fucked regardless. 

Gaz silently secures the bow over his shoulder, and takes a step towards you. It’s an effort to hold your ground without flinching.

“Are you hoping to be carried?” he asks sarcastically, but with a real threat of something worse, laced into the words.

You open your mouth to retort back something just as ridiculous, but then you think better of it, in a flash of divine inspiration. 

“Yes. Carry me, I’m tired.”

The bluff is set up so perfectly, because you both know there’s no way he can walk with you in his arms for more than a minute. He was banking on your aversion to touching him, and your pride, but he doesn’t know you, and he guessed wrong.

Gaz stares at you, and you look steadily back at him, raising your eyebrow in challenge.

He doesn’t say anything. Just steps up to your body, leans down, and scoops your thigh up onto his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you shriek, finding yourself suddenly half upside down, with his arm wedged between your legs, and one of your sleeves secured tightly in his hand. 

He shuffles your weight across his shoulders with a grunt. “Fireman’s carry. It’s the most efficient way to carry a fallen comrade. Or in this case, an insubordinate one.”

“I’m not being insubordinate, because you are not in charge of me.”

The earth rises and falls uncomfortably with every step he takes, jarring your bones and churning your stomach. 

“I admit,” he drawls, “not having you scheming of ways to kill me behind my back is a nice change, even if you are heavier than you look.”

Prick, prick, prick. 

There has to be something you can do. Some way to get back at him. In your anger, you scan the side of his pack for a weapon. There are only empty loops and a few carabiners visible, and the swaying handle of the ax that’s secured on the far side.

The ax. 

You’ve only got one hand free, but he can’t see what you’re doing with the other one. Every step he takes shifts your body slightly, and you swing your arm around to reach for the handle.

Sway. Sway. Sway.

Each time, it’s a hair away from your fingertips. Even when you start to strain, and risk Gaz guessing your plans, you can’t get a hold of it. You merely get the tease of the textured rubber handle brushing your fingers before it’s gone again. 

Step. Step. Step.

It’s infuriating to be so close to a weapon, and so helpless to reach it. Your attempts grow fewer and farther between, and you’re forced to content yourself with simply planning the murder in your own mind. You run it through so many times, you can practically hear the crunch of bones, the gush of blood while Gaz’s vile life drains away to nothing. 

Sway. Reach. Step. Step. 

Surely he’ll be losing his breath soon. He’s got to be hiding the exertion of carrying you out of pure spite, moderating his huffs of air to conceal what a toll it’s taking on him. You’re reduced to watching his ass shift and move with every step he takes, and only because it’s right below your face. 

He doesn’t even stink, this close to his armpit. Prick. 

Step. Step. 

Freeze.

Your name gets muttered suddenly, urgently.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Get me the ax,” he breathes, so quietly.

“Why?”

“Get me the fucking ax.”

“I can’t reach it.”

“Try.”

You glare helplessly at his ass. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the last hour?”

“…Fuck.”

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

[thinkingthougths]

best friend!johnny mactavish x f!reader SMUT

you know a regular best friend shouldn’t touch you like johnny does. unfortunately, you let him do it anyways. he always has to have a hand on you: squeezing your waist in passing, pinching your earlobe when you’re not listening to him, a hand on the nape of your neck as he walks next to you. it leads to a lot of confusion with others, but you love it, love knowing where your friendship stands based on how much he touches you. some might call it anxious attachment but to you it’s survival, having lived through toxic friendships with shady people. unfortunately, it also means whoever you go out to dinner, the waiters assume you’re on a date.

johnny told you to get dolled up so here you are in your favorite cocktail dress, his hand on your thigh as you eat at the bar. it’s better than any date you’ve ever been on, mainly because your favorite sports team is playing on the bar TV and you can burp whenever you want.

before you leave, the woman who’s been staring at him all night approaches. she’s pretty and when his hand drops from your thigh, your heart sinks. “excuse me if this is too forward, but are you two on a date?” you shake your head no before johnny can answer, already sullen. she smiles sweetly at you before turning to johnny, hands fidgeting adorably. she introduces herself and sticks out her hand, which johnny takes. “john.” he replies, and you frown, having never heard him use that version of his name. “i just wanted to say i think you’re handsome and was wondering if i could get your number?” johnny’s eyes flick over her head and land on yours, eyebrows raised. you freeze your facial expression, not sure what he wants from you. finding something in your eyes, he turns back to her and shakes his head. “‘m nae datin’ right now, lot happenin’ at work. ah appreciate the offer tho'.” he shoots her a charming smile and even though she’s been rejected, the power of it sends her flittering. “oh, it’s no worry! enjoy your night.” and with that, she takes her leave.

“you could’ve said yes. we’re on leave.” he shrugs, flagging the bartender for another round. “could’ve.” he buys you one round, then two, until you complain about having an early morning tomorrow (it’s a yoga class but you hold firm anyway).

he tells the taxi driver there will be only one stop, his address slurred out. “i have to go home, johnny,” you pout, making no move to tell the driver your own address. when the car stops at his place, johnny crowds your back, his chest pressed to the seam of your spine. you take his keys from his hand, a familiar dance of unlocking the building door and walking up the stairs, fiddling with his three locks until they all click. you toe off your heels and collapse dramatically on his couch. your stomach is heavy from dinner and drinks, eyes closing as you consider giving into an impending food coma. when you blink them open again, it’s too late. johnny’s shadow falls on yours, his weight smothering you into the couch.

“get off, johnny, i'm too full for this.” his head is flush to your stomach, a place he’s touched with hands but never like this. you thread your hands through his mohawk and half-heartedly try to push him away. “off.” he grumbles at your tone, giving in slightly to your ministrations as he slides down. your dress is rucked up to your thighs and you don’t realize it until the gentle fabric of his shirt brushes them.

“johnny…” he turns, eyes dark as his face presses into your lower belly. “ah can make ye feel good, hen.” he slides further, his nose bumping the gusset of your underwear as you remember how you forgoed shorts under your outfit. your hips buck at the sudden pressure against your clit, encouraging him further. “it’s jus’ me, lass. can smell ‘er from here.” you whine at his tone and the force of his gaze. johnny exhales onto the seam of your cunt, sending you shivering as his breath cools the wet spot on your panties. your core pulses, making the decision for you.

“ok.” you whisper. he yanks your underwear to the side, pressing his nose to your aching clit. you buck again but this time he holds you down, strong hands beating the muscle of your legs. his tongue peeks out and licks, the smooth glide of it a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. “taste s’ fuckin’ good.” he has to be lying but his eyes seem truthful, wide and eager like a puppy dog. your hand is still in his hair and you tug him up until his mouth finds your clit, sucking gently. “you’re a mutt, y’know that?” you slur, drunk on the power in your hands. all johnny does it nod and suck more, his thumb finding your hole and easing you open. he plays you like an instrument, adjusting his ministrations based on the sounds you emit. despite only one finger inside you, you feel full, and wet from johnny's constant touches at dinner.

your orgasm creeps up on you easily, core fluttering as johnny makes a mess of your cunt. you can feel wetness slip down onto the couch, but with how much johnny is enjoying himself, you don’t even feel embarrassed. the spell is broken when you hear keys in the door, unlocking it loudly.

“johnny, johnny, it’s si-", he cuts you off with another finger pressed into you, scissoring them so he can press your cunt closer to his face. you squeeze your eyes shut and when you open, a hulking mass of a man is trekking through the living room. “fuckin’ ‘ell, you two lost me a tenner t' gaz.” you can’t even respond, johnny eating you out with renewed vigor. with every lick and suck, he brings you closer and closer to the edge. simon opens his bedroom door and slams it shut, the sound of rock music drifting through his walls a moment later.

“fuckin’ squeezin’ ma fingers, bonnie. c’mon, ah ken ye want t’ come.” he rarely calls you bonnie and that’s what sends you over the edge. as your core flutters, you remember the other times he’s called you that. in a hospital room, cuts on your brow and your arm in a sling. in a desert with dirt in every crevice, a week without showering. and now, at the altar of your thighs, eating you like his last meal. johnny keeps licking at you until you tug him off forcefully.

despite you being the one to orgasm, he looks wrecked. lips red with effort, his stubble shining with your wetness. he gives you that same charming smile and you close your legs, never minding his fingers still inside you. “taste like heaven, hen.” you squeeze your thighs until he removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them like a lollipop. worry crashes over you like a wave as nerves buzz under your skin.

“is that- are we-“ you scramble off the couch, escaping to his bedroom with johnny on your heels. “‘s wrong?” your underwear is half off your legs and there’s wetness between your thighs and you’re worried that you’ve changed the one friendship you can depend on. that’s what’s wrong. you try to cover your eyes with your hands, but he doesn’t let you, tugging them so they’re pinned to your sides.

“doe, talk t’ me.” you sniffle, completely undignified. “i just- can’t lose you as a friend, johnny. you’re my best friend.” johnny kisses you, your slick wet on his lips. he pulls back before you can blink. “dinnae think anythin’ else, hen. y’r my best friend too. nothin’s changin’.” you frown, gesturing between you two. “what about…” he shrugs. instead of answering, johnny tugs your dress over your head. skilled hands slide your underwear down your thighs. he leaves for his closet and returns a moment later, a worn t-shirt in your hands. you put your hands up and he slides the shirt over your head in a practiced manner. “better?” you nod, still confused. “made us closer friends, righ’?” you nod again. “nothin’s changed, then. we make the rules.”

when you climb into bed, something feels wrong. he sleeps like usual, on his side with a bit of space between you. when you turn around, your back to him, it finally clicks. “you didn’t come.” you murmur. the bed moves as he shrugs. “‘ll get off in the morn.” instead of replying, your hand fumbles behind you until you find his stomach. he doesn’t stop you, allowing your hand to dip down into his boxers. his cock is heavy in your hands, thick and straining with effort. you scoot closer but the angle is awkward, your hand slipping as you try to put it in. johnny takes the reins, a large hand covering yours as he eases his cock into your seeping hole, still wet from earlier. johnny tugs you into him with a hand to your lower stomach, pressing against the slight bulge there. “sleep, hen, an’ i’ll fuck ye in the mornin’.” finally satisfied and full with the weight of him as your hole stretches, you sleep.

more best friend johnny here

[thinkingthougths]

-Ghost x female reader

3026 words

Warnings- none in this chapter I think

The haunting of a Ghost

Chapter 6

The warm body you clumsily crashed into starts shaking with a pleasant sounding laugh coming deep from his chest in amusement.

You stumble a few short steps backwards to get some space between you and the tall man currently peering down at you with brown eyes twinkling with amusement and a toothy smile. Your tense muscles loosened at the sight of Gaz, and the embarrassment and growing flushed cheeks from crashing into some stranger dissipated like a balloon.

“Just the girl I was looking for,” Gaz announced without even mentioning your little mishap, immediately turning around and nodding his head towards the hallway he just came from. “I’ve forgotten to give you back your charger and if I don’t give it back now I’ll forget it for weeks again.”

You’d lended him the good charger and left the broken, slow charging one for yourself to use. You meant to ask him about it a long time ago but you as well kept forgetting about it. Remembering things has never been your strong suit, to be frank.

On the short walk to his room, yes his room since he’s a high ranked sergeant and gets the lovely perk of having a private room all to himself, the lucky bastard, Gaz bring you up to date with different gossip that he’s picked up here and there throughout the week. Nothing over the top or particularly interesting or juicy, just some of the revolving rumours about who’s been hooking up with who. You never knew why people like to keep tabs on private matters like that.

His silvery voice carried on listing all the names that’s been mentioned in the gossip, telling you who’s who and where you might now them from with too much spirit for something so trivial.

The names left your ears the second the they entered while you kept inattentively nodding along to his silly nonsense.

Until he uttered a certain call sign you wish you never heard leave his lips.

Ghost.

You mindlessly repeat the name without even meaning to and Gaz becomes more animated over your unwillingly participation in the conversation.

“Yeah, can you believe it? First time I’ve heard Ghost mentioned that isn’t about how he scares the shit out of everyone on base.” Gaz lets out a breathy laugh, surprised at the fact.

“Can you repeat what you said?” You tentatively ask, staring down at your shoes while walking and attempting to seem not too interested in the topic so he won’t become suspicious of why you’re only bringing up Ghosts name and not the others he’d previously mentioned.

By now, you’ve arrived at the door leading to Gaz’s room. It’s a rather quaint room but nonetheless it’s private and what wouldn’t you do to have a bedroom all to yourself. Living in a big open space with several others is not as glamour as it may seem.

He invites you in to wait while he gets the charger.

“The talk of the town is that Ghosts been getting cozy with a woman, he’s been seen too many times by her side for it to be a coincidence because ya know, Ghost doesn’t favor being in anyone’s presence for too long” he said while unplugging the white charger. “Sadly I didn’t hear any name being mentioned when I overheard it.”

You’re hugging your elbows, mindlessly starting to scratch the skin in worry. A cold shiver swept over you and a heavy weight grew in your stomach at the image of Ghost being with another woman.

