#task force 141 fic
Note
You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.
Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.
Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”
You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.
Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.
“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.
Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.
“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.
Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.
It’s a…oh fuck.
“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.
Fuck.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.
The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?
“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.
No. No no no.
You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”
Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”
“I was drunk.”
Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”
Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.
“I tried.”
That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.
You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”
This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”
It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.
“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.
Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”
You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”
He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”
“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.
This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”
“What?” you ask, flustered.
Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“John,” you snap.
Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”
Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.
“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.
Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.
“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”
“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.
“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”
You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.
But Price is quick.
With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.
“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.
Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”
Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.
You don’t want to admit it.
Not out loud. Not yet.
But you will be back.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.
You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.
“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”
Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”
“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.
This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.
“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”
“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”
Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.
“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.
Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.
“You remember anything you said to me last night?”
You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”
Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.
Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.
“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.
Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.
“We need to talk about this.”
“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.
Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”
“What?” you breathe.
“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.
Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”
“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”
Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.
When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.
He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.
Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.
Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.
“Both of you can fuck off.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Ghost.”
“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.
You frown. “Are you injured?”
“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.
“You keep rubbing your neck.”
Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.
You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.
“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.
“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”
Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.
You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”
“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.
Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.
“You’re mistaken.”
“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”
“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s not.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”
A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”
“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.
You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.
Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”
You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.
“You don’t know that.”
Ghost shrugs. “I do.”
His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.
“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.
“Do you remember?”
No. I don’t.
“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.
“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”
Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.
John "Soap" MacTavish
“What the fuck is that?”
Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.
Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.
The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.
Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.
You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”
That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”
Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?
You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”
Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.
“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”
Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.
“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.
“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.
You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”
You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.
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✧･ﾟ 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐬
simon ‘ghost’ riley x female!reader [3.3k]
summary ⤍ your boyfriend slept horribly on a good day, and hardly closed his eyes on a bad day.
warnings ⤍ 18+ (mdni) explicit language & smut (handjob), mentions of ptsd/war/military, mentions of nightmares and death.
a/n ⤍ it’s my birthday so here’s my gift to u. simon riley u have my heart <3
You don’t know what pulls you out of your sleep - whether it’s a forgotten dream or your subconscious - but you jerk out of it all the same. Sleep clouds your vision, blurring it and it takes you a moment to blink and take in your surroundings in the darkness. The covers tucked tightly over your naked shoulders fall when you shift into a sitting position, supporting your weight on a wobbly arm against the rigid mattress.
There’s a slight ache in your back that you choose to ignore. Your boyfriend slept badly on a good day, and he hardly closed his eyes on the bad days. If a rigid mattress helped him get even an ounce of sleep, then you’d endure whatever you had to.
At the thought of him, you turned your head to find his spot on the bed empty. Your fingers touched the sheets, finding it cold and barely slept on. You’d gone to bed together, but he must’ve gotten up the second you dozed to sleep. He was good at that, slipping off unseen without alerting anyone. It was his job after all.
You shed the covers off your body, shivering slightly at the frosty bite of the air and you hurried to close the window that you’d left ajar. It had gone cold overnight and you wasted no time to find a pair of sweatpants to pull up your legs.
It was silent in the house, almost eerily so, and you fought the sudden need to turn back and crawl into bed as soon as you reached the dark hallways. It was ironic that you were scared of the dark you were, considering how you were living with someone whose call sign name went by Ghost of all things. Who thrived in darkness and used it to his advantage. A ghost.
Simon was almost hard to miss, tucked away in a corner of the appointed gym room and lifting dumbbells like they were the lightest things he’d ever touched. Your eyes tracked the movements of his lifts, taking in the swell of his arms as they strained and the straight line of his back. It almost startled you when he turned his head and looked straight at you from the corner of his eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised you how aware he was of his surroundings and you took a moment to calm your sudden racing heart before you stepped further into the room.
“Hi.” You greeted him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.
You knew not to ask too many questions, because you already knew the answers to them. Are you okay? No, he wasn’t. Why aren’t you sleeping? Because he couldn’t and working out was one of his many ways to shed those nightmares plaguing his brilliant mind.
Your boyfriend grunted as he lifted the dumbbells for one more rep, setting them down next to his feet. His eyes looked weary, tired from lack of sleep and troubled from whatever was weighing on his mind. It wasn’t an unusual expression he donned, but it made you sad all the same.
“Did I wake you?” He asked, voice rough.
You took another step toward him, shaking your head in the negative and watching his eyes flit to the tips of your toes - almost like was watching where you were heading. His legs separated just a tiny inch, but it was an invitation if you’d ever seen one. You wasted no time to close the distance between you two, stepping into the space between his thighs. He welcomed you without any words being said, arms circling your hips and closing the remaining distance between the two of you.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” You asked, though you knew the answer. Your hands found his hair, sliding your fingers through and touching the damp strands gently. “We could put a film on and have a little cuddle.”
You couldn’t help but notice how the man in your arms leaned his head against your stomach, just like he always did when you were sitting on your sofa watching the telly, or when he’d had a particularly bad night and you stayed up with him. You knew that it was a tactic to hide himself, shield his face from your observing eyes so you wouldn’t read it or see the emotion he never hid well in his eyes. It didn’t mean that you didn’t appreciate it though, considering how he’d shut himself off completely at the beginning of your relationship. It was a tough road, but you’d gotten there eventually.
“‘m not done.” He murmured against the fabric of your sweater. “You can go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”
A minute meant until the sun rose on the horizon and the light found its way through your curtains. You couldn’t have that.
“Hey,” you tugged at his hair, gently enough for him to look up at you; Blinking his blue eyes, looking innocent as ever. “I can sit here and watch you.”
He didn’t react when you pulled yourself out of his embrace, taking big, theatrical step back and raising your arms out by your sides with a smile. It was your poor attempt at making his lips twitch into one of his rare smiles, and all you got in return was a slight arch of his eyebrow that shouldn’t have looked as attractive as it did.
“What? I’m not even tired.”
Your insistence was proved wrong when a yawn crept up out of nowhere, and you hurriedly tried to hide it behind your hand even though it was too late.
“Okay, maybe a little.” You lamented when your boyfriend narrowed his eyes at your obvious lie.
“Alright pet, let’s get back to bed.” He pushed himself up onto his legs, his hulking six foot something form looking particularly menacing in the dim room.
You reached your hand out, not wanting to grab him without his consent and he immediately took you up on your offer by sliding his hand into yours. It almost made you grin like a fool and you bit the inside of your cheek, opting to guide him out of the room and back to your bedroom instead.
The room wasn’t as chilly as you’d left it, and you felt your body yearn for the bed at the sight of it. Just when you were about to close the distance, Simon pulled his hand out of yours and it made you look back at him questioningly.
“Just need to clean myself up.” He explained and you nodded.
He left the room to seek out the bathroom. You watched silently before turning back to your bed and slipping in. Instead of taking your spot on the right side of the mattress, you plopped yourself in the middle and shoved your feet under the covers to keep them from going cold.
And then the waiting game began.
It took a moment for Simon to come back from his shower, but you waited patiently. Your eyes were just starting to droop when the screech of the shower knob echoed from down the hall. The pour of the shower stopped, and you didn’t have to wait long until your boyfriend came walking back in.
He stopped at the sight of you and you could see the gears in his head turn. How he noticed you sleeping smack dab in the middle of the bed, your feet shoved under the covers and your hands hidden in the sleeves of your sweater. You would’ve missed it if you blinked. Simon’s lips twitched into one of his smiles, the ones he’d reserved for you, and you only.
“Cold?” He asked, yanking a drawer open to rummage through it for clothes.
You hummed, watching him dress himself with more ease than a lot of people. “It’s freezing. Need someone to warm me up.”
It almost felt like an award when his lips transformed into a smile, dimple deepening the side of his cheek adorably. It wasn’t a full blown smile, but your stomach twisted at the sight of it anyway. He finished getting dressed, draping the wet towel over the back of a rocking chair in the corner before he plucked a pair of fuzzy socks from a different drawer.
Your heart beat its way into your throat when you realized what he was doing; Tracking his movements when he sat down on the bed by your feet and gently fished them out from the cocoon of the covers. His eyes were soft, mouth set into a straight line like they always did when he got particularly focused on a task. The task right now? Pulling the fuzzy socks over your bare, cold feet.
“Thank you.” Your voice sounded choked up even to your own ears, but his soft side never failed to bring tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.
He glanced up at the sound of your voice, wrapping a hand around your calf and giving it a squeeze. His way of saying you’re welcome. You raised your arms and waited for him to scoot up the bed and into your embrace. He grunted as he situated himself right up against your side, one leg thrown over yours and his arms tightly wrapped around your torso. You knew that he probably heard the sound of your heart beating unnaturally fast, but he didn’t say anything about it as he laid his head against your chest.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked quietly.
He shifted against your side.
“Nothing you haven’t heard already.” He replied.
It was true, probably. From a traumatic childhood to the horrors he saw when he was deployed, there wasn’t much Simon Riley hadn’t experienced in his lifetime. Hearing about the things he’d been through as a wee child had almost brought on a panic attack on your side, because no one deserved to grow up in the environment he had and your boyfriend deserved the world and everything beyond it.
You squeezed him closer to you at the thought of a dirty blond haired boy, scared out of his wits and lonely in a house that never felt like a home to him. The scent of his shampoo grounded you for a moment and you buried your nose into his wet hair.
“I’m alright, love.” He spoke after a moment, most likely picking up on your breathing and stuttering heart. No one was as attuned to you as him.
“I know, I just love you a lot.”
There was no mistaking the intake of breath at your words. It was clear to you that he had a hard time hearing those words directed at him, and it had taken some time for him to believe them when you spoke them. He’d been a hard man to crack, and he still is. There were so many things you still didn’t know about him, and you were too afraid to ask. Afraid of what his answers might be.
“I love you, too.” His voice sounded ragged, tight.
Any moment now, and he’d be pulling himself away from your embrace. You respected it, how he sometimes did that when he felt overstimulated or got way too into his head to pull him out. But it had been a long week and you were craving his closeness more than you wanted to let on.
So, he didn’t protest when your fingers found his sharp jaw, pushing slightly to tilt his head up to look at you. His eyebrows were knit, pupils blown out and he looked like a man on the verge of getting sucked right back into the black hole. In a moment of slight panic, you leaned down and closed the small distance between you two, pushing your lips onto his. He barely responded at first and for a moment you feared that you’d misread his emotions and was just about to pull away when he shifted his body to face yours. His lips responding to yours made you sigh on relief through your nose, opening your mouth to his insistent one and kissing him deeper.
The low rumble in his throat made you grip him harder, letting him straddle you without putting any real weight on your body. But you craved it, craved his warmth and weight and everything he had and wanted to offer.
No words were spoken as you kissed and kissed, and kissed. Your lips turned raw, swollen and you wanted more. He didn’t resist when you somehow managed to flip him over, albeit a little clumsily. He let you straddle his thighs, hands finding your face and neck to hold as he tasted your tongue.
His hands had been through enough, shed more blood than you liked to think about and killed people in combat. But you had never felt as safe as you did when he touched you like this.
The urge to show him how much you loved him became too big, too great to keep inside anymore.
There was a question in his eyes when you pulled back a little, eyebrows drawing together when your hands made quick work of pulling at his sweatpants and locating the hem of his underwear. You could see his hands reaching out to presumably grab you from the corners of your eyes, but he stopped himself in the last second and folded his hands into fists instead. You flickered your gaze up to his eyes, finding him staring at you.
“Is this okay?” You asked, halting your movements entirely. He nodded after a second of contemplation and you bent down to kiss him. “Words, Simon.”
“Yeah.” He rasped out, breath hitting your smiling lips. “‘s good.”
You didn’t waste more time to pull his pants and underwear down enough to fish his cock out, finding it half-hard and heavy in your hand. The weight of it made you squirm in his lap, turning your head to nip at the stubbled skin of his jaw.
Simon was a big guy, chunk and muscles all around. He filled out his clothes well and all those sleepless nights allowed him to work on his body and stamina. He didn’t go out very often, but there was no mistaking people’s stares and gaped mouths when he walked by them and you couldn’t blame them. Although you often glared at those who rudely stared until they had the decency to look embarrassed and turn their heads.
Your boyfriend being a big man also meant he was packing heavily in his nether region, thick and long enough to reach spots inside of you that you didn’t know were possible. You had half a mind to tug your own sweats off and sink onto him but you held off, knowing that what Simon needed first and foremost was relief. He just needed to be taken care of, and all you craved from him right now was him.
You made sure to have a good grip on him, not too tight and not too loose, before you started jerking him off to get him in the mood. Judging by by the way he was panting against your ear, it wouldn’t take long to get him there. His hands scrambled to find something to grip, settling on cupping your face and bringing you to his lips.
It was much filthier than your other kisses you’d shared tonight, teeth nipping and his nose pressing to your cheek as he found comfort in your lips. It didn’t take long for his cock to fill out, making it harder to have a better grip on him so you brought a hand up between you to lick a thick stripe on the palm before grabbing him again.
He hissed, eyes closing in a tight squeeze when you reached the tip of him. He was wet, precum beading on his head and you swiped your thumb over it; Using it as lube to make touching him way smoother and pleasurable for him.
One of Simon’s hands raked through your hair, finding a good grip on it and tugging until you let out a moan against his lips. He pulled you off further to look at your face, almost like he needed to know what you were thinking and if you were feeling the same type of pleasure that he was.
“You feel so good in my hand,” you nodded at his searching gaze, hand squeezing just a tad bit tighter around him. “Warm and heavy.”
He grunted in response, letting go of your hair so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. You placed small, sucking kisses to the sensitive skin there and scraped your teeth teasingly right beneath his earlobe because you knew how much he loved it. He’d go absolutely feral for the tiniest prick of pain.
It had the desired effect on him, hips humping up and sliding his cock further into your fist, making him hiss and hands grab at your back. He was close, it was evident in how he started chanting your name lowly in your ear. The reverent way his hands were scrambling to grab a hold of you and pull you closer.
“I’m -“ he shuddered when you picked up speed, jerking him off and bringing your free hand down to touch at his balls. “Fuck.”
The shudder in his voice had you soaking but you put all your focus on making him feel good, needing him to come and growl in your ear the way he always did.
“Come on, baby,” you whispered against his neck, nuzzling your nose up to his cheek and giving it a chaste kiss. “I got you.”
It was like that’s what he was waiting to hear, hips bucking up and body stiffening like he’d been electrocuted before his cock started spitting against your palm. It got on his clothes and yours, but you couldn’t care less when he finally let his mouth drop open and he moaned from deep in his gut. You slowed your pace gradually as he shuddered through the last of his orgasm, pressing little kisses to his cheeks and jaw until he made a noise at the back of his throat.
You let go of him, knowing that any more and he’d become overstimulated and that wasn’t your intention for tonight. All you needed was for his body to relax enough to get some type of sleep before the sun rose outside and night became morning. One look at his lax body and you knew you’d succeeded, kissing his slack mouth before sitting up gingerly.
It was warm, and you huffed in discomfort before shrugging your sweatshirt off and flinging it to the side somewhere. You’d need to do some laundry tomorrow, making a mental note in your head.
“D’ya need - ?” He started to ask, hands gesturing tiredly to your body but you cut him off with a firm head shake.
“Not tonight.”
He nodded once, lips twitching into a small smile and you leaned down to kiss it. Nothing suited him better than a smile, and you’d made it your mission to tell him that once every day.
There were very few words exchanged as you took off his soiled shirt and got him a chilled water bottle from the refrigerator. You left the door wide open like Simon needed and double checked so the latch was shut on the windows before crawling underneath the covers where your boyfriend was waiting.
You turned on your side, as did he, and shared a small secret smile.
“Thank you, pet.” He whispered and you stretched a finger out to touch his stubble, right where his dimple remained hidden.
“Always.” You said.
And you meant it.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#call of duty#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley smut#ghost smut#simon riley fic#simon riley one shot#task force 141 fic#call of duty modern warfare 2
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Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!
And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.
ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.
you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.
your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.
you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.
one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.
you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.
one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.
the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.
he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.
“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.
the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.
well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.
you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.
apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.
simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.
“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.
“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.
the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.
you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.
the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?
“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”
“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”
“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.
“points to you.”
“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.
he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.
“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.
you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.
“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.
“or should we take off another?”
you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”
“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.
“ghost!”
it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.
“what, mactavish? im busy.”
“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.
the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).
“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.
“it’s fucking shepard.”
it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.
you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.
“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.
you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.
you pass out.
when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.
“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.
your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.
the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.
your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.
“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.
you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.
“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.
“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.
“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”
he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.
he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.
just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.
“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.
you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.
“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.
“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”
“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.
“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.
“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.
“and whose fault is that?”
the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.
“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.
you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.
simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.
your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.
“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.
“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.
the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.
“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.
spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.
john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.
when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.
the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.
there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.
it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.
your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.
when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.
“how’re you feeling?”
you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.
“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”
the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.
the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.
“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.
no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.
you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—
you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.
that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.
your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.
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authors note:
I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.
thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶
#angst#simon riley x gn reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley angst#cod mw2 fic#cod x reader#task force 141#tf 141#141 x reader#141!reader#ghost x gn reader#gn!reader#ghost x you#ghost angst#ghost call of duty#ghost x reader#ghost cod#johnny soap mactavish#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#john price#kyle garrick#john mactavish#mw2 141#captain price
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 20: The New Normal
Summary: Your pack settles into a routine as you learn to adapt to the shifting relationships between all of you.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz
Word Count:
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, threesome, BDSM elements, dry humping, language, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, angst, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, smoking, Gaz being the prettiest boy alive.
A/N: Not much to say about this one. Hope it's worth a two week wait...
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
A yelp leaves your lips as your feet leave the ground, your body hitting the floor rather ungracefully. You roll from the force of the impact, stopping flat on your back. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch the breath that was forced from your lungs from your impact with the floor.
“You left yourself too open again.”
“Well how was I supposed to know which way you were moving?” You say, slowly pushing yourself back up to sit as you catch your breath.
“You can’t, that’s why you have to keep yourself guarded at all times. Anyone you’re fighting will do worse than that as soon as your guard is down.”
You stare at Simon’s shoes as he stops a foot away from you. The laces are pulled to the exact same tension on both sides, double knotted to avoid them coming undone and becoming a tripping hazard. Even the way his crew socks are pulled up over the legs of his sweatpants speaks volumes of how on guard he is. Always ready for a fight, always ready so that nothing can get in his way and put him at risk.
He lets out a quiet sigh as he drops down into a squat in front of you. “How have you been sleeping?”
