No thoughts just wolf shifter!ghost who lost the ability to properly shifter due to injuries from roba...
Instead of shifting into a proper wolf, he becomes something...different, wrong. Limbs too long, torso bent at an odd angle. His fur is patchy and thin, tail wiry and ears too pointed. Ghost can't escape his disfigurement even in his other form, the one meant to bring comfort to him.
If ghost had it his way, he'd never shift again. Live his life as a human and pretend his wolf never clawed at his insides begging to be seen.
Unfortunately for ghost and his tendency to never address his emotions, shifters have to shift at least once a month to prevent hospitalization.
So, once a month, ghost drags himself deep into the forest outside of base.
Government property technically, least risk of being seen by civilians or gunned down by hunters. Under the moonless night, ghost becomes a twisted memory of a wolf. He stalks the ground, indulges in every instinct while stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his body.
Every stumble is just excitement, every wrong-sounding howl and bark just a weird echo. But when ghost finds his way to the river he loves, he also finds another shifter.
Another shifter like him.
A deer, at some point. But your fawn spots still paint your hide, your legs have too many bends in them, and antlers sprouts only from the right of your head. You, too, are a creature born of violence.
It is a silent agreement, what happens between you.
That night, two monsters follow eachother through the woods. For once, ghost finds himself play-bowing and chasing another creature again. He feels light, happy. Working his twisted muscles until you end up curled into his soft stomach, soft grass under you and polluted sky above.
Only in the morning will ghost learn that the terrible scarred thing in the woods is the shy archivist on base. The one who smiles at him when no one else will.
Reader! Who enters the bar in a large and poofy princess wedding dress, face full of makeup, and hair slicked up snd out of your face, veil and phone tightly gripped in your hand.
And makes almost everyone in the half empty room do a double take as you make your way to a free bar stool, small ‘sorrys’ as you lift your dress that keeps brushing against tables.
The bartender gives you a questionable look, “Can-Can I help you ma’am?”
“Can I get a strawberry daiquiri, and- do you sell wings here?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then that too. The biggest basket ya got. With a side of barbecue sauce. Oh, and ranch!” You plop your veil in your lap and you set your phone down on the counter, that’s still rapidly buzzing.
If the 141 would have imagined such a beautiful and blushing bride walking into their live — in a dingy bar on a Thursday evening no less. Had Gaz not shoved Soap over to you, the four men would’ve all thought they were under some type of hypnosis.
“Bloody ‘ell yer bonnie.” Soaps words fall out before he can catch them.
You look over at him, half stoic from running away from your own wedding right as your ex soon to be husband said his vows in the last 45 minutes, and half thankful— you let out an airy giggle, “Well I did pay the makeup artist to do a good job.”
John comes around to you, he’s steady, poised, “Are you sure you’re alright love?”
“I feel alright, I think.” You say, sipping the fresh frozen drink sat infront of you. Okay, maybe more than two sips, but your hearts still pounding.
“No- I mean- you’re in the wrong place. Shouldn’t you meant t’ be-“
“—At a wedding?” You finish, finally meeting eyes with this beared stranger. You tap your fingers at the bar, shrugging, with an exasperated laugh, “I thought so too, before I found out that the guy cheated on me. Numerous times. And even when my mom tried me to convince me, I had to ask myself, ‘what is this for? What is any of this for?’ I didn’t want the big ass wedding to begin with, but I wanted the poofy dress. But I couldn’t even get the one I really wanted, so what’s the point? I’m fucking Barbie, and your trynna marry me to fuck all, when I want Ken!” You take another swing of your drink, burping it out and covering your mouth.
“I want Ken, and Denzel, and Keanu, and David Beckem in his prime with a big ass house and pool and not being forced to have kids for some company with no money promised to me for- some cheat! Next thing you know, I’m running and calling a fucking taxi to a bar I’ve never been to and then I got a slurpie on the way. And I’m craving wings. And I hope they enjoy that 4 tier cake cause I know for fucking sure, I chose a damn good cake.”
And maybe you’re in a movie or something because you got a handful of cheers and applause. Your cheeks burn underneath your skin with embarrassment but you’re unashamed. Eyes only matching to the other handsome men at the end of the bar who seem to be with the beard stranger.
Simon snickers and raises his pint to you, “Got a pair of balls on ya luv.”
You stick your nose up, ends of your lips cracking into a smile, “they’re pretty heavy.”
Gaz smiles, “Next one’s on me then, anything’s better than a shite wedding, yeah?”
John gives you a warm smile, hand slipping onto your upper back, “mind having your reception with us then? Don’t think we’re too shabby compared t’ the bloody muppet who fucked you over, are we?”
Your eyes swirl over the four men in front of you, biting the inside of your lip, it can’t get any more than an hour ago, can it? “No, I’d greatly appreciate it actually.”
a/n: reader having an ego death and singing Bitter Sweet Symphony terribly and drunk by the end of the night while four big military men hype you up. This is dumb.
The second Captain John Price receives credible intelligence regarding his missing lieutenant, accompanied by photographic evidence of said lieutenant’s current condition, he pinches the bridge of his nose and holds it there for a long moment.