Could the woman he’s speaking of by any chance be the same woman you caught Ghost with? They were out in the open in the rec room surrounded by lots of people that more than likely took notice of their unusual closeness. Or perhaps Ghost has several lovers, different women that visits his room when the nights become lonely.

You hate that you feel a hollowness nestled deep inside you at the mention of the lieutenant being intimate with someone. Go away dumb emotions.

Gaz glances at you with a tilted head, noticing your distant look and uncomfortableness and you realize you should probably say something since it was you who brought up Ghosts name.

“I was just curious,” You blurt out, cursing yourself for not being able to keep up the act of being unaffected. Continuing to fall victim to the nauseating unease Ghost has evoked in you that erupts every time he’s mentioned.

Reaching for the metal handle on the door you inch closer to the exit, eager to leave before the facade breaks entirely and your good friend that knows your tells of lying figures something’s off.

“But you’re friends with him, can’t you just ask him if it’s true or not?” You try to lead him away from unraveling the truth of you and Ghosts obscure association.

The little glint of suspiciousness in his eyes disappears and a look of realization takes over as he snaps his fingers and lets out an annoyed sigh.

“I’m so stupid, I totally forgot that was an option.”

Your lips curves up and you sigh inwardly in relief at your successful diversion.

Gaz hands over the charger as you leave and tells you to save him a seat later during the meeting captain Price is holding for your assigned group.

Ah, yes. The monthly exercise that can last as long as several days is coming up. Anything from a fake mission where your peers can oversee and thoroughly judge your skills with a gun, to a week long stay in a high class military camp to hone your athletic prowess and attune your muscles. No matter what the exercise will turn out like, one things for sure and that is that everyone will be battered at the end and worn out to the point where medics are standing by ready to catch the ones collapsing from exhaustion.

It’s sort of become a competition between you and the rest of the soldiers, to see who can score the highest points but also to see who can survive the harsh environments you’re put through.

You remember when one particularly hard exercise took course over numerous days deep into the snow covered forest in the midst of a winter storm, when the end goal was to plainly survive it with the scarce means for help you’d been given. The majority of the group couldn’t endure the harsh weather and forfeited the exercise within a day, including you. The flashback of sleeping beneath a fallen tree staring at your blue almost lifeless shaking hands brings back no good memories.

It was actually Ghost who had located you after you fired of the emergency flare in the middle of an extraordinary cold night under a raging snowfall. He’d found you within half an hour and taken one look at you before dragging your stiff body up from the ground and told you to follow him. You’d never forget the sight of him towering over you with the skull mask obscuring his face almost glowing in the dark of the night. Afterwards, for several days straight, that image kept reappearing in both your dreams and nightmares.

You wonder how he’d react now. Would he help you or would he leave you to freeze to death hidden away beneath a layer of thick snow.

-

To keep up the promise to reserve a seat for Gaz, you were the first to arrive at the meeting room out of everyone, not even the captain had managed to be the first one as he usually is.

All the chairs were placed in a neat sets of rows and you sat your anxious ass in the row furthest back. Having no one behind you gave you a sense of security, no prying eyes in the back of your neck to make you feel uneasy. Having been the victim of Ghost intense stares has made you a bit more wary towards everyone.

It took a few long and boring minutes until the room started to fill up with soldiers, all eager and nervous to find out what this month’s training exercise would turn out to be. All murmurs ended abruptly when Price stepped inside, silencing everybody with his heavy authoritativeness. That man’s mighty presence took up the entire room and you could witness how everyone sat up straighter in their chairs out of respect as well as out of fear.

Gaz trickled in right after with his hands in his pockets, scanning the small crowd for your face. His face lit up when he spotted you at the back and the empty chair waiting for him.

He sneaked past the people sitting, reaching the empty chair and plopped down with a low groan before giving you an appreciative smile. Cracking his fingers he opened his mouth to speak to you.

“You’re gonna be thrilled when you hear what cap decided to do with your group this time.”

There was a smugness in his timbre voice and it had you immediately worried. The wink that accompanied it had you sinking lower into the uncomfortable chair with a weary sigh, earning you a small chuckle from Gaz. He already knew what this month’s task will be and clearly enjoyed seeing you anxiously trying to guess what it will be.

Everyone in the room except for Price and Gaz was on the edge of their seats, impatiently waiting for Price to begin the awaited reveal.

As Price cleared his throat, telling the group to end their chitchatting, he pushed a button on the remote that turns on the projector mounted to the ceiling. The former empty white board was now filled projections of a large map overseeing a massive forest alongside pictures of its dense thicket and uninviting nature. It’s resembled a jungle with the way it appeared to never have been touched by humans. No buildings, no roads.

“This right here,” Price firmly said while pointing to the multiple pictures, “is where you’ll spend 24 hours on your own while trying to escape a soldier that’s been tasked to hunt you down.”

The group starts to silently whisper to each other in response of what they just had learned.

You bite the inside of your cheeks, feeling unsure of what to think about the fact you’re going to be chased like an animal through difficult terrain, attempting to escape the soldier that’s going to be hot on your tails trying to catch you. An intense hide and seek, basically.

You wonder if they have already chosen who’s to be the prey and who’s to be the predator. If it were up to you, you’d choose to be the one doing the hunting.

“Your goal is to make it the full 24 hours without being caught. This stealth exercise is a solo test therefore you cannot give help nor receive help from one another. You’re on your own.”

Price continued to further explain the details and rules, emphasizing how everyone will fend for themself in their given part of the woods. There will be a good amount of space between each soldier to ensure no one will end up in another’s territory. The only one you can depend on in this test is yourself and how deft you are in the art of escapism.

You fail to see why Gaz seemed so chirpy about this. Sure, he’s probably happy he’s not part of your group and not the one needing to suffer through this and can stay back at the base rolling his thumbs while you’re stuck somewhere deep in a forest with nothing but the bare necessities. You glance at him, noticing how the faint smirk is still plastered on his face.

Nudging him with your elbow, you lean towards him and whisper with an accusing tone.

“Why do you look so pleased?”

His smirk grows and he merely shrugs before speaking. The mischievous glint in his eyes worries you tremendously.

“You’ll see.”

His words do nothing but raise the levels of anxiousness in you as you stare at him quizzically, unsure of yourself.

You have a feeling some crucial information has yet to been revealed so you return your attention back to Price.

“This month’s exercise will be merged with the training of other teams,” Price revealed. “We will be joined by higher ranked soldiers who will train with us to hone their skills in locating and finding targets.”

The air in the small room shifted as everybody processed the information bit by bit in silence.

Seconds ticked by without anyone uttering a word, unusual for this group of soldiers who otherwise always seemed to have complaints about the dreaded monthly exercise.

The words of Captain Price replayed back and forth in your throbbing head that’s doing it best to accept the fact this time you’ll be playing with the more seasoned soldiers that outranks you in all levels that matters. They won’t take it easy on you and they sure as hell won’t hold back during the pretend hunt. You can’t deny, however, that you feel a little bit excited about it, getting the opportunity to train with someone with more experience that will put up more of a challenge and push you to your limits.

The whole ordeal would probably have been rather easy and nothing out of the ordinary if it were one of the soldiers in your group that’ll be the one doing the hunting. Similar exercises have been done before and they’ve ended up being decent, you’d come out of it in one piece. But now you fear the level of intenseness might make you croak.

The chances of you, or anybody in your group at that, succeeding in this task is close to zero. Being put up against highly skilled men is hardly fair towards your group. But, unfortunately, it is what it is.

Just as you’re about to turn to Gaz to ask if this is what he acted so mysteriously pleased about, the door swings opens too roughly for the poor old hinges that painfully creaks. And who doesn’t walk in with the steps of a giant if not the man you’ve been hiding from.

Ghost doesn’t speak as he enters the meeting room. Straight away, without even glancing at the silenced crowd, he marches to where Price is standing at the front. His movement is almost robotic, attuned to being a soldier for so long that you can’t even imagine him moving in a leisurely way.

The second he takes his position by Price, he starts scanning the crowd seemingly searching for someone or something. Until he founds what he’s looking for at the back of the room- where you are sitting.

His dark eyes zero in on you with a burning intensity and a notion of something else; eagerness.

It sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips, the charged stare thats planted on you and only you. Even though you’re sitting at the back of the room, shrouded by rows of people, there’s no doubt in your body that it’s you his fierce eyes are fixed firmly on.

Momentarily, it feels like there’s no one else in the room expect for the two of you. He takes your breath away in a way that can be considered both good and bad. Because the line between lust and hate can be so minuscule thin it’s impossible to tell.

You gulp and shrink into the chair, attempting to hide away before said stare solders itself into your skin. Or before anyone else takes notice of the object across the room Ghosts eyes seems to have gotten stuck on.

Is it just you, or is it getting warmer in here.

To your side, you can feel the curious eyes of Gaz slowly moving back and forth from you and Ghost, clearly having picked up the weird behavior of his friend.

Damn it, you silently curse and pretend to have never noticed Ghosts stare by forcing your full attention on Price and his ongoing lecture. And it’s the hardest thing to do, to ignore the heated look directed at you.

“Each of you has been given an opponent from the other teams that you’ll be facing off in the exercise,” Price announced and pointed to the board as a list popped up. “These are the soldiers you’ve been paired up with. I hope everyone will find their partner to be sufficient since there will be no trading.”

Stark sunlight coming from the windows on the wall next to the board shines onto the projection, making the opacity weak enough for you to squint your eyes to be able to see the what’s written.

You eagerly scan each row of names in the column under your group, searching for yours and the selected person you’ll be competing against.

The ones who have already located their counterpart starts to fill up the room with loud discussions, and you take vague notice that there’s an unease in their voices.

What you fail to consider as you scour the arrangement is who the others from the joining teams actually are. That these soldiers that you were told were of higher ranking, and that you foolishly assumed meant they were still near your own groups level of accomplishments, were not just any soldiers. No, these particular soldiers carry more skill and experience than your group combined.

Blissfully unaware of both that fact and the pair of dark eyes that’s been staring at you all the time patiently waiting for you to see the name adjacent to yours, you finish the list and find your name neatly written at the bottom.

Your eyes move towards the right, eager to see the name of who it is that will act as your enemy in the hunting simulation.

You lose the ability to breathe and your face turns white as you read the name again and again to make sure that you’re actually seeing right.

There, written in bold black letters next to your name is the ominous call sign you least expected to see.

Lieutenant Ghost.

Taglist - @mamamayhem36

[thinkingthougths]

Johnny who took an interest in you for a while now, the pretty bird working as a bartender at some pub nearby.

He had put on his full charm, flirty smile, subtle touches, and every single pick-up lines he had already thrown your way but you seemed to be uninterested. Did you not see him as a man? Well, he'll show you.

He knew you as a sweet thing, always so nice and gentle with everyone, a pretty smile on your face as you greeted every patron, even going so far as to lend an ear to some broody drunks to vent their hearts away.

You looked.. harmless.

So he came up with a plan.

It was harmless enough, evil.. but harmless. He managed to convince Simon to scare you a bit, to follow you late at night after your shift was done, to approach you and make you feel threatened for Johnny to swoop in and save the day.

Easy enough, right?

That was what he thought at first. So imagine his surprise when he heard Simon's pained grunts from where Johnny hid. Feeling concerned of his friend, Johnny came out only to see you easily overpowering the strongest man he knew.

And as Johnny stood there, seeing you pinning Simon to the ground, a knife to his neck with you on top of him-- Johnny thought to himself when was the last time he felt this horny.

Man, how he wished he was Simon right now.

Simon was probably hard too rn

[thinkingthougths]

surreal/psychological horror + Soap where you agree to house sit for a coworker when they take off for a vacation. but a man shows up and tells you he's supposed to be staying there too.

their son, he shrugs. came home on leave from the military. crashin' here. thought mam might'a said somethin'.

she didn't, but it's fine. and he's harmless. sort of. maybe. you're not sure, really. because he's a little pushy. has a wild temper that ebbs and flows at intervals you can't really keep up with. tempestuous. mercurial. but he makes dinner. he tells you about what he did—not all of it, but some. like why he was sent home as he gestures to the raw scar on his temple.

need some tlc, he quips with a sharp grin. and lucky him because he found the prettiest little doe waitin' fer him.

harmless. a soldier. you can trust that, right?

but he stares at you with a naked hunger, like he wants to eat you alive. but it's gone when you really look. and sometimes, things go missing. your clothes. panties. odd stuff around the house. he hides the newspaper in the trash before you can see it. says the cable is out on the television—Netflix only. no news. he can't—he can't bare to see it. trauma. you wouldn't put him through that, would you, doe? no. you're a good girl. the best.

(at night, asleep. a nightmare; his rough voice in your ear: his good girl. so good for him. so wet—)

and it's just three weeks.

you'll be fine.