Your gaze finally leaves his shoes, trailing up his legs to his arms where they rest on his knees. You follow the lines of his tattoos until you reach where his shirt sleeve covers the rest. You work your way up until you reach his mask-covered face, finally meeting his brown eyes. There's a softness to them now you've never noticed before, something you might not have taken notice of now had you not become brave enough to look that deep.
“Better,” You clear your throat, dropping your gaze to the mat. “But still not great.”
This morning had started with you shaking in Johnny's hold, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he whispered soft reassurances in your ear. The nightmares haven't gone away since your confession, nor have they even really lessened, but at least now you aren’t suffering alone when they wake you from your sleep. At least now your pack knows how to best comfort you when your mind insists on silently torturing you.
You still haven’t slept alone since they returned, nor have you spent any great length of time in your room. There’s still a lingering feeling of someone watching, of something staring at you from inside the walls. You’ve checked while they were at training for any cameras you might have missed, but you’ve come up empty handed. Maybe it was just the knowledge that your safe space had been invaded causing that paranoid itching in the back of your mind to linger. None of the guys have complained about you staying with them at night, though perhaps you have your confession about your nightmares to thank for that.
“The nightmares?” Ghost asks, snapping you from your thoughts.
You nod. “Yeah.”
The risk of them finding out about your nightmares has made you less afraid to sleep, but still the fear of what horrible scene your mind will come up with keeps you awake. You pull your knees to your chest, making yourself small as you sit in front of him. He’s just so big, so broad and bulky, truly the ideal specimen of a perfect alpha. He’s the kind of alpha your fellow omegas at the institute would whisper about. Some big, strong protector who would provide for them and keep them safe and satisfied.
If only they could see you now.
Despite the shift in your relationship with Simon, things haven’t changed much. He’s still the quiet, looming figure behind you, posing a silent threat to anyone who might think about approaching you. He still places a hand on your back to steer you, still stands closer behind you than he used to, still looks at you with a softer look in his eyes than you’ve ever seen before. Sometimes you’re tempted to push that boundary first, to lean in and rest your head on his broad chest, feel the muscle under his shirt again. You want to press up against his back while he sleeps and let his warmth seep into your bones. Sometimes when you’re alone and your thoughts begin to run rampant, you think about how you have nothing to fear because Simon would rip the face off anyone who tried anything.
Of course, he has to be here in order to do that.
You won’t have to be alone again. John had promised you that much. He’d fight harder to make sure you’re not alone again. Not, at least, for a while if it can be avoided.
“You’re thinking too much again.” Simon says, pulling you from your thoughts for a second time.
You stare at him, suddenly realizing he’s moved closer to you. You’re not sure when he did, too caught up in your own thoughts to be aware of your surroundings. It’s dangerous, your ability to sink into your mind and get lost there. You know it and they know it. Yet you can’t help it. It’s safer in your head, easier to exist in a place where you’re in control, where you can predict what’s going to happen next.
Simon’s hand wraps around your ankle, tugging you closer to him. You fall flat on your back on the mat, body sliding partially under his. He looms over you, settling his weight across your thighs as his hands come to rest on either side of your head. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, as it usually does when you’re in this position.
“Now, what do you do when someone pins you?” He asks, the sharpness back in his gaze as he stares down at you.
Lay here and don’t move, or at least that’s what you want to do currently. He’s just so big and warm, and the way he makes you feel so small under him has your head spinning. How you wish he’d press his body into yours, let you feel him completely. The scents in the air begin to thicken as you find your head tilting back on instinct, baring your throat to him in submission.
His hand closes around your chin, forcing your gaze back on his. “Focus.” He says, projecting his scent more to try and cover yours. It goes straight to your head, your gaze sharpening just slightly as you stare up at him. The scent of alpha around you has your mind racing in several different directions. You know you should be afraid, but it’s Simon. You know him, you trust him. He’d never hurt you intentionally, but he’s still an alpha.
The strong musky scent has something in the back of your head prickling, your instincts teetering on the edge of safety and danger. You know the alpha over you, but what if it was someone else? That was the point of all of this, right? You won’t be fighting off Simon or John. It will be someone unfamiliar, someone who wants to hurt you.
Simon’s fingers leave your chin, trailing down your neck. Your pulse thrums faster as his fingers near the base of your throat. The scent of alpha is strong in your nose. How easily he could slip his hand around the back of your neck and squeeze, rendering you brainless and under his control.
Your mind goes blank and you move without even thinking. Your fist slams into his side right where he’d taught you to hit. He buckles at the sudden attack and you use his moment of surprise and disorientation to free one of your legs and drive your knee right into his stomach. You push him off of you, scrambling back a couple feet before your mind begins to clear. Simon lays on the mat, almost wheezing as he tries to get the air back into his lungs.
You flounder there for a moment, watching the giant alpha you had just incapacitated. You don’t know where that came from or how you’d managed it. No, that’s not totally true. You know where the fear had come from, but you also know Simon would never do something like that to you.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You say, shifting onto your knees in case Simon retaliates, in case he gets angry at you for attacking him. “I don’t know what just happened.”
“The hell are you apologizing for?” He coughs out, pushing himself onto his side. “That was bloody brilliant.”
You blink in surprise, taken aback by his response. “What?”
“That’s what you were supposed to do.” He says, pushing himself the rest of the way up onto his knees. “I asked what you should do if you’re pinned, and you did it.”
You continue to stare at him, not quite sure how to process the sort-of praise from him. He had asked you what you should do if you were pinned, and you had done what you were supposed to do. It hadn’t quite been for the right reasons, but you did do something correctly. You managed to incapacitate him enough to get out from underneath him, and without him going easy on you.
Maybe the training is working after all.
“Do that in a fight, you might just give yourself enough time to run.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. “Good job.”
You continue to stare at him as he passes you, heading to the bench where your belongings sit. You’re still kneeling there on the mat in surprise. You hadn’t expected such genuine praise from him. But why not? He’s doing this to train you, to teach you how to defend yourself against anyone who might want to hurt you. Anyone who’s stupid enough to try something when they’re not here to defend and protect you.
Something that’s already happened.
You’ve finally managed to defend yourself, to apply the things he’s spent weeks teaching you successfully. Why shouldn’t he be proud of you for that?
You’re still getting used to this new side of him, this accepting side, the softness that he’s showing you in his own way. It’s what you wanted, what you’ve been trying to achieve for weeks now, and now that you have it...you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Where does the boundary lie? What if you push too far? Will things go back to the way they were before? Will he shut you out completely?
Hands slip under your arms, lifting you to your feet. You turn, your head tilting back to stare up at Simon. He’s wearing that emotionless mask on his face, or at least that’s what you picture as you stare up at his eyes. It’s the look he carries the most, giving away nothing and effectively hiding what he’s feeling. You wish you could see his face. You’ve tried to draw up images of what he might look like, what he hides under the mask. He can’t be ugly, at least not totally. Johnny had reassured you of that much, but you wish for just a glimpse more than his chin and his lips when he eats.
“You’re thinking too much again.” He says, taking half a step back from you.
“Sorry.” You blink, trying to pull yourself from the depths of your mind once again.
“Come on. Let’s get breakfast.” He says, tilting his head towards the door.
You follow him from the gym, his steps markedly slower compared to how he used to walk. Gone are the days of almost having to run to keep up with him. You could almost swear he takes smaller steps too, instead of his normal long, purposeful strides. It’s almost as if he’s out for a stroll instead of being forced into the task of escorting you to breakfast.
His hand finds your back again as you enter the mess, guiding you through the tables to the line to get food. His palm is warm where it’s pressed against the middle of your back, his fingers splayed, pressing just slightly into your skin through your shirt as an alpha soldier passes just slightly too close to you.
He still won’t fill your tray for you, but you can respect that. It’s a big step, and only done if there’s interest in courting or caretaking. You don’t expect that level of intimacy from him, certainly not right now. Perhaps never.
He’s not your alpha.
He guides you to the table where the others are sitting, and you take your normal spot between John and Kyle. They both shift just slightly closer to you almost subconsciously. Everything is almost a subconscious action now. Simon’s guiding hand on your back, your alpha moving closer to you, the betas keeping you between them whenever you’re with them. It’s a good sign, or at least you think it is. It feels right, a sort of easy flow that has developed between the five of you. One you don’t have to think very hard about.
“How did trainin’ go?” Johnny asks between shoveling bites of eggs into his mouth.
“Fine.” You shrug. “Simon threw me across the mat.”
All eyes at the table turn to him despite your nonchalant tone. It wasn’t the first time it’s ever happened, and you’re sure it won’t be the last.
“She took me down herself afterwards.” Simon says, not bothering to look up from his porridge.
Now all eyes at the table are on you. Your cheeks warm and you slowly start to make yourself smaller under their gazes.
“Had her pinned and she disarmed me enough to get free.” Simon continues, his gaze lifting so he’s staring at you too.
“Christ, what I would pay tae see that.” Johnny says, grinning widely at you.
“So training is paying off then.” John says, patting your back gently.
“Guess so.” You shrug, still feeling a bit bashful under the attention. “Not sure how useful I’d be in a real fight still.”
“Well, your first defense is trying to escape. Running is always the priority, remember?” John says.
You nod. Right. Run first. Like you should have opened the window and ran when that beta knocked on your door. Like you should have run when you noticed your door was open. Like you should have run when someone tried to get into your room.
How disappointed they’d be if they knew how you failed to follow even the most basic instructions. What would have happened if you hadn’t noticed the cameras? Would whoever tried to get into your room that night still have tried to enter? What if the door had been unlocked? What if they had gotten in? What would you have done, then? Try to disarm them enough to run to Dr. Keller?
That is what you were supposed to do.
Instead you had been stupid and froze in your fear and let it all happen, and now you can’t even tell them. It’s too late, it’s been too long. They’d be too upset if you confessed now instead of if you’d done it right when they returned.
You have to bury it now and hope it stays that way for the rest of time.
John is the one that walks you back to the barracks after breakfast. You don’t remember the last time he walked you to a meal or back from it. Usually he was too busy doing his job, or setting up things, or whatever else it is he does. Walking you back to the barracks was far too menial a task for how busy he is.
You hold his hand as you walk, close enough that his arm brushes your side with every step. You don’t let go of his hand even when he walks you to your door, keeping your fingers laced as you turn to look up at him.
“You gonna be alright on your own?” He asks, staring down at you with a soft look in his eyes.
No. You’re almost tempted to say it, to throw your arms around him and confess, to beg him to keep you close, to stay, to take you with him. Anything so you won’t have to be alone ever again.
You swallow the lump in your throat as you nod. “Yeah.”
For a moment, just a moment you think he doesn't believe you. There’s a second of hesitation, a cold chill running down your spine as your anxiety spikes. What if he knows you’re lying? What if he’s testing how long you’ll keep up the charade? How long you’ll try to keep them in the dark about what happened. He knows something is wrong. He can tell.
Your back meets your door as he crowds you in, releasing your hand so he can press both into the wood on either side of you. Something warm stirs in your stomach as you stare up at him, feeling very small as he looms over you.
He lets out a low rumble in his chest as he leans down. For a moment you’re expecting a kiss, but he moves to the side at the last moment, nudging your chin so it’s tilted up, bearing your throat to him. “What’s got you so worked up, huh?” He murmurs against your neck, his beard prickling the sensitive skin. “Have we been neglecting you for too long?”
Saying yes wouldn’t be a lie. They haven’t really sought you out in that way since their return. The most you’ve gotten in the last almost two weeks was when Johnny slipped his hand into your sleep shorts, and you returned the favor. John and Kyle hadn’t really even tried to initiate anything, treating you more like you’d shatter into a million pieces if they touched you too much.
Maybe a good fuck would solve some of your issues.
It would at least help you forget for a while.
A quiet moan leaves your lips as John sucks on your mark, the imprint of his teeth scarred into your skin. The mark that claims you as his, bonded to him for the rest of your life.
Lust and desire burns hot in your veins and you find yourself cupping his face, tugging him away from your neck so you can kiss him. He lets out a growl against your lips as you kiss him like you want to devour him, your hands sliding to his shoulders to tug him closer to you. His hands drop from the door to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him, his cock hardening through his cargo pants.
You’d let him take you right here, right now, right in the hallway. You don’t care that anyone could walk in at any moment, anyone would be able to see you. It feels almost like it would cleanse the barracks, free you from the fear in your mind. Allowing yourself to be so vulnerable out in the open could wipe away the worry that there’s someone around every corner, someone watching you.
Getting railed by your alpha against the very door that separated you from the room that now held your worst nightmares might just fix you.
But, just like everything else that’s happened recently, you don’t get that chance.
John’s watch begins to beep in your ear, causing him to pull away from you. You let out a quiet whine as you’re forced apart, suddenly feeling chilled from the loss of warmth against you.
John lets out a quiet sigh, leaning his forehead against yours. “I have to go.”
You wish he didn’t. You’re half tempted to beg him to stay, to fuck his job, his duties. You want him to stay, to give all his attention to you, just for a few hours. You want him to erase the fear and the anxiety and fix you.
“We’ll continue this later.” There’s a promise to his tone that he’s not done with you, a guarantee that you will get to continue this once the day is over, when he can go back to being your alpha instead of a captain. He leans in, kissing you once more. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”
You nod, watching him walk out of the barracks, the door closing softly behind him. You lean against your door for a few moments longer before letting out a breath. There’s still warmth swirling in your stomach, your underwear sticking to your damp folds. An idea pops into your head. You don’t want to go into your room, you don’t want to be in there alone right now.
Instead you head for Price’s room, unbuttoning your pants as you close the door behind you. You strip out of your pants before you climb onto the bed, making yourself comfortable. You’re going to give him a little present, a little something in revenge for leaving you high and dry, a little something to help him look forward to tonight.
Screaming. It’s all you can hear. It makes your ears ring and your head throb. Hands cling to you, nails biting into your skin. Something’s pulling on you, trying to rip you away. You’re stuck in a brutal tug of war. It hurts, but no one can hear you over the screaming. Tears are sliding down your cheeks, blazing a trail along your skin. You shouldn’t be crying, you shouldn’t be upset.
He hates it when you cry.
Alphas don’t cry.
You’re not an alpha.
You’ve committed the worst sin in his eyes, denying him the perfect pack. You’re a stain on his perfect ledger, a mistake that never should have happened.
He’s going to make sure you’re wiped from memory, from history, just as he wants.
“You can’t take her from me!” Your mother’s voice is frantic, her nails biting into your arm as she tries to pull you back into the safety of your arms.
“She’s no daughter of mine.” Your father’s fingers dig painfully into your other arm, trying to pull you away from your mother, away from your life. He’s going to throw you out like you’re nothing more than trash.
The screaming gets louder as you’re yanked from your mother’s hold, and you’re not sure if it’s her screams or your own piercing your ears.
“We have to ensure the success of this program.” The voice has changed. It’s not the cruel hands of your father holding you anymore. “It’s imperative to the future of militaries around the world.”
“No!” You scream, kicking, fighting, lashing out, but the hands won’t let go. They’re like a vice around you, like a constrictor slowly getting tighter and tighter.
“All you have to do is be a good omega,” A hand slips around the back of your neck, your skin burning from the touch. The warning is screaming in your head, louder than the screams of protest spilling from your lips. “And do exactly as you’re told.”
The fingers dig into your neck, your mind flashing for a second before it goes blank.
“No!”
You move before you’re even fully awake, sitting up straight in bed. Your hands close around the back of your neck as you curl into yourself, taking a defensive, protective position. You can still feel the cold hand on your skin, the fingers biting into the sensitive spots on your neck. You’re crying, tears and snot dripping down your face as you press it against your knees.
“No!” Another terrified cry leaves your lips as hands meet your skin, not cold or clammy, but warm and gentle. Your half asleep brain is stuck in your nightmare and can't rationalize the difference, not while you're perceiving everything as a threat.
“Easy, easy.” A voice says, speaking quietly, calmly. You recognize that voice. It’s not one from your dreams. Arms slowly wind around you, pulling you against a warm chest. “I’ve got you. It was just a dream.”
Your breaths are rapid and shaky as you slowly begin to come back to your senses. It was just a dream. You’re awake now. You know that voice.
“Alpha?” You whimper, desperately seeking the confirmation that it’s really him, that you’re really awake and free from your nightmare.
“I’m here.” He says, clutching you tightly against his chest. “Need you to breathe for me.” He pushes your head against his chest so you can feel his breaths.
You’re still crying, your breaths catching in your chest almost painfully as you attempt to follow your alpha’s deep, steady breaths. His arms are still tight around you, pinning you against his chest. His beard tickles your forehead as he leans his chin against your head. He’s projecting his scent, the smell of earth and petrichor mixed with the musk of alpha seeping into your brain.
“Good girl.” He praises you as you begin to relax, your joins unlocking from their stiffened positions, your muscles slowly loosening from how contracted they had been in your defensive position. You could have slipped into distress easily in that position, the level of fear higher than you’ve felt in a long time.
He loosens his hold on you just slightly as you begin to unravel yourself as you calm down. Your hands are still clamped around the back of your neck, your fingers trembling from how stiffly they’re held against your most vulnerable spot.
“Keep relaxing.” He says quietly, his lips brushing your hairline. “I’ve got you.”
He continues to speak to you quietly, letting you work yourself out of your tense, defensive position. You slowly begin to slide your hands away from your neck as your mind begins to clear and you realize there’s no threat to you, nothing waiting just outside your line of vision to attack. Your alpha has you, you’re safe with him, well protected.
The tears continue to fall, however, as you think back on your nightmare. It had felt so real, maybe because in a way it had been real. You had been pulled from your mother, from your home to the institute, then from the institute to the CIA, from the CIA to here and straight into General Shepherd's lap.
“Promise me,” You gasp out, your voice hoarse from crying. “Tell me you’ll never scruff me.”
“Never.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promise I’ll never scruff you.”
You press your face into his chest, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief. He could always go back on his word, he could change his mind, decide you needed to be scruffed. You know it’s foolish, having those kinds of thoughts. He’s never once gone back on his word, never once proved himself untrustworthy to you.
“I need to know if you've ever been scruffed before.” He asks, the authority slipping into his voice.
A frown pulls at your brows. You can’t remember if you’ve ever been scruffed before. Was it possible you had, but had been made to forget? Everything you’ve learned about scruffing says you would know, even if you don’t remember what happened after. It’s a very distinct feeling returning to your mind afterwards. It’s just something you’d know.
“No? I-I don’t think so?” You say. “At least I can’t remember, but I think it’s one of those things that you would know if it happened.”
“I’ve seen it happen, and I’ve seen the aftermath. You would know if it had ever happened to you.”
His words bring a shred of relief to your worried mind. You don’t want to know, you don’t want to ask how he knows, why he knows. It’s not likely he would have been able to tell you anyway. Just another secret, just another thing kept in the dark. You knew from early on they’d have their secrets, things they wouldn’t ever be able to tell you. You just never expected to have one of your own.