Then he releases a sigh so deep and profoundly exhausted that the paperwork on his desk flutters.
There are moments in a man’s life when he reflects upon the choices that brought him to his present circumstances. Price has had more of those moments than most, usually while being shot at, occasionally while filling out expense reports, and once while watching Soap attempt to determine whether a grenade could be used to open a particularly stubborn jar of pickles.
This, however, may be the first time he has seriously regretted not accepting that desk job his uncle offered him straight out of school.
Corporate office. Nine to five. Sensible shoes. Perhaps a retirement party where the greatest threat to his life would’ve been Sandra from Accounts becoming emotional after two glasses of prosecco.
Instead, he is staring at a photograph of Lieutenant Simon Riley tied to a chair in what appears to be a dungeon.
Bare concrete walls, chains hanging from hooks, one exposed bulb casting ominous shadows. There is even what appears to be a table containing several neatly arranged implements of torture, although Price suspects at least two of them are novelty kitchen utensils.
Simon sits in the middle of it all wearing his skull mask, trousers, and an expression that cannot be seen but can nevertheless be felt radiating through the photograph.
Price studies the ropes binding his lieutenant’s wrists.
He blinks.
He studies them again.
The rope is looped around Simon’s arms perhaps twice, secured with what looks suspiciously like a shoelace knot, and hanging loose enough that a moderately determined toddler could escape it.
“Are we certain this is current?” Price asks.
The intelligence officer standing opposite his desk shifts his weight. “Timestamp puts it at fourteen hundred yesterday, sir.”
“And we’re certain it’s Riley?”
“Yes, sir.”
Price looks back at the photograph.
Simon’s boots are planted comfortably apart. His shoulders are relaxed. There are no visible injuries. Someone has placed a folded blanket beneath him so the metal chair won’t be uncomfortable.
There is also, Price notices with mounting despair, a bottle of water positioned beside his right foot with the water level already half gone.
“Right,” Price says.
The investigation continues and it should be difficult to determine how one of the world’s most highly trained special operations soldiers was abducted from his own home. Simon Riley is six foot something of professionally cultivated paranoia. He checks exits without thinking, sleeps lightly, and once identified a surveillance team because the same pigeon appeared outside three different cafes.
You, by comparison, possess all the operational subtlety of a marching band falling down a staircase.
Price discovers you have been following Simon for six weeks.
Not discreetly, no. You’ve followed him to the store, the gym, the shooting range, and several coffee shops. You’ve taken photographs from behind newspapers held upside down, worn a black trench coat during a heatwave, an once crouched behind a decorative hedge that did not make you as invisible as you probably led yourself to believe you were.
Security footage shows Simon looking directly into the camera on several occasions while you scurry behind him between hiding places.
Price sees all of this and lowers his face into his hands.
The next report arrives shortly before lunch.
“A syringe was recovered from Lieutenant Riley’s residence,” an officer tells him.
Price straightens slightly. Finally. Something resembling an actual crime.
“Forensics?”
“Lorazepam, sir.”
“What dosage?”
The officer consults the report. “Zero point five milligrams.”
Price stares at him.
The officer clears his throat. “Ativan.”
“I know what lorazepam is.”
“Yes, sir.”
Price looks at the report again, perhaps hoping an additional zero will materialize through force of will.
It doesn’t.
“Zero point five.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That dose wouldn’t knock out a pensioner after Sunday lunch.”
“No, sir.”
“Riley weighs nearly two forty.”
“Yes, sir.”
They stand in silence and Price’s eye begins to twitch.
The final piece of evidence is recovered from a traffic camera positioned across from Simon’s flat where Pricd can see you dragging Simon beneath the arms towards the back door.
Dragging is perhaps generous. You are straining, red faced and panting, moving him approximately three inches at a time while Simon allows his boots to scrape uselessly across the floor. His head lolls against his shoulder with theatrical unconsciousness.
In the process, his boot catches the base of a standing lamp, which begins to fall.
Simon, still allegedly unconscious, reaches out one hand, catches it, carefully rights it, and places it back beside the doorway.
“Unbelievable,” Price mutters.
You turn around at the sound and he drops his arm and resumes being unconscious before you see him.
You stare suspiciously and Simon remains perfectly still.
After several seconds, you shrug and return to your kidnapping.
Price pauses the footage, sits back, and runs both hands slowly down his face, dragging his palms over his beard until he resembles a man trying to physically remove himself from existence.
Behind him, one of the task force operators shifts impatiently. “Captain?”
Price says nothing.
“Do you want us to assemble a team?”
“No.”
There is a pause.
“No, sir?”
“No.”
“But Lieutenant Riley has been taken hostage.”
“Has he?”
The operator looks at the frozen image on the screen. Simon’s enormous, supposedly unconscious body is halfway inside a compact hatchback while you attempt to fold one of his legs through the door.
“He’s tied to a chair, sir.”
“He could break those ropes by sneezing.” He says while he picks up Simon’s personnel file.