(—even though you taste him in the morning. on your lips. your tongue. the back of your throat. salty, bitter. but—there's a pack of salted licorice on the table. fifteen pieces, it reads. maybe you ate them. fuck, got such a pretty mouth, doe. you count each piece. gonna make me cum. fifteen. it's fine. it's fine. there's an ache between your thighs. a tenderness you lie to yourself about as you ignore the stickiness pooling in the gusset of your panties. fuck, doe, ahm gonna—)

absolutely fine.

until your coworker calls after finally getting cell reception. chatting in your ear about her vacation. normal. totally normal. and her son? you tell her. he's been a real help around the house, too (but she should maybe talk to him about sneaking into your bedroom at night because that's so weird, it's so strange; you don't want to wake up to a man staring at you in the dark, or catch the scent of sage on your pillow anymore, the lingering heat—please tell him to stop doing that because when you do, he just gets a weird look on his face like you're the problem, and it's just all so—)

"what son? we don't—we don't have a son—"

the phone line cutting out doesn't really surprise you. and neither does the creak of the floorboards. the solid weight of a chest against your back. the press of metal. a warm, firm palm folding over your throat, anchoring you in place.

a soft, mournful coo:

"ah really didnae want ye tae find out like th', doe. ah thought we had time together." his hand tightens. breath heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. "but we gotta go, doe. it's time for us tae leave—"

(maybe you should have pushed back harder against letting him hide the paper, or barring you from watching the news. you might have seen a familiar face.)

[thinkingthougths]

Tongues and Teeth

Can’t stop thinking about professional hockey player!John Price and dentist!reader who is always horrified when he comes in with a new chipped tooth so have my most bizarre ficlet yet…

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about hockey or dentistry

~1.5k words, nothing explicit but it’s… intimate, sensual undertones

The smack of the plastic gloves against your skin as you tugged them on announced your presence in the tiny room. The small pieces of hair that have come out of your bun sway as you shake your head disapprovingly at the sight of him reclining in your chair. “Have you got any real teeth left, John? This is your third visit this season.”

His smile is lazy and amused, the chipped canine tooth on full display, when his calm blue eyes meet yours. “Nice to see ya, too, Doc.” He’s all too comfortable in the chair, work boots crossed and hands resting casually on his stomach. You’re used to tense and anxious patients, not this, but Price’s dental record was enough to make you cringe when you first saw it so you can only suppose he’s become completely desensitized to visits to the dentist. 

You inhale and exhale through your nose sharply, prepping your tools as you turn your back to him. “I wish I could say the same but I want to see you on the ice, not in my chair.”

“You a fan, love?” He asks, eyebrows raised. His smile widens a bit, eyes crinkling.

You level him with a steady stare over your shoulder as you consider your answer. It would be a terrible idea to fuel his ego. For God’s sake, he’s a professional hockey player. He doesn’t need any flattering- the press and fans do enough of that. 

“No,” you decide to answer, voice a bit flat. “But my dad is. He has the game on whenever I’m over for dinner. Now, open up. Let me see what I’m dealing with.” The rolling chair sinks gently beneath your weight as you settle into it, the wheels of your chair spinning smoothly across the flat, cheap flooring tiles when you move towards him.

Even when he complies with your orders, opening his mouth wide enough that you could fit your whole fist in his mouth, there’s something smug and self-satisfied about him that irritates you to no end. You can’t place exactly what pisses you off about him, perhaps his disregard for his dental health? Or maybe his carefree attitude? The fact that nothing seems to phase him?

Tentatively, you push his lip up slightly with the tip of your gloved finger to study his chipped tooth. The timidness in your touch must be obvious because he stiffens, almost like he’s holding back a laugh. It’s enough to embarrass you. You try to avoid meeting his eyes though you know from experience that he’s definitely staring at you. The closeness puts you on edge. He puts you on edge. 

It won’t be too difficult of a job to fill in the chip but with his profession, you need to make the filling as strong as possible. Gently, your gloved thumb grazes the chipped area, eyes flickering to meet his and gauge his reaction as you pull your hand back from his mouth. His eyes only crinkle in response. “Was tha’ supposed to hurt?” 

“You’re lucky it doesn’t. Means the puck you took to the face didn’t cause any nerve damage.” The sharp remark is just an attempt to hide the fact that you’re quickly losing control, like you always do in front of him.

He almost looks offended, scoffing as he adjusts in the chair, the cushion crinkling beneath him. “You know it wasn’ a puck to the face.”

Pleased you managed to get under his skin, you smirk as you get up to grab what you need, completely unaware of his eyes lingering on your ass in your loose blue scrubs. “The truth isn’t much better. A fight on the ice? It’s a bit childish to get violent over a sport, don’t you think?” 

His laugh is loud and rough, sounding like it comes from deep in his chest. For whatever reason, your lips tug into a bit of a genuine smile at the sound as you stand on your tip toes to get the supplies from the highest shelf. He rumbles from behind you with a few dying chuckles, “Suppose you got a point there. So, you do watch my games, doll?” 

Damn it. There’s no way to lie your way out of giving him the satisfaction that okay, yes, maybe you did watch his most recent game… and all of the others before it since he started coming in. Returning to your chair, you set the supplies down, the metal gently clinking against the tray. 

“Out of concern for a patient, yes, I did. Open up.” 

You ignore his all too pleased expression that you’ve essentially admitted to watching his games with bated breath, peeking out from behind your hands clasped over your face when he gets in a fight pressed up against the glass, always torn between wanting to know and being terrified to watch. 

“Can’t do anythin’ from that distance, Doc.” With his large palm on the back of the chair, he pulls you far too close to maintain professionalism. You’re caught off guard by the sudden movement, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. Even he seems surprised by the sudden contact, not making any snide remark as your cheeks flush and you swiftly sit up properly. 

Out of sheer principle, you don’t move back, refusing to be flustered by him as you shoot him a quick glare. “I can adjust myself.” Desperate to hold onto some sort of control, you reach for his jaw, gloved fingers splaying out over his bearded cheek as you gently push down on the divot between his lips and chin to get him to open up. 

He complies but you feel no less in control. You’re grateful for the medical mask over the lower half of your face, separating you from breathing the same air as him, unable to feel the warmth when he exhales from his nose and shifts into a more comfortable position. At the very least, his teeth are perfectly clean despite all the fillings and caps preventing the chips from getting any worse.

The work is difficult to settle into when everything about him sets you off. Your arm hovers over his chest as you carefully mold the resin to his tooth, the heat practically radiating from his body. It’s the anticipation of a touch that won’t come- that’s what’s making you so tense. Some part of your body waits for contact when you’re so close to another. 

And the contact comes. His tongue sliding against your gloved thumb in what you hope is an accident but know better than to truly think so. The firm glide of his tongue is muted by the plastic guarding your finger but you freeze for a brief moment nonetheless. If he’s trying to rattle you, it’s working, a heat rushing through you in response to the stroke. He’s messing with you and you know it but.. You refuse to let your thoughts wander down that path.

It feels like an eternity before you’re done, finally able to breathe as you pull away, rolling your chair back away from him. “How’s it feel?” You ask him as you unhook the straps of the mask from around your ears.

That damn tongue of his flicks around the newly fixed tooth, licking down the long canine with far too much control and pressure to be unintentional. All the while, he maintains eye contact. He flashes you a charming grin, his legs falling over the edge of the chair as he stands. “Perfect, doll. Knew you could fix me up.” 

He gives your shoulder an appreciative squeeze, his hand heavy, large, and warm even through your scrubs. You swear you feel his thumb swipe over the strap of your bra as he lifts his hand. “See you next week, love.” All you do is nod dumbly up at him, too shocked by the touch.

It’s not until he’s out of the room checking back in at the front desk that you process his words. Next week?!

———

You’re in your dad’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on a dish. Absently, you hum to yourself as you work. Your dad is watching the game but from what you can hear of his snores, he’s been passed out for a good ten minutes. The drone of the sports announcers drifts in from the next room over. 

“… The ref has stopped the play but that doesn’t mean Price stops. Think we’ll see his infamous temper here?”

“Oh, absolutely, Adam. He’s getting far too close to that goalie. And-…”

“That was a stellar right hook! You don’t even get this sort of action in the WWE, do you?”

“Absolutely not. This is a real fight, ladies and gents…”

Your eyes widen a bit as you process the words, walking into the living room with slow steps only to see John’s bluish image on your father’s cheap TV screen. His grin is wide as if to show off the missing tooth on the right side of his mouth. Clearly, he’s won whatever fight he got himself into but you can only stare in horror at the hole in his smile. 

Smug as ever as he takes in the wild cheers of the crowd, the bastard has the audacity to wink directly at the camera. Because he knows you're watching.

“For fuck’s sake…”

The cute lil borders are by @cafekitsune !! I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts- this longer writing is new for me!

[thinkingthougths]

A thotty thought about a Mr. John Price below, 18+, female!reader

Price is the type to casually cup your mound with his hand. 

You’re laying on the couch with him, back leaned against his chest, your ass perched on his thigh and legs slotted between his parted knees. And his hand is just pushing its way between your thighs, casually resting between your legs.

And it is casual for him, just as normal as wrapping his arm around your shoulder or rubbing his hand against your waist. It’s not intended to be a sexual touch (but it is a plus if you just so happen to get wet enough that he can feel the dampness through your clothes).

He’ll tell you it’s just because it’s a warm spot, his hand squished between your plush thighs, and maybe that’s part of it but you know it’s feeding his possessive nature to be able to have his hand over your most intimate area while the TV drones on and he nurses his whiskey with his free hand.

If you whine or gently push at his wrist because he's being such a tease, he’ll shush you and press his hand against you more, palm rounded against your clothed sex.

“Shhh, lemme hold ‘er.” His voice is a gruff sound in your ear as you shift a bit on his lap, trying to ignore the way his voice makes everything inside you flare with heat. He presses a ghost of a kiss to your temple before his warm, cigar-scented breath fans over you as he speaks again, “She’s mine, isn’t she?” He punctuates this with a gentle tap to your pussy.

You better give him the right answer to that or he’ll spend the rest of the night proving it.

Please don’t tell me you can tell I’ve never even held hands with a man romantically lol… baby's first smutty fanfic

[thinkingthougths]

you’ve got a certain captain wrapped around your finger and he’s more than glad to be there.

it’s a celebration of your one year on the team, drinks galore at your favorite local dive in london. johnny insisted on a half-circle booth and as the person of honor, you’re smack dab between him and your captain. your captain who’s been paying your tab all night long, waving off your hands as you try to reach for your wallet.

“lieutenant, give us a dance.” gaz says with a smirk on his face. ghost, on the other side of johnny, is one too many drinks in to move, which means it’s john’s turn to scooch. except he’s leaning his head on the worn wooden backing of the booth, lost in thought. he’s seen you naked in safe houses and shared showers, so why does it feel so obscene to lift yourself over his lap? there’s barely space between his massive thighs and the table, necessitating callused paws to guide your hips over his own. it’s the scrape of denim on denim, your ass firmly over his crotch for a whole second, before he pats your hip to push you all the way. “thanks, cap.” you turn with a glimmer in your eye and he dips his hat like a gentleman of old, making you giggle in your drunken stupor.

you used to hide reactions like these, suffocated by the rigid emotional walls of the military. but now, the team’s given you a safe space to be yourself: a titan on the field and a human with emotions off it.

gaz bows to ask for your hand and you accept with a curtsy. the two of you are the best dancers on the team (not a hard competition to win) and entertain johnny with twists and turns on a dance floor of your own making. he calls out instructions in that grumbly accent of his, causing you to cry with laughter in gaz’s arms. two things happen at once: you go down on the dance floor and simon lurches off the booth. johnny catches him with quick reflexes but you’re not as lucky, landing in a pile of gaz’s limbs and your own.

someone strong lifts you up with hands tucked under your armpits, inducing a ticklish squirm you subdue with years of experience. gaz is up without help, pushing simon back from the other side so he’s straight up again. “righ’ l.t., time to get ye home.” johnny’s strong but the weight and uncoordination of a drunk simon requires gaz’s help as well. “happy anniversary, angel!” he yells out as the three stumble out of the bar and (hopefully) back towards base.

“think he’ll be ok?” despite your alcohol levels, you whip around back towards john, throwing him off guard with raised eyebrows and hands out to steady your shoulders. “man’s a human tank. i’m more worried f’r gaz an’ soap. you ok?” you nod convincingly.

sure, in your year on the team, it’s been necessary to touch your captain. hands brushing over your shoulders as he reaches for his favorite coffee cup in the highest cupboard. fingers crossing as you pour over reports into the wee hours of morning. a fist bump here and there. he slaps his men in the chest but with you he squeezes your shoulder, a movement with longer contact and more thought required. tendons and sinew coming together to acknowledge your own with practiced hand eye coordination. you don’t read into it - he’s just avoiding touching you in an uncomfortable area. you’re familiar enough to initiate it first, a friendly squeeze to his bicep after a rousing pre-battle speech. but touching him has never been like this.

you ask him to become your new dance partner and he does, hands cradling your waist with splayed fingers. your own on the breadth of his shoulders, hard and never ending. instead of the joyful twists you did with gaz, john rocks you slow and steady to the crooning beat of an 80s love song.

“didn’t know you could dance, cap.” he shrugs and it echoes through your grip on him, magnified by a hundred. “every man should be able to waltz.” there was a word he wanted to say after his last and you can’t figure it out, the staccato ending bitter in your ears. instead of pressing, you’re content to sway back and forth. it calms your spinning brain. “got any loved ones yer celebratin’ yer anniversary with?” it’s an oddly personal question, but you doesn’t acknowledge its strangeness. you sway a bit with him before answering, stepping a half foot closer.

