cw for gore, religious imagery, internalized homophobia, (apparent) unrequited feelings, abrupt ending, wound fingering and major character death. there is no necrophilia here and I left the dialogue vague enough to be read as concerned/platonic, or… not. I as the author can tell you I intended Ghost to be into it, but clearly losing interest as Soap actually dies. That being said, Soap is dying and brother, this ain't a handshake. MDNI
It's the warmth that clues him in first: a bloom of heat at his side like sunshine on your face, or piss down your leg. It's got no place here, in a frozen field so fucking lifeless and dull he'd forgotten the name of it the second they'd touched down and found their safehouse. He'd claimed a cot, called it his. Near as he got to caring about the label. It's not until he glances down almost absently to find the source of the heat that he realizes he can carry on not knowing the name of it, as 'site of his fucking death' would be sufficient.
"Shite," MacTavish hisses, taste of iron boiling up his throat. The foreign grip changes, goes to pull the bowie knife back out from under Soap's ribs. He grabs the wrist, tugs it to himself, feels his breath gurgle when he lodges it in deeper than it had been before. It hurts. Worse than anything he's ever felt - but years and years of combat training override instinct, tell him to keep the hilt flush with his skin as best he can until help comes. The assailant knows it too, redoubles their effort; notches the serrated base of the blade back and out, opens the wound further.
"You fockin' -!" he stomps blindly on a foot, throws an elbow behind himself. Lands, if the deep grunt he hears behind him is anything to go by. It's a short lived victory. He'd lost leverage when he'd twisted, and the man pulls the knife clean, slicing Soap's palm along the way as he continues to try holding it in place.
It's almost freeing. The weight of keeping the blade in place lifts and Soap lunges, tumbling his aggressor to the ground and stripping the knife easily. He sinks it into the man's chest once, twice, again. He doesn't put up as much of a fight as Soap did; a blessing considering Soap can feel something soft and slick inside himself slip every time he extends his arm above his head.
The soldier's eyes go wide and unfocused, his breath burbles pathetically. Soap's chest heaves in exertion, flooding his mouth in a similar fashion. It's cold enough to crack a tooth here, the contrast making his own blood feel like magma in his mouth: roiling, ominous. Violent upheaval.
He slips off the other man, scrambles backward as if he can avoid the plague - as if he wasn't patient zero. He drops the knife some feet away, keeps dragging himself along until his very organs protest and he drops, limp and supine, into the forgiving blanket of snow.
It stinks. Not like a ruptured bowel, thankfully, but like death all the same. It cuts through the crisp, winter air like a northern wind, rattles him. He doesn't move, tries to keep the wound as still as possible now he's relatively safe. His vision tunnels and with it his very consciousness narrows down to heat, and slick, and nobadwrongputitback. But then there are footsteps approaching, crunching through the snow. "Johnny?" Ghost calls and then, "Johnny!"
He's there, hands patting over the sergeant as though he's trying to determine if the blood is his, or the dead guy's. They both know he already knows the answer. His hands come away wet, white bones of his gloves stained red and steaming in the cold. Soap hadn't realized how stark the sky overhead was until the contrast of Ghost's mask overtakes it, eyes two wide, blank focal points as he leans over his mate, takes him in with muted horror. He tilts his head toward his comm, barks commands for a medevac. Soap laughs humorlessly - once - scalds his chin with his own blood in the process. It's nice, kinda. A good reprieve, at least.
"'S'no use, Ghost."
"Shut up Johnny, you're makin' it worse."
"'S'alotta blood, LT." He grins, imagines the sight it must make, especially when Ghost applies pressure and Soap grimaces, feels more magma spewing from between his teeth with his rough exhale.
"I said shut up." There's a pleading quality to the officer's voice, and Soap is almost thankful he can't string two thoughts together, else he'd spend his final minutes deluded into thinking this stoic man might miss him.
That they could've…
"Ah go' him."
Ghost looks around himself, spots the other soldier as if for the first time. "Yeah, Johnny. You got 'im. Shoulda left the knife in, though."
"Weren' me who took i' ou'." He's not sure if Ghost can even fully understand him, accent thick and slurred. It doesn't really matter even if he didn't, though, he supposes. It's all irrelevant now.
Ghost nods anyway. "Gonna get you out of this gear, Johnny. Gotta take a look."
Soap grunts, helps as best he can. When he sits up, more warmth spills across his lap. He's embarrassed, thinks he's wet himself, until he catches a glimpse of the red which stains his arctic gear, settling into the negative spaces of the pattern like watercolor. He's stained everything. Himself, Ghost's gloves. The very earth itself. The snow collapses under the weight and heat of his blood, a basin carved into the pure white field by the very essence of him. Early mountain runoff, denoting the areas springtime veins of melt will soon carve out.
It would be the least he could do, for this country he never even bothered to learn the name of - give his very lifeblood for an early, bountiful spring.
When Ghost opens his coat, Soap can't help but hold the wound himself. Raw instinct, a dog crawling away to die of its injuries. Ghost sighs but doesn't stop him, simply places his own hands over Johnny's, presses down with his considerable weight. It's not Soap's fault when his finger presses in, the first time. Coarse nylon glove on ragged, torn skin. Soft, nerveless tissue below.
He whimpers and Ghost retreats enough Soap can get his hand out, removes his thick glove with his teeth. His mouth is so coated, he can't even taste the blood soaked into the fabric. Ghost nods once - in approval or acceptance it doesn't matter - and they return to their original position, Soap's bare hand sandwiched between Ghost's homemade gloves and his own innards.
It's silent for a moment, fine. Soap thinks about how many times he's wanted Ghost to hold his hand like this. He considers begging for Ghost to nix the gloves under the guise of discomfort. He might agree. Might not. Soap can't handle rejection here of all places.
He sinks further into himself, lets his vision tunnel some more. His breaths are shallow, wheezing. Coughs build and sputter out, his diaphragm too battered to do its part. The blood that pools on his skin and gear cools, tacky and clotted. It saps his warmth like sweat's bastard brother. More joules transferred to the frozen ground beneath him.
This time, when his fingers sink into the hot, open gash at his side, it's intentional.
Once, when he was a kid, his sister had taken him to a used record store. She'd perused cassettes for nigh on hours while Johnny ran amok, bored of his arse after only ten minutes.The shelving of the store was made of cheap, laminated particle board. He was short enough, then, to see the ugly unfinished underside of the units, and unworldly enough to be fascinated by the odd, rough texture. He'd never seen anything like it at the time, his family lucky enough to have inherited most of their furniture from older family members. Solid oaks and cherries weathered smooth from generations of use. One exploratory touch led to another, led to him running around the store with his fingers gripped tight around the shelving. It only hurt when he stopped, so he didn't. Ran round and round and let his fingers be shredded, desperate for relief, or stimulation, or both. Blair had been beside herself when she'd noticed - concerned until she'd been grounded for negligence, and then a right cunt about the whole ordeal for weeks. He can't say he blames her, in retrospect. It had been quite stupid - although he still only had partial fingerprints on that hand, which was kind of cool.
For decades he hadn't known why he'd done it; but now, those same fingers sank deep within his own heat, he thinks he remembers.
"You're making it worse."
He'd laugh, if his stomach could contract. "Can't get much worse, LT."
"Johnny…"
"'S'warm. Jus'wanna be warm."
"Put your glove back on, then."
"Glove's wet."
"Just, fuckin'. Watcher, where the hell is that medevac?" He shifts, bears down more. Soap's fingers sink deeper. "You'll be warm in a minute, Johnny, just hold on."
He can't feel it, is the strangest part. It hurts the flesh of the actual wound, sure, but there's a strange fascination that accompanies realizing there are parts of your body which are not intended to feel external stimuli. Can't. He's helpless but to prod, test. Simon grunts - a beloved little noise - and it's like it manually turns his auditory processing back on, reminding him there are noises beyond loud, clear conversation. Immediately obvious is the droning in his ears, blood rush and wind wash across scarred ear drums. Below that is their breathing, Ghost's fast but deep. Steady. His own is hard to recognize as breath at first, wet and uneven. It's alarming, but not quite as disconcerting as the squelching noises Soap's ministrations create.
"'S'wha' good pussy sounds like, LT." It's enough to startle a laugh out of Ghost and Soap feels himself go impossibly more lax at the sound.
Ghost's eyes are two bullseyes in the target his vision has become. Black static, white sky, black mask, skull. He stares down at Johnny apprehensively, pushes down hard enough on Johnny's wound that he thinks he feels his ribs shift. Johnny shudders, spit and blood coating his chin.
The mask flexes around Ghost's teeth when he uses them to remove his glove. It dangles from his mouth for a moment before being unceremoniously spit off to the side. Soap takes in the tattooed hand that hovers ominously over him. Color inversion of the glove: white skin, black design. He doesn't bother moving Johnny's hand.
His fingers trace the rim of the wound first, feel the flesh shiver and tighten like a horse flicking away a fly when Soap's breath gets flighty. He keeps the flat of his hand against Soap's flesh as he sinks in. The intrusion pushes Soap's own hand against the other edge and he shakes, kicks his feet. He tries to remove his own digits, but Ghost uses his free hand to keep him in place.
"You're losing circulation, Johnny. Best stay where it's warm."
Soap nods, can't help but stare down at where they've got his very flesh spread around themselves, swallows thickly.
Johnny's always been a bad catholic. He'd had a designated seat in the detention room. Front row, all the way to the left. There was a painting on the wall there - dead ahead, unavoidable - of Saint Thomas inspecting Christ's wounds. It had been placed there as some bleedin' prompt to all the young'uns to question their lack of faith or some such shite.
He'd just spent the better part of four years wondering if Sister Margaret had him figured.
"Lot of blood, Johnny."
He's misreading tones again, hearing appraisal where there's surely only concern. Soap nods, lets his head fall back to the snow with a solid thunk. Somehow he knows that'll have been the last time he raised his head.
If he's gonna go to hell, it's not a bad parting image.
Ghost shifts slightly, pulls away. Johnny whimpers with the movement and Ghost misinterprets. When he sinks back in, blood wells between Soap's fingers, coats his palm.