You curl up closer against his chest, pushing the thoughts and the guilt hanging over your head away in favor of soaking up the calming presence of your alpha. For a moment, just a moment, you can imagine everything will be alright. What’s in the past will stay there and nothing will come back to haunt you. You can just move on, and pretend like nothing happened.
You know it’s not true, but for just a moment, you can pretend that it is.
He hates it.
He hates the way he feels.
The subtle change to his heart rate, the way his insides feel like they’re fluttering, twisting. The disappointment eating him when his existence is ignored entirely in favor of those who were brave enough to open up, to allow you in.
Why is he disappointed? He’s done nothing but brush you off, keep you desperately at arms length despite your attempts to wiggle in through the slowly widening cracks in his resolve. Cracks that were formed by your very insertion into their lives. They were happy, they were fine. Then you came along and fucked everything up.
The worst part?
He likes it.
He wanted to hate you. For so long he fought that desire in him to be near an omega again, to be close enough to smell your sickeningly sweet scent. He tried to hate you, tried to ignore you, push you away from the walls he’s spent decades building up. Walls that threatened to crumble thanks to your very existence.
He’s not sure when the change happened. It was gradual, a shift in his hatred that became fascination that quickly morphed into something more. Something forbidden. Maybe it was when you submitted to him during training, or maybe it was after your first time with Johnny when his beta had looked far too pleased, and shared the intimate details of what you had done to him far too easily. Johnny’s need to yap had won out and his beta’s words had caused a stirring in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time.
A stirring he’d been able to ignore for so long.
For a moment, just a moment there had been fleeting curiosity. Would you try to take control with him? What if he let you do it? How long could you keep it up before you tired out and your true nature took over?
He stuffed those thoughts into the far recesses of his mind, refusing to allow them forward. He’s not getting soft, he’s not going to allow you any closer to his already cracking walls.
He tells himself that, at least until they leave. Until he sees the effect you have on his pack. The ripples in the bonds, the changes that happen almost as soon as the ramp of the plane shuts, separating you from them for the first time since your arrival.
He’s a good soldier. He can pretend nothing’s wrong, force the feelings into the back of his mind better than anyone. At least, that’s what he tells himself.
It had hurt when you ignored him on your return, throwing yourself into Price’s arms desperately and clinging to him like he might disappear. The betas had sandwiched you between them, letting you cling to them desperately as you trembled and cried. It was pathetic, but not quite as pathetic as the bitterness and the sting of disappointment in his chest.
He tried not to let himself feel it, tried to bury himself in his paperwork, tried to keep the feelings at bay, at least until Johnny had knocked on his door, mattress in tow telling him to get a blanket and head for Price’s room.
It was Kyle’s idea. Had to be. Kyle is the most nurturing of the four of them, and judging by the state of you, he must have done it because he thought it would help.
By the time he grew the balls to enter the makeshift nest, the betas had already sandwiched you between them, your form almost smothered completely under Johnny. Price had laid himself out on Kyle’s other side, and the space for him was made up of mostly Johnny’s mattress. It had to have been a deliberate move, meant for his own comfort. Sweet Johnny and his beta senses. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done. It had just happened naturally.
It’s at Johnny’s pestering insistence that he climbs into the nest finally, laying stiffly on the mattress behind his beta. It’s been a long time since he’s been in a nest. He doesn't sleep, not much anyway, but neither does Price. Both of them are too awake, too aware, too alert. The betas sleep peacefully and so do you, probably the most sleep you’ve gotten since your heat.
The warmth in the room gets unbearable fast, the blankets quickly kicked to the end of the mattresses, along with his own sweatshirt. It’s like a sauna, and for a moment he considers opening the window, but he’s too afraid to move, too afraid to disturb the nest.
It’s when Johnny gets up to go to the bathroom that you finally move, the first time in hours. You roll into the space he had vacated, lips slightly parted as you breathe in and out easily. Johnny, the bastard, takes your empty spot, trapping you between them. He turns his back to you in hopes you stay as still as you had before, which works for a while. At least, until he feels something press up against his back. He goes still, every muscle tensing as you bury your face between his shoulder blades. He should turn over, push you away. He should nudge you back towards Johnny, let you seek out his warmth instead. Yet, he can’t bring himself to move.
He shouldn’t like it. He can’t. He can’t allow you in, he can’t let you past his rapidly crumbling walls. Yet, he does like it. He wants to feel you pressed against him, he wants to see that hidden part of you that had brought his beta to his knees so easily.
He’s supposed to be keeping his distance, and yet, here you are, forcing your way in again. It almost feels like a silent apology for yesterday, your subconscious picking up on his disappointment, and so now it’s offering him this moment in hopes he’ll forgive you.
It’s working.
A quiet breath leaves your lips as you listen to the steady beating beneath your ear. The scent of coconut and saltwater floats in the air, taking your mind far away, back to a different time when things were simpler. Kyle’s calloused fingers trail across your arm, drawing absentminded patterns across your skin. You press your face against his warm skin, your hand splaying across his stomach. You can feel the ridges of his muscles, the way they flex with every breath.
“What’s on your mind?” He asks, his lips brushing your forehead as he speaks.
“Just thinking about when we used to go to the beach when I was younger. Back when my dad was stationed in North Carolina for a few months.”
“You like the beach?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah. There’s just something calming about it. I don’t mind the sand and I like the sound of the waves hitting the shore.”
“We could go to the beach.” He says, making you tilt your head up just slightly. “When the weather’s nicer, closer to summer. Take a few days off, go on a vacation.”
“You could do that?” You ask, pushing yourself up on your elbow so you can see him fully.
He smiles at you, his hand dropping to your back. “We do get to go on leave every so often, barring nothing urgent happens while we’re away. I’ll talk to Price about it. We can start making some plans, if you want.”
You stare down at him, the softness in his gaze, the slight upward tilt of his lips. He might as well have just promised you the world with how he’s looking at you. Tears burn at the back of your eyes as you stare at him. You don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve such kindness, such care after lying to them. You can trust Kyle. He’d be the least angry, at least towards you, if you confessed right now. It would be so easy, but you’re not sure you could stand watching the love and happiness fade from his eyes as you confessed to your stupidity, your deception.
“What is it?” He asks, his brows furrowing. Of course he’d pick up on the shift of your emotions, the sudden anxiety twisting in your stomach. “We don’t have to go to the beach. We could do something else, or nothing at all.”
“It’s not that.” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just...I don’t deserve you. All of you. You’re too good to me.”
“Oh, love, that’s not true.” He says, gently cupping your cheek. “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re too good for us. The things we’ve seen, the things we’ve done. We’re not good people, and yet we were blessed with an absolute angel.”
Tears gather in your eyes for a different reason now. You certainly don’t feel like an angel. You’re too broken and you’ve lied and made stupid mistakes. “I’m hardly an angel.”
“Well, in comparison to us, you are.” He gently presses against your back, drawing you closer to his face. “Our angel, our sweet little omega.”
A shiver runs down your spine from the way your status sounds from his lips. His hand slides to the back of your head, pulling you down so your forehead is pressed against his. You can feel his breath on your lips, your tongue darting out to wet your own in anticipation.
He tastes like mint toothpaste, his tongue immediately pushing past the seam of your lips. His kiss steals your breath away, his hand tangling in your hair to keep you in place as he licks into your mouth. Your hand settles on his chest for balance, feeling his heart racing under your palm.
You shift over him, throwing a leg across his hips as you settle against his chest. His hand releases your hair, tracing a line down your spine to your hips. The shirt of his you had changed into before crawling into bed with him has ridden up, revealing the lacy panties you're sporting underneath. He groans against your lips as his fingers trace over the lace before slipping underneath, tugging them lightly.
You pull away from his lips, staring down at him. “I’m gonna need more pairs of these at this rate.”
“We’ll have to take a trip and pick up more.” He grins, snapping the waistband against your skin.
You bite your lip, pressing yourself up so you’re sitting over his hips. You can feel the growing bulge beneath his shorts as you begin to grind against him. He’s gone commando, your clit catching on his head through the thin fabric. Your hands press into his stomach, feeling the muscles contract as your scent thickens in the air. His hands close around your hips, guiding you as you grind against him. His eyes are hooded as he stares up at you, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.
You stare down into those big brown eyes, getting lost in the depth of them. If you could melt yourself into him, seep under his skin and become one with him, you would. He might be the most beautiful person you’ve ever laid eyes on. He might as well be sculpted from marble, or pulled right from a piece of artwork.
You shift so you’re leaning forward, your clit dragging against his stomach as you continue moving your hips. You grasp his chin, fingers digging into his cheeks. “You’re so fucking pretty, it’s not fair.”
He chuckles, giving you a dazzling, perfect smile. “Thank you, love.” He wraps his arms around you, pushing himself up to sit so you drop into his lap. “But I’m nothing compared to you right now.”
He keeps you grinding against his lap, his hands squeezing your ass as you soak the front of his shorts with every drag of your hips. Your head falls back as you moan, the friction against your clit quickly pushing you towards an orgasm.
“Haven’t even touched you yet and got you all worked up. You could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” He nips playfully at your lips, sliding his hand down further to press against your lace covered pussy.
You let out a whine, releasing your hold around his shoulders long enough to tug off your shirt. He curses quietly as your skin is revealed to him, his hands trailing up your back.
“Fucking hell, love.” He groans, pushing his hips up into you.
“Kyle,” You moan his name, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Need you.”
He curses again, wrapping his arms around your waist for leverage as he flips you over onto your back. He sits up on his knees, trailing his hands down your sides until he reaches the waistband of your panties, trailing his fingers across the lace for a moment.
“You alright?” He asks, checking in with you.
You nod, lifting your feet so they press against his chest. “You gonna take them off already?”
He grins, sliding his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs before tossing them to the floor. He parts your thighs to give himself room as he pulls off his own shorts, his cock springing free from the confining fabric. Your mouth waters as you stare at it, your teeth sinking into your lip in anticipation.
“Fuck,” He breathes as he pushes your thighs further apart, dark eyes glued to your glistening folds.
He slides his hands down your thighs, his thumb ghosting over your clit. Your hips jerk in response, pushing up against his hand. He chuckles, repeating the motion, watching the way your lips part in a moan.
“Always so sensitive.” He smirks, pressing his thumb into the bundle of nerves. “Even after Price fucked you senseless a couple nights ago.”
Your face warms at his words, your stomach fluttering excitedly. Of course they had heard you. You’ve long given up on trying to hide what goes on behind their closed doors. They all know, they already knew from the first night you spent with John.
He had been rather rough that night, fucking you into the mattress so hard the headboard had scraped some of the prison grey paint off the walls. You had asked for it, though, both of you needing the raw, carnal release it had given you.
“Yeah, we all heard that.” Kyle continues, slowly circling your clit with his thumb as he speaks. “Sounded like a couple of animals in there. If you hadn’t been screaming his name over and over, we might have been worried he’d mauled you to death. Simon and I had to keep Johnny occupied so he wasn’t tempted to join you.”
Your pussy flutters at the thought of the three of them together, riled up by you and John. You can almost picture it, Johnny in Simon’s lap, bouncing on his cock while Kyle sucks him off from the front. Or did Johnny submit to both and suck Kyle’s cock while Simon took him from behind? Or was Simon more of a giver and sucked him off while Kyle fucked him? Or did Simon take both of them after making them both suck his cock?
The endless stream of thoughts has your pussy clenching, slick dribbling out of you as your legs start to shake. It’s almost too much with the pressure against your clit, your body heating from the fire ignited in your veins.
“Liked that, didn’t you?” Kyle smirks, removing his hand from your clit to lean down over you. “Maybe next time we’ll squeeze you in right in the middle. Would you like that?”
You nearly cum from his words alone, your hands grasping at his shoulders. “Fuck, Kyle! I need you inside me right now.”
“So impatient.” He tsks, leaning forward to bite at your lips. “Such a needy little omega.”
“Please!” You almost sob, lifting your hips to press against his. “I need you.”
He shushes you, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before sitting back up onto his knees. He shifts slightly closer to you, propping your legs up over his thighs. His hand fists his cock, pumping the hard length a couple times before he drags the head through your folds. You whine impatiently, trying to lift your hips to grind against him but he presses a hand into your stomach, pinning you against the bed.
“Patience.” He scolds you, sending a shiver down your spine.
He drags his head through your folds a couple more times before he finally presses into you, stretching you open. You go lax on the bed, relaxing around him as he rocks his hips into you, sinking in deeper with every movement.
You reach for him as he sinks completely into you, pulling him down so he’s hovering over you. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you softly as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can. His arms slip around your back as he begins grinding against you, his thrusts shallow and soft. It’s so very different from how John had taken you just a couple days ago. Kyle has always been softer, gentler, more passionate than rough and eager.
You moan softly against his lips, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him locked against you. You want to get closer to him, but you’re not sure you can get closer than you already are. Bodies pressed together, his cock inside you, lips pressed to yours as he holds you. There’s a prickling under your skin, an urge to devour him, to keep him here forever. He snaps his hips into you harder, his lips trailing down to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes widening as a gasp leaves your lips. Your fingers dig into Kyle’s side, his head snapping to the side, sensing the disturbance in the room.
“Don’t stop on my account.” John leans against the closed door, a cigar in his hand.
You’re not sure how long he’s been there, how he got in without either of you noticing. Kyle especially, since he was usually so in tune with his surroundings. Pride flashes through you at the thought of him being so lost in you, he can’t focus on anything else. The scent of tobacco washes over you as John takes a long drag from his cigar. He must not have been there long, or maybe you’ve just been so caught up in Kyle’s scent you hadn’t noticed.
Kyle is frozen above you as John pushes off the door, approaching the bed slowly. Kyle shifts above you so he can hold John’s gaze as he stops at the edge of the bed. Excitement swirls in your stomach as you stare up at him in anticipation of what he’s going to do. His hand lifts, dragging down Kyle’s back to his ass.
John delivers a harsh slap to his cheek, Kyle’s hips snapping into yours in response as a moan leaves his lips. “Did I tell you to stop, soldier?”
“No, sir.” Kyle grunts out, starting to rock his hips into yours again.
You watch the change happen almost immediately, the natural shift between them. Kyle’s not in charge anymore, quickly handing over control to John despite the fact he’s the one inside of you. It’s a subtle submission, yet you can sense the changes in them both.
John massages Kyle’s ass for a moment before shifting so he’s closer to you. You stare up at him, lips parted as you whimper quietly. “There’s my pretty girl.” He praises you as he leans down, brushing his thumb over your lips before pushing it into your mouth. You close your lips around his thumb, sucking on it. “Such a good girl, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir.” Kyle grunts, continuing to thrust into you harder than he had been before.
John takes another drag from his cigar as you moan around his thumb, your hands gripping the sheets as Kyle continues to thrust into you, the head of his cock dragging across that spot inside you from the angle he’s at. Moans slip from Kyle’s lips as you clench around him, his own hands digging into the sheets. Sweat has beaded across his forehead, a droplet sliding down his cheek to his neck, leaving a trail as it slowly drips down his chest. Drool slips out of your mouth around John’s thumb. You want to lick the sweat from his chest. You want to taste him.
John slips his thumb from your lips, dragging it across your chin, smearing saliva all over your skin. “Look at her.” He says, moving so he’s looking over Kyle’s shoulder. “Drooling already and you haven’t even made her cum yet, have you?” His hand slips around the back of Kyle’s neck, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin. “You gonna make her cum like a good boy?”
Kyle lets out a moan, his pace stuttering just slightly. “Yes, sir.” He grits out, picking up the pace as he slams into that spot inside you with every movement.
John takes a step back, continuing to smoke as he watches the two of you. It’s almost too much between Kyle fucking you and John watching. There’s a coil tightening in your stomach, the pleasure intensifying more and more. A fire has started under your skin, your eyes glued to John’s as Kyle pushes you closer and closer to the peak.
You hold John’s gaze as you cum, your back arching in pleasure. Kyle doesn’t stop, continuing to thrust into you as he chases his own high.
John waits until your moans have died down before he moves, stubbing out his cigar on Kyle’s nightstand before he grasps Kyle by the hips, stopping his movements. “Switch places with our girl.” He murmurs into Kyle’s ear, Kyle taking a second to breathe before he wraps his arms around you, flipping you back around so you’re on top again as John kicks off his shoes.
Your hands press into Kyle’s stomach to hold yourself steady, your legs still shaking from your orgasm. John climbs on the bed behind you, his clothed chest pressing against your bare, sweat slicked back.
“Gonna be a good girl and make him cum?” John says quietly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
A shiver runs down your spine as you nod, starting to rock your hips just slightly. John’s hands settle on your waist, helping you move as you begin to bounce on Kyle’s cock. Kyle’s eyes are wide as he watches you and his alpha, John pressing kisses across your shoulders and neck as he helps you fuck his beta. Kyle’s hands grip your thighs, fingers indenting the skin as he holds on for dear life.
“That’s it.” John praises you, shifting your body forward just slightly so Kyle’s cock drags across that spot inside you with your every movement. You clench around him, your thighs tightening around his hips.
“Fuck...” Kyle moans, his own hips bucking up into yours.
“Gonna make him cum?” John asks, his hands abandoning your hips. One snakes around your stomach to rub your clit while the other slips behind you to squeeze Kyle's balls.
Kyle lets out a loud moan, his hips snapping up against yours as your walls clamp tightly around him. You can feel the warm ropes of his release spurting inside you, increasing the pressure as you cum a second time on his cock.
John works you both through your orgasms, your entire body shaking by the time he releases you, pushing you forward against Kyle's chest. You lay there, your cheek pressed against his sweaty skin, ass in the air right in John's face. He watches as Kyle's seed begins to seep out of you, forced out by the aftershocks of your orgasm. He drags his fingers through your folds, gathering Kyle's cum before pushing it back into you. You moan softly from the stretch of his fingers against your sensitive walls, pushing your hips back against his hand.
“Don't want to waste any of that.” John says, nipping at the globe of your ass cheek. “You know Kyle likes to clean you up himself.”
You let out a quiet moan, your pussy fluttering around John’s fingers. You’re about to be in for a very long night.
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#cod x reader#task force 141 x reader#poly tf 141#poly task force 141#John price x reader#captain John price x reader#Kyle gaz Garrick x reader#gaz x reader#Johnny soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#Simon ghost Riley x reader#Simon Riley x reader#a/b/o#omegaverse#alpha/beta/omega
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Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price
[MASTERLIST]
Rating: M
Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.)
Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader
CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous
Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot.
Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what.
a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...
John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you.
Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”
However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…
More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…
And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants…
He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6.