“my family and i are celebrating on my next leave. i would celebrate with my close friends, but it’s hard to explain my position without telling them classified information.” he nodded knowingly. the music changes to a faster song but he keeps your peaceful tempo, his chest brushing your own through your well worn civvies. “no’one else?” you shake your head before realizing the implications of what he’s asking. there hasn’t been anyone else for a long time, even before you joined the team. work was busy. once you joined, it felt somehow wrong to seek companionship outside of the four men who’d been gifted to you. one more than others.

“no one else, cap.” his fingers are tracing the small of your back. you can’t tell if he knows or not. before he can say anything, you turn the questions on him. “you got someone you’re going home to?” his eyes meet yours, dark blue and smoldering. “got everythin’ i need righ’ here.” you jump a little at his words. they sober you up instantly as you realize you’re slow dancing with your superior, prolonged eye contact past what’s socially acceptable. he doesn’t let you go too far, tightening his grip on your waist. “had ‘nough?” you nod and clutch your stomach for the full effect. “take me home?” he grabs his coat and dumps it on your shoulders, the intoxicating mix of pine, soap and musk seeping into your pores. john leads you back to base with a hand on your back the whole time.

-

“c’mon, got t’ make sure you’re tucked in alrigh’.” he’s in your barracks room, private thanks to the privilege of your position. you don’t sit down on the bed but he does, seemingly exhausted by the night’s activities. “i knew you were old, but wow.” you nudge his foot to make him look up. when he does its like he’s aged five years, with a scruffier beard and deep wrinkles. “john?” you’re drunk. that’s why you say his name, why you reach out to smooth a crease on his forehead. all the while he’s quiet, content to let you play with his face.

“i’m sorry about last month.” it rolls off your tongue unbidden.

(last month. half a bottle of whiskey in his office. your ass on his desk, his hands on your waist. his beard meets your chin but before he can kiss you, you turn, letting his lips meet your cheek. “i’m sorry.” it comes out as a gasp. he doesn’t say anything, scraping his beard against your cheek. “don’t worry about it.”)

“why’d ya say that?” he murmurs. you shrug. “you seem agitated in my presence. thought it might help.” he gives you an old man groan, peeking an eye out from his hat as you giggle. “y’r killin’ me sweetheart, so i’m askin’ this once. you into this or not? i’ll go home right now.” he’s closer than you thought, almost face-to-stomach.

you pull him closer by his beard until he’s resting against your torso. the angle has to be unflattering with how you’re looking down at him, but he’s not running away screaming. “are you into me even though i turned away?” he bites out a ‘yes’ automatically. you owe him an explanation.

“i got scared. i don’t want to jeopardize my place on this team.” in a move credited to a boot camp instructor somewhere, he flips you so you’re under him on top of the covers, arms pinned by his own. “y’r permanent on this team. no matter what.” you blink at him unbelieving. “laswell picks who comes and leaves. my words are jus’ a suggestion. i’ve barely any influence.” you hardly believe that but when he’s on top of you with these sapphire eyes, it’s hard to deny him.

you kiss your captain slowly like you’ve been wanting to do for months. he captures your bottom lip with his teeth, sucking like he owns your mouth. the pace ebbs and flows, from sweet to possessive in a matter of seconds. “john, oh fuck, john.” you pant out in between kisses. he moves to your neck, sucking the soft skin there. “you gotta promise me.” you nudge him until he gives you his hand. you twist him into a pinky promise, something he didn’t know existed. “i promise, baby. now let me give you your anniversary present.”

-

idk what this is. i’m tired and hungover. pls enjoy.

[thinkingthougths]

𝐀𝐱 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟕 - 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Fem Reader Zombie apocalypse AU (all parts here)

CW: Reader is hit in the face

It’s a moment every animal knows — the instant you comprehend that you’re in imminent peril, and your brain makes the decision between fight, flight, or freeze.

It’s not a conscious choice that propels you to act, but you do. You smack your fist down as hard as you can on top of his knuckles, over and over amidst a mindless frenzy to wrench the ax away from his control, digging your knees into the dirt and heaving—

You get free so suddenly, the momentum lands you flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you in one solid whoosh. If you were a trained fighter you might know that this is when you have to move, even when you feel like you can’t. You have to kill him now, before you can even draw a breath, before he has a chance to recover and retrieve your only weapon.

But you’ve never fought anyone in your life, and in those few seconds of panic over your lungs locking up, Gaz materializes on top of you.

His arms are trembling, even as he efficiently pins you to the ground. You can only assume it’s his muscles giving out from the exertion of killing half a dozen people in the span of an hour. But his fingers are iron, clamping around your wrist in a way that shoots a sharp pain through your arm, right as you’re able to suck in your first gulp of oxygen.

The agony is too much. Your hand spasms open, and you’re forced to drop the ax with a yelp, as invisible splinters of repulsion shoot through your nervous system.

You can’t get away.

He’s touching you with his murder hands, huffing his hateful breath into your neck as he flings the ax out of your reach, landing in the grass with a soft thump. The fact that he doesn’t want to immediately kill you with it sends another, stronger wave of dread through your belly. You’re alone out here, surrounded only by the corpses that are proof of his cruel nature.

He’s so heavy, and you’re so tired.

Gaz seems to sense the change in your body when you give up. Your muscles go limp as tears of despair prick at your eyes, and all you can do is turn your face away from his.

“You,” he pants, loosening his grip to restrain you mostly with his body weight, “are not an easy person to find.”

Tears begin spilling out over your nose, even as you screw your eyes shut as tight as you can. You walked right into his trap, and it’s all your fault.

Now you’re both shaking. You’re both high on adrenaline and low on energy, vibrating against each other while he catches his breath and decides what to do with you. Your thoughts should be racing, coming up with escape routes and plans, but they’re not. You’re locked onto the one inevitability that’s been nipping at your heels all these months: you’re dead.

Fate has finally caught you in a misstep, and you’re going to die now. You can’t help but picture the worst case scenarios, flipping rapidly through your brain like a horror movie highlight reel, terror closing up your throat.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead.

Gaz is saying something, but you can’t process it. The air has become too thick to breathe, too thick to hear or see. Stuttered half-sobs wrack your chest, cramping your muscles into tight knots. Desperately you try to suck more oxygen, breaths coming faster once Gaz’s weight lifts off of you. You lay there uselessly on the ground, light-headed and tunnel visioned with despair as you gasp over and over—

Smack.

Pain radiates across your face so suddenly, all the autonomy shoots back into your limbs like a lightning bolt. You’re not sure if it’s the sting that brings you back, or the blind outrage that he just slapped you.

“We’ve got to go,” Gaz orders.

“W-what?” The hot imprint of his hand throbs on your cheek as you blink stupidly at the shadow above you.

“There’s blood everywhere, we’re going to have biters here in an hour. I’m not going to hurt you, just— just fucking breathe, idiot. We’ve got to move.”

You can feel his knees on either side of your thighs, feel his arms shaking beside your shoulders like he’s just hunched over you, waiting for reality to sink into your brain.

Finally you find your voice, even if it’s a weak, disbelieving croak. “You hit me.”

”Sorry.” He doesn’t sound at all sorry. He sounds urgent and annoyed, as if he resents the two seconds it took to say it.

Helpless tears well up in your eyes again. You should never have survived this long, this was a mistake. You should have let the first one get you, when you watched that fresh biter stumble around your apartment lobby for the first time. Should have offered your own flesh and given up immediately, to avoid all of this.

“I don’t have any tampons,” you whisper, swiping at your eyes.

“Got them packed away. Come on.”

Finally Gaz gets to his feet, and before you can even muster the energy to sit up, he hoists you upright by your armpits.

Your head immediately spins with the sudden reorientation and lack of food. He must sense your wobbling because he holds you steady for longer than necessary, until you flinch away from his touch.

“Get your bag, get as much food as you can carry on the move,” Gaz instructs, his dark outline bending down to grab something from the dirt. “I want to be out of here in five minutes.”

—————————

The rain makes everything so much worse.

It’s a steady drizzle by the time you’ve got your things packed, and you’re bundled up as best you can with all of your jackets layered damply together.

It won’t be enough. You’re going to get soaked through in an hour, and then you’re going to die because wet and cold means dead out here. You’re still not sure why you’re alive, why any of it matters at all, but being assigned a task has unfortunately put you in work mode.

Gaz is waiting for you at the edge of the trees. “Here,” he says when you join him, pressing a piece of clothing into your hand.

It’s a coat of some sort, sturdy and thick enough to make you think it might be waterproof.

“Stop at the gift shop on the way out?” you grumble, exchanging your least favorite jacket for the new layer.

“Something like that.”

Impatient with your speed, he tugs the straps of your pack into place for you, clipping it across your chest and making an annoyed sound in his throat. “Come on, then.”

It rains all night.

Your saving grace really is that waterproof layer, keeping your trunk warm and dry while the rest of you becomes sopping wet. You must be going slower than normal, because you’re not thirty minutes into your journey before Gaz pulls you aside under a thick evergreen and forces food and caffeine pills into you.

That’s when the true misery kicks in, when you have enough brain power to soak in how fucking wretched you are. Everything is soggy and dark, and your body is so tired. One step after another, your feet find their way where they’re supposed to go, and your mind wanders to stupid, irrelevant places.

You fantasize that you’re not actually trailing along behind a mass murderer in the dark woods. It’s actually not raining, and the group is still alive for you to hate. You’re going through those houses again in the dark, finding cabinets full of tampons, and every food and supply you could possibly need. You take the time to coat your body in some designer lotion brand, and you even catch a few hours of sleep on someone’s king-sized, memory foam mattress.

The hallucination continues as you walk, becoming more and more ridiculous until you’re creating fake scenarios of your new life in a sanctuary city. It’s the dream you’ve held all these months, that some day you’ll find a place safe and warm, with rules and laws and stability.

You’d be able to let your guard down, and fall in love with someone handsome and tall. Really tall. He’d keep you under his protection and teach you how to fight, like all those fantasy books you read in your past life. You’d finally be able to rest, and have enjoyable sex, and do all the things that humans can only do when they’re not running for their lives.

They’re things you’ll never be able to do again, so you dream of them while you walk through the sodden underbrush, and the thorns, and the slippery roots.

The caffeine has just begun to wear off when Gaz finds somewhere to stop for the remainder of the night. It’s a shallow cave, more of an overhang than anything, and definitely not dry inside. You both have to press into the concave of the rock to find shelter from the rain, unpacking your bed rolls to use as blankets.

And then to your horror, Gaz shuffles up next to you.

“No.” you exclaim, elbowing him away.

“Fuckin’ hell. Not trying to touch you, just getting warm.”

“Get warm over there,” you hiss.

There’s an uncomfortable silence then, which you imagine is him grinding his teeth in the dark, trying to figure out if he should take your body heat by force.

“Now that we’re not walking,” he says finally, in an annoyed rush, “you’re going to cool down very soon and very fast. And I’m not bloody waiting for your little teeth to start chattering before we take— fucking— rational survival measures.”

You clamp your jaw shut to keep your teeth from chattering and sniff pretentiously. “I’m warm enough without you, so it s-sounds like your problem.”

The soft pattering of rain on leaves gives you a sick sense of satisfaction. You hope he’s really cold and really wet, and really, really pissed at you for winning one against him. If he wants what you’re not offering, he’s going to have to take it. He’s going to have to prove, right out in the open, that he’s exactly the person you’ve always known he is, and there will be no denying it.

When he speaks again, his voice is unexpectedly soft and smooth. “Got a… chocolate bar in my pack.”

Your eyes spring open in interest, which quickly changes to a scowl once you realize what he’s doing. “Good for you.”

“It’s… ah.. Snickers. A big one.”

Resist, resist. You ignore the vivid memories of caramel and peanuts, and sniff again. “Just going to brag all night, or can we get some sleep?”

There’s the sound of a zipper, and then the familiar rustle of a candy bar wrapper behind you. You can’t help the way your mouth instantly waters.

“I reckon three hundred calories is a fair enough trade for putting my back against yours.”

Three. Hundred. Calories.

Fuck.

Murders aside, you’d have to be a fool to refuse that offer. Irritated, teeth beginning to chatter, you scoot your ass back on the rocks until you bump into him, and then snatch the candy bar out of his hand. Gaz laughs under his breath at your eagerness, but thankfully doesn’t kick you while you’re down by commenting on it.

You both settle in, spine to spine, and you wait until you’re as comfortable as possible to open your prize.

It’s… indescribably good. It must have been near his body in the bag because it’s wonderfully warm, and buttery soft. You close your eyes and take bites as small as you can, trying to stifle the small moans of pleasure, and failing once or twice.

Between the sugar filling you with dopamine and Gaz’s warm back against yours, you don’t remember falling asleep, with the empty wrapper still clutched in your fingers.

—————————

You wake up with your mouth dry, and your teeth coated in that sugar fuzz from eating before bed. Crinkling your nose, you attempt to go back to sleep before you can wake up any further and notice your various aches and pains.