"Fock, Si. Again."
"No."
"Please. It feels… it feels…"
"You can still feel that?" Ghost's head blots out the sky again. Johnny wants to reach out and touch him. Doesn't want to ruin the moment.
"Yeah."
Ghost keeps staring down at him as he repeats the motion, watches raptly as Johnny shakes and shakes.
"Am I still warm, Si?" It's an actual question. He honestly can't even tell anymore.
"Yeah, Johnny. Still warm." His fingers move again, sink deeper as if searching for some warmer depth. Soap hopes he finds it, wants to spend his last few minutes on earth being useful in at least this small way.
"Gonna stay warm, yeah?"
"Yes sir," he tries to laugh, only managing to jostle the appendages lodged inside of himself.
"Fuck, Johnny."
"Hmm?" He doesn't know when he closed his eyes. It's nice though, lets him focus on the feeling of his LT moving inside himself. It makes guilt well up within him, but it just mixes with everything else pooling in his chest.
"You 'avin' a laugh, mate? Do it again. Lemmie 'ear ya." Ghost's fingers move quicker, squelch within him. It hurts; only thing he can feel, but he needs it to counterbalance the sick pleasure he's deriving from this whole ordeal. He can make it worse and follow orders, both.
This time when he laughs, it's strong enough to hiss through his teeth, gets his stomach clenching violently.
"Yeah, thassit. Need ta fuckin' 'ear ya, Johnny."
Soap does it again and Ghost sighs, fingers threading with Johnny's. Slick, still moving. Soap can't grip him back. "Again, Soap. Deep breath -."
Johnny tries, chokes on blood. "Cold," he warbles, and Simon groans.
Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.
Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader
Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; slow-burnish; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)
☁ ccc; masterlist
It’s barely seven in the morning and Simon is already on his third steaming cup of black tea after yet another night of barely any sleep, where he instead indulged in his most primal urges for the first time in what felt like ages.
Two more times he’d done it after his steely resolve had crumbled at last. His balls feel lighter than ever but his cock, now sore and more sensitive to the slightest touch, makes him wince and clench his teeth whenever it chubs against the fabric of his underwear.
Worse than that though—it’s a reminder of what he’s done, just as much an evidence of him losing control of himself as his cum-stained hoodie still neatly folded and hidden behind a couch cushion until he’s able to bury it between his other dirty laundry.
He hasn’t thought about it before, but when the door to his bedroom creaks open, announcing that you’re awake, Simon becomes all too aware of the heavy, gut-wrenching knot of guilt now lodged in his intestines. How the bloody hell is he supposed to look you in the eyes after what he’s done?
When the sound of your bare feet padding along the floor reaches his ears, Simon doesn’t know what to do, how to behave, and he quietly curses Price, curses the brass, and curses the whole bloody universe again for continuously putting him in situations out of his control and comfort zone. He didn’t ask for any of this, doesn’t want to end up treating you like everyone else previously has—though he certainly didn’t ask for you like they obviously did.
“Good morning, Simon,” you chirp entering the kitchen, your voice still husky from sleep in a way that makes his hackles raise like a mutt’s.
Lifting his tea up to his lips, he mutters a gruff mornin’ into the black ceramic mug, not bothering to face you yet. He clucks his tongue, suddenly feeling like he owes you an explanation. “Didn’t ah–Didn’t know if ya eat breakfast, so I… didn’t make any.” Bloody Christ, Simon thinks, I just sound fucking daft at this point.
“I do like to eat breakfast,” you reply with a soft chuckle and he nearly jumps like a skittish kitten when your arm comes around him to rest low on his hip, your warm palm pressing lightly to urge him to move aside, away from the stove—your touch scorching his skin even through the fabric of his sweatpants.
Simon moves stiffly like a robot, grip tightening around his mug while he grits his teeth and wills his blood from rushing south again. So goddamn sensitive, he bites the tip of his tongue, afraid he might groan if he doesn’t stop himself.
“How did you sleep?” you ask casually enough to pull his mind out of the gutter as he finally manages to look at you while you continue talking. “I slept fine, but your bed is… oof… something else.” As if to emphasize your slight discomfort, you lift your arms and clasp them together above your head, stretching thoroughly with a yawn while your sleepshirt—still his bloody shirt—rides up high, exposing the front of your white cotton panties—and just like that, he loses control again, glances down, and gets a full view of the thin fabric perfectly moulding itself to your mound.
Simon curses under his breath, and right then, he fears he might faint from how fast his blood is rushing down to his cock. He grits his teeth, slams his mug down on the counter hard enough to make you flinch, causing you lower your arms at once while your ears flatten at the loud noise.
“Yeah, it’s… shite,” he rumbles in reply, furiously ignoring the questioning look in your doe-eyes, the furrow of your brows coming from the fear that you might have done something wrong again—it makes his mind cloud with anger and disappointment at himself, but it’s not enough to quench the throbbing arousal building deep in his gut.
“…‘scuse me,“ he mutters gruffly, already pushing past and fleeing from the kitchen before you can begin to say another word to him, though he can feel your eyes staring at his back as he retreats, internally cursing his cock currently straining in his pants again.
Shame seems to follow him throughout the day—whenever he catches sight of you, it turns out, and the flat that seemed perfect while he was alone, seems even smaller now that you’re here. There is nowhere to hide. You’ve marked your territory too well at this point, he figures, when he walks into his bedroom and finds your scent clinging to his bed sheets.
Subtle yet sweet like candied fruits with a hint of your natural musk—and his pupils blow like a shark catching a whiff of fresh blood in the depths of the ocean.
A shiver goes through the entirety of his spine, the phantom sensation pooling at his tailbone—uncomfortably familiar whenever he gets particularly excited or agitated—and a horrific reminder of what he is and which abhorred parts of him you bring forward so easily.
Eventually, he picks up his pillow and glances over his shoulder, guilt already clawing inside his chest while he listens to you still cooking breakfast in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of his degeneracy, before he takes a cautious sniff, then buries his nose deeper into the soft fabric before he finally smushes his whole face into it with a low, guttural groan.
His cock throbs harder in his briefs, painfully sensitive now, and his fingers twitch with restraint, digging harder into his pillow as if short from ripping it apart, when he feels the meagre excuse of a knot at the base of his shaft begin to swell, too.
Synapses start firing in his brain and something ancient awakens in himself—a primal instinct that urges him to possess, and protect, and claim you. It makes his gums and canines itch with the need to bite, makes him snarl into the pillow while his mouth starts to salivate, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the tiny, still normal part inside his brain screams at him to get a bloody grip!
It’s your melodic voice cutting through the fog in his brain that drags him out of his pathetic frenzy. He drops the pillow haphazardly, cheeks flushing and shoulders heaving as he tries to control his ragged breathing.
“Simon? Breakfast is ready if you’d like some,” you call out again, all soft and unsure, causing Simon to hate himself even more fiercely.
Simon enters the kitchen with his mask of stoicism fixed in place and his boner gone once more, though the scent of you, all warm and sleepy, keeps lingering in his nostrils, taunting him. It mixes with the mouth-watering aroma of a proper English breakfast and a fresh mug of tea next to the perfectly arranged plate—for him. You’ve cooked for him, again. He didn’t ask for this, didn’t have to, and you did it anyway.
When he sees you standing in front of the sink, scrubbing a pan in soapy dishwater, still only clad in his shirt while the morning sunshine peaks through the kitchen window and casts you in a soft, golden glow, it’s a vision of unfamiliar domesticity that makes his chest feel tight and his mouth go dry with emotions he dares not to name.
The chair scrapes over the floor as he pulls it back before taking a seat and staring down at the plate. His stomach growls on cue and Simon’s eyes flicker up to glance at your back again, noticing how your tail lifts the tattered shirt up, exposing your rear to him without a single care in the world—as if he wasn’t just a stranger to you, but a man you trust already.
And in this moment, Simon Riley makes a secret vow to himself.
“Thank you,” he says, meaning it genuinely, and he expects you to turn around, to flash one of your warm smiles at him, but you don’t though the light wagging of your white tail is telling enough.
Catastrophe strikes, when Simon returns home from the base gym in the early evening, secretly hoping for another homemade dinner, but finding his flat eerily quiet and cold instead.
The sun has already set and the temperature along with it. His thick hoodie clings to him like a second skin despite the sweaty tac shirt he’s wearing underneath, and with his balaclava still securely in place, he lets his gym bag drop to the ground, leaving it by the front door after locking it behind him.
His footsteps are measured and silent as he stalks into his living room—only to find it empty with a heavy sigh.
Did you leave while he was gone? No, highly unlikely. You know that’s against the rules, against the bloody hybrid law, actually. Simon shakes the thoughts from his head, ignores the tiniest flutter of panic in his chest and decides to simply call out your name instead—like a big boy.
“Since when are ya hidin’ from me?” he quips uncharacteristically, having pictured you greeting him with a wagging tail and sparkling eyes when his mind had slipped again on his short walk from the gym to the apartment complex, though he’s reluctant to even admit it to himself.
When he finally finds you, Simon freezes in the doorway to his bedroom, blood running cold with a whole-body shiver while his eyes widen comically behind the safety of his mask at the sight that greets him.
He’s been through hell and back multiple times, has witnessed—and done—the most horrific shite in both his military career and cursed childhood, and yet none of it could’ve prepared him for this.
You, sitting at the end of his bed right across from him, clutching his painfully obvious cum-stained hoodie from last night against your quivering chest like it’s something precious instead of his despicable dirt, fat crocodile tears shimmering in your eyes as they flicker up to meet his.
For once in his life, since crawling out of his own grave, Simon Riley is too stunned to speak.
Why? Why? Why?! Why are you doing this to me?
“Simon,” you sniffle pathetically, sitting there clad in your pretty white knit dress. “Simon, do you–do you h-hate me?”
All air rushes from his lungs with a harsh exhale as if punched in the chest at the sound of your meek voice asking him this. Hate you? Bloody hell, he really should.