There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.
His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you.
He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.
He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.
But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.
So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…
You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain…
It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.
As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.
Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.
You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.
They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.
“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.
“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.
“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.
You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.
You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.
“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen.
A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.
Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”
Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you.
“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it.
It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.
“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call.
“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.
“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.
“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.
Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.
“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.
“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.
Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.
“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”
“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.
“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.
“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.
It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.
“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.
“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.
“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.
After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.
The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.
“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.
“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.
“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant.
“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.
“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.
“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.
Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.
The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”
“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.
“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.
“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.
He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…
So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?
Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.
Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.
“John?” You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.
The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…
So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?
He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.
“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.
You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…
His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.
“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.
A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.
“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.
“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.
The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?
Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.
“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.
“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”
[MASTERLIST]
extra: 500 words-ish
The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours.
You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs.
You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen…
“Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen.
“Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John.
When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night.
The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence.
Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers.
Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t!
The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores.
You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.
#ikea writes 💚#captain john price#john price x reader#price x you#husband john price#cod fic#cod modern warfare#captain price#task force 141#masterlist#cod smut
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Part 4!! (No content warnings)
Fuck these men :)
You roll your neck, trying to loosen muscles tense from keeping your head locked in place. Hard work denying natural instinct to look at whoever is speaking, but the 141 doesn’t deserve any more of your attention than they’ve already stolen. Even if they didn’t know they had it at the time.
You’ll have to ask Nikto if he’ll massage out the knot forming there. He’s handy with anatomy like that.
“Listen, about what happened…” Gaz starts.
“Not relevant,” you snap, crouching behind a barrel.
“I’d say it’s pretty relevant,” he replies. “It’s not right, how we left things.”
You nearly snarl. ‘Not right’ is the understatement of the bloody century.
You twist on him. “You’re being unprofessional. Shut up and take this seriously, Garrick.”
You duck as a sniper shot pings dangerously close to your head. Spot Nikto across the way, hand-signaling to ask if you need back up. You reply with a ‘no’ and turn back to Gaz.
Thankfully, it seems he’s caught the message and keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the stupid drill. You resist a snappish comment when it’s over. Up until Gaz starts up again.
“I just think you deserve—”
“I don’t care what you think I deserve,” you interrupt. “I know what I deserve. And it’s a partner that can keep their feelings in their vest.”
Speaking of, Nikto appears at your side like a shadow in shifting light. There’s a disapproving tilt to his head, aimed at Gaz. You shake your head and tap your knuckles against his.
“Need a water break?” You ask, worried about how long he’s been under the helmet.
He shakes his head, then surprises you by bumping his forehead against yours — his version of a kiss. Even in private those are rare. You hum at him.
“Thank you, Nik.”
You have to run the next drill with Soap. Know from the start he’s going to be a stubborn prick about it. Can see it in the set of his jaw and the flicker in his eye.
“Didnae have to be a knob to Gaz,” he says.
You don’t respond, slipping away as the exercise begins. He calls after you and hurries to catch up, nearly blowing your cover.
“He feels bad enough for what happened, ye know.”
You level him a cool, blank stare. “You speak for him now?”
His eyes narrow. “If you won’t give him the chance to, aye.”
You knock his leg out from under him and fire at the “enemy” combatant, Nova. She sportingly goes down, but mutters that you should have let her take the shot. You should have.
“You compromise this drill again,” you tell a toppled Soap, “I’ll tell Laswell direct that you don’t belong on this mission.”
You spin on your heel and continue the exercise, ignoring any and all attempts by Soap to get you to speak again. At the very least, he picks up the slack, earns his callsign.
Nova finds you again when it’s over, arms around your neck and chest plastered to your back.
“Look’it you go, mamas,” she coos. “Shot me through the heart all over again.”
You laugh bending your legs to let her hop up for a piggy back ride. Yeah, you’re tired. But never too tired to carry your girl around. She giggles in your ear as you carry her off back to your captain for her next drill.
“With Price now,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“Sure thing, boss,” you answer, doing a good impression of enthusiasm.
You know your place, settle into position just behind Price’s left side. No overtures about the past this time. Whatever iota of lingering respect you have for him grows as you complete the drill flawlessly. When it’s over, the two of you are at the furthest point from the designated “start”. And that’s when he decides to open his stupid mouth.
“It wasn’t personal, you know,” he says.
You smooth out your expression even though you don’t turn to him, already starting back.
“Okay.”
“It was the best call,” he explains, falling into step with you.
You tilt him a sideways look, don’t even bother with your full gaze. Spent far too much time looking up to him, by your estimate.
“Okay.”
“I look out for my soldiers.”
You turn forward again. “I wouldn’t know.”
Your captain happens to intercept, sweeping you up with one arm. You yelp, though can’t help grinning as you hook your fingers in one of his chest straps.
“Shouldn’t sneak up like that, sir,” you scold.
“That’s how I’ll know when I need to retire,” he replies with a crooked grin. “When I can’t sneak up on you anymore.”
You huff, snatching his sunglasses off his face to wear all the way back to the start point. Keegan meets you, looks directly at you as he salutes.
“Captain,” he says.
You laugh, give your CO his glasses back.
“Keeping fuckin’ around, Russ,” the captain rumbles, “I’ll take it out of your ass later.”
You gasp, scandalized, and laugh as the little skin visible through his smearing face paint turns pink.
“Off with you, girl,” your captain says. “We’re done after this, so keep it quick and clean.”
“Yessir,” you reply, jogging off to meet Ghost.
Fucking Ghost.
You don’t spare him a single look as you set up for the exercise. If nothing else, you have every expectation that he won’t say a single goddamn thing to you. No attempted apologies, no reprimands, no justifications. Just radio silence, like always.
What you don’t expect is for him to treat you like nothing’s changed. Like you’re still a fresh transfer that can’t watch their own six. You consider just putting your “gun” away and trailing after him until the exercise is over, but that would be just slightly too immature.
So you suck it up, grit your teeth, and do your job. Up until he gets in the fucking way. You’re about to get a sneaky shot on Keegan — a rare thing indeed — but Ghost moves. Goes out of his way to get the shot you already had and loses you both the element of surprise.
“Fucking oaf,” you snarl, scrambling behind a wall. “Is this your first fucking day or something?”
His eyes flash across the corridor. “What the fuck did you just say?”
You don’t reply, getting low and kicking your boot off, carefully sneaking it towards the corner like you’re trying to peek out. Keegan comes around, aiming too high and in the wrong direction, and Ghost shoots him.
Keegan “goes down” — goes out of his way to land on you, actually. You huff and shove at him.
“It’s not nap time,” you groan.
“Can’t hear you, I’m dead.”
You snort and shimmy out from under him. Not so different from most mornings, actually.
“If you two are done…” Ghost growls.
You suck your teeth and stalk off, giving Keegan one last pat to the back. The rest of the drill is barely civil, Ghost’s eyes more on you than on the training grounds.
When it’s finally, finally over, you sigh and pause, trying to work out that knot again.
“Haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Ghost sneers.
It’s meant to hurt. Meant to piss you off. Maybe remind you of the last things he said to you. You don’t look at him, bending to re-lace your boots. Thrilled to realize it’s like poking at an old scar. The skin is deadened, even though a mark remains.
“Fuck you’re so immature,” he growls.
You straighten and just start walking. Keegan finds you almost instantly.
“The hell was that about earlier?” He asks, frown audible.
“Ugh, he got in the way. I would have fuckin’ had you, otherwise.”
His eyes spark with outrage. “He fuckin’ what?” He snarls, turning like he’s about to say something to Ghost. Which… no. Just not worth it.
“Keegs,” you sigh, “c’mon, I told you this would happen. He’s not worth it.”
He scoffs, laces his fingers with yours. “‘Course he’s not. Don’t waste bullets on the dead, right?”
You snort and tug him along. The rest of your team will be waiting.
#thoughts™️#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#angst#sad fic#former 141 reader#specgru reader#cod nikto#keegan p russ#nova cod#task force 141
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💫🎀 with Ghost? Like he gets all tipsy and lovey. I honestly see this man as a lovesick puppy once you give him a lil bit of attention
Also if you’re keeping track of anons can I be 🧃anon?
a/n: okay first of all you're absolutely correct and you should say it. secondly, i've never had to track anons before and i'm actually so honoured! you can totally be 🧃 anon! 💗
fic: gn!reader x simon "ghost" riley
tags: fluff
warnings: none
wordcount: under 1k
Strictly speaking, you and Simon really aren’t supposed to be sharing quarters. You’re definitely violating at least a dozen regulations by spending almost every night in his bed. Then again, not many people are willing to argue with a six-foot-three man in a skull mask, so strictly speaking has never really been an issue.
No, the only issue is that it’s almost ten and he’s not back from drinks with Soap and Gaz yet and you’re deeply regretting not going with him because, as it turns out, hanging out in this apartment all by yourself is, big surprise, actually pretty fucking boring.
It feels like a millennium passes by in the confines of the white walls before you at last hear a familiar knock at the door.
Setting down your book, you unfold yourself from the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, already mourning the loss of warmth as you shuffle across a cold hardwood floor to let the lieutenant in, one quilt still wrapped loosely around your shoulders, trailing behind you as you reach for the latch.
Simon’s pulling you into a hug almost the second you open the door, burying a fabric-covered face against your hair.
“You’re late,” you mumble into his chest, in an unsuccessful attempt to sound scolding.
“I know, ‘m sorry, lovely, cab took fuckin’ forever.” He shoves the door shut behind him. Leans back against it. “Ended up standin’ in the rain for ‘bout an hour.” He strips off a damp jacket. Pulls off his mask, revealing stubble and scars and a smile. “Missed you th’ whole time.”
“Sappy bastard.”
“Mmph.” The scent of bourbon whiskey still lingers on his skin, warm and a little smokey. He wraps the blanket — which has been slowly slipping off over the course of the exchange — back around you. “You like it.” You scoff and roll your eyes, and he cups your face with his hands and grins. “You’re cute.”
“You’re drunk,” you protest through squished cheeks.
“M’right, though.” He chuckles. Pulls you close again. Sinks down onto the couch, and you’re pulled down with him, his thick arms wrapped around you protectively as he rests his chin atop your head.
“Simon.”
“Lovely.”
“Breathing.”
“Not important,” he murmurs.
You sigh in defeat. Melt into the embrace. “You’re warm.” The words are muffled against his neck. Simon hums in acknowledgement. Presses a soft kiss against your temple.
“You too, lovely.”
#this was so fun to write aaaa omg#i hope you like it 🧃 anon!#simon riley#cod#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#cod x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#task force 141#tf 141#asks open#call of duty fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley cod#ghost cod#ghost mw2#simon riley fluff#simon “ghost” riley fluff#cod mw2#cod fluff#ghost x reader#x reader#gn reader#gender neutral reader#fic writer
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Just thinking about you doing the “Sorry, I’m not into short guys” Tiktok trend with The 141 boys
(You can view this as each being individual boyfriends, or that they are all your bfs in a foursome almost)
Simon “Ghost” Riley
You don’t let him hear the audio sound. You know if he did then he’d wouldn’t do it. He probably would after you said please two or three times
So you keep an AirPod in one ear and just ask him to help you recreate this video that’s been going around.
You don’t say anything more about it, and it causes Simon to lift an eyebrow in curiousity as he stands behind you like instructed.
You start the Tiktok, lip syncing the audio and raise it up to your level before subtly tapping Simon’s leg for him to take the phone.
He raises it up to his height, stopping to when only his chest down is showing and not his neck.
And you’re just there smiling with a blush on your cheeks as you look up at the camera
When the song is done, you tell him thank you as he hands you’re phone back. And you reward him with a kiss
He asks you about it and you simply tell him you’ll send it to him later
When you send Simon the video an hour later when he had left to get something from the store for you. You get a text of him saying “bloody hell” following with a “insert smh emoji”
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
Kyle already knows about the trend. Has seen it before on his feed once or twice whenever he gives Tiktok a look through.
So he isn’t confused when you come up to him and asks if he could do it with you.
He smiles and gets behind you, ready and in position with a smirk on his lips
You start the video, mouthing the words before handing it to Gaz to raise up to his height
You stand there with a smile on your face as he slowly lifts it up to his height.
You suddenly feel his hand slide up from your side, up your chest and rest securely around your neck
You welcome it instantly, placing your hand on top of his and letting him press his thumb against your bottom lip as you look up at the camera
Smiling even wider when he says to you softly, “That’s my girl.”
Johnny “Soap” MacTavish
Johnny is the one to ask you to do it
He saw it on his for you page one time, then went down the loophole of watching more videos with that same trend and sound
After 5 minutes he comes to you and says he wants to do it with you
You happily do it because you had already wanted to ask him
So the two of you stand in position and you do the trend letting Johnny take the phone from you and raising it to his height
You look up at the camera as you turn around, to ask him to give you a kiss.
He kisses you quickly before lifting you over his shoulder. Your ass in on his shoulder and in full view of the still recording video.
You can feel him chuckling to himself before he throws the phone and takes you into the room to have his way with you
Captain John Price
You come to John and ask him if you can hold the phone for him.
He stops what he’s doing so he can help you with what you need but not knowing what for.
You instruct him to stand behind him, as you play the phone music in ear as you raise the phone
John takes it up as you mutter against your breath for him to take it.
He lifts it up to his height still confused as ever as he stares at the phone recording both.
His attention however shifts to you as he feel your hands wrap around his waist and your chin pressed to his chest.
He looks down at you as you’re already looking up at him. He smiles before placing his unoccupied hand on your cheek asking, “You alright love?”
He asks you what the video was for, after a few minutes. You show him the finished video. He watches it with his eyebrows furrowed at first until a blush creeps against his face and he’s letting out a soft laugh.
He places his hand against your cheek once more before kissing your lips. “What ever my girl wants.”
#kyle garrick mw2#kyle gaz garrick fic#141 headcanons#task force 141#141 x reader#captain john price x reader#john price imagine#john price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#johnny mctavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley imagine#simon riley imagine#john soap mactavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#cod 141
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Imagine: insecure/worried!Price x Reader (& more)
TW: minor hurt/future comfort(?), sleep deprived ramble
Next>>
Price always worried about letting you in too close. His job is dangerous, and his life is always at risk. John felt guilty imagining you waiting for him, only for him to never return back to you.
It didn’t help that you had just broken up with your last boyfriend, someone you, admittedly, thought you were going to marry. John didn’t want to risk you being emotionally wrecked again so soon.
He never wants to lose you, and at the time, he fully believed knew he loved you. But he didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, so he made a fail safe.
With some thorough convincing, your relationship opens- but only on your side. John encourages you to get another boyfriend, much to your initial dismay. It’s not because he wants to share you, but because he doesn’t want to risk you being left alone.
The two of you never discuss your other relationship, and when he has free time, the two of you spend every moment together. But sometimes his work is overbearing, so he doesn’t tell you to come over.
He spends the night alone, because to him, a night of just sleeping next to each other isn’t good enough for you. You deserve better.
It hurts feeling like he isn’t enough, or fearing you’ll be in pain at his expense. He loves you and wants you to be happy.
You always tried to tell him he was enough, that you loved him, but he never fully listened.
At least if you’ll have someone to comfort you in case he dies, right?
——
Soap had called the team over for a housewarming party after moving into his new place. His bonnie thing was set to show up soon, and he couldn’t stop ranting about her (he hasn’t stopped vaguely bragging about her since they got together).
John wasn’t too focused, instead thinking about when he should tell you he’s back in town- it had been awhile since he saw you.
Maybe if he asked you to move in, the two of you could transition into a relationship where he felt confident he was enough for—
Your voice breaks him from his thoughts as he hears you greet Johnny. And the moment you turned the corner, his heart stopped.
His lass, the one he encouraged to date another, was also with his teammate.
Johnny was introducing you to the team as you and John locked eyes; the dots formed and connected instantly, and the panic settled in.
What were you two to do? Lie and pretend to not know each other? How could you pretend not to know the person you were in love with?
“But ‘imma steal ‘er from him. Make ‘im realize his mistake lettin’ ‘is bird roam the city unattended.” Johnny joked as he finished explaining the circumstances of your relationship. How you two were committed, but how you also had a loser (Johnny’s words) boyfriend who wanted an open relationship.
As Johnny continued to talk about the two of you, he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. But so were you and Price…
Gaz stared at you, wondering how his ex girlfriend -the one he regretted ever leaving, the one he still loved, the one he wanted to marry- was there.
His heart was on the ground being stepped on. All his regret was tripling down as he saw his teammate holding you so lovingly, the way he wished he still could.
It was selfish to want you back, even years after the break up. But he couldn’t help wanting his soulmate back. And it was his fault for pushing you away…
When you finally broke your gaze with Price, you unintentionally met the wide-eyed gaze of Gaz- and you felt like throwing up.
Your two boyfriends and now your ex too??
But you hadn’t even noticed him yet.
Ghosts eyes landed on you in silence the moment you walked in. It took him a minute to even process how you were there.
“Lass…” Simon spoke in a tone only you were familiar with, making everyone else go silent and turn to him.
“Simon..?” Your voice was quiet and shaky as you realized immediately who he was.
The mask hid him at first, but you knew the voice of your long-lost friend. Your childhood best friend, your childhood crush.
The same one who “died” before either of you could confess to each other…
How could these men all be in the same room? It was like ghosts of the past, present, future, and the dead were haunting you.
“So… I guess introductions aren’t needed…” Soap realized as everyone stared at you.
————
Sorry if this sucks. I’m ignoring my endless pile of wips and writing this at 2 am
And I may expand upon it…
It would 100% devolve into poly!141 x reader btw
#141 x reader#141 x you#price x reader#john price x reader#john price x you#johnny mctavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#soap x reader#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#john soap mactavish#john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#task force 141#task force x reader#poly 141#poly 141 x reader#i keep forgetting to work on my fics I’m so sorry y’all
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Secret relationship and they find out you're being transferred to a different team.
Anon...how DARE you. But really, the angst that this prompt is giving is everything. I want to warn readers now that I was not nice with this one. There is a lot of angst happening here. There is nothing spicy about it. It's all pain with a little comfort sprinkled in for a few of our boys.
(Sorry not sorry)
These are presented in four individual double drabbles.
Content & Warnings: angst, mild emotional hurt/comfort, secret relationships, yearning, heartbreak, 141!reader
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John "Soap" MacTavish
“We’ve got two weeks!”
“Soap.”
“Can you believe that?”
“Johnny.”
Soap’s smile remains but melts slightly. “What?”
“I’m leaving.”
He chuckles. “We both are.”
You shake your head. “No. I’m leaving the team.”
Soap frowns slightly. “Retirement?” He shrugs. “Seem a bit young.” That smile returns and he saunters forward, his large hands grasping your hips. “Means we can go public.”