No use. Your ass hurts from sitting on pebbles, your neck hurts from sleeping semi-upright, and it stinks—

Your heart begins to race as your eyes spring open, and you verify that you are smelling what you think you’re smelling. It’s that unmistakable stench of rotting flesh, like the worst roadkill you’ve ever passed by.

“Gaz,” you whisper, right as the biter stumbles into sight in the woods below.

He’s not awake, you can tell by his slow breathing. Quietly you elbow him, keeping your eyes on the danger. “Wake the fuck up.”

“Mm. What?”

“There’s a biter. Can you shoot it from here?”

Gaz turns his head to peer over, and you both watch the corpse shuffling by, in what you assume is the direction of the bloody camp. Barely recognizable jeans hang off one rotten ankle, leaving the biter in only a tshirt and pink underwear atop sunken, grey skin.

“She’s going the opposite way,” he finally murmurs. “Let her be.”

You open your mouth to argue, because that attitude goes directly against Doran’s philosophy, but then you close it again. Doran’s dead, and you’re apparently got new rules to learn.

There’s more movement in the trees, and you both soberly watch as five more biters make their way past your hiding spot. Five more arrows you could shoot, that Doran believed would make a dent in the population, if everyone did their part. Gaz apparently sees it as more of a drop in the ocean, which is far more worrisome. Has it really become that bad?

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

[thinkingthougths]

All Yours

Paring: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Synopsis: Your friends always tease you for being a virgin, so you decide to go home with someone they point out in the pub. Kyle seems kind enough, but he isn't very keen on letting you go.

Tags: smut, oral sex, PIV sex, virginity loss, hymen breaking, alcohol, possessiveness, implied break in, a hint of non-con touching at the end, Kyle is a little barmy but we can look past that, i did not edit a single word in this i had an idea and the energy to write it and that's it.

Liquor coats your tongue the same way it always does—alluring and biting. It sinks its teeth into the wet muscle and burrows down your esophagus until its created a lovely hibernaculum in which to rest in while it festers in your bloodstream. 

Pain, and comfort. 

That’s what tonight seems to be comprised of. As are most of your nights, these days. Bored fingers tap along the bartop as your friends indulge one another with debauched stories of their sex lives all while you smile and nod as if you understand the feelings they describe or the frustrations of laying in bed with someone who fucks like a cactus in a wind storm. 

Their gazes aren’t lost on you. It’s only natural for their eyes to wander over to the only virgin at the table. They look at you adoringly, as if you’re some mythical creature they often don’t happen across—something to be gawked at. Mortification joins the alcohol in your stomach as you tell yourself to ignore their gentle cooing and playful taunts. 

It’s not that deep. 

But it feels deep. It’s an abyss that swallows you whole—this idea of sex. They tell you it’s infinitesimal yet every time you attempt to wade through the waters you find your fingers clawing through the air as you attempt to keep yourself from drowning. You’d like to toss away your virginity just so it no longer hangs over your head like some thunder cloud ready to dump rain on your body, but you can’t quite get yourself to brave the blood that would follow after you cut it free from your body. 

What about him? He looks like a good lay. 

They point towards a man on the other side of the pub. He’s made himself comfortable at a table meant for two as his fingers choke the bottom of his pint. Short cropped hair lies close to his skull in thick curls while earthy brown eyes focus on the football game roaring on the television on the wall above him. His skin looks velvety smooth even with the faint scar on his cheek, and his face looks kind beneath the glow of the monitor. 

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t attractive. Between his broad shoulders and chiseled hands, he’s the poster boy for the models they used to plaster pictures of in the magazines meant for teen girls you used to read as a kid. 

He looks lonely. 

You echo the sentiment when you approach his table with pursed lips, already awaiting your rejection. He looks up at you and his lips pull into a wide smile over pearly white teeth—you don’t notice how sharpy they are through the sheer beauty that beams before you. 

“I might be,” he says, indulging your poor attempt at a pickup. His eyes flicker to the seat across from him for a short moment before he nods at you. “Gonna fix that for me, love?” 

His name is Kyle. You feared that the moment you sat down with him and he opened his mouth, he would do something to make you regret wandering over here in the first place, but he doesn’t. Each syllable that rolls off of his tongue is silky smooth with a voice with just enough vocal fry to haunt your dreams. He buys you another drink when you’re finished with your first one, and you find yourself giggling with him more than you ever do with your friends (though, it remains to be seen if it’s because of him, or your intoxication). 

Wanna get out of here? 

His apartment is quaint. Various video game consoles lie in perfect organization beneath his TV stand, and a few of the controllers rest on the coffee table next to the remote. Each counter glistens beneath the stove light, save for a few crumbs from a sandwich he had eaten for lunch earlier that day. There is a faint aroma of bleach, sandalwood and—

—iron? 

Kyle does not give you much time to mull over the state of his apartment before he’s got you buried in the duvet on his bed. Like a rocking boat in the ocean, you follow his whims as he strips you bare before him, body on display in the pallid light of his bedroom. Anticipation rears its head as your stomach churns. You’ve seen the films. You know how this is supposed to go. 

Still, you are pleasantly surprised when you find Kyle’s head between your thighs. He curiously thumbs over your clit a few times just to watch your body jolt, and he grins as you throw your head back into his pillows. When his mouth replaces his thumb, you feel your desire pound against your chest, ready to burst free into the cold air around you. 

His tongue swipes over you, not even bothering to temper you into the pure pleasure he plunges you into. All his efforts are focused onto one spot, the very spot that pulses with needy want as your hips twitch and buck against him. He chuckles, then hums lowly as his hands grip your hips to roll you along the flat of his tongue. Desperate fingers push at the back of his head. None of your friends described sex like this—wet and lewd. None of them ever talked about dancing on the tongue of their lovers like you are now. 

“Kyle, that- that feels so good,” you croon. 

He groans when you say his name. It bleeds between your lips like a hushed confession—a secret between you and God. His tongue quickens along your clit and the hinge of your jaw begins to tighten. He does not say anything to you when you begin to babble further. Kyle continues to devour—to eat—to consume—

Something snaps within you. Parichord frays then slices, leaving behind nothing but searing marks across your skin as endorphins numb your brain and sizzle throughout your legs. When your thighs close around Kyle's head, he does not push them aside for breath, but rather he allows you to ride this wave until your muscles melt around him and his tongue ceases to move. 

“You taste so sweet. Like tangerine and blood,” he murmurs as he pulls away. His comparison makes your head spin—and blood—but you push it out of your mind as you witness him sit back on his haunches and remove his shirt in one slick, practiced motion. Soft abs roll and swell with his breathing as his fingers begin to prod along your pussy. “You look so pretty like this. Nothing but a mess for me, aren’t you? Yeah, there-” 

You witness in real time as something ensnares Kyle's brain into silence. Eyes widening, his fingers hardly press into your entrance before they meet resistance. Pulling away from you, he puts his hands on the underside of your knees before he pushes your legs apart. 

“Hold your legs out for me. Yeah, just like that, love,” he orders. Trembling fingers hook underneath your thighs as you hold yourself apart for him. You stare up at him from between your knees with curious eyes. “Is that… fuck…” 

Slender fingers prod at your pussy once more, and you feel the cold air rush to meet the wetness on your skin as he inspects your cunt. You watch the soft brown of his eyes morph from wet autumn leaves into a dark void as he prods against some thin membrane just at your entrance. 

“You’re a virgin?” he asks. 

Embarrassment cuts through you like a dull blade. “You can tell?” 

“Your hymen is still intact.” Kyle doesn’t look at you. Instead, he continues to spread you apart, eyes locked onto your pussy. “You sure you want me to take this, love? To take you?” 

Your hips shift. Gathering as much spare courage as you’re able to find, you nod. “Please, Kyle.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to fish his cock from his trousers. Something whispers at you to ask him about a condom, but your mind is thrown into silence the moment he slaps himself against your clit. He’s thick—uncut and desperately leaking, he rubs himself over your cunt before he pushes himself into you. 

The burn is faint at first, but it progresses from flickering embers into a roaring fire. Kyle watches with dilated eyes as his cock splits and tears your hymen. The thin tissue weeps with trace amounts of blood, and he finds his throat growing tight as your cunt begins to constrict around him. 

“Kyle, that-” 

“I know,” he interrupts. “But fuck look at that. Never seen anything like that. Like you. You’re taking it so well, love, I just… there.” He bottoms out with a sharp thrust that has your nails digging into the back of your thighs. Dropping your legs, you slap your hands over your mouth to hold back a wail. Kyle falls forward, draping your body with his as he begins to shallowly thrust into you. “I’m not gonna be able to get enough of this.” 

The foreign sensation ripples through you, stunning you into silence as Kyle’s cock pistons through your cunt. You feel the very ridge of his cockhead, the swell of his balls against your rump, even the trimmed hair on his pubic bone rubbing against your clit. The very world begins to fall away beneath you, and your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself. You feel the curve of his lips as he grins against your throat. 

“All mine. All fucking mine,” he repeats as his teeth nip beneath your jaw. A tense thumb makes its way to your clit once more just as you feel his hips begin to stutter and jolt. “Say it. All fucking mine, aren’t you love?” 

“Yes!” you wail. “All yours, Kyle. Please, please let me come!” 

He greedily times his orgasm with yours, and it isn’t long before you’re constricting around him and he’s spilling his cum into you with several throbbing pulses of his cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your muscles go slack as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, grunting each time he bottoms out, refusing to waste a single drop. 

“All mine.”

Kyle’s mantra only repeats in your mind for a little while after that night. He had tenderly cleaned you up in the shower before lovingly taking you to work the next morning—then, you vanished. Into thin air. Dissipated into nothing more than a tricky zephyr between his fingers. 

The two of you were nothing more than a fling. 

That’s what you thought. 

When your confidence grows enough to take another stranger home from the bar with you, you shouldn’t be surprised to find Kyle already waiting in your apartment when the two of you arrive, but you are. He sits comfortably on your sofa with narrowed eyes as the door swings open, and your jaw goes slack at the sight of him. 

Baby, who’s this? 

Your one-night-stand rushes out of the door behind you, muttering something about being the other man, leaving you to stand in front of Kyle, trembling as if you’re out in the cold. 

“Kyle? What the hell are you doing here?” you ask. “Did you-? How did you even know I lived here? Seriously, what the fuck?” 

“Did you not mean it?” Kyle’s eyes are severe as he stands. He stalks forward with raised brows until your back is pressed against the door and his arms are on either side of your head. “When you said you were all mine, did you not mean it?” 

Shaking your head, your bottom lip begins to tremble. “I don’t understand.” 

His hands snake down until he’s palming at you through your pants. Gasping at the pressure, your eyes squeeze shut as his teeth nip at the side of your cheek, and you wince. 

“You let me take this. Your virginity. It’s mine now. You’re mine now.” His lips brush away the pain on your cheek with a chaste kiss. “Say it to me, love.” 

Fear pierces through your heart at the deep growl of authority in his tone. He has you trapped, caged in his arms like you’re nothing more than an animal. Knowing you have no other choice, your throat bobs as you swallow. 

“I… I’m all yours, Kyle.” 

[thinkingthougths]

-Ghost x female reader

2138 words

Warnings- none in this chapter

The haunting of a Ghost

Chapter 5

When you get to the vending machines, you quickly check to see if someone’s already here. Turning your head back and forth, scanning every corner and possible place a person can fit. A bit extreme perhaps, but you really need to be alone right now. Because there’s a small chance you’re going to start hyperventilating and prefer doing it without having the puplic to see it going down.

Thankfully, there’s not a single soul in here and you’re free to let it all out- cry, scream, whatever it may be.

There’s a small couch next to the vending machines. You aim for it and plop down with a heavy sigh, leaning forward with your face covered by your trembling hands and forcing every breath to be steady as to not get a full blown panic attack.

What will ghost think? From his point of view it must have seen like you were spying on him, hiding behind a wall peeping at him like some sort of obsessed little girl with a crush.

Absolutely not, you do not have a crush on the lieutenant. No. Nope. What you have is loathing. Pure unadulterated loathing for that dreadful unpleasant man. Cut out your brain and slice through the frontal lobe like a piece of bloody filet mignon and all you’ll find will be dislike for that man.

But don’t cut up your heart for not even you want to see the deplorable things it holds. Deeply hidden until it will be forgotten lies another side of your feelings towards Ghost. Ones you desperately hope comes from the lack of male attention and being touched starved your entire life.

Observing the carnal display between the woman and Ghost awoke nasty emotions in you and you don’t know how to interpret them.

After all, you’re human and there’s some emotions you can’t control no matter how hard you try.

The timer for the light had gone and would have enveloped the trivial room in darkness if it weren’t for the vending machines casting an illuminating mix of blue and red light that blends into a soft purple.

Your body goes lax on the hard couch, feeling defeated at not appearing like a confident person in front of Ghost. Again. Like the girl that clearly wanted to have him follow her to her bed later. She was confident and didn’t shy away when two intense brown eyes stared her down earlier. No, she thrived on it, being in the headlight and having the lieutenants attention. How you wish you had her courage.