He opens it, turns to the appropriate page, and begins filling out a leave request.
The operator watches him. “Sir?”
Price writes Simon Riley beneath the section marked PERSONNEL NAME.
“Captain, what are you doing?”
“Administrative work.”
“Shouldn’t we at least contact him?”
Price checks the box beside personal leave.
“He’s been missing for two days.”
Price writes seven beneath REQUESTED NUMBER OF DAYS, considers it, crosses it out, and replaces it with fourteen.
“Sir.”
Price signs the bottom of the form with a flourish made violent by fatigue.
The operator makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat.
Price places the completed document neatly on top of the photograph showing his lieutenant sitting comfortably in a dungeon with a blanket beneath his ass, a half finished bottle of water by his foot, and enough slack in his restraints to knit a second rope.
“No deployment,” Price says. “No rescue attempt. No one contacts him unless there’s an actual emergency.”
“do you ever regret what you’ve done in your life?” you mutter, glancing in the direction of your little day to day parasite; johnny silverhand. he sits at the edge of your bed, leaning against the inner wall with a lit cigarette fizzing between his fingers. you’ve become bed ridden from a particular bad relic malfunction and the thought of “what if’s” plagued your sickly mind.
johnny wears his iconic sunglasses as he sits promptly across from you. you can’t tell if he’s looking at you, or even paying attention, but it doesn’t stop you from talking away in your feverish state. “hey, you could at least answer. you’re the one killin’ me ya know.” you jab, following up with a half chuckle, half cough. “i wanna know, don’t i get one free wish or somethin’?”
johnny cracks a smile but otherwise he continues to stay quiet. just takes a long drag off the end of his imaginary cigarette as his hologram self flickers, the only tell that reminds you he’s not really real; just a ghost of a man.
“yeah i’ve got a lot of regrets, v. nothing i can do to change ‘em though, so why ask?” johnny finally speaks up, breaking his vow of brief silence. his tone is bitter and cold like usual but this time it sounds…far more distant; most likely due to your slow recovery from the previous malfunction strike.
one day, you feared, he’d be completely out of your grasp.
“dunno just curious, i guess. would you change anything?” you continue to pry, lifting an eyebrow at the other as you shimmy your way into somewhat of a sitting position.
johnny sighs at your prying and you know if he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses he’d probably roll his damn eyes at you. like a disappointed friend giving you advice for the seventeen time about the same topic. “fuck v,” he says as he takes another long drag off his cigarette. “i don’t know, maybe not fucking die?” he adds with a more annoyed tone.
“hey you can’t be mean to me right now so just answer the damn question.” you shoot back, restraining yourself from tossing the closest pillow at his head…it wouldn’t reach the target like you’d want it too anyway.
silence falls once more between the two of you. johnny continuing to smoke while his head slightly turns off to the side, allowing him to stare out the window beside your bed. he takes a moment to look at the flashing lights of NC before finally turning back to face you. “i wouldn’t change anything. even if i got to live again, in my own body, with my own damn thoughts…even if i died again, don’t care. wouldn’t change a thing.”
now it’s your turn to lift your eyebrow in confusion. you had expected him to go on and on about what he’d do to change everything that went wrong; beating adam smasher, saving alt, maybe even righting wrongs with both kerry and rouge. i mean you half expected him to mention blowing arasaka up…again
“why?”
for a moment you expect him to disappear, to retreat back into the depths of your mind and to finally be done with your nitpicking. but johnny doesn’t, keeps his ‘physical’ form, and he stays. and he’s turning to look directly at you. his cigarette is gone as he reaches up with his mechanical arm to remove his sunglasses for the first time…ever. and he does something unexpected, even by the legend, johnny silverhand’s standard.
“…because then i’d never get the chance to meet you, v. i’d die a thousand deaths just to meet you at the end of the line.”
and then he finally leaves. disappears before you can even fully comprehend his confession. leaves you in your semi pitch black room with nothing but your headache and the tightness inside your chest.
Chapter Summary: Jumping in, not giving into the fear.
Series Summary: So what the fuck are you meant to do if you hate one of your soulmates after falling in love with the other? Hate-fucking him was probably not the best call. (Soulmate AU)
Word Count: 7.4k
Tags: Smut, happy ending, angst, phone sex, Robby being a little shit, paper planes as a motif, mid-smut (fyi)
Being back at your apartment was nice, but as you wandered around your space it didn’t feel as homey as you remembered it. The fridge hum sounded familiar, the creak of your couch didn’t sound too-plastic-y and the art on the wall didn’t feel like a bargain hunter find at TJ Maxx. Despite the space being catered exactly for you, it didn’t feel right. Something was missing.
(You didn’t want to admit what was missing and no one could make you).
The first night back in your bed, you couldn’t help but feel the echoes of Jack and Robby’s lips against your skin. Even in your memory the touch felt so real. If you closed your eyes and focused, it almost felt like they were in the room with you, holding you between them.
Their touch was haunting; you’d never experienced anything like it. Did it feel so intense because of soulmate connections or because it had been years and years of emotional build up? You were hard pressed to say, all you knew is that laying in your bed hours away from them the only thing you were sure of was how intensely you craved their touch.