He leans in for a kiss, but your heart isn’t in it. Soap realizes the reluctance the moment your lips meet. “It’s something else,” he says.
You nod because that is all you can manage. Originally, Captain Price said he wanted to tell the team together, but he doesn’t know about you and Johnny. Soap needs to know first before the rest. If not, it’ll come as a blow and a betrayal. You can’t do that to him no matter what Captain Price says.
“I’m being transferred,” you murmur, voice breaking slightly.
Soap does not retreat. He rests his forehead against your own, eyes closing as he inhales. His arms slide from your hips to your back, drawing you against him.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says rubbing your back. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle enters the meeting room. It’s the last one before everyone breaks for a month.
But there is someone missing.
Laswell and Captain Price talk quietly, their heads bent in conversation. Soap is showing something to Ghost on his phone.
You are not among them. You are not in your usual spot.
Laswell glances up and Price clears his throat. “We can start.”
“Hold up, Captain. We’re missing one.”
Kyle gestures toward the chair you usually sit in and Price frowns.
“Transferred on another mission,” interrupts Laswell.
Kyle says nothing, sinking into his chair. He listens but most of it slips right out of his head. The only thing he can think about is that you’re not here and you didn’t say anything.
When Laswell and Price are finished, and everyone begins to exit, Kyle lingers, intent on talking to Price.
“Not gonna talk about our missing team member?”
“Nothing to say,” shrugs Price. “Transferred this morning.”
Kyle swallows down the emotion rising in his throat. No one knows about the two of you, and if he pushes too much, he might reveal something he shouldn’t.
“Coming back?” asks Kyle.
“Eventually,” answers Price. “Not sure when.”
Eventually. There’s hope then.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“You’re leaving.”
“Simon.”
“Did you plan on telling me?” You remain silent and Simon shakes his head. “Waiting for Price to do it?”
“That’s not true.”
Simon takes a step forward, entering your space. “I saw the transfer on his desk. I saw the date. How long have you known?”
“Does that matter?” you ask.
“Of course it does,” he snaps.
Simon is never angry, not with you. His anger is subtle which makes it more terrifying. This is something else. Simon is hurt, and you’re the cause of it.
“I’m sorry you found out like this. I planned on telling you.”
“When?” He’s closer now, towering over you.
“When I had more information.”
“More information?”
“I don’t know where I’m going or with who,” you add.
“Might not tell you until you get there. Happens all the time.”
You understand his meaning and know that Simon is right. Would you have left without telling him anything, only saying something once you’d left?
No. This thing between you might be tangled but he is the only one you want.
“Are you upset?” you ask.
Simon deflates. “Not with you.” He tugs you against him, creating a cocoon of warmth. “Never.”
John Price
The transfer papers mockingly stare at Price.
All this time, he believed he could have you without repercussion. Didn’t matter that you were another member of the team and his subordinate. You were his, and Price could protect you.
But these papers came from someone above him, and he cannot refuse them. No matter how much he wants to.
And no one knows what the two of you do when there isn’t anyone looking. But now, that’s shattered. Broken. And Price must grieve for your departure in silence. Price has already raged. He punched the wall until his knuckles bled.
After that, he walked until he came to terms with it.
You don’t know yet. You have no idea. Telling you will be the hardest part. What will happen? How will the two of you move forward? Can the secrets remain, or will it all need to be out in the open?
Price sighs and runs his hands over his face.
This is a punishment. Must be. Why else is it happening?
There is a loud knock at the door. Again, Price sighs, knowing that he has to face the reality of the situation.
You are on the other side.
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✧･ﾟ 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮
alejandro vargas x female!reader [3.1k]
summary ⤍ alejandro comes home three days earlier than expected.
warnings ⤍ 18+ (mdni) explicit language & smut, unprotected sex (piv), oral sex (f receiving)
a/n ⤍ i have been obsessed with call of duty lately and this man does not have enough fics written about him. also been feeling like crap lately so this was just very self-indulgent. any and all feedback is appreciated and welcomed. my spanish is also super limited so don't judge too much pls
The door creaks when Alejandro steps over the threshold, eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness as he sneaks inside and makes a mental note to oil the hinges in the morning. He toes off his combat boots and pushes them to the side, scanning the downstairs area for any signs of life. There's none, but it's clear that it's been a rough day judging by the endless clutter of toys strewn from the hallway leading into the living area.
It's hard not to smile in fondness at the mess, heart squeezing when he approaches the coffee table where his daughter had clearly been kept busy with drawing. His fingers touch the messily scrawled letters spelling out 'daddy', taking in a drawing of what he assumes is him - with weirdly tall legs - holding hands with a little girl that resembles his daughter. He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over the couch and gets to work on collecting all the toys and cleaning up the mess as quietly as he can. It's a big house, so he's not too worried about waking someone up.
When the dishes are washed and placed on the rack to dry, he turns around and heaves a sigh. The exhaustion is starting to creep up on him as he finally lets himself relax, shoulders dropping from where they'd been tense. It had been a hard and gruelling mission, one that had kept him away from his family for over three weeks. The sudden need to see his two favourite girls becomes too much, too fast.
He skillfully sneaks into his daughters room, locates her sleeping form and spends more time than he should've to look at her. He knows she's a light sleeper, refraining from stroking the brown locks away from her face or giving her forehead a kiss. Alejandro made another silent mental note to wake up early to surprise her with pancakes. Maybe he could keep her from school and spend the day with her.
Leaving her sleeping soundly in her bed, he walks quietly down the hallway to the bedroom he shares with you. The door is ajar, soft light spilling from the open crack and he remembers how you'd been doing that ever since you had your daughter. What if she needs me and I can't hear her? You'd once replied when he asked why you insisted on keeping the door open. Alejandro was trained to hear a needle drop, but he could understand your worry all the same and didn't protest at all.
The bedside lamp was on, shedding enough light for him to spot your sleeping form spanned over the mattress. He smiles at the way you're sleeping on your stomach, hands shoved beneath the pillow your head is resting on and he tries to contain the way his heart jumps in his throat when he realizes you're sleeping on his side and on his pillow. He had a feeling you'd been doing that when he's away, it's hard not to notice the smell of your sweet shampoo on his pillow but seeing it in person does things to Alejandro that he couldn't even put to words even if you tried.
He yanks his sweater off as quietly as he can and wastes no time to crawl onto the bed, the mattress dipping where he places his knees. Alejandro should probably let you sleep, judging by the little circles under your eyes and the way your nose is softly whistling with every breath. Btut he really can't help it, dipping his head down to nose into the juncture of your neck and throat. You're ticklish there, always squirming when he kisses you there but you're soft and warm, and you smell so good that he can't help but nuzzle into the little space with a small, happy sigh.
As predicted, you stir in your sleep at the soft touch, shoulder tensing up as his eyelashes tickles a particularly sensitive spot. The tired giggle that escapes your lips almost has Alejandro keeling over.
"Mi amor." Alejandro presses a kiss to your cheek and watches your eyes flutter.
Your lips stretch into a smile when you start to wake up, struggling to turn around with the way your husband is straddling you; Covers wrapped around you messily. He helps you turn onto your back and then you two look at each other with matching smiles on your face. You take in the slight stubble on his face, hands reaching out to touch the prickly skin as you stroke your thumb under his eyes.
"Welcome home." You murmur and that's the incentive he needs to bend down and kiss you.
He loves on your lower lip for a moment before trailing small kisses over your jawline, up to your cheeks.
"You're not supposed to be home for another three days." You say, trying to sound accusing but the smile on your face is too happy.
Alejandro smiles and noses along your cheek lovingly; Like he needs to feel you with him, here, alive. It's not unusual for him to become like this after his missions because God knows what kind of horrendous things he experiences on the daily. That's one of the biggest reasons why you'd decided to move out to the country side, settling down in a farm house with minimal civilization. I need to know that my two favourite girls are safe when I'm not there to protect them, he'd once said. The fear in his eyes and the urgency in his voice was enough conviction for you. He already had a million things to worry about, you didn't need to add his family to the list. Even though you were pretty sure that you were the highest ones up on the list already.
"Needed to see you." He murmured, sighing against your cheek. The puff of air makes you squirm.
"And you're okay?" You cup his face and bring it up in front of you so you can take a look at him.
He doesn't seem harmed, the darkness under his eyes the only indication that he's been struggling. His eyes search your face before he nods once.
"I'm alright, corazón." He grabs your hands in his and presses kisses to them. "Are you two alright?"
You grimace and it makes Alejandro laugh.
"Your daughter is hellbent on challenging me every day," You pause and smile bashfully at him. "I guess you saw the mess downstairs."
Alejandro smiles and bends down, placing his elbows on either side of you. You can't help but crane your neck up to steal a kiss from him.
"Already taken care of, cariño." He goes for a second kiss and you respond eagerly when his tongue touches yours softly.
He kisses you deeply enough to forget what you were talking about, fingers sliding between his strands of hair to grip it softly. Alejandro gently moans into your mouth and you kiss him harder, not realizing how much you'd missed being touched like this until now. Granted, it had only been three weeks but it had been three weeks too long. And your husband seems to share that sentiment, judging by the way he grips your hair and tilts your head to the side so he can suck kisses into your neck. You pant into the air at the feel of his stubble against your sensitive skin, feeling feverish all of a sudden.
"And you?" He whispers into your skin, bringing his sinful mouth back to your ear. "Do you need to be taken care of?"
You can't help the moan in response, feeling your body light up just from his words and Alejandro seems to enjoy it. You can feel his mouth stretch into a smile, kissing his way up to your lips and claiming them once again.
"Yes, yes please." You reply belatedly, feeling a little like your head is swimming.
Alejandro doesn't waste any time to pluck the straps of your nightgown down from your shoulders, slipping them off enough to expose your breasts. He moans in appreciation at the sight of them, scooting down to mouth at the swell of them. You squirm beneath him, hands gripping his hair when he wraps his lips around one nipple to suck and lightly tease with his teeth. The slight sting of it makes it all the more pleasurable.
"Seems like I've been neglecting you, sweetheart." He releases your nipple and pouts at you.
It doesn't make him look regretful nor sad. He just looks outright devilish with his eyes locked on yours, hands coming up to grab at both your tits to knead and massage into his palms. He marvels at the way your mouth drops, taking in your fluttering eyelids and decides that he's waited enough.
His hands wander down, pushing the covers to your feet before he slides his palms up your legs. You try not to think too hard about how you hadn't had time to take care of yourself and taken the time to freshen up and shave, but Alejandro looks enamored all the same when he takes his time to knead your thighs. You had been together for four years and married for three, so you knew that he had absolutely no qualms when it came to body hair or the way you looked.
"Eyes on me, baby." His voice brought you out of your drifting thoughts, pads of his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as if to ground you.
You locked eyes with him, warmth spreading over your cheeks when you realized that he'd caught you worrying silently in your head. He somehow knew exactly what you were feeling and thinking, and the reassuring smile he sent your way was enough for you to relax and spread your legs so he could wedge himself between them.
"You look perfect," He trailed off and looked down at his hands travelling up your thighs, pushing the hem of your night gown with it. You squirmed when he flipped it up to your stomach, eyes hungrily taking in your center. "Fuck, so gorgeous."
You'd foregone underwear completely, feeling way more comfortable sleeping without them, but it seemed to stun Alejandro into silence as he trailed his fingers down over your mound until he nudged your clit. It wasn't a surprise that you were soaked, almost closing your legs when he swiped a finger down your hole and slicking it up. He scooted down further to lay on his stomach, pressing small and reassuring kisses to your inner thighs before he licked up your center.
A startled whimper escaped you and you clamped a hand over the crown of his head, the other one grabbing onto the sheets by your side. You sighed out a small moan when you felt his tongue circle your clit, pursing his lips and sucking it into his mouth. He placed a hand on your hip and pushed you back down into place when you bucked up into his mouth, eyes flickering down to find him staring at you.
He looked captivating, mouth working sinfully between your legs and eyebrows drawn taut. His eyes were dark, resistant and not moving away from your face in fear of missing a single facial expressions flickering over your face. It was a struggle to keep your sounds in, especially when he worked a finger and then two into you. It should've been embarrassing how easily you sucked them in, but you were too far gone and too close to your orgasm to care about it.
Alejandro hummed low in his throat when you started making those hitched noises he loved so much, indicating that you were close to your release. You wrapped your legs around his form and whispered a string of yes, yes, yes when the vibrations of his humming sent you straight over the edge of oblivion. Your body taut as a bowstring, back arched and hands gripping the sheets, you gasped out your orgasm as Alejandro licked and sucked at you through the waves of intense pleasure. He snuck a hand into his pants and gripped himself at the sounds you were making, your taste on his tongue and the blissed out expression on your face. He was so hard he felt like all the blood had rushed down, making him feel lightheaded when the stroke of his hand gave him some form of release.
It wasn't enough though and he placed multiple kisses to your inner thighs before he climbed up once again to claim your mouth in a filthy kiss that had you whimpering. You were still shivering, hot puffs of breath escaping your lips and melting Alejandro's insides from how incredibly hot he found it. Found you. You looked absolutely destroyed already, eyes blown out and satisfied; Just as he liked you.
"More," you murmured against his lips and it sounded like beautiful music to your husbands ear. "Need more, Ale. Please."
You didn't need to tack on the please, because Alejandro would move mountains and collect every star in the sky for you if you asked. He didn't know how it was possible to love someone like he loved you, and it only seemed to grow every day.
He made quick work of shedding the rest of his clothes, struggling to keep from preening when you stroked your hands over his broad shoulders, bulging biceps and touching the hairs on his muscled chest. The admiration in your eyes made something in his stomach go tight from adoration for you and pride because a body like his didn't just appear out of nowhere. He'd worked hard for it and it kind of came with his job.
Your hands wandered and came to a stop on the back of his neck when he leaned close to you, cock nudging your entrance. You both let soft gasps when he let himself slide along your slick pussy, legs wrapping themselves around his body. Alejandro's breath stuttered when he buried his face against your neck, sliding himself home and making you clench on instinct. He made a sound in his throat at the sudden tightness and warmth, arms wrapping around your torso to hold you as close to him as possible.
"God, you feel so good." His voice was hushed, spoken warmly against your cheek and you turned your head to press a kiss to his lips as he bottomed out inside of you.
"You feel huge." You said, not really meaning to vocalize your thoughts out loud but it made Alejandro laugh in your ear.
"Oh, really?" He pulled back and thrust back in slowly, making you moan. "Like that?"
You nodded your head, leaning your head back against the pillow and closing your eyes. Alejandro built up a rhythm, hips meeting your flesh with every thrust he made as he started fucking into you. It had been a few weeks, enough for you to forget how incredibly thick he was. Even though you'd pushed out a baby, and had four year to get used to his size, it just... Never got easier. It did mean that he could stretch you out so deliciously good that you'd feel it for days after. Like the time when you'd had Rudy staying over for a few days and he'd noticed your limp in the morning as you went to prepare the coffee machine. He hadn't outright said anything, too embarrassed to point out your funny walk, but it had been written all over his face when you'd turned around to face him. You didn't know why you ever thought you could hide it from someone like him. Alejandro still found it hilarious to this day.
"He estado pensando en ti." Your husband nosed along your cheek before giving you a kiss.
You knew he thought of you often, but it never failed to warm your heart because you always thought about him whether he was away or at home. And that's exactly what you voiced out loud.
"Pienso en ti siempre." You spoke against his lips, watching as his lips stretched into a breath taking smile.
He gave a thrust, mouth dropping open into a sinful O and you watched, mesmerized. It was clear he wasn't far from orgasming, thrusts faltering a little as he started speeding up. You moaned and grabbed at his shoulder, letting him nip at your throat and press filthy kisses against your lips as he fucked into you. It was only a matter of time, the slickness of your pussy and the clenching set him on edge; Made him bare his teeth like an animal. It was hard to look away when he sat himself up and grabbed at your knees to push your legs up and to your stomach, growling low in his throat at the tightness around his cock. He looked breath takingly beautiful, bushy eyebrows scrunching up and eyes fluttering shut when he tilted his head back.
A couple of thrusts into you and he gasped into the vastness of the room, breath stuttering as he came inside of you. You grabbed at his arms, pulled him down into you and kissed him just so he could moan freely into your mouth without waking up your kid in the other room. He slowly recovered, body quivering and twitching whenever you'd clench involuntarily around his sensitive cock and you ran your fingers softly through his damp hair as he gradually came down from his high.
You grimaced against the top of his head when he slowly pulled himself out of you with a hiss, and he must've felt you tense up a bit because he placed a gentle kiss to your naked shoulder.
"Lo siento." He moved his head from your chest to pull your night gown over your exposed chest and the straps up your shoulders.
You were too tired to protest when he eventually moved off of you, making his way to the adjoining bathroom to clean himself up. It took a moment and you didn't realize that you'd dozed off until you jolted awake when the mattress dipped. Alejandro whispered an apology, to which you gave him a sleepy smile, and then went to work on cleaning you up with a damp rag. He threw it to the side when he was done and made himself comfortable right beside you.
"I'm happy you're home." You broke the silence with a sleepy whispered confession.
Alejandro gently pulled you into his arms, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck with a happy sigh.
"Me too, mi amor."
#alejandro vargas#call of duty#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas x you#task force 141 fic#call of duty modern warfare 2#alejandro vargas smut#alejandro vargas fic#alejandro vargas one shot#alejandro vargas imagine
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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,
your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡
thank you!! here’s part 3 :)
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.
you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.
no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.
in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’
you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.
you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.
the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.
you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.
the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.
you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.
you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.
you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.
you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.
just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.
you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.
the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.
you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.
“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.
you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.
simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.
“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.
you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.
“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.
simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.
you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.
your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.
there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.
“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“did you follow me in here?”
“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.
“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”
your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.
simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.
he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.
no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.
“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.
you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?
these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.
“fuck off,” you tell him.
“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.
“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”
he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.
“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.
“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.
“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”
“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”
you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”
he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.
johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.
but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.
the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.
cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.
but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.
now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.
“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.
“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.
“you should’ve just killed me.”
author’s note:
not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.
and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!
anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)
taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina
#ghost cod#ghost x gn reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost angst#ghost call of duty#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley angst#call of duty fic#captain john price#gaz call of duty#soap call of duty#captain price#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#141!reader#141 x reader#task force 141#tf 141#ghost mw2#call of duty angst#johnny mactavish#john price
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 19: Daddy Issues
Summary: Your pack is back home, but things aren't quite as good as you try to make them seem. Some truths get revealed, while others remain in the dark.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 9,337 words
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, angst, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, '09 Ghost's backstory, mentioned abuse/child abuse, still pretty heavy emotionally, language, finally some of the comfort after the hurt, plenty of fluff
A/N: This stupid fic making me cry again. I may have lied about this one not being quite as heavy as the others...it's still pretty heavy, but there are some sweet moments in there too. There is a bit of a time jump in the middle, it's roughly a week long or so. Not much, but it does cut ahead a bit just for the sake of plot and moving things along. Also yeah, I got it done earlier than expected.