However, his mouth merely opens and then closes with something akin to a choked complaint, though it’s muffled by the black cloth covering his face. He’s thankful for it as he feels the searing heat of embarrassment creep up and settle on his cheekbones.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses under his breath before lunging forward in a fit of panic to snatch his hoodie out of your grip while his heart thumps violently against his ribcage. “Gimme that!”
You let out a high-pitched whine and duck your head submissively as he towers over you briefly, but Simon ignores your reaction in favour of his own quick retreat—not a Special Forces soldier but a coward falling back in this very moment as he swiftly turns to leave again, get as much space as he can; clutching the fabric tightly so he won’t end up punching a wall on his way out—and potentially scare you even worse.
Shame sinks and settles deep into his bones along with the freezing cold engulfing his flushed body once he steps out into the darkness, leaving the apartment complex behind him after throwing the wretched fabric into the nearby rubbish skip next to the large building.
Rucking his balaclava up over his nose, he puts a cigarette between his cracked lips and lights it methodically before taking a greedy drag on his way over to HQ—your file now safely tucked under his left arm.
This kind of started as a ear worm to be honest. Just a simple idea that decided to take root. Any advice is welcomed!
Price knew he shouldn't take the mission. The outcome seemed obvious, or so he thought. Until he wasn't anymore.
or
Like calls to like. Or something of the sort.
Price knew he shouldn’t agree. It sounded like a no brainer. Soldier taken after a mission gone wrong and no contact for almost two years now? Sounded cut and dry to him. It would put his team in danger and there was no promise they'd find them. They had most likely been killed within the first month. No doubt they'd tourtured them. But still he listened, read the file of intel they'd dug up. Blue eyes scanning for any sign they'd missed.
"I know it sound straight forward, Captain. But the dad is a old family friend and even if its just her body, we'd like her home." Price's eyes snapped to the mans face. He had worked with Price years ago but now worked behind a desk.
"Her?" He wasn't informed it was a woman. The man nodded.
"Yes, I must have forgotten to mention it. Sarah Jakobs. She's twenty-seven. Climbed the ranks when she joined the marines. Takes after her mama. She was always a damn good shot. Sarah was supposed to be the sniper on the mission. Apparently the intel they got was bad and they knew where she was at." He looked away before he spoke again. "When her captain finally got to her position all they found was blood and signs of a struggle. They're wanting to mark her as KIA." Price started at him for a moment.
"I need to speak to her parents." Lewis, the man, shook his head.
"I can get her father, but her mother passed some years ago. He's very adamant that she's still alive. Says he can feel it." He'd heard that before, and more than once the body was always found. Lewis dialed the number and within two rings a man picked up. "I've got the Captain I was telling you about. No, he wants to talk to you first. John Price." And the sleek smartphone was being passed to him.
Ghost was leaning against the wall when Soap strutted into the room. A gleam in her cerulean eyes. He spotted Ghost and walked his way. Gaz followed minuets later.
"Hey LT, looking good." Ghost was not expecting the slap on his ass that followed. So the responding backhand that he delivered to Soap was almost comical. Gaz chocked out a laugh as Soap bounced against the lockers. Ghost standing straighter. "Fuck."
"Oi' Johnny!" The can Ghost was nursing bonked the bloke in the head before gracing Gaz's feet. "Keep 'ur hands to 'urself." Soap stifled a laugh as he rubbed his cheek. Gaz just chuckled and shook his head, the lucky hat he always worse throwing a shadow across his face.
"Didn't 'ave to hit so hard, LT." The wounded puppy look clear on Soaps face. Ghost almost felt bad for hitting him. Almost. But he caught the tiny upturn of his lips before rolling his eyes.
"Take it to HR." Then he was walking away, leaving Gaz smirking and Soap pouting.
The air in the room was thick. The boys picked up on it the second they stepped in. Price stood at the left side of the rounded table, papers and pictures spread out around him. Gaz read the body language immediately and adjusted his posture, knowing the incoming information was gonna be extra bad.
"What is it Captain?" Johnny eyed the older man as he pushed a picture forward. Johnny caught sight of it and scrunched his brows. "Who's she?" Price's face was solemn.
"Sargent Sarah Jakobs. Twenty-six. Certified sniper on a classified mission in Russia. Except the intel they got was bad, they got the location of the sniper and bombarded her. Took her team almost two hours to realize it was a set up and check on her. All they found was her gun, her comms, and blood. There was clear sign of a struggle and even a body not far from the hideout. But no sign of her after ten feet. Just gone. That was almost two years ago." Ghost eyed him and the picture.
"An old friend has asked me to try and locate her, even if its just remains." Gaz looked up. "He says the family will pay even if we find nothing."
"Has there been any recent updates?" Gaz watched as Price slid another paper across the table.
"Some inside information says there's been talk of a American prisoner up in a northern base." Price pointed to the area on a map.
"Could be anybody." Ghost added eyes glued to the picture of the smiling soldier.
"The insider says its her, mentioned a scar on her leg, some accident she got in as a teenager." The room was quiet. Everyone thinking over the idea.
"'S'not proven though?" Soap hoped they would have a stronger lead. This was mostly nothing. A ghost trail.
"No. Nothing solid." Price knew what they were all thinking. She was most likely dead.
"What's really gotten to you?" Ghost spoke up, finally looking up from the picture. There had to be something he was missing. Price sighed and took a seat.
"I spoke to her father. I know I shouldn't 'ave." He looked around. "He's convinced she's alive. Swears he can feel her. He honestly believes that. And I do too." The boys all snapped to look at him. "I know how it sounds but you should hear the way he talks about her. He just wants his daughter back."
"When do we leave?" Gaz trusted his captain and if he believed then so did he.
The snow was thick and fluffy as they trudged through it. The location of the base still twenty minutes out. The white of their suits blended right in, the group standing close together to keep in sight. It was cold, the wind still cutting through the insulated fabric. Johnny never got used to the cold and was clenching to keep his teeth from chattering.
"Aye' Johnny! Do you see that up ahead?" He focused his eyes and the area Gaz was pointing at. The night vision goggles outlining the block. Up ahead not even fifty feet was a small cut out in the snow. Looked to be a cave almost.
"Yeah, could be a entrance?" He wasn't sure. "What do you say Captain?"
"This is the area where the base is supposed to be located, let's check it out." And so there they where huddled together in the alcove where a door was hidden away. Ghost and Johnny guarding the others. Kyle was focused on the sensor, surprisingly it was old and simple. The technology clearly hadn't been updated. With a few taps and some elbow grease he bypassed it and the door slid open.
"Well that was simple." Johnny mumbled as he headed down first. His superpower was clearing rooms. "Clear." He waiting for Ghost to bring up the rear before he took his gun off the stairwell. It took them fifteen more minutes to even locate the main entrance into the base, another sensor Gaz cracked, another room Soap cleared. The building seemed deserted, most of the rooms empty and left messy. Two floors down they located the hub. The building was deserted, except for the lab. The entrance was glass doors where two people could be seen mixing chemicals together. There were two guards at the door and at least two more inside. Their odd weren't the best but they'd dealt with worse.
"Soap, Ghost take out those two. Gaz you're on me." And with that two nearly silent shots rang out and the corresponding bodies hit the floor. Price and Gaz already breaking through the glass. Two more shots and one of the guards was down, the other catching price on the jaw. Before he could land another hit Gaz had him on his knees with a bullet in the back of his head. Ghost and Soap had the two scientist tied up and on their knees as well.
"The girl. Where is she?" Price was shoving the picture in their faces. Gaz could see the recognition in the eyes. The oldest man grunted. His English patchy.
"Whore. American Whore." A quick slap from Ghost had him on the ground. Price setting his knee on his chest.
"American soldier. Who you've kidnapped." His eyes burned. "Where is she?"
"Cells. Two doors to the left." The younger of the two sobbed out. His frame shaking as a wet spot gathered underneath him.
"Does it take a badge Gaz?" Gaz rushed over his eyes scanning the sensor and seeing if he could bypass it. "Dimwit has a badge on him" Gaz nodded.
"Toss it 'ere." He caught it easily and slid it across the panel, the grey door sliding open into a hallway. His gun up and Price behind him he snuck down the hall. Following the light and the faint smell of cigars.
"How many you thinking?" Soap mumbled to Ghost behind him.
"Dunno, at least two from the sounds." Ghost quipped back. The end coming nearer. Gaz peeked around the corner, his eyes catching the cells and three guards hanging around a middle one. They were mumbling in Russian.
"Three total. All around the middle cell. Doesn’t seem to have any weapons." Priced nodded.
"Johnny stay back and try to get into that cell. Ghost yo go left, Gaz right. I'll take the middle." And then they were off. Gaz was right, none of the guards had weapons except a baton. Ghost took one over the head after his gun was knocked out of his hand, choosing instead to tackle the man. Throwing his elbow into the mans nose it took said baton and pressed into in the mans neck until he heard a tell tale snap.
Gaz aimed at the mans head, his bullet hitting home but not before Price's kicked him in the back. Hitting the ground he rolled as the middle man wrapped his hands around the mans throat. Prices shot twice, blood spraying over Gaz's face as the man slumped forward onto him.
"Oi' can someone get him off. He smells." Ghost kicked the body away, Gaz grunting as he took Price's outstretched hand. Johnny was fidgeting with the door.
"No guns? Why?" Ghost looked to price. Gaz's question ringing.
"Whatever is in here must not pose a threat." Johnny said as he straightened up.
"Or they're playing with there food." Ghost spoke. The other cells were opened each in various degrees of horror. "Think there's a mechanism over there." Price followed him to the board. Most of the controls were in Russian but they assumed the only one lit up red was the closed cell.
"Are you ready? We don't know what's in here." Johnny nodded.
"Oh, I 'an handle it Captain." Price smirked and hit the control. The door slid open and with it a vomit inducing smell. The room was dark the hallway the only light. Johnny stumbled back as the smell hit him. "Smells like shite."
"Because it is shit." And Gaz was right. There was a bucket full of human excrement on the righthand side. What had to be vomit seemed to cover the floor in patches along with dried blood. Ghost clicked on his flashlight and shined it into the space and even his stumbled back. A figure, no bigger than a large child was curled into a ball in the corner. Matted hair gave way to sunken dull eyes. The mouth was pulled back in a snarl as a growl emitted through the concrete room. It was naked. Body rail thin and covered in grime. They could see fresh wounds and even some large scars. They all stood frozen as the figure tried to crawl farther into the corner.