You glanced at your alarm clock next your bed. Should you call them? Is that crazy?
Toggling to your text chain on your phone, you found the photo Jack sent of their schedule; he started sending it not long after you reconnected, all but insisting you schedule yourself in whenever they were both free. Neither Jack nor Robby were at work tonight…your finger toggled over the call button for Robby’s phone (he was slightly more reliable in answering a phone call).
You all were something, more than friends, but nothing was defined. The only real conversation you all had about everything was a not-long talk with Jack about how he felt about everything. There was still so much unsaid between all of you.
Before you could second guess yourself, you hit call.
After the third ring you contemplated hanging up, but then a warm, raspy voiced answered:
“Hey, how was your drive?”
It was Jack.
“Bland,” you said curling up in under your covers. “What do you do on nights you and Robby aren’t working?”
“He sleeps and I don’t,” Jack said simply. You could hear him puttering around in the kitchen based on the sound a closing drawer. “My sleep schedule never went back to normal after I lost my leg.”
“Why not, do you think?”
“Phatom limb pain for the first few years, but now it’s mainly age and stress.”
You hummed and tried to readjust your pillow.
“You good over there?” He asked, amusement in his voice.
“I can’t get comfortable. I’ve missed my bed so much, but no matter which way I lay, nothing feels right.”
“What do you normally do when you get restless?”
The automatic answer, the one you defaulted to, was masturbating but you couldn’t say that could you?
“Read,” you said.
Jack laughed and said, “Bullshit. You’re such a bad liar for a lawyer.”
“I don’t lie as a lawyer,” you grumbled. “I don’t need to, I’m too clever.”
“Yeah?” Jack goaded, a smile in his voice. You heard him sit down in one of their leather chairs.
“Yeah, that’s why they pay me more money than I know what to do with.”
“And why you work 70 hour weeks,” he added.
“Only sometimes.”
“And when you’re not working, what do you do to relax?”
“You know what I do,” you told him quietly.
“Tell me.”
“Jack,” you whined.
“C’mon baby, tell me how you touch yourself.”
His voice, already raspy and soft, was deeper with want. It wasn’t hard to imagine him on his leather chair, leaning back watching you hungrily.
“Only if you do the same,” you replied.
“Ladies first,” he said.
“Most of the time, it’s just a vibrator and whatever smut I’m reading at the moment.”
“Do you not turn yourself on?” He asked, it didn’t sound judgmental but curious.
“It’s an ends to a mean most of the time,” you nearly whispered. “Sorry, I know that’s not sexy.”
Jack cleared his throat. “I think you underestimate what I find sexy. The last time I saw you, I felt you up and you were wearing business professional.”
You laughed softly. “I guess that’s true.”
“Tell me a fantasy then,” he replied. “What do you think about when you want to get off.”
“Right now? How you and Robby pinned me between you both. I swear I can feel you still,” you told him.
“I thought about that too after you left. You were so warm and soft against me,” he murmured.
“How do you touch yourself, Jack?”
“With my hand.”
You snorted. “Sexy.”
“I like really firm pressure, that rotates,” he told you, voice breathy and a little nervous.
“Do you like someone playing with your balls?” You tried to sound sexy but were positive you missed the mark; it wasn’t something that came naturally to you.
“Y-yeah,” he hissed.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“How could I not?”
“What do you think about to get off?” You asked him, quietly.
There was the soft pant of Jack’s breath against the phone as he stroked himself.
“You and Robby on your knees for me. Sometimes us on our knees for you,” he managed tightly.
“Not for Robby?”
“He’s surprisingly submissive,” Jack halfway laughed.
“Do you want me to tell you what I would want to do if I was on my knees for you?”
“I’m not sure I could take it,” he said breathlessly. “But yes, please.”
“I would start gently, rubbing at you over the fabric of your boxers, as needy as you want me to be—”
“Mmm, would you beg?” He asked. It didn’t sound mean or even as dominant as he might have intended. It sounded desperate.
“I would beg and beg until you let me take off your underwear, then I would worship you with my mouth. Starting at your thighs, I’ve always wanted to leave a hickey there.”
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned.
“Then I would suck on your balls before moving to your dick,” you said. “The whole time staring at you, showing you how much I’m enjoying myself.”
“Are you wet, baby?”
You didn’t think he was asking about the hypothetical you in the fantasy.
“Want me to check?”
“Please,” he whined.
Slowly, you slid your hands under the waistband of your shorts. Unsurprisingly you were soaked.
“Thinking about sucking your dick made me soaked,” you said, lightly toying with your clit.
“Will you touch yourself?”
“Sure,” you said rolling over to your side table sifting for your vibrator. Jack groaned over the phone when he heard it turn on. You turned it on the lowest setting, but it still was intense once in contact with your clit. “Shit.”
“What…what else would you do?” He panted.
“I’d beg you to use my throat,” you managed, though you were squeakier than intended. “Use me however you want to feel good. I’ll suck and suck until you’re finishing down my throat.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he moaned.