The fabric of the couch was fraying and your fingers were mindlessly playing with it, accidentally pulling the thin threads even further from its stitches.

Could it have been five minutes since the fiasco of being caught by his knowing eyes? Have enough time passed to walk by that damned room and it’s revealing archway to go back the women’s barrack?

Heaving a shuddering breath, you sourly eye the vending machines with annoyance. It’s basically its fault you ended up embarrassing yourself in front of Ghost once again. Whose idea was it to place them furthers away in the cafeteria building anyways.

A low growl came from your stomach, reminding you of why you’re here. To eat.

Standing up you go to the two machines, poring over the large option of food and drinks layered on the shelf’s inside.

Salted potato chips sound very tempting but you need real sustenance, something that will settle your hunger and give you the strength needed to survive the maelstrom of emotions wrecking your body.

The loose coins in your pocket makes a clinking noise as you forage you pockets for them. Counting them, you work out that you can afford a dull looking ham sandwich and a bottle of juice. A bad excuse of a late dinner but it will do just fine for tonight.

After your fingers have pressed the right number and put in the coins, the metal spring starts to spin and begin pushing out the objects. As you’re watching the sandwich falling down, your ears pick up a set of footsteps echoing down the hall coming towards this room.

Panic ensues, fearing that it may be Ghost coming looking for you and wanting to bring up and question you about the fact that he caught you staring like a creep just minutes ago.

Shit.

Hastily pulling out the plastic packet with sandwich out from the drawer, you start giving the vending machine small hits as if to make it work faster and drop the juice bottle before the person gets here.

Come on, come on, you whisper to yourself in stress. Flicking your eyes back and forth from the machine to the open doorway, begging to whatever god that’s listening that it’ll be the drink that arrives first.

Your fingers are tapping against the glass window in anticipation, wishing that the metal spring could be moving faster than this slow pace.

The sound of the heavy footsteps are increasing too fast for your liking, it’s not long before they’ll be around the corner.

Seconds tick by and finally the drink is pushed out from its shelf and down into the drawer. You snatch up the drink with sweaty hands and jump into action on finding a way out other than the one you came through since a person is currently approaching there.

A quick glance tells you there’s no other exits, except for the fire exit and opening that one would definitely bring attention to you with the blaring noise of the fire alarm activated.

But, there is a single window overlooking the woods next to the fire exit.

Scurring over to the window, you check the handle to see if it’s locked or not, wiggling it until it’s become loose.

A small push from you and bingo the window opens up and presents a perfect escape path for you.

Lifting one leg over the metal ledge while balancing on the other, you have to squeeze your upper body to be able to fit through, and fast if you don’t want to be discovered in this awkward position. Would be fun explaining why you’re escaping through a window, you think sarcastically.

Landing on gravel, you quickly close the window from the outside as best as you can with no handle to fully close it with.

The act of escaping through the window was executed with finesse if you may say so yourself, doing that while holding onto a sandwich and a drink and not dropping it is impressive, at least for you. And doing it during duress as well. All those training exercises like climbing fences the drill sergeants always making you do is finally coming to use.

Your ego is brought back to earth when you hear sounds from the room.

The impending doom of those footsteps have finally arrived, you spy from the outside while hiding below the window.

The persons silhouette is all you can make out, the dim lights behind him coming from the hallway is highlighting his impressive width and length while obscuring everything else. Because, yes, it is a he. A he you know too well. There’s not many on this base with that behemoth of a body.

Ghost.

He’s standing stockstill in the middle of the doorway, seemingly contemplating something, probably trying to figure out where you went when he saw you headed here and now you’re vanished out of thin air.

You’re supporting yourself onto the brick structure below the window, knees digging into the rough stone material. Painful, but you’re afraid if you move you’ll make a sound that will notify him of your whereabouts. The darkness of the night may hide you, but it won’t silence your movements.

You observe how Ghosts head is slowly swiveling from side to side, inspecting the room and clearly is looking for something.

Looking for you.

You duck away from the window and out of his sights, you wouldn’t be surprised if this war machine of a man can see in the dark.

This was a terrible idea. You should have stayed in bed and then you wouldn’t be here crouching in pointy gravel and damp grass while hiding like a coward outside in the cold.

When a minute or two has passed and your ankles are about to give out from the uncomfortable position, you crawl away from the window to be out of sight when you finally can stand up and ease the pain your joints took.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you glance at the road you have in front of you. Overgrown weeds and scattered puddles of old rainwater. Well, this is what you get for being too much of a coward to confront Ghost, you grumble to yourself.

-

Days have gone by since you last saw him.

Apparently Ghost has been shipped out god knows where on some mission you’re not qualified enough to be informed about. Somewhere far away from you at least, relinquishing you some time of being free of the anxiety his presence gives you.

You can feel how there’s a pep in your step now, more vigor in your work, and those worrisome wrinkles that’s been haunting your forehead have smoothed out and disappeared.

This is how it used to be before Ghost took an interest in you. Nothing used to weigh you down except for the usual normal stress this line of work gives you. You literally feel lighter without having that heavy pair of staring eyes in the back of your head all the time.

A content sigh leaves your lips when you hear the kettle going off signaling that the water for your tea is done boiling.

Taking a teacup from the cabinet of the shared amenities that’s free for any of the soldiers to use, you bring the kettle over the cup and start pouring. The sound of warm water hitting the porcelain never fails to bring out a calmness in you, as well as the familiar smell of the fragrant tea bags steam reaching your nose.

As you’re warming your cold hands on the cup, there’s a recurring thought trying to break free from the back of your mind that you rather want left unanswered.

Pictures of Ghost cozying it up with that woman in the rec room flashes behind your eyes constantly, how he seemed interested by her advances and the outcome she probably had in mind; to sleep with him. There’s no other reason she could have in mind when flirting so obviously with him. Right?

You can’t recollect ever seeing her here before, meaning she’s probably from another base and only here for something work related. Meaning, there would be no repercussion of them spending the night together. He’s not her superior, so he’s free game for her to get her claws into.

The rules on this base doesn’t exactly prohibit from soldiers fraternizing with each other, but it is extremely frowned upon and most likely you’ll get some form of punishment. Suspension isn’t unheard of, nor is a transfer. You remember vividly the day when a captain and his recruit was caught in the middle of day in his office fraternizing, the captain only got a slap on his wrist but the poor recruit she got an immediate transfer to a base furthest away from this. You haven’t heard anything about her since that day, everyone on base got so nervous when it all happened that all mouths were shut tight and not a word of gossip was said.

It’s extremely unfair how the captain got off scot-free while she was shipped away in shame. Said captain doesn’t work here anymore, discharged honorably when a mission gone bad landed him with a few bullet holes in the knee taking away his right to walk efficiently.

You wonder if you’ll suffer the same fate if you end up in Ghosts bed.

Why would you end in Ghosts bed?

The words just appeared in your head automatically without you even thinking about it. There’s no way you’ll ever sleep with him, not only for the risk of being caught and getting kicked out of this base you actually like, but mostly for the fact that you don’t fancy him and never will.

A cold shudder of dismay going down your back had you shaking your head in an attempt to manually delete the inappropriate images of you naked with Ghost in a bed.

Sipping the last of the tepid tea that gone cold too quickly during your ruminations, you place the cup in the dishwasher and start walking to the doorway.

About to go around the corner and back to the barracks, your shoulder slams into something solid, something very similar to a wall made up of hard muscle.

Taglist- @mamamayhem36

[thinkingthougths]

johnny who doesn't forget about you after he's brought back, but simply remembers things just a little bit wrong.

it's the middle of the night when simon comes to get you. he doesn't apologize for waking you when you crack open the door to your room because he knows you've been having trouble sleeping since johnny was shot. just blurts out that johnny is awake. alive. "he's askin' for you."

before you know it you're speed walking behind simon towards the medbay, cursing his long legs for carrying him so fast. he rounds corner after corner with you on his heels before stopping in front of a door. there's no name on the nametag. you assume he's going to reach for the door handle, but he lets out a deep breath and turns back towards you. "y'should really speak to price before you see him. wait here."

frustration bubbles up in your chest as simon vanishes around the corner. it's been almost a week since johnny was rushed off the helipad by the largest group of medics you'd ever seen for just one person. almost a week of no news, no information on his status, no way of knowing if he was beyond saving or just a step away from recovery. it was truly maddening.

price had been no help, although by the look on his face the many times you had questioned him he didn't know much more than you did. he looked just as tired, just as haunted. he's alive, price had grumbled while staring out his office window, cigar gripped a bit too tightly to be casual. that's all that matters.

it is all that matters, you think to yourself as you bounce on your heels outside johnny's room. its only been three minutes since simon went to fetch price, but as every moment passes your resolve starts to splinter. johnny is right behind that door. asking for you.

you've been desperate to see him. to simply watch him breathe, if anything. since the day you stepped foot on base, he'd bonded to your side like cement - much to your annoyance at first - and had stayed there ever since. within a few months you had to admit that he had officially earned his title as your best friend, again, much to your annoyance. johnny seemed to have a way of worming into people's lives with his charming smiles and thoughtful actions even if they didn't exactly want him to, simon was proof of that. it had been too long without him.

fuck waiting.

you had half expected some kind of code to get in considering the way they'd been keeping his condition under wraps, but the door swings open easily. the room is quiet except for the monotonous beeping of a heart monitor. a single light next to the bed casts a soft glow across the room, illuminating iv poles that almost look as if they're standing guard over their patient - the patient who cracks his eyes open and offers a sleepy yet devastating smile.

"there she is."

a sob threatens to spill out as you stride across the room to the side of the bed, johnny's eyes locked onto you as you move toward him. his smile is one of relief, as if he's the one leaning over your hospital bed to babble about how happy he is you're alive. he looks paler than usual, but you chalk that up to having been stuck in his little fluorescent corner for the past week. there's a bandage on the left side of his head, obscuring the wound that had nearly taken his life. you'd expected him to look different, delicate, perhaps even weak, but the man in front of you looked no worse off than having had a bad case of the common cold. of course johnny would cheat death and still come out looking no worse for wear.

"johnny," you whisper, his name coming out broken and weak. he grins - of course he would, mischief dancing in his eyes even while sitting in a hospital bed - and reaches his hand out to you. there's a slight shake to it as it lingers in the air before your fingers lace with his, pulling johnny's hand to your chest. there's an all too familiar burn behind your eyes, one you don't even notice until johnny tuts, raising his other hand to wipe the hot tears from under your lashes. his touch is calloused yet so familiar.

"stop your cryin' bonnie. m'here." johnny's hand cups the back of your head, pulling you towards his chest. it's all so much, his voice, his touch, the ever comforting smell of johnny on his hospital gown. his arms wrap around you, tugging you up to climb into the bed beside him. he presses your face into his chest, kissing the top of your head. well. that's new.

"you're alive."

"what gave it away?" johnny laughs as you lightly punch his side and the sound makes you feel dizzy. there had been a few days where you had doubted you'd ever hear it again. "don't be pulling your punches on me now, love. if i wasn't bulletproof before i sure am now."

"oh, shut up." johnny's arm releases from around your waist and you take the opportunity to sit up, examining his face. the crinkles around his eyes, the faded scar jutting across his chin. the sight of him feels so safe and familiar, and for the first time in almost a week you feel the icy tendrils of fear start to melt from your bones. a warm and calloused hand rests on your arm, his thumb rubbing light circles across your skin. "i don't know how they did what they did," you sniffle, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket, "but i'm so fucking happy you're alive. i didn't know what to do, they wouldn't tell me a thing, and when i saw you on that gurney - "

"hey." johnny's voice is softer than you've ever heard. his hand reaches up to cup your cheek, and you blink back at him in surprise. he touches your face gently, seemingly mapping it out with his eyes and fingers as if he's trying to burn the sight into his brain. you've been up close and personal with johnny more times than you could count, squeezed into the backs of trucks and squished impossibly close in pub booths, but he's never looked at you like this. like he was worried he'd never see you again, like it had been all he was waiting for.

something has definitely changed.

"i'm here now, and i've no plans of goin' anywhere anytime soon." johnny's eyes fall to where his other hand clasps yours, twisting his wrist so that the back of your hand faces upwards. a hum rumbles in his throat and he smiles, an almost lovesick smile that makes your stomach drop. "been thinking since i woke up," he says quietly. "and i don't want to wait anymore. it's time."

unease curls in your stomach, simon's earlier warning suddenly echoing like a siren in your mind. you should really speak to price before you see him. johnny doesn't seem to notice the gears turning in your mind as he continues trailing his fingers over your skin, watching the goosebumps raise along your arm intently. he moves down to your hand, your wrist still gripped in his, and pauses ever so slightly as his touch passes over the top of your empty ring finger. "time for what, johnny?" you ask slowly, carefully, gaze fixed on his dreamy expression.

cobalt eyes rise to meet yours. the corners of his mouth lift into a tender smile. "to get married, love."

your mouth goes dry. it feels as though he's knocked the wind out of you, the words slowly sinking into your bones like heat from a fireplace. to get married. to get married. to get married. the shock must be evident on your face, because johnny coos and cups the back of your head, tugging you face first into his chest once more. you're frozen, disbelief and confusion clouding your thoughts like smoke, and you shiver as johnny begins to stroke your hair and mumble quietly about making good on all his promises. "johnny," you stammer out, your voice muffled slightly by his hospital gown. "you know who i am, right? we're not - "

he scoffs, chuckling at you as if you're the one being silly. "of course i know who you are, love. could never forget you, no matter what happens to me." he ignores the way you shake your head at him, concern etching your brow as you sit up. "and i know, i know, we're not even living together yet, but don't worry. price was here earlier and i've already started working on charming him into giving us private quarters. might have to bend a few rules, but you know how good i am at that, don't you love?"

the sound of the door swinging open makes you jump in your seat. price strides purposefully into the room, simon in close step behind him. he stops abruptly when he spots you seated next to johnny, his mouth flattening into a straight line. "i see you got your visitor," he says lowly. he's speaking to johnny, but his eyes don't leave yours. something flashes behind them - concern?

no. a warning.

johnny doesn't acknowledge the unspoken conversation currently taking place in front of him. he continues absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin, grinning at the two men as if he's won the lottery. "and she was worth every second of the wait, sir."