The scar is on her right thigh. About the size of a bottle." Price stepped forward then froze as the figure hissed and sunk back. Their back flat agaisnt the wall. It was a woman, only the nether regions proving it as there was no fat on the body.
"She's covered in grime, can't see anything." Gaz spoke low, as not to provoke her.
"Have a feeling she's not gonna comply." Ghost said as Johnny started to step forward.
"Hi, names Soap. Can you.." He was cut off by the woman throwing herself at him in a fury of gnashing teeth.
Hi! Thank you for reading. It means alot! I honestly think this garbage and hate it but im going out on a limb and posting it. A little scared to see what you guys think. 😬 If you have any advice or any comment feel free to send them to me! My box is always open! - Bunny
Credit to @superawesomelurkaccount for the cute bunny divider
I'm sorry I keep disappearing, my mental and physical health are really bad and life keeps kicking me. I promise I haven't forgotten any of you or my stories. And thank you to everyone who follows and supports me.
tw: kidnapping, dub-con, slapping - please take care of yourself before and after reading. Your mental health is more important than any story.
Everyone knows that what belongs to Simon belongs to John. Of course that includes you, too.
or
Denial is a river in Egypt. Everyone knows that.
You didn't dream as you slept. It was the kinda sleep that came after pushing yourself too hard, after working yourself to the bone. It was deep and left you feeling dizzy when you awoke. The sun was still up, though you didn't know what time it was. Your clothes had been replaced with an oversized shirt that belonged to John. You could smell the smoke and his cologne all over it. No doubt he put it on you to stake his claim.
You stood up slowly, your head spinning for a minute. You needed to eat and drink some water. And a bathroom. A door off to the side revealed the latter. After using the toilet and washing your hands you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were puffy and there were marks along your cheek that proved how deep you'd slept. Dark marks littered your neck from Simon. The memory of John and him rushing back to you, your thighs clenching subconsciously. Bending you wet your face before taking gulps of the cold water. Standing you wiped the rest of the water from your skin before looking back at the mirror. You screamed and turned around, Simon standing behind you. Just watching.
"I got you somethin' to eat, love." He held his hand out, wanting you to hold it.
"Where are my clothes Simon? I'm not going anywhere like this." You grabbed at the too big fabric. He nodded, stepping back into the room and motioning for you to follow.
"In the drawers, love. Johnny and I grabbed everything." You shivered at the thought of that mutt going through your underwear drawer. Simon grabbed a set of sweats and a t-shirt out before handing them to you.
"My bras?" The shirt was thin, one of your at home ones. Simon knew it when he grabbed it too.
"You never wear a bra at home. No need to start now." He took a seat on the bed, waiting for you to get dressed. "Go ahead love, I've seen it before." Huffing you slipped the shirt over your head and pulled the new one on. The sweats slipped up your legs easily. Simon grabbed something from the closet before bending toward your feet and grabbing one.
“What are you doing?” His answer was to slip your feet into a pair of slippers.
“We’re still doing construction. Don’t want you to get a splinter, love.” He placed a kiss against your hair before taking your hand and leading you downstairs. You couldn’t deny that the inside of the house was beautiful. The wallpaper had been peeled off but the windows alone would be stunning. The original wood floor had been restored, showing the age.
“When we get done you’ll love it. Think we’re gonna paint the walls a dark blue.” It’d be pretty. Add a wainscoting to the bottom and it'll be your dream house.
“Are you doing it all yourselves?” There had to be a ton of work needed. The room you’d woken up in needed a good paint and airing out. Simon smiled at you and nodded.
“John knows construction. Plus I know you’d want everything to have a personal touch.” He stopped at a window and pointed at it. You gasped. The window had been redone, and etched in the glass was the tattoo Simon had gotten for you. A bee and a poppy flower. “Nikolai apparently does glass work.”
“Simon..” They had been planning this for a while. Simon’s initials were carved into the corner. “I can’t stay here. I have family and friends.” He faced you.
“Love, you quit talking to your family years ago. And you threw yourself into your job after I left. No one's gonna look for you.” You’re heartbroken, because he was right. Your family had been nothing but hateful to you once you decided to move. You didn’t want to be like them so you left and decided to better yourself. It was one of the things you and Simon had bonded over.
“This is wrong Simon. You have to know that.” He only smiled and touched your cheek.
“We love you. We’re doing this for you. This way you’ll be safe and taken care of. No need to work. We can support you. Anything you want, say the word and you’ll have it.” You wanted to scream. You couldn’t blame Simon fully. His traumatic past coupled with his abandonment issues made him obsessive. And the team he was part of only played into it. They were all way too close. John was the worst.
“Please Si.”
“C’mon. The boys are looking at blueprints and paint swatches. We want you to help us pick while you eat.” He tugged you into a finished kitchen. The cabinets were light wood while the countertops were a mix of white and grey marble. A built-in microwave and double oven, a stove top built into the island and a farmhouse sink that overlooked the yard. The fridge itself was built to blend in with the cabinets. It was stunning and everything you’d ever wanted. The boys were looking at papers strewn on the island but looked up when you walked in.
“Look who’s awake. Wear you out did we?” John smirked at you and you looked away to hide your warming face.
“Simon described what you wanted and Johnny drew up the plans. I picked the yellow paint to match the wood.” Kyle smiled proudly. The yellow of the walls made everything light and sunny.
“Ya’ like it bon?” Johnny had a bright smile waiting for your approval. You couldn’t lie, Simon knew your tell.
“It’s beautiful.” You confessed. John pushed a plate your way.
“Eat. We’re mapping the master and attached bath. It’s your room too, so help us.” Commanding as usual. Even when you and Simon had been together he’d always been in the background commanding him. Your belly grumbled as you sat at the counter. Fruit and eggs lined the plate. Toast covered in butter and jam on the side. Kyle handed you a glass of water, kissing your head as he did.
“We already ordered the bed and frame. So let’s start with the walls. What would you like?” Were you gonna play into this delusion? It might be the safest option right now. Just bide your time until you can get out. Johnny slid a book of swatches and wallpapers your way. Simon watched over your shoulder as you flipped through it.
“What kinda frame?” You wanted something that matched. You loved to decorate. You played The Sims just to build and furnish. Mainly furnish, building wasn’t your forte.
“A nice wood one, mahogany I think.” You could work with that. Tilting your head you studied each page. Your eyes caught sight of a swatch, and you smiled at it. John caught you staring and ran his fingers over it.
“This one?” You nodded before finding a matching wood toned boarding.
“We could frame it with this board, almost like paneling maybe?” Simon grunts before pointing to another color.
“I think an accent wall, framed by the board and then this to finish it off. The light blue he’d chosen would actually look beautiful against the bee themed wallpaper. Bee’s were just your thing.
“Carpet or wood?” You met John’s eyes. Just play into their hands. Make them think you want to be here.
“Wood, with fluffy rugs.” He raised a brow but looked away.
“We need to figure out the closet. Between Kyle and Love here they have more than that closet will hold.” Simon said, sending a wink your way. Kyle chuckling beside you.
“We could just knock out the wall into the next room and make that into a closet?” Johnny offered, pointing at the blueprints for the house. John nodded.
“ We can move everything around and make the walk-in in there now just a bit bigger to fit the bed, knock the wall down and open it into the room. Then just add a door into the new closet. Then there’s space for a vanity or anything else we want.” Johnny sketches as he talks, the image coming together.
“We could do built-ins in the closet. For shoes and stuff. Add racks for hangers. Maybe build something for her jewelry?” Kyle pointed to the wall. He smiled at you. “See, we do care, dove. All we ask is that you be good.” The taste in your mouth turned to ash and you pushed the plate away. Shame filled your cheeks. You had to find a way out. Standing you go to walk into the attached dining room, but someone follows you. Johnny is at your heels, bumps into you when you stop.
“What are you doing?” He looks at John. Who crosses his arms. “What? I can’t walk around my new ‘home’?” You use quotation marks for home.
“Not until we can trust you. Until then Johnny will watch you. Now be a good girl and let him do his job.” You scoff but walk away. The dining room is home to a circle table that needs refinishing. If you could get the paint off and touch the planks you could re-sand it and stain it. Highlight the age of the wood.The chairs don’t match but you could always find a set of simple wooden ones and make them match. The windows are huge, allowing for sunlight to flood in.
“Simon said you love sunlight.” Johnny says standing way too close to you. You could smell him that close. Feel the warmth of his skin. “Mmm. You smell so sweet Bon. Like candy.” His lips graze the shell of your ear.
“I need to go to the bathroom. Can you show me?” He nods and happily leads you there. It’s clear it’s being worked on. The window is open, an escape. Johnny follows you in, leans against the door jamb. “Can I not pee alone?” He smirks. Rolling your eyes you pull your pants down and sit. Kyle and him had watched you cum all over their Captain’s fingers last night anyway. Simon shouts from the kitchen, Johnny turning away to answer when you take your chance. You yank your pants up and grab the brick from the floor, turning you slam it into the back of his head with a loud thunk before climbing out the window and taking off. Your slippers struggle to stay on your feet as you rush through the yard. Simon was right. No one was around but there had to be a road. And it had to lead to the main road or a town. You just had to keep going.
“Johnny?” It was Kyle. You had seconds. “John!” If you could just find a spot to hide. There were trees and rocks and bushes but you were a city girl. There had to be something. Tears flooded down your cheeks as you rushed around. There is a crack between a tree and rock you could slip in. Hide easily. You don’t have time to think, only to react. It’s tight but you get in and duck down, hoping the grass around you is enough to protect you.
“She’s gotta be around here somewhere.” Kyle murmurs.
“Find her. She has me to answer too.” John was angry, his voice so steady. The feet passed you and then went back. You kept quiet, biting into the skin of your hand. Tears soaked into the fabric of your shirt. Seconds turned to minutes. You don’t know how long you’d sat there, but they’d quit coming. Hopefully they were looking elsewhere. You crept out and stretched, looked both ways and went to creep away. Hands grabbed you, one holding your mouth closed as you screamed. The body you were pressed against only chuckled.