“Then when you’re finally done, I’ll beg you to use my vibrator on me. Beg you to let me cum for you.”
“I’ll bet you sound so pretty when you cum,” he said, a soft grunt suggesting he was getting close.
“I want to hear you, Jack,” you told him. “Are you close?”
“So close,” he huffed.
“Think of me on my knees in front of you, where do you want to cum? My face? My tits?”
“Tits,” he managed.
“Show me what you sound like, baby. Paint my tits,” you hissed, arching into the vibrator.
There was a long, low groan from Jack that ended with his heavy breathing.
“Fuck, baby. That was crazy. How close are you?”
“Very,” you sighed.
“Would you do this on display for us? Pleasure yourself for our enjoyment? We’re older now, can’t always get it up.”
“Where do you want me to be?” You asked, closing your eyes letting him paint you a picture.
“We’d put you on the bed, legs out. Your cute little vibrator between your legs.”
“Would you both touch me?”
“Would you want us to?”
“Desperately,” you breathed.
“Then sure, baby. There wouldn’t be a piece of your skin we wouldn’t memorize the feeling of. Maybe if you asked nicely, Robby would shove his thick fingers in your cunt,” Jack told you.
“Fuck, I’m close,” you hissed.
“Just like that, baby. Think about how it would feel for us to watch you come apart.”
It wasn’t hard. Just like it wasn’t hard to imagine Jack using your mouth, it wasn’t hard to imagine their hands on you as you inched closer and closer to your orgasm.
“Jack,” you said between gritted teeth. “Tell me I cum. Count me down.”
“I can do that,” he sounded pleased and a little surprised. “5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Cum for me, baby.”
A sharp keening sound left your mouth as your body finally let go for Jack. The orgasm tore through you more intense than you’d felt in years. For a minute you sat their twitching, the remnants of the orgasm slowly abating.
“I was right,” Jack said.
“About what?”
“You sound very pretty when you cum.”
You laughed and felt yourself warm at his compliment. “You do too, you know. This is the new fantasy, now.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm, that was very hot, Dr. Abbot.”
“You cannot ‘Dr. Abbot’ me,” he groaned.
“Why not?”
“I’ll get a boner the next time a patient says my name!” He protested with a laugh.
“Devastating for me,” you replied with a smile.
“You feel any better?”
“A little, still feel like something is missing,” you said without thinking.
“And what do you think is missing?”
You blinked and quieter than you expected said, “You and Robby.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
When the stickiness between your thighs began to irritate you, you briefly hung up promising to call back when you were settled again. After cleaning yourself up, you slid back into bed and called Jack back on his phone this time.
“Hey,” he said, you could feel his smile from 200 miles away.
“Hey,” you replied.
For awhile you both talked about nothing and everything. The conversation ranged from opinions on The Matrix to a brief but thorough cultural critique on people’s fear of sharks. When you felt yourself drifting, Jack cleared his throat and said,
“Can I ask you something?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“When you fantasize…” he trailed off and the beginning had your marginally more awake. “Do you ever think about you and Robby?”
“Do you really want to talk about this?” You asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I think I want to know.”
Jack knew that Robby had once or twice but the guilt had been too overwhelming to continually revisit.
“I did once, but not in a…sexual way, I guess. It’s kind of a boner killer,” you said sardonically. “I wonder what the difference would be—what it would be like to know that I care for the other person and they care for me. Maybe hate-fucking was theoretically hot, but in practice…it was empty. We didn’t bond. Or at least I didn’t.”
Soulmate bonding was well-studied but not understood. Most scientists believed that soul bonds were generated from intercourse combined with an intense endorphin rush. Most of the time that occurred during intense and passionate sex between soulmates.
“Do you regret it?”
“Everyday,” you said simply. “Why did you forgive us?”
It was a question that had been on your mind ever since the men had come back into your life.
“Actually, why did you forgive me? With Robby there was so much history and love, but we weren’t…” you trailed off. You weren’t sure how to finish the thought. Thankfully, Jack knew what you meant.
“Because, I knew that if I had been in that storage room with you, I would have done the same thing,” he said. “I’m not being gregarious when I say that, either. I was halfway in love with you before I found out about the marks. It made sense when I realized, of course, but I was dreaming of you in our bed long before you and Robby fucked.”
“Huh.”
“Was that too much?”
“No of course not,” you said. “I guess I hadn’t realized. I thought it was one sided, my feelings for you.”
“It was not,” he laughed, a little acerbically. “Can you forgive me?”
“For what?” You asked, astounded.
“For flirting with you when I was already in a relationship. For constantly seeking you out when I knew—well, at the time I thought I knew—we couldn’t be anything.”
You were silent for a minute trying to figure out how to handle him apologizing for something that felt so small in comparison.
Eventually, you said, “Yes, I forgive you.”
“I forgive you, too.”
— —
Robby found himself taking one of his few breaks outside. The fall chill had settled on the city and there was a short seasonal lull before the winter freeze finally hit in a few weeks. Leaning against the pillar, one knee uncomfortably drawn up towards his chest (he was not as young as he used to be), he was scrolling through his phone looking at the thread of texts between you both.