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
You’re warm. Sweat has begun to form in the creases of your body. You’re wrapped around something solid, something contributing to the intense warmth. The smell of leather and eucalyptus fills your nose as you nuzzle your face against soft fabric. It sends a shiver down your spine despite the heat, your eyes fluttering open. You’re staring at a blurry mass of black fabric, your brain beginning to catch up as you become more and more aware.
Leather. Eucalyptus. Something distinctly alpha.
Fuck.
You’re spooning Ghost.
He has to be asleep, otherwise he would never let you get so close to him. He would have shoved you off, pushed you back towards Johnny, who you’ve traded places with in the middle of the night. You must have gotten too hot sandwiched between the two betas and tried to escape somewhere cooler. That led to you spooning with Ghost, not that he’s much cooler than the betas.
You can get away before he wakes up, remove yourself from his personal space before he realizes and forces you away. Avoid the shame and embarrassment of his rejection, his anger at you for crossing that boundary, even just in your sleep. Despite the fact you know that boundary is there, despite the fact you did it unintentionally, you’re not sure you could handle such a rejection right now, even from him.
You slowly begin to withdraw your arm from around his middle, sliding it back towards your body. If you go slow enough, you should be able to untangle yourself from around him without waking him and avoid a confrontation.
A quiet gasp is pulled from your lips as his hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you from moving.
“Don’t.” He says quietly.
Your heart is thudding in your chest as he tugs your arm back around him, keeping you where you are. Your exhale is shaky as you slowly relax, pressing your face against his back again. You’re not sure what to do. You were expecting him to push you away, get up in disgust and leave because you got too close, you pushed past the barrier he had placed around himself when it came to you. A barrier that got let down only while you’re training, then it’s put right back up as soon as you’re finished. Now here you are, spooning him after sleeping in the same room, the same nest.��
You wouldn’t have taken him for being a little spoon type.
Your eyes begin to droop again as you lay there, breathing in Ghost’s scent. It’s like a comforting blanket, lulling you into a sense of relaxation, of safety, something you haven’t felt in days. For the first time your mind is quiet, not panicking about what happened, or what could happen. You don’t have to worry about your pack now, because they’re here with you again.
You drift off to sleep again for a while, sleeping soundly in the cocoon of safety your pack has provided for you.
You wake a while later, sticky with sweat. Your back is pressed against Ghost’s, and there’s something draped across your face. You push it away, blinking your eyes open. Johnny has starfished across the nest on his back, his mouth open as he snores. He’s stolen your bear, one arm holding it against his chest, and the other arm had been what was draped across your face. Kyle is curled up on his other side, having moved from the middle to the far side of the nest. John is missing, making your brows furrow.
You push yourself up to sit, the air in the room almost like a sauna. You rub your eyes, trying to blink away the sleepiness. That might have been the best sleep you’ve gotten since your heat. It was likely the exhaustion taking its toll, paired with your brain finally being able to relax while surrounded by your pack.
You feel like you could lay down and sleep for another ten hours.
You’re warm, though, sweat causing your clothes to stick to your skin. The blankets have all been kicked to the end of the mattresses, likely ditched early on in the night. You wiggle out of your sweatpants, kicking them off the end of the mattress as well, leaving you in a baggy shirt that you think is Johnny’s.
You feel suddenly exposed sitting there, your eyes flicking around the room as a chill runs down your spine. John would have noticed if something was out of place, but he could have just brushed it off as you in his room. He had given you permission to be in his space while he was gone, if you needed to. One of them would have noticed if things were out of place in their rooms. Ghost would likely notice, since you haven’t been in his room at all.
You lay back down on your back, staring up at the vent on the ceiling. The cover is in place, and no matter how hard you look, you can’t see a camera hiding in the gaps. It doesn’t ease your worry any as you stare up at it, wishing you had your phone so you could at least try to look for one. Though, perhaps it was better you didn’t have your phone with you. You hadn’t been brave enough to pop it open and look for anything strange hidden inside, though you wouldn’t even know where to begin to look, or what to look for.
You should tell them. What if someone is watching you right now?
You flinch as John appears in the doorway suddenly, five water bottles tucked against his chest. Your skin is crawling from the thought of someone watching, someone listening in on such a private moment with you and your pack. You hadn’t even thought about it last night, the stress and your fear had taken over your mind. You push yourself back up to sit as John passes Ghost a water bottle, handing one to you as well. You unscrew the cap as John places the other bottles on his desk. Johnny and Kyle still asleep, unaware of the world.
Unaware of the danger.
A cold shiver slips down your spine as you gulp down the water. What if someone had entered the barracks last night? You weren’t in your room, and the door wasn’t locked. Anyone could have just walked in and put up cameras again easily.
One of the guys would have heard someone snooping around, right? You were so out of it you likely would have slept through one of them getting up. What if they were also so exhausted from their deployment they could have slept through someone breaching their space as well. Did Ghost lock the door last night? You can’t remember.
“Alright, sweetheart?”
Your head snaps up to where John is leaning against his desk. His brows are slightly furrowed as he stares at you, and you realize you’ve been projecting your scent. With them gone, you didn't have to worry as much. You could stink up a room without a care. It just meant more protection for you. Now that they’re back, though, you have to be more careful. You can’t just go panicking over nothing, not that you should have to panic while they’re here.
That’s their job, right? Protect the omega?
They can’t protect you if they don’t know there’s a threat in the first place.
“Yeah.” You say, gulping down more water to think up an excuse quickly. “Thought I might be dreaming for a moment, that you didn't really come back.”
John approaches you slowly, kneeling down on the end of the mattress with a quiet sigh. He has to be sore after their deployment. You can tell just by the way he’s holding his shoulders, by the stiffness in the way he moves. You can’t even begin to imagine the kinds of things they did, the kinds of things they went through over the last week.
John takes your hand, pressing it against his chest. He’s warm underneath the shirt, and you can feel the steady beating of his heart under your palm. “We’re real.” He says, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand as he holds it against his chest. “We’re really here.”
You stare at his hand where it covers yours. You’ve seen it before, many times. Scarred and rough with calluses. His knuckles are dry and just slightly bruised. Did he punch someone? Or maybe he hit it against something else.
His hand moves, snapping you out of your thoughts. You fight the urge to flinch as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. “You’re thinking too much.”
You swallow thickly. “Well, I didn’t have much to do this last week besides think.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “We’ll try to make life more interesting for you, then.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get these two muppets up for breakfast.”
He pushes himself back up to stand, staring down at Johnny and Kyle, still sleeping. You shift onto your hands and knees, crawling over to Johnny before swinging a leg over to straddle his stomach. You lean forward, planting your hands on either side of his face, his breath catching as he begins to wake up, sensing a disturbance. You stare down at him, watching his eyes flutter before they crack open. The haze of sleep leaves his blue eyes, clarity coming back to him quickly as his lips begin to lift in a grin as he stares up at you.
“Didnae expect tae wake up to such a sight.” He says, voice thick with sleep as his hands come to rest on your bare thighs. “A beautiful woman on top of me? I must’ve died and gone tae heaven in my sleep.”
“Even better,” You say, leaning down closer. “Because I’m real.”
“That ye are.” He says, slowly dragging his hands up your legs, pushing the shirt up as he goes.
Ghost pushes himself off the mattress, leaving the room so quickly he nearly knocks his shoulder against the doorframe. A frown pulls at your brows as you watch him go, slowly pushing yourself back up to sit on Johnny’s stomach. Guilt starts to well up in you as you stare at the empty doorway. You hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable.
“Don’t mind him, kitten.” Johnny says, pushing himself up to sit, sliding you backwards into his lap. “He’s still miffed he didn’t get a greetin’ yesterday.”
“Oh,” You say, blinking in surprise. You hadn’t even thought about greeting Ghost in that moment. You had been so desperate for your alpha, and then swept up by the betas, it hadn’t even crossed your mind to acknowledge Ghost. “I didn’t-”
“It’s not yer fault.” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around you. “He hasnae been the most...open with ye. It’s his own damn fault for it.”
“Oh, well, I’ll be sure to give him a big hug when he comes back in.” You say.
“Please do.” Kyle says, rubbing his eyes where he’s laying next to you. “I’ll pay to see his reaction.”
All three of you burst out laughing, Johnny pressing his forehead against yours. “Missed ye, kitten.”
“Not as much as I missed you.” You say, pouting.
Johnny chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. His hands slide to your hips as he presses another soft kiss to your lips, and then another.
“Let me get in on some of that.” Kyle says, pushing himself up to sit. He grips your chin in his hand, turning your face to his before pressing his lips to yours.
His kiss takes your breath away, deeper and more passionate than Johnny’s had been. You hum against his lips as Johnny’s grip on your waist tightens.
“Christ almighty.” Johnny breathes, staring at you and Kyle as you kiss.
“Alright, you three.” John says as the air in the room starts to turn musky with arousal. “Let’s feed our omega first before we get too carried away.”
Kyle pulls away from you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.
“Can we...eat in here again?” You ask, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s shoulders as you turn slightly to look up at John. You had almost forgotten about his presence, caught up in the attention from your betas. The thought of him watching the three of you has a different kind of thrill racing down your spine.
“Of course.” John says, bending down to kiss you.
Both Johnny and Kyle groan at the sight of their pack alpha kissing you, Johnny’s cock twitching in his boxers beneath you. You press a kiss to Johnny’s cheek after John pulls away from you before pushing yourself up to stand. You stretch your arms over your head, the shirt riding up a bit, giving both Kyle and Johnny a good view of your legs. The musky scent of arousal intensifies in the air as they stare at you, Johnny licking his lips hungrily.
“Alright, get out of here you cheeky little minx, otherwise they’ll never get out of bed.” John says, gently guiding you from the room.
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you leave John’s room, stepping out into the hallway. It’s much cooler outside of the room, goosebumps forming on your legs. You have half a mind to go back to your own room, but you find yourself unable to even approach the door. Memories of the fear and your panic come flooding back, the thought that someone might have snuck inside, someone might be waiting for you in there snapping to the front of your mind. It’s a ridiculous thought. Someone would have noticed if there was an intruder, if there was someone who shouldn’t be inside creeping around.
Your gaze flickers from your door as Ghost makes his way down the hallway, his clothes changed from what he’d been wearing to sleep in. You bite your lip as you stare at him, meeting his gaze. Perhaps it's the fear driving you forward, or maybe you’ve gone slightly crazy in their absence, but you find yourself approaching him, making him stop in his tracks.
He eyes you as you approach, your steps quick as you try to avoid chickening out. Your mind is repeating Johnny’s words over and over in your head, an explanation for Ghost’s behavior yesterday, and obvious annoyance at you and Johnny this morning. You wonder if he’ll take it as a threat as you get closer to him, if he might snap and defend himself. He’s completely still, not even his chest moving. He’s watching you like a predator watches its prey, waiting for your next move.
It’s like hugging a tree as you wrap your arms around his waist. He’s stiffer than a board as you hug him, resting your face on his chest. Leather and eucalyptus and musk all float around you as you press close to him, his scent enveloping you in a hug, even if his body doesn’t follow suit.
“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice rumbling deep in his chest.
“Hugging you.” You say, tightening your hold around him. You’ve been this close to him before in your training, but this feels different. “I’m sorry for not greeting you on the tarmac. I wasn’t really thinking clearly at that point.”
He lets out a quiet sigh, something you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close to him. You can imagine it’s a sigh of exasperation at Johnny for spilling about his feelings. “It’s fine.” He says, awkwardly patting your back. “Don’t know why you would have wanted to.”
“Well, you are part of the pack.” You say. “That should be enough reason.”
You nuzzle your face against his chest, his scent going straight to the back of your brain. Your omega wants to roll in it, cover herself in it until it’s all you can smell. The intensity of his scent has something in your hindbrain purring, the sound rumbling through your chest.
Ghost puts his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back from him. You blink up at him blearily as your mind begins to clear a bit with the distance. “At least put some pants on before you completely lose it.” He grumbles.
A small smile tugs at your lips before it falls at the thought of having to go into your room. You turn to face the door, your vision almost tunneling as you stare at it. You don’t want to open it. You don’t want to go in there.
“Ghost?” You say quietly before he can walk away.
He turns to look at you, his eyes squinting just slightly as he frowns. “What?”
“Will you...will you open my door for me?” You shift your weight, knowing he’s going to want a reason, an explanation for your behavior.
He turns fully to face you, shoulders squared as he slowly approaches, suddenly on the defensive. “What is it?”
You shake your head. “Just a feeling.”
He steps between you and the door, wrapping his fingers around the handle before he swings it open, scanning the inside. His shoulders relax just slightly and you let out a breath of air. There’s no one inside. No one’s waiting for you. No one broke in last night.
He takes a step back before turning to you. “Nothing.”
You let out a sigh of relief, staring into the space that was once your nest, your safe place. You can feel Ghost’s eyes on you, waiting for an explanation for your behavior. You can’t tell him the truth, despite how easy it would be. You could confess right now, admit to what happened, what you did, the mistake you made. You could drop to your knees right now, beg for forgiveness for what you did.
“It was hard...while everyone was gone.” You say. It’s not a lie. Not entirely. “Made me uneasy, being alone here. Kept thinking I was hearing things.”
He doesn’t believe you. You can see it in his eyes. He knows your lying, he knows you’re withholding the truth from him. You aren’t, you just aren’t giving him the whole truth. You had felt lonely, you had been on edge even before General Shepherd arrived and your room was bugged. Being alone was hard. Harder than you thought it would be. It would have taken its toll on you, even without the stress of your space being invaded multiple times.
You should have told someone. You should have called Dr. Keller right away. You should have never opened the door in the first place.
“Thank you.” You say, slipping past him and entering your room.
He stands there for a few breaths, watching you warily as you open your closet, looking for something to wear. You ignore him, acting like he’s not there, but you can’t hide the squaring of your shoulders, the stiffness of your movements. You’re not sure you could resist if he pressed, if he tried to force you to tell him. You’d spill immediately, even without him using his alpha against you.
The thought has another chill racing down your spine.
Your omega is on edge as you change with the door open, not caring as the guys move around, getting dressed to head out to grab breakfast for everyone. You hate how inconvenient it must be, but you still don’t think you could handle being in the mess. Not yet. Not so soon. You’ll have to eventually, otherwise they’ll think something is up, happened, and then they’ll start questioning.
You couldn’t handle an interrogation. Especially not their disappointed and angry faces when you confess to what you did, the mistakes you made, how you allowed someone to walk in so easily. How you left so easily with a stranger. They’d never trust you again.
They won’t trust you if you keep things from them either.
They have to know. They have to know General Shepherd came to base and talked to you. They have to know about you meeting their superior while they were away. A high ranking General couldn’t just be on base without someone knowing, and why would he hide it? He had come to check in on your progress and how you were settling in with your pack. He would have included your pack in that questioning as well, right? Besides, there has to be cameras everywhere on base. Someone would have seen you and let them know.
There’s no way they don’t know about it.
You stand in the doorway of your bathroom, staring at the cabinet where the broken cameras and recording devices are hidden. They’re broken, you ensured that. They’re hidden away, buried under enough stuff no one could find them unless they were purposefully looking for something.
You let out a breath, trying to relax as you finish your morning routine. It’s over. There’s nothing that can be done now. All you can do is try to move on, try to mend the fraying bonds with your pack, heal the sense of fear and unease surrounding your safe space.
Maybe Dr. Keller could help. You could admit everything to her, everything that happened while she was supposed to be watching you. If you had just gone to her office that afternoon, perhaps things would have been different. She would have known, but that wouldn’t have stopped the cameras from being put up. It would have just made it easier for them. Maybe they might have finished the job properly, and you wouldn’t have even known. Even if you had called Dr. Keller, what kind of argument could she have made against a Commanding Officer?
If you told Dr. Keller now, she’d tell your pack. She’s promised to keep everything between you confidential, but would something like this be an exception? Would she tell your pack anyway because she thinks it’s the best course of action to help you?
You want to cry. Tears are welling in your eyes as you stare in the mirror. You hardly recognize yourself. You look tired, strung out, sickly almost. Are you not, though? Is that not how you feel? You know omegas can get sick from stress sometimes, if it gets to be too much. You don’t want to get sick. You don’t want to be more of a burden than you’re already being. They have to be so tired after their assignment, and here you are making things harder for them.
“You alright, love?”
You jump, letting out a shriek as you whip around to face the door of your room. Your heart is racing as you slap a hand over your mouth, staring wide-eyed at an equally surprised Kyle. You let out a breath, slowly lowering your trembling hand as you try to calm yourself. It’s just Kyle sneaking up on you. Not a stranger.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He says, brows pinching in a frown.
“‘S okay.” You murmur, turning off the light before leaving the bathroom. “Was lost in thought.”
“The others left to grab food.” Kyle says. “They’ll be back shortly.”
You nod, trying hard not to make your trembling too visible, or give any hint at your discomfort. “Okay.”
You stare at him as he leans against the doorframe. He hasn’t entered your room. He’s still standing in the doorway. The thought has a lump forming in your throat. Your bonds have frayed so much he doesn’t even feel comfortable entering your space anymore. There’s a wall up again, and you’re only forcing it higher and higher.
“Come on.” He says, holding his hand out to you. “Let’s go to the rec room.”
You take his offered hand, letting him pull you from your room. The door clicks closed behind you as you let him lead you down the hallway and away from the place that’s become fuel for your nightmares.
Kyle sits down on the couch, pulling you down on his lap. You wrap your arm around his neck as he wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth and scent.
“I’m sorry for startling you.” He says softly, bringing your other hand to his lips so he can press a kiss to your wrist.
“It’s not your fault.” You say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Been on edge since everyone left.”
“I bet.” Kyle leans his cheek against the top of your head. “We’re here now. We’re gonna fix that.”
“What happens when you have to leave again?” You ask.
“You won’t be alone again, that’s for sure.” A different voice says.
You nearly jump out of Kyle’s lap as John appears in the doorway of the rec room, Johnny and Ghost right behind him. Kyle’s arms are the only thing keeping you steady as your heart nearly beats out of your chest. You’re not sure how much more you can take, intentionally or unintentionally.
“I spoke with Kate this morning.” John says as he sets the food he’s carrying on the coffee table. “We’re going to do everything in our power to avoid having you left alone again. At least one of us will be staying behind with you from now on.”