“Big mistake, love.” Simon licked a stripe up your neck. “I can’t save you this time.” You kicked and squirmed and tried to get him to let go. He only tightened his grip and bit your cheek to shush you. He uncovered your mouth when you got to the porch, using both hands to carry you back into the living room.
“Set me down! Get off me Simon!” You screamed. He dropped you at John’s feet. Your body smacks into the hardwood. A groan escapes you before you sit up and realize where you’re at. “I want to go home.” You growl at John. He laughs at you. Actually laughs at you.
“I told you to be good. Good girls get rewards, doll. Bad girls? They get punished.” He leans down to your level. “And you have been very bad. Poor Johnny was just doing his job. He just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He grabs your foot and drags you closer to him.
“Fuck off.” You hiss before he slaps you. You taste blood, you’d bit your lip.
“Talk back again. I’ll make your punishment even worse.” He leans back up, the chair squeaking.
“Yeah? What’re you gonna do? Spank me some more?” He chuckled.
“You’d wish I had by the end of it.” Motioning to someone behind you he speaks again. “You’re gonna wish you never ran.” Hands wrap around your upper arms and tug you up, before a hand is shoving its way into your pants and roughly rubbing your clit. You jerked but the body only stayed firm.
“Johnny, she’s all yours.” John smirks as he says it. You make eye contact with Simon. He’s not looking at you. Kyle is chuckling.
“Simon. Simon please!” You beg but he doesn’t budge. Johnny laughs as he pulls you against him.
“Hmm. All mine. Get to ‘ave you to myself.” He nibbles along your neck before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.
“And Johnny?” He turns back around. “Don’t hold back. Take everything.”
Johnny was all but fucking you by the time you reached the bedroom. He was knuckle deep, his pace would put a racehorse to shame, and still held you tight to his shoulder. You sobbed, his touch rough and overstimulating already. It was all too much and he hadn’t even really started yet. He tossed you on the bed, your body bouncing twice from the throw. The look in his eyes made your blood run cold. Simon had told you once that Johnny was like a dog. He was loyal to a fault and obeyed every order given to him but that deep down he was wild. A mutt he’d called him. And you had to agree, because he looked at you like a rabid dog. His pupils were blown wide and his mouth open. As he unbuckled his belt and started tugging his jeans down the only word that came to mind to describe him was simply feral.
“Wanted to fuck you since Si mentioned ya’.” He mumbled, throwing his shirt over his shoulder. Your mouth ran dry when you looked over at him. The whole team was well built and Simon had barely fit the first time you’d fucked, but Johnny? He wasn’t quite as long as Si but made up for it in girth. He hung heavy and his tip was red, the slit leaking.
“J-Johnny.” You stuttered, fear dripping off your lips. He was going to fuck you and it was going to hurt. At first. You hoped. His hands wrapped around your ankles and he yanked you down the bed, his mouth latching to your clit instantly. You squeeked. The pressure was almost painful but you couldn’t move. He had an arm holding you in place, his other was finger fucking you. He was bringing you the edge too fast, it wasn’t even enjoyable. You tried to push his head away, to get him to stop. Even as the pleasure pushed you over the edge and your legs tightened up, he kept sucking and forcing his fingers into you. He let up enough to growl out,
“Taste so feckin’ sweet bon, I could eat it forever.” Then he was back to licking you clean. You sobbed as he shoved three fingers back into you, your pussy clenching them tight. His lips drew circles around your clit. You yanked at his hair. “Hmmm do it again.” He looked up at you, watching how your features switched. The pleasure is blinding. You’re gonna cum for a second time in the span of minutes.
“Too much.” You said trying to crawl away but he only pushed you down harder and grinned wildly. His fingers went faster and he laughed as you cried, your toes curling as the orgasm ripped through you. He crawled up your body, his lips latching to any skin he could find. Your clothes had been torn from your body, red marks staining your skin from the pressure of them.
“Feel so good. So tight. Gonna fuck you until you can’t move.” His lips tugged on your bottom lip, a cry escaping as he shoved two fingers into your mouth and down your throat. “Gonna cum in this pussy then I’m gonna use this mouth.” He licked your cheek before slamming himself into you. His fingers muted your sob. The pain rippled through your veins as he began to hammer into you. His pants reminded you of that documentary you saw about baboons mating. He was in fact an animal.
“Please.” You mumbled. He took it as a sign to go harder, faster. He bit your shoulder, his teeth leaving deep purple marks behind. Another orgasm was crawling to you. This one felt deeper and more primal than before. Your fingernails dug into Johnny's shoulder. “Go-nna cum.” He smiled and kissed the tears off your cheek, slipping a hand between the two of you to press hard on your clit. The pressure built with the pace of his cock had you screaming out as you came. Stars danced across your line of sight, your body going slack in his hold. His cock still pounded into you, the feeling becoming too much too quickly. But he clearly didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.
John chuckled as he walked into the room. Simon and Kyle on his heels. The sight before him made his brain swoon a bit. Johnny’s back between your legs, lapping up cum from your slit. Whose it is they had no idea. You're covered in a mixture of cum and sweat, your hair sticking to your face. There’s dried jizz around your mouth, your breasts are covered in teeth marks. Your thighs match them, your pussy is swollen and every time Johnny’s lips touch your clit a jolt shoots through you. Simon’s heart clenches at the sight. His need to gather you in his arms and care for you tugging at him. But John was right, you needed to understand the rules. Still, seeing you laid out and clearly fucked within a inch of passing out pulled at him.
“That’s enough Soap. She’s had enough.” John cocks a brow at how you don’t say anything, just pull your knees to your chest and roll over. Your cold, Johnny’s body heat had done enough but you were sweating and damp.
“Simon, drag him away if you have to. Toss him in a cold shower. Kyle and I will tend to doll here.” Simon nodded and grabbed Johnny by the scruff of his neck, yanking him through the doorway. “Kyle, go start a bath. We’ll be there in just a minute.” Kyle walked off, the sound of running water breaking the silence. John stripped before bending and pulling you into his arms. A whimper left your throat as you tried and failed to pull away.
“Enough of that.” He huffed pulling you against him carefully. “Kyle started a warm bath, let me clean you up and then we’ll go to sleep. You’ve had enough.” You nod, too tired to speak. John climbs into the massive claw foot tub and sits down, placing you between his legs. Kyle leans against the ledge, a loofah in his hand.
“We should wash her hair first, John. So the conditioner can set.” You move slightly, so your back is against John’s. You can feel him against your back. He is big and thick. Hard too. Fuck, if three out of four were big, you hated to see Kyle’s. “Here dove, tip your head back.” You listen and tilt back into John as warm water cascades down your shivering torso. Deft fingers begin scrubbing your scalp, you feel the bubbles slipping down your back. “Once more.” Then more warm water.
“Have you learned your lesson, Doll.” A whimper and you press your arms around you. “Good girl.” John hums a light tune as Kyle washes your skin, his fingers soft. You almost fall asleep, until that soft hand touches your pussy and you jolt. Eyes shooting open. Kyle smiles at you.
“Need to make sure you’re clean, dove. You were awfully dirty.” There’s a bite to his tone. You know exactly what it is as he plunges two fingers into your sore, aching cunt. A cry as you try to pull away but John holds you open for Kyle.
“Just one more and we’ll go to bed. Promise.” You give a weak nod as Kyle pumps his fingers, and despite the orgasm before you climb that peak. John places soft kisses to your cheeks and neck. When you start getting close you tighten up, a hand wrapping around Kyle's arm. He distracts you with his lips, plying yours open and exploring as you arch your back and cum all over his hand. He chuckles and finishes washing you, John washing the conditioner out. You are done for. Seconds from falling asleep in their arms. John lifts you easily, Kyle drying you off, avoiding the apex of your thighs when you cry at him touching your thighs. No one dresses, instead John carries you to the bed where Kyle is laying, they settle you between them. The warmth is enough to pull you under, your body secure between the two mad men.
knight!au, simon riley x reader, kyle garrick x reader, johnny mactavish x reader, brief soap x gaz, mentioned john price x reader
cw: noncon/dubcon, abuse of power
word count: 3.6k
synopsis: this is inspired by one of my classes actually, where we discussed how knights in the middle ages only had to court noble women, whereas any peasant woman was open to their desires, and they were in fact encouraged to do so. while this is disgusting as a concept, i am also disgusting, so ofc i wrote this..
Everyone in the kingdom knew to stay out of the way of the knights. It was a common sight to see a vendor being heckled by a group of knights while many people walked by without sparing a glance. So you were well aware of how fucked you were when a group of them approached you at the market.
They were in their casual wear but the scabbards at their hips spoke to their knight status. The first one that started the conversation had tanned skin and a crooked grin that caused the edges of his stark blue eyes to crinkle.
His brown hair was styled in a mohawk, with the hair on the sides of his head crudely shaven away, and by the nicks that were spread across his scalp, you guessed he did it himself.
“Well, hello there, bonnie,” he practically whispered in your ear.
His hands gripped your waist as he pulled himself to stand closer to you with his chest against your back.
You stiffened, turning your head slightly backwards to peer at him. You had seen the group of them wandering the market earlier and you had hoped that’s the last you would see of them. You were not so lucky.
The second one, to your relief, pulled Mohawk off of you.
“Don’t crowd her, ye git” He gave you a grin, acting as if his friend hadn’t just groped you a second ago, but you had to admit, he was so pretty, it almost worked.
He had brown skin and tight curls that were close-cropped to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes sparkled with a mirth you didn’t share.
“I’m Gaz” he said, then he pointed to Mohawk, “he’s Soap.”
“But ye can call me Johnny, if ye like,” Soap interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
Gaz just shot him a glare and then pointed to the last man who had just been observing this whole interaction, “and this is Ghost.”
Ghost was a hulking creature of man, and if he wasn’t intimidating enough, he had on a skull-painted balaclava. Through the gap in the fabric you could see just his pale skin and soulless dark brown eyes that were boring into your soul.