It was silly, he knew. But staring at your dry, slightly too-lawerly text messages made him miss you slightly less.
Ever since the kiss, there hadn’t been any conversation about what was going to happen moving forward. Robby wanted desperately to beg you to move back to Pittsburgh, to ditch even looking for an apartment and move in with him and Jack. But Jack was right, you had been more hesitant and closed off as you both reconnected.
Months ago he wondered what it was like to be loved by you and he wasn’t sure he knew yet, but he did know what it was like to eat Chinese food on your squeaky work couch. He knew what it was like to kiss you with Jack’s taste still lingering on your lips; he knew what it felt like to be cared about—if that paper plan had anything to say about it.
So looking through your last text messages was not a replacement for your presence, but it would be tolerable until you returned.
——
You crossed city lines back into Pittsburgh a little after eight pm on Friday evening. The familiar shape of downtown rose against the deep indigo sky, windows glowing like scattered embers as the city settled into another cold October night. Instead of taking the turn to your awful temporary apartment, you made your way to Jack and Robby’s.
Pulling up to their small bungalow, the knot that had lived beneath your ribs all week eased, if only by a little.
It was Robby who opened the door and for a split second he took your breath away.
He wasn’t even dressed up, in fact he looked a little grumpy in a rumpled t-shirt and ratty pajama pants. His feet were covered in thick wool socks to combat the growing chill at night. His necklace shimmered in the porch light, the familiar Star of David catching the warm glow of the porch light. His dark greying hair was mussed and messy, and the tiredness beneath his eyes did nothing to lessen how impossibly handsome he looked.
“Jack stepped out to the store,” Robby said softly.
You stepped through the door and lightly brushed Robby on the arm as you entered. He cleared his throat and said,
“Are you…are you spending the night?”
The night before they asked you to come over and stay for the weekend. There was no obligation for sex. They just wanted to be around you. That simple request had made you smile. It felt precious in a way you hadn’t expected. Before leaving your apartment in Harrisburg, you had grabbed your favorite blankets and pillows, desperate for some comfort of home regardless of whether you were at the impersonal penthouse or your soulmates’ slightly more personal house. Neither place was truly yours yet, but this one was beginning to feel less borrowed every time you walked through the door.
“I am,” you confirmed. “I am just too lazy to grab my bag.”
“Let me grab it,” he said, holding his hand out for your keys.
You handed them over, Robby’s slightly rough skin brushing against your own. The touch lasted barely a second, but it was enough to make your heartbeat stumble.
You watched from the entryway as Robby slipped on shoes and walked to your trunk. Cold air drifted in through the open doorway, carrying the sharp scent of winter and distant chimney smoke. He grabbed the duffle bag easily and then peeked over at you before asking,
“Do you want the bedding?”
“Just the green blanket!” you called.
He picked up the fuzzy blanket, bunching it beneath one arm, and walked back inside. After shutting the door, he herded you back to the guest room. The very one he had slept in the night he fucked you. Instead of dwelling on the pit that grew in his stomach when thinking about his bad decisions, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Beating himself up didn’t help anything. It never changed the past, and it certainly didn’t make the future easier.
“This is soft,” Robby said, gesturing to the blanket as he placed your duffle on the mostly empty dresser. The room itself remained simple—fresh sheets tucked tightly onto the bed, a single lamp casting pools of amber light across the hardwood floor, the faint scent of cedar lingering from last time their cleaning lady mopped.
“Thank you, a friend got it for my birthday.”
“You seem to have really good friends,” he replied.
“I really do,” you said softly. Thinking of them made your chest ache with gratitude. They had held you together through impossible years and impossible clusterfucks of your own making .
“What do they think about all this?”
“I don’t think they know what to think. They’re holding out judgment for now,” you said, digging through your bag. Your fingers searched between folded sweaters until they brushed the small wrapped package tucked safely inside. “Do you know when Jack will be back?”
“Thirty minutes probably.”
“Okay, I have something for you both. It’s super small.”
“Do I get a hint?” Robby asked, approaching you.
He reached out and toyed with your fingers, absentmindedly tracing the spaces between them before pulling you flush with his body.
He smelled good. He smelled like a classic cologne. It reminded you of the ocean and leather and wood, clean without being too overpowering. Burying yourself against his body, arms wrapped around his waist, you couldn’t resist a deep inhale. Your nose bumped the side of his neck as you luxuriated in his scent. It settled something restless inside you that you hadn’t even realized had been fraying all week.
“Nope,” you replied, muffled against his body. “You smell really good.”
“You smell like car,” he replied, a smile evident in his voice.
You rolled your eyes.
“I drove three hours.”
“We really did miss you,” he said softly, his hands landing on your hips. His thumbs rubbed absent circles through your sweater without him seeming to notice. With a few slow steps he backed you against the doorjamb of the bedroom.
Tilting your head up, you gazed at his weather-worn skin and surprisingly soft beard. The lines around his eyes had deepened over the past week, evidence of long shifts and too little sleep, yet there was something lighter in them now that you were here. Mischief danced behind his eyes as he gazed down at you. He seemed happy, at least happier.