"she couldn't stand to wait either, it seems." price's voice carries no malice, only what sounds like resignation. a chill slithers its way into your bones as your eyes bounce back and forth between your captain and lieutenant. simon stands wordlessly behind price wearing his usual indifferent glare, but his body language is indescribably off. there's tension in his shoulders, a guardedness you've never seen from him, at least not in the company you're currently in. price has never looked so utterly uneasy, his weight shifting from his left foot to his right. he drags a calloused hand over his face before taking a few steps forward, his hands resting on his hips. you barely register the feeling of johnny's lips pressing against your hand, too focused on the look of pure pity price is sending you.

what now? help me, your eyes plead.

the only response you get is an ill-boding sigh. "i really wish you'd listened to simon."

a/n: this is me hitting the post button and then flinging my laptop across the room and running away bc im nervous - hello hello! this has been in my drafts for 74 years and i'm not sure if i hate the way i ended this, i'm sorry if it feels a bit rushed. the concept of johnny coming back wrong makes my brain go brrrrr i'd like to do a part two if anyone is interested! i hope everyone is having a lovely day (despite, yknow...everything)

[thinkingthougths]

Simon Riley with a wife that loves to cook him lunches. I like to think this is in the same universe as this blurb. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon loves waking up, having a shower, and then coming downstairs to see a plate of breakfast on the kitchen island, and you, in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts as your pyjamas.

Simon loves wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook whatever you're making for him.

And it's not as though he demands it, or expects it. Ever since the two of you got married and you got to work from home instead of in the office, you would make Simon lunch.

It wasn't always in the morning, either. Sometimes you would just show up to the 141 base, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Before handing Simon a still warm container of food.

Simon loved your cooking, but something he loved even more was the ego boost he received from his mates. Johnny especially.

Johnny always commented on what Simon had for lunch. Expressing how good it was and how he wishes he had a 'bonnie lass' at home that would make lunch for him.

Then, Simon made the mistake of telling you about Johnny's words.

Simon had said it in passing while the two of you were cuddling in bed. Chuckling to himself, not even noticing the pout on your lips.

He shouldn't have been surprised when in the morning, he saw two containers, instead of one. One labeled "Simon ‪‪❤︎‬", the other labeled "Johnny ‪‪❤︎‬".

Simon slid the container across the table as he sat across from Johnny. The scotsman looking confused before his eyes lit up.

"She cook this for me, did she?" Johnny smiled brightly.

"Aye. But don't get a big head about it" Simon glared.

"How can I no' get a big head aboot it? sweet lass she is. Migh' have tae steal her from ye"

"don't even think about it"

"She e'en put a heart nex' tae ma name, Simon. She must fancy me"

"I'm telling her you hated the food"

"No! dinnae dae that ye big brute! she'll think A'm a bastard!"

"You are one"

Simon brought home two empty containers that night. Telling you about how Johnny groaned with every mouthful and nearly licked the container clean.

You also started receiving sloppy kisses on the cheek from Johnny whenever you brought lunch in during the day for your husband and his best friend.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[thinkingthougths]

"Choices have consequences" and the choice is you trying to sneak a kiss on Ghost's cheek one of the rare times he's got the mask hiked up, a cigarette nonchalantly hanging between two fingers, both of you enjoying a break outside, leaning on a wall.

Except he turned towards you right at that moment.

The silence is defeaning as you both stare at each other in utter shock, your face warmer than should be humanly possible after accidentally kissing on the mouth Simon fucking Riley. His cigarette lays on the ground, forgotten.

And the consequences? It's your lieutenant grabbing you by the scruff when you try to flee, because where do you think you're going? If you wanted a little snogging, all you had to do was ask. He can give you much better than an accidental peck.

And if you two end up in a dark corner, you stuck between him and the wall after he hoisted you by the thighs so you'd be more accessible, his scarred lips devouring any inch of your neck they can get to, despite your pleas that you’re going to get caught, well... you started it.

[thinkingthougths]

shower time w/ simon n his pretty lil roommate

water beats down at his shoulders, scorching drops pelting down the arch of his arms, down the rippling muscles of his chest. soap lingers on his skin as his hand words quick strokes over his cock, head falling back to let water run through his hair and over his flushed face.

on the other side of the shower curtain there you are, he can barely see the silhouette of your body, can barely make out the soft of your voice. but fuckkkk the mere outline of your plush curves had him in some fuckin trance.

“ugh, i still don’t understand why they couldn’t just come over and watch a movie with us.” you’re speaking of your friends, painting your lips in a cherry, explosive red as you get ready to go out to the bar together. but simon couldn’t focus on anything except the emphasis of us. good god.

he presses his free hand to the striking cold shower tiles, lip stung between his teeth as he chokes back his guttural noises. his stomach rising, flexing and pulling back suddenly taut against his organs, breath ragged.

“si?” you chirp, and he can hear the click of your heels at the edge of the curtain. he can see the slightly sliver of your soft, thick legs. fuck fuck fuck. “would you tell me if i look good in this.”

and he abides, folding his back to the shower wall, hips reeled forward to keep working his hand. and when the beads of water strike his cock, he’s in shambles, jaw dropping and eyes rolling, barely concealing his reaction when his neck rolls and his head hits the cool tile.

his eyes scan you, your sweet dress cuts down into your breasts, accentuating em in a way that they spill into his face. it cuts into the plush of your waist, silhouetting your figure sweetly. and when his eyes drop to your legs, his cock spurts.

“so?” you giggle, giving him a lil spin, before you’re popping a hip in question. “how do i look?”

and simon chuckles to himself, pulling his lip between his teeth to hide the whimper that works itself up his goddamn throat.

“y-you look beautiful, babe.” he chokes slightly, desperate to lick the tang of your red lip off, to have it ringed round the base of him. n his head rolls back, low eyes looking down your dress as he mumbles, “one more spin for me?”

[thinkingthougths]

Neighborly (Part 3/Ending)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: SMUT, vaguely dom Ghost, unrealistic recovery time from near death experience/hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

The next day, Ghost had you write a list of things you needed from home. He assured you Johnny wouldn’t be stepping foot in your place, but that did leave you on your own with the Scotsman while the giant lumbered through the snow to pack an overnight bag on your behalf.

Your extremities still had fits of unpleasant tingles, but when Ghost examined your hands and feet, he assured you there shouldn’t be permanent damage. First degree frost bite at worst. He praised your choice in winter boots, thick socks, and heavy mittens.

You’d asked how he knew.

“Had some experience. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

Instantly flustered, you’d looked down at the huge socks over your hands, fighting away the question of which man they belonged to, and assured him you did. Stupid, since you barely knew him, but you did, and much more than you should.

It didn’t matter if the man was handsome under that mask or ugly as sin. His voice did things to you. It made you want to sin so much he looked like an angel. And the way he handled you in bed, if only platonically, woke your libido from hibernation. Which was un-fucking-fortunate, all things considered. You’d be a horrible lay at the moment with your chapped skin and lingering exhaustion.

Besides, your neighbors were definitely in a relationship.

As you dozed after a cup of sugary tea, Ghost stepped away to speak with Johnny. You could see through the open door when the big man seized his partner by the back of the neck, leaning forehead-to-forehead as he rumbled something in that intoxicating voice. The mask didn’t come off, but you’d definitely spied a tongue stretching the knit to stab into Johnny’s mouth. Hands went to waists, drifted to asses, displayed affection they probably didn’t realize was so public.

You tried very hard to actually go to sleep after that. It wasn’t like you’d meant to creep on them. And they were the ones who chose to make out in front the invalid’s open damn door.

But it put your thoughts in a tailspin, and everything overwhelmed you. A near death experience preceded by robbery and car problems made for a long day. Waking up in your neighbor’s boyfriend’s arms and realizing they’d seen you naked took the knot of emotions and twisted. Then there was the fact that Ghost was likely elbow deep in your underwear drawer – again for platonic reasons – and it wound you up in the worst way. You were a fucking mess. A wad of feelings without an outlet.

You needed to get off and have a good cry. Either or both. And you weren’t in a position to have either.

When you’d suggested going home, Ghost shut you down before you even finished the thought.

“We’ll take care of you. Owe you, yeah? Besides, you’re still recovering.”

So, you wrote the damn list, asking for your comfy clothes, your toothbrush, phone charger, and other necessities. You resisted asking for your favorite throw blanket or the heavy, knitted monstrosity you tried knitting a few years back that was almost a sweater. Nothing you loved was safe around Johnny, and you didn’t want to be a burden, anyway.

Fuck.

Right.

You were a burden.

When you felt a bit better, you’d handle the empty mugs on the nightstand. What else could you clean? Efficient as Ghost was, he was babysitting for two adults. There must be a mess to clean, laundry to fold, something.

You’d make it right. When you’d put some distance between your waking thoughts and death’s shadow.

Trying to think your way out of the lingering pain with your thighs clenched and your glare drilling into the far wall, you almost managed to dissociate for a beat.

Until he knocked.

“Hey.”

Fucking Johnny.

You rolled over, glowering with the blankets up to your nose. Ghost should hurry and come back.

“’M so sorry, hen.” Failing to take the hint, Johnny inched into the room. His folded arms and heavy frown left him looking severe. The boyish illusion was missing. He was all bulging muscles, faint scars, and dog tags.

You’d wondered more than once if he was military. If he was, you’d bet anything Ghost was, too.

“I almost died,” you mumbled, speaking through the blankets. “I would’ve helped with whatever you needed if you’d fucking asked.”

His eyes snapped shut. His head dropped. Deep breaths lifted his shoulders, and he looked like he was in genuine pain.

Good. That made two of you.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aye.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Aye.”

“You almost got me killed.”

“Aye.” Eyes wide, hands pressed to the foot of the bed, he towered over you, bubbling over. “I’ll make it up to you. Whatever it takes.”

He was practically panting, trying to escape his guilt. Just one more thing he wanted from you: absolution. A knight seeking a quest of atonement.

If he could take away the memories of betrayal and isolation as you felt your mind break and your body fail, that would work. You almost found enough spite in your heart to say it.

“I thought we were friends.” Half confession, half accusation.

“We are, bonnie, I swear –”

“No, we’re not.”

He clenched the blankets, white-knuckled with wet eyes that promised rain.

“Bonnie –”

“Stand down, Soap.”

You both turned to find Ghost peering in from the hall. He held a duffel bag, lightly dusted in snow that hadn’t quite stopped falling. Doordash had arrived with your order.

He set the bag on the end of the bed, nudging Johnny aside and nodding towards the open door. Johnny got the message, slinking out with his tail between his legs.

“Brought your things. Feel up to a shower? It would probably help at this stage. I’ll set out some towels for you.”

“Thanks.” You ignored Johnny, grateful for the escape Ghost offered from both the conversation and the room. “That sounds great.”

“I’ll get things sorted, then.”

He left you to choose your things from the bag, disappearing into the ensuite you had yet to explore. You got what you needed. Toiletries. Robe. Toothbrush. Just the basics. You’d address your hair later. And… everything else, really. You weren’t ready to see your clothes sitting folded in a tidy pile on your neighbors’ bathroom counter, even less so on their bed.

Ghost reappeared, and he pointed out the towels he’d prepared. “Assume your shower’s like ours.”

“Probably. Thanks.” Again. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.”

A nice sentiment, but you really couldn’t. You practically jumped out of your borrowed clothes as the water heated, and you got in when it was just north of tepid. You would not use all their hot water. By now, they had to be running on generator power. The power always went out for a day or two when the big one hit. All it took was one tree.

Still, once the sweat and stress-stink washed off, your hand lingered over your chest, an echo of your host’s. He hadn’t gotten frisky. He’d been entirely respectful. But if his hand had strayed even a little…

Or a lot.

Shit. Fuck. No.

You could not get off in your neighbors’ shower. That was out of the question. Even if they didn’t hear you, it was… rude.

Your core ached, stirred from passive aggression to full on fit by the water and your overactive imagination.

Enough. You were clean. You needed to stop.