You introduced yourself as they all stared at you expectantly.
“‘s a pretty name fer a pretty lass” Soap practically cooed at you.
This made you tuck further in yourself, wishing you could just disappear on the spot, “I.. don’t think this is appropriate.”
Gaz cocked his head slightly, “And why is that?”
You swallowed thickly, “B-because I don’t think my husband would approve.”
It was a complete gamble, maybe these knights would leave you alone if they thought you had a man to protect you. Problem is, you were decidedly not married, and all you could do was hope they wouldn’t see through your bluff.
“Husband?” Soap made a show of looking around, “if ye’re married, then where is he?”
“A man shouldn’t leave his woman to fend for herself in such a dangerous place, especially not one as beautiful as you, someone might try to take advantage,” Gaz said in a worried tone, but it was ruined by the slight grin on his face.
“He.. he went home already, I told him I needed to get one last thing, and I would be right home,” your lie was falling apart as soon as it left your mouth.
“He should have waited, no sense in making your woman walk home alone,” Soap grumbled.
By now, they had almost backed you into a corner, both literally and figuratively, as they advanced forward, forcing you to inch back towards the fruit stand behind you.
“He-he knows the people in the community, they would never do anything to me,” you managed to stammer out.
“If this husband o’ yours is real, where’s your ring?” You were startled as Ghost finally spoke up, his voice deep and rumbling as he glared at you with accusing eyes.
You put your right hand up and looked at it, faking bewilderment, “Oh! I must have left it at home this morning.”
“Ah, right, sorry for pestering you, then,” Gaz said, bowing slightly for emphasis, the other two following suit.
You gave them a small, nervous curtsy in response and smiled awkwardly at the three of them, “It’s quite alright. If you’ll excuse me, I think I should head home now.”
You started to walk away when Soap put out an arm to stop you, “Aye, but it wouldnae be right of us to let a woman walk home by herself.”
Your heart plummeted to your feet and your eyes involuntarily widened with horror.
“I should be okay walking by myself, thank you for the offer, sirs,” you said as you attempted to shoulder past Soap.
He just moved closer to you, “It wouldnae be right,” he said in a darker tone, implying this wasn’t up for debate.
You looked between Gaz and Ghost, who had blocked your other exits, and it didn’t seem like they were willing to budge on this either. You swallowed nervously, “R-right, let’s go, then.”
When you made it to your house, you had half-hoped for them to bid you a good night and go on their way.
They, of course, insisted on meeting your so-called husband and giving him a good talk about respecting his wife. You were fairly certain that at this point it was like a game for them.
It was obvious from the start that they never believed you and they knew you knew that, but that didn’t stop them from continuing this ruse, they were having too much fun.
You opened the door to an empty and dark house, it being abundantly clear that no one had been in the place since you left that morning.
“O-oh, I don’t know where he went, he must have gone looking for me since I took so long,” you lied, but winced at your wavering tone.
“Lass, we would have run into him on the way,” Soap said, making you turn around to face the three of them.
“He knows some different paths, maybe he took one of those,” you continued lying, knowing that it was never going to convince them, but you needed to keep talking or you were going to cry.
Noticing the devastated look on your face, Gaz walked forward and took your face in his hands, “It’s alright, luv, we’re not going to hurt you.”
You were shaking so bad that your teeth were practically rattling out of your skull, “You’re not? You’re.. going to leave me alone?”
Soap just shook his head, tutting at you, “We didnae say that, just that we aren’t gonna hurt ye, in fact, you’ll probably like it.”
The grin on his face made your stomach churn, and you stepped back from Gaz’s hands, backing up until you hit your bed frame. It startled you as you stumbled back into the wood, and you looked back to see what you had run into before trying to steady yourself.
When you turned back around, Gaz and Soap were practically face-to-face with you, Ghost choosing to settle in a dark corner of the room, settling into a chair as it let out a big creak of stress under his weight.
You turned your gaze back to the two knights in front of you who both have matching looks in their eyes, a mix of lust and excitement, as they eye you up and down.
“P-please don’t” you managed to stutter out.
Soap just pressed a finger to your lips, “Shhh, you’re okay. We’re going to take good care of you.”
You tried to lean out of the way as Gaz’s lips came towards yours, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could pretend all of this wasn’t happening.
Rough hands gripped your head, pulling your face towards Gaz, who captured your lips in his. As your eyes flew open, you saw that it was both Gaz and Soap’s hands that were holding you steady. Gaz’s other hand settled on your waist, gripping at the soft flesh underneath the fabric of your dress.
He leaned into the kiss, being somewhat gentle, as if he didn’t want to scare you off just so soon. You gasped softly into his lips as you felt Soap’s tongue on your neck, licking a stripe from your neck up to your face, ending it with a wet kiss to the apple of your check.
Gaz pulled away, staring blatantly down at your body before he began to undo the strings at the back of your bodice.
You tried to pull away, muttering out a soft “no” in protest, but Gaz worked efficiently enough that he was able to pull the piece over your head before you could do much else. Soap grinned down at your body, the top half of your thin chemise having been revealed.
Your hardened nipples poked through the sheer clothing, your body having betrayed you in response to Gaz’s kiss. Soap seemed transfixed as he palmed at your breast through the material, cupping both hands underneath your nipples.
“So bonnie, and just for us to see, aye?” he asked.
You couldn’t even move your mouth to answer and you just remained rooted to the spot no matter how much you wished you could move, fight them off, anything.
Soap didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, carrying on fondling your tits. While Soap was transfixed, Gaz slipped off your skirts, leaving you now with one practically translucent layer, which he was now starting to pull off as well.
That was when you got the courage to move, attempting to cover your body while also trying to keep your chemise on. Instead of grabbing your arms like you thought they would, Soap simply pushed you backwards so you landed with an ‘oof’ on your bed.
You tried to scramble away, slipping over your sheets in your desperation but Soap yanked you back towards them, “Behave.”
You swallowed nervously and stopped trying to struggle away, actually finding yourself nodding to his command.
He grinned, “Good girl.”
His words sent shivers down your body, ending with a fluttering in your cunt.
“Told you we were gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Gaz said, positioning himself in the space between your legs, gripping your thighs open with an ease that betrayed just how strong he was compared to you.
“I don’t want this,” you surprised yourself when you said this, having been frozen in fear just moments before.
Soap, who was now positioned in the space above your head, smiled down at you, brushing your hair back against your scalp, “Dinnae say that just yet, think ye’ll like this next part.”
Knowing that your protests would fall on deaf, uncaring ears, you shut your mouth and looked back down at Gaz who had now pulled the bottom part of your chemise up to reveal your pussy to the night air. Once again, you tried desperately to have some remaining decency and pulled your dress back down, only for Soap to grab your hands and pull them back to your chest.
He held them in an X formation with one hand gripping around both of your wrists, “Och, dinnae be naughty, lass. Wouldnae want for Ghost to have to punish ye.”
Your eyes flicked over to the man who was sitting in the corner who was staring over at the three of you, and you noticed him lazily palming at a bulge in his pants. You swallowed nervously and shook your head, looking back at Soap, “I’ll be good, I promise.”
He seemed satisfied and nodded to Gaz, who had flipped the bottom half of your chemise up once again. He pressed gentle kisses to your inner thighs, trailing up until he reached your entrance. It was horrible because even though you wanted them to stop, you needed for Gaz to hurry up and put his mouth on your aching bud.
As if sensing your thoughts, he put his lips to your clit and sucked. You couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped from your lips as he did this, your face flushing at the realization of the obscene noise that you had made.
It only egged Gaz on more as he began to practically make out with your pussy, wet smacking sounds echoing around the room.
Soap, meanwhile, had shifted your hands to pin them above your head, therefore giving him unobstructed access to your tits. He latched his mouth to your right nipple, sucking through the fabric.
He used his free hand to grope at your other breast, practically kneading it like a cat. All you could do was whimper softly, your arms and legs both being restrained. It wasn’t long before you could feel a pressure building between your legs, feeling the pleasure crescendo until it hit its peak and your body started shaking uncontrollably.
You could dimly hear Soap praising you with his mouth still on your nipple with your ears ringing slightly.
As the wave overtook you, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes back into your head. Gaz unsucked with a loud popping noise, and as your sight returned to normal, you saw him grinning triumphantly between your legs.
Soap had already unlatched from your tit, the sheer fabric that covered it being almost translucent from the saliva. Now that you had finally relaxed, or rather, was too tired to move or try to struggle, Soap let go of your arms. You left them where they were hanging above your head as you tried to catch your breath.
At that moment, Ghost stood up from the chair, startling you, as you had almost forgotten he was there.
“My turn,” he said gruffly, which made both Gaz and Soap complain loudly.
“Och, but I’m achin’ LT,” Soap complained, almost whining as he gestured to his dick which was straining against his pants.
“‘ave Kyle take care o’ you” he said matter-of-factly.
Although you weren’t sure of their ranks within the knight’s guard, it was clear that these two readily deferred to him as Soap reluctantly slipped off the bed.
Ghost walked towards you, looking you up and down with almost calculating eyes. All you could do was whimper softly as he approached you, half paralyzed from fear.
His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you, and although you flinched as he outstretched a hand, he simply stroked your cheek with a softness you didn’t know he was capable of.
“Poor thing, probably scared out o’ your mind.”
You nodded meekly, hoping maybe he would take mercy on you and leave you alone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, yeah?”
He then undressed his lower half which was littered in scars and which also freed his erect cock, one that looked like it could split you in half, precum glistening at the tip.
Your eyes widened at the sight of it, “I.. I don’t think it’s going to fit.”
He shook his head, “It’s gonna fit, don’t worry, ‘sides, my boys warmed you up for me, didn’t they?”
You looked over at Gaz and Soap, the former helping Soap out by stroking along his cock with spit-slicked hands, making Soap moan out words in a language you didn’t understand. You stopped looking when Ghost’s hands found your jaw and turned your face back to him.
“Asked you a question, love.”
You nodded, but your lower lip wobbled slightly.