Your brows pinch a little. Is that why he had been absent from the nest earlier? You’re not quite sure what to feel. On one hand you’re relieved at the thought of not having to be alone again, but on the other hand, you don’t want to disrupt their lives, their jobs. You wonder just how hard he had to fight to even get Kate to agree to something like this.
You also feel a bit afraid that they know, they figured out what had happened and that’s the reason they don’t trust to leave you alone again. You’ll make another stupid mistake or another risky decision that might cause you actual harm next time.
Kyle eases you off his lap and onto the couch beside him. Johnny sits on your other side, squishing you between them as a tray is passed into your hands. You don’t feel very hungry as you stare down at the food, but you know after a meager dinner last night, you need to eat. You won’t be doing you or your pack any favors by being hungry.
It’s quiet in the rec room as you eat. It’s almost eerie how silent it is, aside from the occasional scrape of silverware on the trays. You begin to float back into the time when they were gone, the haunting silence that had settled over the barracks in their absence. Everything had seemed so still, not peaceful, but more like the very walls were holding their breath.
Perhaps it was in anticipation for what was to come. Perhaps somehow the very walls knew they would be beached, the safety they once promised would be upended.
Or maybe you’ve just gone crazy.
You shift forward on the couch, careful not to tip your tray over as you grab the remote from the coffee table, turning the TV on.
“Finally! I couldnae handle the silence much longer.” Johnny exclaims, letting out a relieved sigh.
The corners of your lips pull up in a smile as you pass the remote off to him, letting him search for something bearable to watch on early morning TV. You’re glad at least you weren’t alone in your distaste for the silence. You curl up closer to Gaz, reminding yourself that it’s not a dream, that they really are here. They really did come back.
Now you just have to move on and put the nightmare of what happened behind you.
As the days pass, things begin to return to normal. The guys start their normal routine of training and running drills almost immediately. To avoid being stuck in the barracks alone, you ask to go with them, blaming it on the distance and your need to be clingy still. At first you were afraid someone would take advantage of the barracks being empty again, but every search has come up empty handed. No more cameras, no more recording devices.
Whoever it was who planted them must have given up, or perhaps the risk of doing it with the entire pack back on base was too high.
Despite this fact, you spend the least amount of time in your room as possible. Even when you can’t go to watch them train or run drills, you spend your time in John’s room, or in the rec room. At night you rotate between John, Kyle, and Johnny, opting to sleep with them over spending a night alone in your room.
As you discussed, you begin seeing Dr. Keller twice a week. You’re not quite sure what she told John to convince him it was necessary, but whatever it was, it hadn’t given away any of your secrets. It probably hadn’t taken much to convince him to say yes, given your current state and his worry about you.
You know he’s worried. You can see it when he looks at you, like you might snap if he stares too hard. You’ve seen the way his hands twitch when Johnny holds you too tightly or gets too rough in his affection, like he’s worried you might shatter.
It’s reassuring to see the distance has not just affected you. Johnny holds you tighter than he used to, Kyle stands closer to you like he’s trying to fuse you both into one. Even Ghost has started hovering closer, using his hands to steer you and guide you when you’re around others that aren’t part of your pack.
You’ve started eating in the mess again, knowing you can only avoid it for so long before they’ll start getting suspicious and asking questions. You still feel paranoid, being around the other soldiers on base. You can’t help but be suspicious that it was one of them that planted the cameras, that it was one of them that tried to get into your room that night. Who would willingly breach such sacred ground and invade an omega’s space like that, you couldn’t even begin to guess.
Sure, some of them still stare at you, but most of them now ignore your existence. You’re no longer a spectacle, not after a few weeks on base, not that you’re a claimed omega now.
That won’t stop some alphas.
Going up against your pack, though? That would take one hell of a cocksure alpha.
Just like the one that invaded your safe space.
It had to have been an alpha. Sure, that beta soldier had entered the barracks, but to go so far as to put up cameras and try to come back and get into your room? That takes a special kind of audacity, something only an alpha could possess.
So life has gone back to normal, or at least as normal as it can be after what happened.
The return to normal hasn’t all been good, though. Your nightmares have returned, coming on quickly as soon as you began to settle into routine again. The real nightmare has passed, so now your mind has to plague itself with nightmares that have already happened. Things that can’t even hurt you anymore.
You start avoiding sleep again, despite your work with Dr. Keller, too afraid to risk having a nightmare in front of one of them again. The last thing you need is to have to spill about your nightmare. You might not be able to stop and wind up spilling about what happened while they were gone too.
Unfortunately, things don’t work that way. They never work that way for you.
Someone is screaming. Your body feels like it’s being constricted by a snake, crushing and painful as you’re clutched desperately against your mother’s chest. She’s the one that’s screaming, the sound hurting your ears. Your face is pressed against her shoulder, into the softness of her sweater. It’s the pink one, the one she made. Her favorite.
There’s knocking coming from somewhere, a door handle jiggling. It’s locked, but you can hear someone trying to get in, multiple people based on the voices from the other side. You don’t know who it is. You don’t recognize any of them. You can’t even make out what it is their saying, if they’re saying anything at all. The voices sound more like the unintelligible roar of monsters, the ones you used to be afraid of as a child.
Everything is muted by the blood pulsing in your ears, drowning out everything but the jiggling of the door handle. Someone’s trying to break in. Someone is breaking in. You can make out the thuds against the door, the desperate attempts to get inside, to get to you.
The arms around you tighten, pressing your face harder into the soft yarn of the sweater. You inhale the familiar scent of brown sugar and vanilla, the scent surrounding you and enveloping you in a sense of safety. Nothing can get you. Nothing can hurt you.
That’s not true, though. You know it’s not.
There’s a bang as the door is finally forced open, the screaming getting louder as footsteps enter the room. You’re shaking, trembling in your mother’s arms as she clings to you desperately, just like you used to cling to her when you thought there was a monster under your bed.
The monsters were real, you realize as you desperately cling to your mother, just as tightly as she’s clinging to you.
Hands grab at you, claws digging into your skin, tentacles wrapping around your body, trying to pull you from your mother’s grip. You can hear her pleading, begging, screaming at them not to take you, not to separate you. You’ll never see her again if they manage to pull you from her. They’ll take you away, hide you away, keep you from the warm comfort of her embrace.
You let out a scream of your own as you’re yanked from her grasp, your arms reaching for her as the monsters pull you from the source of your safety and comfort. The last thing you see is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door slams in your face.
A scream tears from your lips as you’re pulled from sleep suddenly. You’re falling, hitting the tile floor with a thud. Your shoulder cracks against the unforgiving floor, making you yelp. The blanket has tangled around your legs, rendering you immobile from the waist down.
The frantic pounding of boots on the floor meets your ears, seconds before the four members of your pack are sprinting into the rec room. Their faces look just as frantic as their steps had been, concern laced with fear laced with worry. You hadn’t even realized they’d returned already. They had been at their afternoon drills while you stayed in the rec room watching TV, slowly succumbing to the exhaustion that’s been plaguing you.
“What is it? What happened?” Kyle asks, moving to step forward but John beats him to it.
“Fell off the couch.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit, wincing at the pain in your shoulder. There’s tears sliding down your cheeks despite you fighting the remnants of your terror and pain from the nightmare.
“I think there’s more to it than that.” John says, kneeling down in front of you.
You want to confess everything. How you haven’t been sleeping well for weeks now since your heat, how you keep having horrible nightmares about your past, what happened while they were away, how the nightmares have returned. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at John, the tears sliding down your cheeks as you give up trying to control them. Guilt plagues you as you stare at the worried face of your alpha. He just wants to help you, he just wants to take care of you, but he can’t if you’re keeping things from him, if you’re lying to his face.
“I had a nightmare.” You say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You clutch your arm to your chest, trying not to move your shoulder too much.
John lets out a quiet sigh, his fingers lifting to press against your shoulder, feeling around the joint. You wince as he hits a tender spot, the pain sharp, but not horrible. You’ve certainly felt worse things.
He turns to the others behind him, all of them staring at you with equally worried looks on their faces. “Get me an ice pack.” He says before turning back to you.
He lifts you off the floor, placing you back on the couch before untangling the blanket from around your legs. Johnny grabs an ice pack as Kyle moves to sit next to you on the couch, draping his arm across the back, projecting his scent to try and help you relax. John sits on the edge of the coffee table, staring at you. Despite the worry still present on his face, his eyes are sharp. You can’t help but feel like you’re suddenly in an interrogation. They’ve done this before, probably many times, though likely not as gently as they are now. You’re terrified still at the way they shift so easily into the mindset of a soldier. You can’t even imagine what it would be like if they were serious in their interrogation of you.
“How long have you been having nightmares?” John asks as Johnny takes a seat on the other side of you, passing you the ice pack.
You press it against your shoulder, trying to keep your thoughts straight. You have to try not to spill anything, try not to confess to all of your sins, all of your stupid mistakes now. Your gaze drops to your lap, avoiding the looks of the two alphas staring at you. Ghost has moved to stand behind John, his arms crossed as he watches the exchange. You can feel the pressure of their gaze, the sharpness of it digging into your skin like knives.
“A couple weeks.” You admit, unable to even think of a lie. You don’t want to lie now, not with them staring at you so intensely. They’d know. They’d be able to tell before the words even left your mouth. “Since my heat ended.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding sleeping?” John asks.
You wince at his question. Of course he noticed. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been trained to notice weaknesses in others, gauge the capabilities of his men. Of course he’d notice you’re more tired than usual, not sleeping quite as much. He probably even knew all the times you woke up in the night when you slept next to him.
You nod, still staring at your lap, too afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He breathes, almost sounding upset.
You’ve made a mistake in keeping this a secret. You regret it as soon as you hear the emotion in his voice. He thinks you don’t trust them, he thinks you don’t trust your alpha. You need to tell him. You need to tell him everything, but the fear keeps you paralyzed. How much more upset will he be when you confess that you kept such a major event from him, from all of them?
A quiet sob leaves your lips as you sit there, terrified of the reprimanding you’re sure to get. The shame burns hot in you, the reminder that you’ve disappointed them. You’ve let them down and now they won’t even trust you to tell them anything.
“We’re not mad at you, sweetheart.” Gaz says, shifting his arm so it’s wrapped around your shoulders, his thumb brushing the hand that’s holding the ice pack to your shoulder. Johnny shifts just slightly closer to you, both of the betas projecting their scent around you, trying to cocoon you in their comforting presence.
“I just want to know why you felt it necessary to hide something like that from us.” John says, his voice softer than it had been before.
“I didn’t want to bother you.” You find the words spilling out before you can stop them. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the fear or your brain finally getting tired of holding everything in. This is your moment to let out a little steam, to finally release some of the pressure that’s been building. “My nightmares are nothing compared to the ones you all probably have and it’s stupid and I shouldn’t even be having them, it’s been years since the last time I dreamed like this, and I don’t even know why they’ve come back now.”
“No nightmares are stupid.” Ghost says, stepping up closer to the coffee table.
“We’re here to help you.” John says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We can’t do that if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”
Guilt burns through you at his words. He’s right. You should be honest with them, tell them everything. They can’t help you, they can’t keep you safe even from the things that plague your mind if they don’t know about them.
“What are the dreams about?” John asks, blue eyes boring holes into you.
You feel small under his gaze, like you're a child again, facing down your father after doing something wrong, after making a mistake. You have made a mistake, though. You’re facing the consequences of your mistake right now.
“The day I left for the institute.” You say quietly, voice hardly more than a whisper but you know they heard you in the silence of the barracks. It feels threatening, like the walls are silently vowing to tell the truth if you don’t.
Your pack shifts a bit at your words, sharing looks amongst themselves. They have to know what it’s like, or at least heard stories about the trauma of being pulled from your pack to be taken to a strange place, surrounded by others just like you.
“What happened that day?” Ghost asks, staring down at you.
You can feel his gaze piercing into you, screaming the silent threat that you’re going to tell them, no matter how long they have to sit here and wait. You don’t have a choice anymore. You have to tell them.
You’re warm. The ice pack pressed against your forehead does little to soothe the burning under your skin. You’re thirsty, the two empty plastic bottles on your nightstand were not enough to ease the dryness in your mouth.
Hands shift the ice pack, pressing it against your cheek. Your mother is there, seated next to your bed diligently. She’s crying, tears sliding down her cheeks, quiet sniffles breaking the silence in the house.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers, bringing your hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry,” She apologizes, as if it’s her fault, as if she brought this onto you.
She gasps quietly as the door opens, her back stiffening as your father enters. His face is stern, mouth almost twisted with disgust as he stares at you. It feels wrong, having him invade your space. If you’d had the energy, perhaps you would have been brave enough to protest his presence.
“Come on.” His voice is gruff, worn down from years of smoking and yelling. “Get up.”
“No, please-” Your mother attempts to reason with him, but he won’t have it.
“Shut up and sit down.” He snaps at her, and she has no choice but to sit back and be silent. His voice has something tingling in the back of your neck, almost like a warning. There’s nothing you can do, though. You’re far too weak.
He moves to the side of your bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you up from the comfort of your blankets. The ice pack falls from your head, your skin prickling with warmth almost like it hadn’t been there in the first place. Your brain is sluggish as you try to comprehend what’s happening, your legs giving out as you’re forced upright. You can’t get your body to work, you can’t even force yourself to behave. You want to crawl back under your blankets and lay there for the rest of eternity.
You whine as you’re dragged from your room, knees knocking on the floor as you attempt to get your feet under you to ease the pain in your shoulder. Your father drags you into the living room, two people you don’t recognize standing next to the front door.
“Please, please don’t do this!” Your mother pleads with him, right on his heels as he drops you in a heap in front of them. He catches her before she can rush forward to you. How you wish you could have her arms around you again, holding you and comforting you in your confusion.
“Enough.” Your father snaps at her, looking down at you with disgust. “She’s no daughter of mine.”
You blink up at him, the words seering through the haze, registering in your foggy mind. Tears gather in your eyes as you stare up at your parents, your siblings watching tensely from the living room as the scene unfolds before them.
“No, no!” You cry as hands close around your arms, lifting you from the floor. “Mama!” You scream, trying to fight them as you’re pulled from your home, your safe space, your family, your pack.
Your mother is yelling, fighting against your father’s hold around her, but it’s useless. He’s stronger. He wants this, so no one is going to stop him. She’ll pay later for her actions, her disagreement with him. You won’t be here to see it, though. You’re leaving and you won’t be coming back.
The last thing you see as the cool air outside washes over your feverish skin is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door closes, locking you out forever.
You’re dragged into the back of a van parked in the driveway. Two men in uniform climb in behind you before the doors are slammed shut. You curl up in the corner, sobbing uncontrollably. You want your mom, you want to be back in the safety of her arms, the warmth and comforting softness that only she can provide.
One of the men approaches you, a needle in his hand. You whimper in fear, pressing further back into the corner as he gets closer to you. He forces you down onto your stomach, the pain brief as he injects you with the sedative before he moves back to take his seat. You curl up in a ball, quietly sobbing as the drugs begin to work, your vision going hazy before you’re forced into unconsciousness.
“I woke up hours later at the institute.” You say, wiping at the tears streaming down your cheeks, but it does little against the cascade of tears falling from your eyes. “Never saw or spoke to my family again. They didn’t even try to reach me, and I know my dad was the reason why. He hated me as soon as I presented.”
“Fucking hell.” Ghost breathes, hands curled into fists at his sides. You can smell the intensity of his scent above everything, the burning ozone of anger rolling off of him. It makes you wince, even though you know it’s not directed at you.
“That’s why he wanted to send you so quickly.” Kyle says, his arm tightening around you.
“How did he get you into FIOT so soon after your presentation?” John asks.
You shrug your good shoulder. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know he’d be sending me, much less so soon until it was happening.”
“Christ,” Johnny breathes, gently taking your hand in his. “No wonder yer havin’ nightmares, kitten.”
“I haven’t had this nightmare since I arrived at the institute. They started there, lasted a few weeks while I adjusted to being there.” You sniffle. “Haven’t had them since, until now. Dr. Keller says it’s because I finally feel safe enough to process the trauma of it happening.”
John sits up a little straighter. “Is that why she suggested seeing you multiple times a week?”
You nod. “We’re working on it. I asked her not to tell you, because I did plan on telling you eventually.”
“I’m glad you told someone, at least,” He says. “And I’m glad you finally told us too. We might not be able to stop the nightmares, but at least now we can help support you in whatever way you need.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You say, squeezing Johnny’s hand slightly. He was the only one that knew you were having nightmares, but you hadn’t even confessed to him what was going on out of fear he’d tell the others.
“It’s alright, sweet girl.” John says, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad it finally came out and now we can help you.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, his thumb brushing your skin gently.
The moment is broken as your stomach growls impatiently. It’s past your normal dinner time, your confession having kept you longer than you thought it would. You hadn’t gotten in your afternoon snack either, your body having chosen to nap instead.
A small smile tugs at John’s lips. “Hungry, love?”
You nod. “Yeah. Didn’t get my snack.”
“We’ll go get some food and bring it here, how does that sound?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
He pushes himself up to stand, his knees cracking as he does. You fight the urge to say something, squeezing Johnny’s hand tightly.
“I’ll stay.” Ghost says, still looking at you.
John looks down at you and you meet Ghost’s gaze for a moment before nodding. John presses another kiss to your head, Johnny and Kyle pressing kisses to your cheeks before they get up, leaving the rec room to get dinner for everyone.
Ghost moves from his spot on the other side of the coffee table, sinking down at the end of the couch. You fight the urge to stare at him in surprise. You’re not sure you’ve seen him sit anywhere but in the chair the entire time you’ve been here.
It’s silent between the two of you for a few moments, aside from the occasional sniffle from you. You wipe the remaining tears from your face, removing the melted ice pack from your shoulder, tossing it on the coffee table. This feels very familiar to you, this position. You’ve been here before, back when you punched the asshole alpha who insulted you.
“My dad was a real asshole.”
You turn your head slightly in surprise when Ghost break’s the silence suddenly. He’s not looking at you, his gaze distant, far away. You know that look well. You’ve seen it on him before, and also on a few omegas at the institute. You’re sure it’s graced your face as well many times.
“He was a trad alpha, real piece of shit who couldn’t control his anger. Took it out on all of us. My mum, my brother, me.” He scoffs. “Mum took the brunt of it, but Tommy and I faced our fair share of it too. He used to bring dangerous animals home and taunted us with them. Made me kiss a snake once. He did all kinds of horrible things to us.” His voice softens a bit in a way you’ve never heard before. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, not even when he told you about his own nightmares. “I’ve never wanted an omega, because of the things my dad did to my mum. I never wanted a pack either, but...maybe something deep down in me did because I said yes to this whole experiment.”