So you finished your shower (and nothing else) in record time. You wrapped yourself in your robe, wondering if Ghost had packed any sports bras comfortable enough to sleep in.

Both men were waiting for you when you emerged.

“Uh…” Were you supposed to get dressed in the bathroom? Shit. You should’ve…

“Thought it was about time you got that apology,” Ghost said. He stepped closer. His fingertips brushed over the back of your hand, conjuring goosebumps like magic. “You’re cold again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, aye.” Johnny winked. Caught himself. Cleared his throat. “Really am sorry. Wanna prove it. First step towards reparations, aye?”

He inched closer as he spoke, and Ghost stepped back to give him space. You held your ground, but only out of confusion. You technically had more skin covered than you had since they rescued you, but you were hyper aware of the loose knot holding the robe closed.

“What did you have in mind?”

Tea? A year’s subscription to a meal delivery service? A note?

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Thought I could warm you up.”

Your brain sputtered. It even made a sound like your engine had when it ran out of gas.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do.”

He wasn’t touching you. Yet. But his breath fanned over your lips. His body heat reached through your robe.

His partner was in the fucking room. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Already discussed it.”

You turned to Ghost, shocked, but he was relaxed. Almost casual about his boyfriend seducing the neighbor in his bedroom.

“We both like ya, bonnie,” Johnny whispered in your ear.

You shivered.

It sounded like such a bad idea.

But you wanted it. You wanted a real apology, and a reason to forget it all ever happened.

“How about it?” Johnny was hovering. Waiting for the green light. “Let us make you feel good?”

One more time, you looked to Ghost. You had to be sure. You wanted his permission. His confirmation. He nodded. So did you.

With one hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, and one on the back of your neck, your neighbor pressed you into a kiss. There was no demure pecking. No sweet warm-up. Lips, tongue, and teeth leapt into the fray at the first trumpet blast.

A gasp gave him a window of opportunity, and soon you were eagerly kissing him back, yanking on his stupid mohawk for vengeance and a pitiful attempt at control.

Johnny licked a moan out of your mouth. He scoured your whimpers clean, gulping them down with a happy rumble.

“The best apologies are given on your knees, don’t you think Johnny?”

A silent exchange passed between the men, and Johnny was all smiles.

“Couldn’t agree more. Here, sit down, pretty girl.” He arranged you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees to keep the kisses coming. He plucked the robe’s knot free and tugged it open. His lips stayed on yours as fabric fell away from your shoulders, legs, and chest, pooling around your wrists. There was no time for the usual, momentary panic of finding yourself naked for the first time with a new romantic partner.

One more peck, and a whispered, “Lie back, bonnie.” And he was working down your sternum, pushing your knees apart. “Gonnae give you an apology you never forget.”

The apology came letter by letter, spelled through your folds. The S snaked around your entrance, looping over your clit. The O stayed there, spinning around your bud. The Rs wandered, following the O’s path before tracing each side of your entrance. The Y started at your base and swept up, teasing either side of your clit in turns.

He said it over and over again. The clever rhythm had him smiling against you as you tugged at his mohawk, trying to chase each sensation. But his hands were strong, and he kept you spread and stationary. At the mercy of his repentance.

The Os never circled long enough, and his tongue dipped inside just enough to remind you how much you ached for more on every Y.

It was driving you crazy, and tears of frustration gathered, blurring his self-satisfied gaze. You’d had it with him. Even when he went down on you, he took his own pleasure first, playing games you had no spoons left to enjoy. You wanted him to take care of you like he’d promised. You wanted to lose yourself. Wanted to feel desired. Wanted to feel good.

Your whining plea didn’t sound at all sexy to your own ears, but the way the tongue shook with suppressed laughter between your legs proved someone was having a good time.

Solid heat you’d learned to recognize in your sleep slipped up behind you. Long, thick fingers petted back your sweaty hair, and a hand pulled you back, urging you to relax into a solid chest. Ghost, once again coming your rescue.

“Be good, Johnny,” he rumbled. “Stop teasing.”

Eyes glinting, your tormentor’s face appeared. He licked his lips with a wolf’s fervor, eyes flashing from yours to Ghost’s.

“Yes, sir.” His voice had gone rough. Deep. You shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs. “Mind givin’ me a hand, LT?”

Ghost huffed, almost a dry laugh, and his hands left you. You had a mind to complain again, but then his grip appeared under your knees, lifting and spreading even farther than Johnny wheedled earlier. You were obscene. You were desperate.

“You doing alright? Let us make you feel better. Give Johnny the chance to start paying you back for all the trouble he’s caused, yeah?”

One hand clamped onto his arm, unsure whether you planned to push it away or simply cling on. As you vacillated, Johnny craned forward, blew on you, and you spasmed. Your free hand jumped back to Ghost’s balaclava, and you knew what you wanted.

“Yeah. I’m alright. Please.”

“You heard the woman.”

“Happy to serve.” Johnny grinned, nearly feral, and lunged forward with fresh determination.

Now free, his fingers pulled you open, giving him better access to the mess he’d made with all his teasing. His tongue pressed hard, spearing deep as it could reach. It worked relentlessly, trying to scoop out every last drop, but the slick only grew, and he returned to your clit.

Ghost held you at an angle that defied your attempts to ride Johnny’s face, and you turned into a twitching, writhing mass in his lap. When his partner started suckling your bud, you shrieked, and Ghost crooned. His thumbs worked circles in your flesh, soothing the edge of delirium rising with your pleasure.

“Good girl. There you go. Finally letting us take care of you.”

A finger pressed inside, petting and curling as it hunted for the right spot. Every muscle rolled, trying to participate, to join the dance, and then Johnny found what he was looking for, and you screamed.

He’d tormented you so long. You didn’t have a chance to give a warning or brace for the snap. Your orgasm practically exploded, and for a minute you couldn’t even breathe. Everything froze, trying to catch and keep the high as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your thoughts ran slow and thick, like honey in winter, just soft enough for Ghost’s words to penetrate.

“How you feelin’? Rung out or ready for more?”

What a stupid question. Appreciated, but stupid. You’d ask for more until your voice gave out.

You consciously, carefully unclenched your fingers from his mask, from his sleeve. He still held you open, shivering and bare apart from Johnny’s face, still pressing slow kisses with tongue and teeth anywhere he was tempted to taste. Glimmers of firelight caught in the arousal smeared over his cheeks.

“More.”

Johnny muttered something very Scottish you couldn’t quite make out through the fading white noise in your head. But your eyes worked perfectly well, and he put on a show, yanking off his shirt, showing off like he used to when he shoveled the drive.

“Tell her, Johnny,” Ghost prompted. “Give her everything you’ve been thinking since you moved in here.”

“Fuck.” The Scotsman worked his belt free as talked, staring at you. His eyes roved, chasing the paths his tongue had traveled, rising to your heaving chest, to your face, so close to his LT’s commanding gaze. “Heard the neighbor was a hermit. Expected – doesnae matter. Prettiest hermit I’d ever fuckin’ seen. Showin’ up with biscuits and makin’ friendly.” The belt swished free from its loops and clattered to the ground. “Had me graspin’ after my manners with one look. An' after I tried catchin’ your eye in the snow, you took care of me an all.” He popped his button free. The zipper went down. “Wanted to bring ya inside and make things cozy. Had to wait for Ghost. Had to let ‘im see ya. Let him understand.” His hand slipped under his clothes, bringing a swollen red tip peeking over the elastic of his underwear.

“Should’a heard him on the phone,” Ghost murmured in your ear as Johnny pushed down his remaining clothes, already hard and weeping for you. “Thought he was gonna come to just the thought of you some nights. Started giving me ideas before I even had a chance to thank you for minding him.”

Naked, practically glowing in the fire, Johnny swooped down for a kiss. He squeezed a breast, thumbing the nipple relentlessly until you broke for air. Everything about him hummed with energy. A livewire sparking over the street. “Wanna fuck you. Please? Please let me fuck you, bonnie. Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had. Please?”

Standing where he was, and held as you were, his dick rubbed against you as he spoke.

You were going to combust, and you’d enjoy every fucking second of it. All thoughts of snow and ice had melted. Everything had turned to steam.

“Yes.” He’d dived to work a hickey into your neck during your brief hesitation, and you fought to even whisper your answer. “Please.”

He lined up, rocking shallowly once, twice, and pushing home in a long, burning stroke. You yelped, and he moaned, both going still until the sting had passed. By the time you nodded your permission, he had his hands on your hips, trembling with need.

He fucked you like he was dying. Like you were his last meal and the only lifeline thrown in a storm. It was months of yearning, months of confusion and false starts and greedy hunger that spilled over and burned you like hot wax. There was no shelter – not that you wanted any – and you once again seized Ghost’s arms because they were the only fucking thing he’d let you reach. They would take care of you. You weren’t allowed to do any of the work. Not in that bed. Not that night.

Johnny keened, huffing and growling and whimpering as he went faster and faster. He brought you so far. So close. Just a little more.

But not enough.

His hips stuttered, his head bowed, and his warm release splashed out.

“Fuck.” Blushing from exertion – and probably something else – he looked up from where he was still balls-deep to sheepishly meet your eyes. “I swear, never finished so fast in my life. Didn’t get you there in time, did I?”

He pulled out, and you dropped your head back on Ghost’s shoulder with a wail of frustration. You were too close to stop now. You reached down to touch yourself, but before you could rub one out, Ghost shifted. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one of your legs to swat your hand away from your clit.

When you didn’t fight him, he reached behind you, and you both heard and felt him work his cock free.

“May I?”

Too horny and too frustrated, you nodded wildly. “I said I trusted you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He didn’t pick up where Johnny left off. Thick fingers that had really only held you up to this point reached down, groping over breast and belly to reach your center. Long strokes kept the spark in your belly alive as he ran his hand over you, lubing his fingers in the mixed spend.

One dipped in. He paused, considering. Then a second joined.

“Minute I saw you at the door, knew you were a carer,” he said. “Knew it’d been so long since someone took care of you that you’d forgotten how a good neighbor should act.” The fingers curled, scissored, working you with clear and vulgar intent. “Wanted to be more than neighbors. Had to close that door quick. Every filthy thing Johnny said hit me, and I wasn’t fit company.” The full implications of that didn’t quite hit you in the moment, but a hazy vision of him watching you through the windows, palming an erection sent your cunt fluttering.

A third finger. All together, they were wider than Johnny’s cock. A deep breath helped. The thumb flicking over your clit like a moth drawn to a porchlight did more. “Had to figure out how to fix all the fuck ups then. So many delays. Took too damn long.” He pulled his hand free, denying you release.

“You said you’d take care of me.”

“We will, sweatheeart. Easy now.” His hand hovered in front of you, fingers spread so he could watch his good work cling and drip like a liquid spiderweb between his digits. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

He spread his knees, pushing yours wider, and he lifted you up until his dick rubbed over your entrance. Even without looking, you could tell he was massive. You’d need to relax. You’d need to trust him.

Unlike Johnny, he took things slow. He read every flutter and clench, every gasp and hiss like he was fluent in your personal language of carnality. The stretch constantly rode the edge of too much, but it touched places no one else had reached, stuffed your senses full of bliss. And he was so careful. Tactical.

When he’d sheathed himself, his hands slid to your thighs, positioning you in a similar way as before.

“Think you’ve got more apologizing to do, Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

You’d closed your eyes at some point, overwhelmed by everything Ghost had to give, but you snapped to attention when a tongue ran over your clit. Johnny smiled up at you, pleased as punch. Devious fucker.

Ghost thrust, and the sound he pushed out of your mouth was pure filth. Helpless, you made it again with the second push. It happened again and again until it became an unbroken string of praise and pleas. Johnny made a game of keeping his tongue on you, pulling back, going still so Ghost would bounce you along it as he drove into you.

A hand pressed over your lower belly, and you moaned in tandem with Johnny.

“Fuck, Simon. Can feel you moving in her.”

After Johnny’s performance, Ghost clearly had something to prove. The first time you came, you clenched so hard on his dick it actually slowed him down. You thought that would be it, that he’d ride high to the end having achieved his goal. Instead, he kept going, fucking you brainless as Johnny actually giggled below. A second climax left you boneless, and by the third you’d entered a fugue state. Ghost slowed down until you could respond (I’m okay.) and then he drove you over the edge until you forgot how to count. Johnny offered kitten licks and praise throughout. When Ghost finally finished - pulling you flush to his chest and panting in your ear (Good fucking woman.) it was Johnny’s attention to your clit that broke you. He sucked and worked his tongue under your clitoral hood like he was sucking nectar from a honeysuckle blossom.

But you were tapped.

“Can’t. Too much.”

Johnny disengaged immediately, and two pairs of hands lifted you from where you sat impaled. Soft words and warm washcloths bathed you in the afterglow. Gentle suggestions guided you under the covers, and a familiar touch turned you to rest with your back to a heated chest. Warmth crowded in from the front, too, murmured joy and praise leaking through the haze to find you.

You didn’t even realize as you slept that you’d found something far better than a good neighbor. But that understanding would come with the dawn, a cup of tea, and a suggestion to go thrifting when the weather broke so you could find a matching set of truly hideous mugs.