That just seemed to egg him on more, and his eyes crinkled through the gap in his mask. He repositioned you so you were facedown on the bed, legs dangling off the side so your ass was level with his pelvis.
He pulled up your chemise, and once again, your pussy was exposed to the night air. He sucked in a breath at the sight of it, dragging one finger up through the folds and dipping it into your hole. You inhaled sharply at the intrusion, clenching slightly on his finger in shock.
He just laughed, “Careful you don’t squeeze like that while I’m inside, yeah? ‘fraid I’d never pull out.” You took the message and forced yourself to relax, knowing that it was happening either way and it was best just to make things easier on yourself.
You tried not to jump again when he dragged his tip down your pussy, gathering the come that had collected in between your folds. Then he pressed into your hole, it traitorously sucking him in with ease.
He was able to get it in a good amount of inches before your insides started to ache. Sure, maybe you’d had a couple of fingers in there before but nothing like this, certainly not this length or girth.
You whimpered softly as he pressed in further and he soothingly pet your hair as he paused for a moment.
“You’re okay, I know, I know” he said, soothingly, “Just a bit more, okay?” You nodded weakly, knowing that it wasn’t an option to back out now.
“Good girl” he murmured softly as he pressed inch by inch into you.
You whined pitifully as his pelvis pressed against your ass, his cock now fully inside you.
It hurt, but what was worse to you was that this hurt felt.. good. You hardly had a second to take all of him before he slowly pulled out again, and stupidly, you began to hope he was done.
Those dreams were dashed the second he slammed back into you, making you cry out in surprise. He continued this, rocking back and forth into you, his cock dragging in and out of your hole as you gripped the sheets beneath you for stability.
Then, he lowered himself on top of you, bending over at his hips to press himself against your back. All you could hear were his grunts and the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy as he pounded into you.
Even though tears were building up in your eyes, you could also feel pleasure building between your legs at the continuous thrusting. Your body tensed up as you felt another wave overtake you, the sensations making your legs shake uncontrollably underneath Ghost’s.
Your breathy moans earned an even faster pace, causing a slight staccato in your breathing.
Now that your orgasm had ended, the pleasure bordered on painful and with the increased thrusts, you whimpered softly, “It hurts.”
He pressed a kiss to the back of your head and through his panting he said, “I know, I know, just a little longer. ‘m almost there.”
You felt another wave building, this time it felt too intense, too painful, but you couldn’t stop it from overtaking you just as Ghost slowed above you, grunting in your ear as he finished inside you. You couldn’t breathe for a terrifying moment, your lungs drawing in no air as your vision darkened. The ringing in your ears grew louder as you lost sensation, and eventually, lost consciousness.
When you woke up what you assumed to be a few seconds later, Ghost had pulled out of you and you were laying on your back on the bed. You could feel his and your come dripping out of your pussy which was still fluttering around nothing.
He had pulled his pants up and redone his belt, now fully dressed again.
He looked over at you, “Lost you there for a second, that good, am I?”
You didn’t really know what to say in response, sure, he was good, but he also forced his way into your home and your body. You weren’t about to praise the man that violated you. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, looking over to Soap and Gaz who had both finished, seeming both literally and figuratively.
Soap gave you a lopsided grin, “Put on quite a show, lass. Told ye we’d take care of ye.”
“Will you leave me be, now?” you asked bluntly. Now that they had all had their fair share, all you wanted was for them to leave so you could tend to yourself and lick your wounds.
Gaz raised an eyebrow, “Rid of you? Who said anything about that?”
Your heart sank, “I.. I just assumed that once you got what you wanted, you’d leave.”
Ghost shook his head as if you had said something egregiously stupid, “Don’t you get it? You are what we wanted, and we’re not letting you go that easily. From the moment we laid eyes on you, we had to have you.”
You looked between the three of them, this hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing, they had planned this. You knew all along that they knew you weren’t married, but you didn’t think they had planned this, all for them to take you like some unruly spoil of war at the end.
“You can’t do this, someone will wonder where I am,” you mustered the energy to sit up in bed, glaring at the three of them.
“Really? From the looks of it, you live alone, no one knows who you are, and we’re knights. It’s our duty to take things like you home, protect you, take care of you” Gaz said, taking on a more serious tone.
“Y-you can’t do this” you helplessly repeated.
“Oh, lass, we can, and we will. Dinnae worry your pretty little head about it. King John already said he would be very interested in meeting you, doubt he would be too happy if you refused,” Soap’s grin seemed almost malicious now in this lighting.
“It’s time to go home,” Ghost said, scooping you up from the bed.
You were unable to do anything but cry weakly into his shoulder as they brought you to their horses, knowing this would be the rest of your life and there was nothing you could do about it.
a/n: ah ok! first fic on this acct and actually, my first fic writing smut 🫣 so lmk what you guys think, maybe i can write a part two if you’re interested??
Ma'am the lineup on your coming soon list is crazy. Price with the Labor Pains and Lobotomy? And the quotes? Frothing at the mouth for the demented ass content. And Kyle? Do people even write dark content with him?
Labor Pains: J. Price
Summary: John knows that he wants a wife and children. He doesn't care about the order, just that he wants them. He already has the house with the large backyard out in the countryside. It has everything he wants and everything his future family needs. He's in luck though, he had almost given up hope of finding the ideal wife. He's lucky that you are his team's new medic. He's not happy that you didn't want this new chapter in his life with him.
Perfect: K. Garrick
Summary: The perfect victim fights back. She screams. She scratches. The perfect victim doesn't give in. She doesn't cum. She doesn't crave his touch. She doesn't enjoy on the physical level of what he does to her. She certainly doesn't make her rapist breakfast in the morning. Knows how he takes his coffee and kisses his cheek before he leaves.
They will be posted as soon as I finish them. Lobotomy is a sequel to Labor Pains.
I know a lot of people aren’t comfortable with writing this buuuuuuut would it be ok if you wrote cheating Soap in a committed relationship with reader like he was planning to marry reader. But there was a duo mission with just Soap and Ghost and they end up sleeping with each other. And Soap and Ghost feel really bad more so Soap than ghost because obviously he’s the one in the relationship but Ghost has a good friendship with reader. But dislike the guilt they feel they continue to sleep together on the down low. So much so that they might be getting together more than soap and reader are. Then one day they decide they have to come clean after a mission it’s gone to far. But apparently Reader already found out and already left Soap and readers shared house in the Scottish highlands back to America where there from (if you could make readers home town anywhere in the south for all my southern girlies).
And that’s it now please feel free to completely ignore this ask or tweak it to your liking the core details I’m wanting are the angsty cheating and guilt. Have a FANTASTIC day night or evening 💗💗💗
Hi there, and thank you so much for your ask! 🩷
Unfortunately, I'm a very soft, sensitive hoe who's really, really bad at angst and feels uncomfortable with the whole cheating trope. Like... the thought alone makes my stomach churn 🥹
But perhaps someone else reads this and can help you out!
CW: Please check the master list. This chapter alludes to child sexual abuse. Nothing is graphic in detail.
You had spent the better part of your day out at your son's soccer game. You are pleasantly surprised that your four neighbors showed up to cheer him on. All of them are incredibly involved with watching the game, as if it were a professional game. Johnny and Kyle had been pacing up and down the field following the game, encouraging Jabari and his teammates. For some odd reason, you found it incredibly nice that John had made it his business to chat with the other fathers as if he's always been a part of the group. Chatting away about whatever it is that men talk about, household projects, work (things he could share), being invited to help with the team cook out for Sunday to celebrate getting into the playoffs. You notice that he doesn't correct people when they compliment him on how his boy (and despite Jabari looking nothing like John) is well adjusted and a good team sport, always willingly leading others effortlessly. He certainly doesn't correct anyone when they say that his little girl Jayla is a quiet and well-behaved girl. They find it cute that she clings to his hand. She swings from his arm, pulls at his hands, and is just generally using him to stim and keep occupied because her twin isn't paying her dust at the moment.
The reason her twin is paying her dust is because Jada has made it her mission to play out in the farther fields with Simon. She's got her baby Anni with them, and she's fussing about Simon making sure his little flower crown is on right. She smiles at him and explains that Anni has been asking about him, wondering when the next time he could keep her for a sleepover.
“Wouldn' ya want Anni to stay with you?” Simon asks her, “I'm sure she hates being away from ya.” He's careful with how he arranges the doll's little flower crown on its head. Truthfully, never in a million years did he think he would be playing dolls or be within range of children again. Not since his brother and his family. He feels protective of this little girl and her twin and her older brother.
When Price had told him that the neighbor next door was in trouble, her husband beating her black and blue, Simon could feel ‘Ghost’ slipping to the front that night. Before they even knocked on the front door, they could hear the shouts of bloody murder coming from the woman. He was so angry, absolutely seething with rage. He had to keep himself calm so he wouldn't kill the bastard when he stepped out onto the front porch after Price flashed his gun.
The coward didn't even look at or speak to him.
“No.” Jada says clear as day, “Anni prefers to stay at other people's house so that way she knows she's safe.” She is digging through her pink backpack, and finally, she pulls out what she is looking for. It's a little charm bracelet, and she offers it to Simon. “It matches my bracelet. See, it says TTC. It stands for The Tea Club.”
“Well.” Simon takes the dainty pink and purple bracelet with the little white letters and flowers, “you do make some of the best tea.” He tries not to dwell on the ‘She knows she's safe part’ of the conversation. Still, something in his gut tells him he needs to ask. He's just never been good with being tactful, and he feels like he should be gentle with his questions.
“Jada…” He takes a deep breath, “have things been okay since your father has been home?”
She looks up at him and purses her lips. It's clear that she is thinking, not entirely sure what to say for the conversation. She turns towards the field as the sidelines erupt into cheers over the game. Then slowly she turns and looks back at Simon, “I…I don't know Mr. Simon. Mom and Dad fought last time…when I asked Dad why, he didn't say anything and told me that it was all fine.” She sniffles a bit, “I try not to let Anni or even Jayla and Jabari know how upset it makes me, especially Mom.” She rubs at her eyes, trying to make her tears go away. “Sometimes he gets mad at me when I don't behave, and he spanks me if I cry, but sometimes I cry, and I can't help it.”