The first brush of his lips was not shocking. But strength in his grip on your hips brought you back to the heady way he’d man handled you in the storage closet all those years ago. Against your will and better judgement, you body reacted: melting against his whims desperate to feel his lips on every part of your skin.
“We had a plan,” Robby mumbled between harsh kisses and knee-wobbling bites.
“This feels like a good plan,” you croaked.
“We were going to wine and dine you,” he said moving down your face to suck at your jaw. “We were going to make sweet and gentle love to you. To finally bond with you after all this fucking time.”
You couldn’t manage to form words under his welcomed assault. The only thing keeping you standing was his grip on your hips and sheer will power. Your brain was unable to communicate with non-relevant systems. It didn’t give a flying fuck about your knees’ stability while Robby’s skilled mouth was rendering you dumb.
“But you are just so fucking kissable. Grabable.”
“I like the grabbing,” you managed between gasps. He bit down at the juncture of your shoulder and neck making you keen, scrambling to get a hold of him in case you legs really did give out.
“But I promised Jack,” Robby sighed pulling away.
Your chest was heaving and it took your brain multiple seconds to process how worked up Robby had gotten you only to pull away. Whining, you leaned back heavily against the door jam. He looked far too pleased with himself and you couldn’t help but glare at him.
“You’re a bastard,” you hissed.
Robby grinned at you, his forefinger tracing a line from the edge of your shoulder, up your neck, so he could tilt your chin upwards. He placed a soft peck on your lips.
“I know. Want to shower?”
“Fucking need it,” you grumbled to yourself.
Annoyed and still remarkably turned on you gathered your change of clothes and petulantly stomped to the bathroom. You could hear Robby’s chuckles behind you. You weren’t sure when or where, but you knew that you would be getting your revenge on the man and it would be sweet.
By the time you showered, dried off and got dressed, Jack returned. You walked out to their living room hearing his muffled laughter. It had been a long day. In a different world you might have tried to wear something sexy, but you couldn’t be fucked. An old law school tshirt and pajama shorts were all you could stomach putting on your body.
Turns out you didn’t need to worry, because when you walked in both men stared at you with such rapt attention they would have missed the rapture. Robby swallowed hard while Jack’s eyes never stayed stationary—taking in your bare legs and relaxed appearance.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you not in a suit,” Jack said.
He was sitting next to Robby on the couch. A few inches of space separating them. When you stepped close enough, Jack yanked you towards them, situating you between the two men. Jack’s hands were immediately on your body: one on your thigh lightly squeezing and the other wrapped around your waist. Robby’s hand was not far behind, rubbing up and down your bare thigh with excruciatingly slow speed.
“If I’d known this is what would happen wearing ratty pajamas,” you mumbled feeling excited and terrified for what was coming next.
“Can we…?”
“Yeah, yes. Please,” you croaked out to Jack’s question.
“I want to savor you, baby,” Jack said.
He pulled you against his body, slotting his lips against yours. You remembered what Robby had said only a few minutes before—that the plan was nice and slow. That was fine, great even. But you spent the last week craving these men and finally the itch you’d couldn’t quite scratch was being soothed.
You didn’t want slow and gentle.
Summoning the ferocity of the woman you were underneath the fear and trepidation, you swung your leg over Jack, straddling his lap. Pulling away just enough to glance at Robby, you said,
“You get to watch for now, you dick.”
Ignoring Jack’s confused look, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him almost angrily. Distantly, you heard Robby’s amused huff and the ghost of his hand touching you and Jack. This is what he got for working you up before Jack got home.
Jack’s face was rough with the early vestiges of a five o’clock shadow but you didn’t care. The scratch of his skin was more than tolerable when you were finally the kissing the man you fell in love with. Forcefully, you kissed and mouthed down his jaw, lightly sucking before focusing your attention on his neck.
“Holy shit,” Jack moaned, throwing his head back.
Even through your thundering heart beat, you could feel the frantic pulse of Jack’s underneath your lips. For a moment you paused, pressed lips against his jugular. Magical was the only way you could describe the understanding of how alive Jack was beneath you. Each pump of his heart kept him alive. He was alive and he cared about you.
Despite the everything, he cared about you.
Everyone you’d spoken to describe bonding with a soulmate differently. Some felt a jolt, some had a wave of emotions, but for you everything went silent. It echoed in your ears until the only thing you could see was Jack. The world zeroed in on him and even Robby’s soft caress wasn’t felt.
The first time the men told you about their sensory association you had thought it sounded like bullshit. You never said that, of course. But even though neither of them had bonded to you, they had these synesthestetic associations with you.
But as the world faded, and only you and Jack remained, you felt it:
On a dark, foggy coast he was the lighthouse guiding you home.
“Jesus Christ,” you gasped.
“Oh my god,” croaked Jack.
Both of you were breathing heavy as you felt the bond settle into your body. The bond securing felt like someone had cracked a warm egg over your head and it was seeping down all the way to your toes. You shivered and looked at Jack.