The silence hangs heavy between you for a moment. You’re not sure what to say, or if you can even manage to say anything in response to what he’s just told you. You had no idea what his life was like growing up, except that he was also a purebred.
“I was always too afraid the cycle would continue, that I’d turn out to be another piece of shit, just like my dad.” He says.
“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit.” You say, your voice cracking a bit.
He huffs out a breath. “Thanks.” He stares down at the coffee table, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Did your dad ever hit you?”
You shake your head. “Never directly. He got rough sometimes, grabbing us, squeezing too hard, yanking us around. He never stopped my brothers when they got too rough, though. They liked to wrestle, and I wanted to join because I wanted to spend time with my cooler older brothers. Sometimes they’d forget I was smaller than them and I got hurt a couple times. He never reprimanded them when it happened. I think he enjoyed it more than anything. He mostly just yelled a lot.”
“Trad alphas only speak the language of yelling and violence.” He says. “If my father wasn’t screaming at us, his fists were getting the message across. Sometimes he’d do both at the same time.” Ghost shakes his head. “Real pieces of shit, trad alphas. Makes me sick, the kinds of things they believe in.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you.” You say, fishing for anything to follow up his confession with. Nothing feels right, nothing feels like enough.
He shrugs. “It happened. It’s in the past. He died a few years ago. Left nothing but a stain behind.”
“What happened to your mom and brother?” You ask.
“Tommy got into drugs for a while, but he cleaned up and got married. Mum lives with him now. Still doing well.” He says.
You’re surprised by his words. You’ve always heard that omegas don’t last long without their alphas. But what if their alpha was an asshole? Is the relief of their death enough to scrub out the grief of losing your alpha?
You stare at the side of Ghost’s head, your heart thudding in your chest. You feel sorry for him, but at the same time, you’re grateful he shared this with you. You have much more in common than you thought you did with the giant aloof alpha. Maybe, perhaps, this can be a way for the two of you to grow closer, maybe you finally have common ground that you can share with him to get him to open up to you more. You know he wants it. The revelation of his disappointment at your lack of greeting, and the fact he let you hug him is enough to tell you he wants something more with you. It might never breach the realm of romance or even a casual fling, but you can’t deny the bond is there. You can feel it, the tugging in your chest as you look at him, the butterflies in your stomach when he puts a hand on your back to steer you through the crowd in the mess.
You want him to want you. You want him to open up, to peel the layers back and bare his very soul to you. He’s already started. This confession is the beginning of that kind of bond between you. That he trusts you enough to tell you this makes something flutter in your chest.
If only he knew you were keeping something worse from him.
You could tell him. Confess to him right here, right now. Spill it all in this sort of mock confessional, this mock therapy session between you. He’ll be mad, but perhaps after everything that’s transpired today, he’ll be lenient. You’re not sure you could say the same about John, though.
“Ghost, I-” You start but he cuts you off.
“Simon.”
“What?” You breathe, blinking in shock as he turns to face you.
“My name. It’s Simon.”
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#poly 141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#141 x reader#John price x reader#captain John price x reader#kyle gaz Garrick x reader#Kyle Garrick x reader#gaz x reader#Johnny soap mactavish x reader#Johnny mactavish x reader#soap x reader#Simon ghost Riley x reader#Simon Riley x reader#alpha/beta/omega dynamics#a/b/o#omegaverse
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Spidey 🕸️
Ghost x Spiderwoman!Reader
@cheomain 's idea 💗
I haven't seen the new movie, so I went with the classics, hope you like it.
You were the new member of the 141, Laswell's own recommendation. But even Price, who would trust Laswell with his life, had second thoughts about you joining.
You were a scrawny, half-blind, way too young girl. The last person Price would have picked for the team.
“Let them show you, John. You need her to hack and collect the intel. She can't take a grown man down, but she's a decent shot.”
So he let you join, most of the time you felt like a child; constantly being told to walk close between two of them or it would be the complete opposite and they would tell you to stay hidden taking advantage of your tiny size.
Ghost was the one that liked you the least, he already worried about the whole team making it back home safe and they were able to fend for themselves. You? You were like a puppy, walking between their feet almost making them fall all the time, and still, you looked fucking delighted to be in the way. Ghost hated how happy you seemed to be all the time, hated how unaware of the danger you seemed to be, and he hated that he was unable to ignore how much he cared you got back safe.
But there was a thing he hated more than anything.
Superheroes.
The 141 was one of the few task forces that still existed, in many places arguing that they were no longer needed since now there were superheroes. And the hatred the population already had for the military only got worse.
Plus, even though Simon never joined the military to get famous, it still rubbed him the wrong way when they would go on a mission, fight for days, lose friends, and only for a random superhero to arrive when everything was almost finished and take all the glory.
He hated them all their life, and he always wondered why people liked them so much when he was home any of them came to save him, his mom or his brother. He always hoped one would save him, but they never did.
So both Simon and Ghost hated superheroes.
All of them.
So when they got the intel that a lab was working on creating new superheroes, he didn't need any more convincing and started getting ready.
The five of you walked along the rows and rows of animals captive inside the lab. Luminescent fish, shielded beetles, poisonous snakes, all the kinds. Ready to be experimented with, just for selfish humans wanting to be heroes.
“Keep walking, kid” Price mumbled behind you, making you peel your eyes away from the different fish bowls and terrariums. “Alright. Kid, you stay in this room and look around if you can find any document or proof. The four of us will go down the hall, there are some lights on, see if we can find anyone.”
You nod, already used to being left alone, and walk around the office, pushing your glasses up when they slide down your nose as you look down at the desks. Lab records of failed attempts, codified names of patients, data of the genome of the different animals they used, by the look of all of them they have been trying for years. Poor animals.
It is at that point, while you are reading the information of the different animals, that you feel a sharp pain in your lower back, right over your ass check.
“Fuck!” You mumble, the sound reaching the team's ears through the intercom and making them still in their moves.
You turn around, expecting to see somebody stabbing you. But you are still alone and when you look at the point the pain came from, you only see a tiny spider.
“Fucking perfect.” You groan to yourself as you slap the spider off your body, but once again it reaches the rest of the team.
“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Price asks, the team still immobile waiting for your explanation.
“Nothing, sir. Keep going.” You say, not wanting to jeopardise the mission. Part of you gets offended by how they automatically keep going without another care, but the actual logical part of you starts to panic because you just got bitten by a spider from a lab that tries and makes superhumans.
You frantically try to find some kind of information about said spider in the files on top of the desk, almost crying when you find it and read: “Not poisonous.”
Shots and screams can be heard from the end of the hall and you know you don't have time to read the whole file. So you snatched it, shoving it under your vest, just in time for the first people to come running out.
“Kid! Don't engage in combat! I repeat, don't engage!” Price's voice barks in your ear.
“Roger that!” You quickly answer, hiding under the desk and holding your breath as people run around you. One of them stopped right beside you and frantically shoved around the papers just like you were doing a moment ago.
“Shit! Shit! Shit! It's gone! The spider is gone! The file too! FUCK!” The person next to you screams, only adding to your ongoing anxiety about being bitten.
“Leave it!” A second voice shouts getting closer. “Leave everything and run! They are activating the system! This shit is about to get blown to bits! Run!”
The second they are far enough to grab the radio to talk to the team. “Captain! They are blowing up the lab! We need to get out!”
“Take as much info as you can and run, kid! The door is locked, we are going out the other way, we can see the exit! Meet us at pick up!” The Captain quickly shouted back.
“What?!” You ask back. “You were leaving me here?!”
You can make out what he says, but you stand up to look around. You need to take something with you, even if it is only to hit them with it.
There is a laptop on top of the desk, so you grab it along with as many files as you can bring. Sprinting to the door, the workers of the lab already out of the place, way more lucky than you. The halls inside are an absolute maze, and the only thing you have to guide you out are the blood marks of those who got out before you.
Just when you see the outside, the helo in the distance hovering just half a meter off the floor, you hear the beep beep beeeep of a countdown going off. Only managing to put a foot outside of the door, before the blast wave sends you flying forward, your glasses flying away from you. Clutching the laptop as if it were your own life, especially taking into consideration that your “team” would be more worried about it.
Your ears ring when you open your eyes again, a buzzing sound in the background coming from the helicopter. Gaz on the open door calling your name, enough to get back on your feet and keep running; the man picks you up from your vest and takes you inside before closing the door.
You leave the laptop on the floor, files scattering around as well as you sit on the floor, back resting against the wall, hugging your legs as you try to get your breath back.
Gaz is looking at you worried, Soap is beside you tidying up the files, Ghost flying the helicopter and Price is behind Gaz, staring at you.
You can't help it back look back at him with anger in your eyes, he was ready to leave you behind if you didn't get out on your own and he didn't even tell you. Suddenly feeling like your biggest ally today was the terrorist who told his colleague.
The ringing in your eyes slowly fades away, the sound of the helicopter sounding more and more clear.
“You solid, kid?” Price's voice sounds over the rotating blades.
“Yeah… not thanks to you, though.” You say, mumbling the last part, pissed about it. Price chooses to ignore it, for the sake of the peace. Only giving you a look of “We'll talk later.”
By the time you reach the base, you are burning up. Every time you close your eyes being harder to open them back up, your whole body feels on fire and you're feeling pain in places you didn't even know you could.
You should go to the infirmary, but then they would see the spider bite and it would make sense that they would want to leave you behind, or at least that's the reasoning behind your decision to instead go to your room and sleep it off.
Or at least you would if the pain wasn't keeping you awake, you turn around in bed trying to find a comfy position failing and failing again and again. Still, at some point, it must have knocked you out because the knocking on the door wakes you up.
The sun is out and the fever seems to be gone, so you stand up, groaning because of the residual pain and walk up to the door, opening it. Coming face to face with Ghost.
“Morning, soldier” He greets, no kind of emotion in his voice and you can't see his face. “You skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning, we don't need you any skinnier.”
Just then you take notice of the paper bag on his hand and the water bottle on the other. You try to use the hand that is still holding the doorknob, only to realize that it seems to be stuck to it. You furrow your eyebrow, which doesn't go unnoticed by Ghost; and you point to the table with your other hand.
“Can you leave it there, please?” You ask, still trying to get your other hand free as you open the door more so he can come in.
He enters the room, dropping the food on the table and turning to you with crossed arms. “Are you alright?” He asks, still confused with the way you seem to not be able to let go of the door, pulling back with all your body weight.
“Peachy.” You grunt back, your hand finally detaching from the knob and almost sending you to the floor as the door bust open hitting the wall. “A weird cramp, that's all.”
He nods slowly, walking away from the table and closer to the door. “You sure you are fine? You flew quite some meters yesterday… you lost your glasses.” He points to your face
Until he mentions it you haven’t realise because you can see perfectly fine; even better than before when you were wearing them. You furrow your brow, rubbing your eyes as if to get the bad eyesight back by pure force and you look at him, still seeing better than ever.
“Yeah… they flew yesterday, I'll get new ones.” You say, still confused by it. He nods, telling you about letting Price know so he can give you the money back and starts to walk out of the door, turning back and rubbing his face already dreading what he is about to do. “Oh, and, hey… good job, yesterday.”
As he talks, he raises his fist for you to bump it. Which only adds to the confusion, he really must feel bad for leaving you behind yesterday. Still, the situation is so awkward it is causing you physical pain, so you bump his fist to get over with it and close the door with your feet when he leaves.
Once alone in your room, you rub your face with frustration only for your fingertips to get stuck on your forehead. You stay paralyzed for a second, not understanding what is going on and trying to peel your hands away from your face.
Your skin stings when you try to pull making you whence, understanding that you can't just pull. So you close your eyes, take a deep breath and quickly pull your hands as if you could catch it by surprise. You curse when it obviously doesn't work walking back, knocking the water bottle off the table, surprising yourself when your hands catch the bottle before it even rolls off the table.
Something tells you to look at your phone, and just when you do a message pops up. You focus all your senses on letting go of the bottle and it falls off your hands like normal, making you doubt if you really got stuck before. You look at your phone, using your knuckle to unlock it and tapping in the password to read Ghost's message.
💀: Debriefing in 20’
💀: Shower!
“Rude.” You think, knowing damn well that you stink for coming straight from the mission and spending the night sweating. You type back with your knuckle:
🕷️: rofer thar
“Shit… close enough” You lock the phone and take off your clothes to shower. Once on your underwear, you turn to look into the mirror the spider bite on your hip; only to see that your body is not the same as yesterday's.
It looks like you gained at least 10 kilos of pure muscle, your biceps popping out, shoulders rounded out by muscle, thicker thighs that you know will not fit on your pants anymore, rounder ass and overall the athletic build of some kind of olympic athlete.
The only mark on your skin being the bite, even some of your freckles are gone from your skin. The bite, on the other hand, looks terrible. Two little dark purple dots are visible, the surrounding red and angry and little lighting-like red lines go out of it, going up your back and around your hip.
You take a deep breath and jump into the shower, using the back of your hands to do so, which only makes it trickier. Once washed, you look into your closet taking out the only clothes you believe will fit you. A pair of leggings that sit just a bit too tight and an oversized sweatshirt to cover as much as possible.
You put on your shoes and walk to the captain's office; to your disgrace, the door is closed and you knock. You hear, as if it was right behind you, a “C’mon in”. But you don't want to risk it getting stuck, so you play dumb and knock again. Ghost opens the door and comes face to face with you again, much closer than in your room and you see his eyebrow furrow
“Have you gone on a growth sprout in the last 20 minutes?” He asks, confusion clear in his tone. “And are you wearing makeup?”
You realize that the freckles on your face must have banished too, plus the fact that the bags under your eyes seemed to be gone as well last time you checked.
“No. Must be the shoes.” You answer, walking under his arm inside the room feeling his eyes travel down your body. You sit down next to Gaz, looking at Price as Ghost closes the door and sits down, still looking at you.
“First thing first.” The captain says clearing his throat. “Great job yesterday, you can work on the laptop whenever you want, kid. And also, good job for the heads-up about the bomb.”
“You didn't know?” You ask, confused by his words.
He shakes his head. “We were wondering why everyone was running out, we tried to go back to you and the gates were blocked, we were suspicious of it but you confirmed it.”
You nod your head slowly, taking it in.“All set, then, right?” He asks looking at the four others. “If you are still mad you can say it, I don't want my team keeping their thoughts in only for them to explode in the middle of the mission. Is there anything you want to say, kid?”
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#call of duty#ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod x reader#cod#ghost cod#simon riley imagine#call of duty x reader#cod modern warfare#simon imagine#ghost imagine#simon ghost imagine#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#captain price#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#call of duty ghost#cod ghost#ghost fic
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finally drawing our captain 🫡
#tbh I started this to help me cope with some pricexreader fics I’m reading#early and ceilidho I’m looking at y’all#the cliffhangers are devasting keep up the good work#my art#cod mw2#captain john price#call of duty#illustration#artists on tumblr#art#task force 141#cod modern warfare#cod mwii#john price
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the man behind the mask.
ghost finally opens up to you enough to let you see under the mask (800 words)
a/n: this is super cute and one of my favourite works so far, so i hope you enjoy!
pairing: ghost x gn reader
tags/warnings: no warnings, fluffy, maybe a little angsty in places(?), taking off the mask, first kiss, reader in 141.
it was a quiet afternoon at the base and somehow you had ended up in ghost’s quarters again. he acted like he didn’t want you there, but really, he didn’t mind. it was hard for him to keep up his scary, emotionless persona around you. something about you just softened him around the edges more than anyone else could. that was probably why he kept opening the door to you every time you knocked.
normally, it was because you were “bored” or “couldn’t sleep”. but really, it was just because you liked spending time with him. and recently he’d been opening up to you a lot more than usual.
when your little knocks echoed through his room, something inside him just felt right. he’d never felt it before. god, one time you had even made him laugh. a proper laugh too, that ripped through his chest. he’d never laughed like that, not since he was a kid.
so when you asked him if he wanted to watch a movie with him tonight, he let you in and decided to sit closer to you than he had before. in fact, he was so close that you realised half way through the movie that his arm had been around the back of your spot on the couch the whole time.
and when he got up to make you both a tea, you decided to follow him into the kitchen.
you’re not sure what made you. maybe you'd just feel too lonely without him, waiting for him to come back with the drinks.
you found him leaning his back on the kitchen counter, eyes already on you as you slowly came through the doorframe.
you walked over to him and stood in front of him. closely. maybe a little too closely.
“what do you hide, under that mask?” you whispered as you reached your hands up to his face, kettle boiling softly in the background as the movie played into an empty room.
your fingers dipped under its fabric, grasping it slightly, half expecting him to grab your hands and push you away.
but he didn’t.
he just looked down at you with those dark, cold eyes. watching you. waiting for your next move.
you pulled the mask up slowly, keeping eye contact to make sure you could read him. you didn’t want to scare him away. you revealed his chin, then his lips. you stopped there, not wanting to go too fast. you were shocked that he didn’t shout at you, tell you to get out, never speak to you again for pushing a boundary. but he didn’t. you just looked at him, taking in this new part of him for the first time.
his whole face was littered with thick white scars and fading red gashes. he had little pieces missing from his jawline and his nose had a bump in the middle, a reminder of all the times he had broken it in the past. one of his scars was so deep - it went right through his mouth and down to his chin, distorting the shape. his lips, though, were pink and plump. and so inviting. you could kiss them. you really could-
"take a picture, it'll last longer" he said, rolling his eyes at you with a sort of smirk, revealing his white but crooked teeth.
"i-" he pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours. it was needy but it wasn’t rough. it was sweet and meaningful. you weren’t expecting it at all. it took you a second to actually realise what was happening and relax into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. his hands were on the small of your back, holding you close so your bodies were together, souls intertwined. you knew that it had probably been a long time since he’d let anyone be this close to him. maybe it was the first time ever. but it was hard to form real thoughts with the way his lips just melted into yours. and when his tongue dragged across your bottom lip, you happily let him in, deepening the kiss, causing a pink blush to form across both of your cheeks.
when the kettle clicked off he slowly pulled away, both of you out of breath and processing what had just happened.
you half expected him to say something. but he just pulled the mask back down and made you a tea, placing the warm mug into your small hands. a token of his appreciation for letting him trust you. for letting him trust again.
you supposed he never really was great with his words.
in his head, it was a silent "please, never leave. stay here in my room forever". and something in his eyes was warmer than it was before.
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#cod modern warfare#call of duty#cod mw2#ghost cod#call of duty fluff#ghost fluff#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley fluff#simon riley#task force 141#teddiesworldd#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley#call of duty smut#fanfic#cod fanfic#cod fluff#cod fic
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