Simon feels his heart drop in his stomach. He remembers the look on your face when you admitted that you don't spank your children. Why would you if the fucker you're married to hits you? This though, seeing Jada cry and sniffle about spankings and crying didn't seem right. His throat felt dry and he also felt like he was going to murder. “Why would he spank you for crying?”
“I don't know Mr.Simon, sometimes his hugs hurt, and I cry.”
You were chatting with another one of the parents, taking note of what you were supposed to bring to Sunday's cookout. The game is in its final moments, Jabari's team is clearly going to win. Your eyes are covered by two sets of hands, a broad chest pressed against your back and kiss pressed to your cheek. You know instantly that it's Kenny, even more so. You are surprised that he even showed up to the match. “Kenny, glad you made it.” You turn to face your husband, and he is smiling at you. He's handsome right now, the cool suave man that swept you off your feet eleven years ago. He's sober, polite, bright, and sweet.
“Yes, I told you I would show up for his game. Is his team winning?” He says as he presses a kiss to your head.
“They most certainly are.” You say and wiggle out of his grip. Your attention goes back to watching the game, but you do notice how Kenny tenses up. “What's wrong now?”
“Why are the neighbors here?” He's glaring at where John is, Jayla is perched on his shoulders. John is still chatting with a group of parents. “And why's he got my daughter with him?”
You roll your eyes, “Kenny, be nice, please. The kids happened to like them, and Jabari invited them to watch the game.”
The whistle for the game to end is blown by the ref, and your son's team is jumping about in celebration. Kenny watches as his son runs up to Johnny and Kyle and is immediately hoisted up onto Johnny's shoulders. The irritation can be felt radiating off of him in droves. You sigh and give him a side eye, a silent plea for him to behave, don't embarrass you, and please for the love of God be cordial. You make your way over to the crowd of cheering families, and when you get close to Johnny and Jabari, you lean up and kiss your son on the cheek as he leans down.
“I scored the last goal, mom!” Jabari is sweaty, hyper, and loud. His smile is so big it stretches his face. Brown eyes sparkling in the daylight, he is your baby, and you feel like you're staring into the sun right now. He looks and sees his dad, and his smile falters a bit but stays big. “Dad, you made it!”
Kenny raises an eyebrow but strategically avoids the glare that Johnny sends him. He holds his arms out for his son. It can be written off as Jabari being careful of heights, but he eventually goes to his dad. “Good game sport.” He ruffles his hair, “you really gave them a run for their money.”
“Thanks Dad.” Jabari laughs and hugs his waist, then he lets go, “Mom, can we cut the strawberry cake when we get home?”
“You made that cake?” Kenny says, his brows drawn up in a bit of disgust, “You know I don't like that sugary mess.”
You look over at him, ready to defend the celebratory treat. Jabari had been asking for weeks, and you finally had squirreled away enough spare change for the cake. You open your mouth to say yes, but Johnny beats you to it.
“Good thing it ain't fa ye mate.” His blue eyes aren't welcoming. They are hardly the same pretty light shade that you've come to know. Kyle is standing beside him, a strained but polite smile on his face. You notice how his fingers flex, hand opening and closing. There's tension between the three men. The chatter of everyone else sorta fades from you as you anticipate some form of violence.
“Everything okay?” John comes to the rescue. He somehow appears out of thin air, and Johnny and Kyle relax. Their metaphorical hackles lower. John has Jayla tucked under his arm as if she's a bag of potatoes. She really is just swinging limply.
Jayla lifts her head up and smiles, “Hello.” Her greeting almost missed amongst all the noise. Johnny and Kyle dutifully greet her with smiles.
“Yeah. Good to see you, Price.” Kenny says, but it's more like a growl.
“Miss Bonnie was just inviting us over for cake. I was thinking we could all get together and have dinner.” Johnny looks at you with the tilt of his head.
“Oh! Can we get sushi?” Jabari jumps up and down, “pleaseeee” He begs.
“No-” Kenny starts.
“Sure” you say at the same time. Both of you look at each other. And it's not lost on you that he doesn't like sushi. He could never stand the food, but Jabari does, and he rarely gets it. It's a mini stand-off before Kenny sighs.
“I spoil you all too much. Let's get out of here.” He says and heads off to the car.
You ignore the eye rolls from both Kyle and Johnny. “You guys don't have to have dinner with us. Kenny can be kinda tense.”
“Nonsense. Jabari wants us there, right soldier?” John says with a shrug.
“Yeah Mr.Price, I do!” He stops jumping about and looks around, “Where's Jada?”
This also makes you look around, but you spot her and Simon coming in from the unused field. He's got her in his arms, holding her protectively, her little pink backpack slung over his shoulder. Her baby is crushed between her body and his, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. She clings to him, shaking just a bit, and you feel your heart ricochet between your throat and stomach.
“Baby what's wrong?” You're rushing over to them and trying to peer at her face. Simon stops you, though, and he shakes his head no. You're a bit indignant because how dare he.
Simon pulls you close to him, and he leans down to your ear, “She, her sister, and brother can ride home with me and John. You ride home with Kyle and Johnny.”
“What why?” You ask, and there's panic in your voice, “what happened to my baby? What did you do to her?” You go to take her, but Jada only clings to Simon more. She sniffles and won't look at you.
“Listen to me and trust me, yeah.” He stares deep into your eyes. There's something akin to restrained rage in those honey brown eyes. He, too, is shaking now that you've noticed. John approaches the three of you with concern on his face. It's like he can sniff out distress and discomfort. Simon tells him the game plan for the ride home, and John doesn't question it.
You feel like you're going to throw up.
You arrive home, confused and worried sick. You find it odd that you trust Simon implicitly along with the rest of your neighbors. You chalk it up to them, saving you from Kenny and being genuinely nice to your children. The way they just allow the three of them to clamber and hold onto them. You notice how the four of them seem interested in their well-being. You, Johnny, and Kyle arrive at your homes, and you spot your husband's car in the driveway. But before you can get out of the passenger seat, John is approaching the car. He looks livid, his face red with anger. You're halfway out of the car when he kneels down in front of you. His hand on your knees, blue eyes searching yours for a moment.
“Sweetheart…I'm gonna tell you something. And you have to stay calm.” His voice is leveled. It doesn't match the urgency of the moment.
“I just want to get Jada and see what's wrong.” You whisper. Your stomach is in knots as it waits for something, anything to happen.
“Soap and Gaz go inside and keep him from committing murder.” John barks at the other two. You think you hear in the distance their front door slam shut.
Your eyes snap to your neighbor's house, and you see Simon, on the porch, a handgun in his grip. Your body moves on its own, and you're pushing for John to let go of you. “Move John, I need to get my children.” There's a swell in the air.
“Sweetheart, has Jada ever come to you about anything inappropriate?” John isn't budging. He keeps his hands on your legs so you can't leave the car. There's shouting in the background, Kyle is trying his best to diffuse Simon.
“John- no- I don't-” It's like your mind is running on dial-up. Everything is slowed down, and it's like a fresh new Hell opened up and swallowed you.
“Jada confided in Simon that her father has been touching her.”
You're not too sure what happens after that. It's all static, really. Slow motion. The sky is too bright. The air is too cold. John's hands feel grounding, and they also feel scorching. You aren't sure if you want to scream or not. Maybe you do scream. Maybe part of you feels like if you march into your home and bury your teeth into Kenny's neck, rip out his throat, you can right every wrong that led you to this moment. Spill his blood in penance for all the hurt he's caused your children. You'd also, in the same breath, cut out your heart. You don't deserve to live, especially when you are so blind.
Your mind is racing back to every little thing that Jada has said or imitated. Her idea of ‘me time’, her casual statements about spanking. Anything you can think of, every interaction, comes screeching to the forefront of your mind. It hurts. How are you even a mother? You were so worried about your husband hitting you, beating you and children to death, you never once entertained the idea of him killing your children in this sense.
Good God. Nights that you've been too tired to fight him off and blacked out from pain. Has he done things to them then? What about when you've left him alone with any of them. Jabari, now that you think about it, always hated being left alone with his father. He's shied away from his touches and hugs.
“Sweetheart?” John brushes away the tears from your face.
“Get me in the house John…” It's not really your voice that's speaking. It's too vacant. “Take my keys.” You hand him your house keys, “throw any and everything into a few bags. If I go in there, I'll kill him.”
He does as you say and steadies you. When you're in their house, you see Jabari talking with Kyle and Johnny, talking to Jayla. Simon is nowhere to be seen, but a part of the sectional is pushed against the basement door. Jada is sitting in the quiet room that belongs to Simon. He's in there with her, but he's on his knees. Holding her hands between hers, whispering something to her. She's got tear tracks on her face, and when she glances up at you, she launches herself into your arms. She's sobbing, saying sorry, she didn't know it was wrong.
You only shush her and kiss her head. You are doing your best not to bolt next door and kill the bastard.
a.n: so everyone take care of yourselves. This was heavy. There will be immediate consequences in the next chapter. Just you wait.
It's my birthday week (12/04 is the day) and I'm gonna write some angst and smut with poly!141 while waiting for the plot demon to possess me for chapter 13 of Loyalties.
So please get ready for the series Titled as followed
Love on the brain.
This is a dark series. Features depictions of domestic abuse, child abuse, and emotional abuse. Don't worry. Our 141 men don't go doing the abuse. Reader is referred to as Imani it means Faith. You are responsible for your own content consumption. MDNI.
Summary: You knew the moment you married him that things were going to be different. Your husband wanted a fresh start away from broken glass and drywall. He wanted to move you and the kids "across the pond," as he said. Wanted to give you the picket fence, take you back to where he grew up, and try again. Be the happy family that you want. It all comes crashing down when your son sprints across the lawn, bangs on the neighbor's door, and meets some guy with muttonchops.
I guess I should say this now so it doesn't come to a shock. I write dead dove don't eat content. Like, don't come to my inbox being rude or trying to chastise me or whomever reads my things. This is the only PSA I'm making about this.
Obviously I don't condone anything I write about. It's just fiction y'all.
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