“Did you…?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “You?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replied, before pulling your harshly against him any pretense of softness forgotten.
Robby hadn’t said anything and you wondered if his bond would also solidify tonight.
“What do I feel like?” Jack asked in between frantic kisses. He held you tightly against his body, as though terrified you might float away.
“A lighthouse on a dark and foggy night,” you told him.
Jack made a noise in the back of his throat.
“Did you bond?” Robby asked softly.
Jack didn’t respond—his lips too busy on yours, but he pulled Robby in closer. Awkwardly, Robby began to suck on Jack’s neck in the way you had been doing before the bond snapped to life.
Jack’s touch felt more intense and lingered longer. Goosebumps followed his fingers in a way they didn’t with Robby. You knew the bond felt intense the first few days, but you felt like teetering on a knife’s edge. It was overwhelming but you couldn’t pull away.
Still, bonded or not, you needed air. It wasn’t until your lungs were burning did you finally break away.
Panting, you let Jack and Robby continue without you. Watching Robby shift, so his arm was still around you even while focused on Jack. The dichotomy of Robby was his terrifying wrath and equally powerful compassion. He raged and fought and lashed out, but he also ensured that you felt him bracing you no matter what.
Without a doubt, you knew if you began to tip over on Jack’s lap it would be Robby who would catch you.
The man annoyed the shit out of you. He egged you on. He cared so tenderly for you that even after he blew up his life, bid you goodbye with a small paper airplane. That paper airplane had followed you for years, and as you stared at the man in front you fully and sloppily making out with Jack, the world became fuzzy.
It was different than it was with Jack. Bonding with Jack felt like one in a million—nothing else mattered. With Robby, the bond felt inevitable. You felt a string wrap around your chest tightly, tethering you to the grumpy, caustic and warm hearted man.
He froze against Jack’s lips but his grip on you tightened almost painfully.
Robby was an explosive gust of wind before a storm. He battered against you and pushed you forward, he cleansed and healed. The string that tethered you together snapped taut and you could feel it weave through your body. If Jack seeped, Robby burrowed. There was no way you could rid yourself of either man. They became integrated with the very nature of who you were.
When the world righted again, Robby’s arm felt like a brand against your skin and you couldn’t help but squirm.
“Did you bond too?” Jack asked, a grin on his face.
“Yeah,” Robby muttered pulling back to stare at you.
“A gust of stormwind,” you told him.
“A powerful trumpet solo,” he said back you.
“The strength of an evergreen forest,” Jack added.
“I feel a little insane,” you admitted. “It’s a head rush.”
Not only was it a head rush, but you felt absolutely soaked. There was no amount of foreplay that could have created the watershed in your pants.
“Fuck me, one of you, please,” you said.
Both men zeroed in on you. Their gazes felt predatory and Robby pulled you with him as he stood.
“Bedroom,” he growled and you felt it in your core. He pushed you towards their room.
Robby pulled you onto the bed after him. He sat up against the headboard, thoughtlessly pushing off the pillows and blankets. Who cares where they landed? All you needed was their touch on your desperate skin. Robby pulled at your tshirt and you let it go willingly, pulling off your shorts as well.
In your haste, you lost your balance and nearly tipped over the bed. Robby caught you, just like you knew he would.
As though it were a sixth sense, you could feel Jack’s eyes on your bare body. (Robby was taking his time undressing which was not fair). The overwhelm felt astronomical and Jack’s slow gait felt positively glacial.
“Jack,” you said, turning to look at him. His darkened eyes drank in your nude form. “Please.”
Robby looked up at him and said, “You first.”
The whine that came from you surprised yourself and Robby. It didn’t sound like anything you thought you could make. Hastily, Robby grabbed some of the pillows from the floor and created a small pile.
“Lay down, sweetheart. Prop yourself up for Jack,” he said.
You recalled Jack saying that Robby was more submissive and you wondered if your relationship with him—bickering and bothering—brought out his oft under-used bedroom dominance. Ultimately, you didn’t care.
So you draped yourself over the pillows, face down. They propped up your hips for better access. For deeper access. Robby’s long legs were splayed out and you in between them. The bed dipped when Jack sat on the edge. Turning slightly, you saw him naked (you mourned missing him undress) and taking off his prosthetic.
Once unburdened, he slowly crawled up behind you, settling himself between your open legs. You positively ached.
Robby’s forefinger and thumb grabbed your chin and titled your face up towards his.
“Do you need warming up?”
You shook your head. “I’m pretty certain I’m wet enough to take you both at once.”
Jack’s hands, that had been caressing your hips so softly, gripped tightly at your words.
“We should consider that for later,” he bit out.
“We really should,” Robby agreed, taking your lips. You were bending at and awkward angle to reach him, but the comfort didn’t matter so much as how Jack felt lining himself against you.
“She’s so wet Robby,” he said. “Like a fucking fountain.”
“That for us, sweetheart? You finally getting what you want.”
The tip of Jack’s dick ran the length of your core, never quite pushing inside. You groaned trying to push back against him but a sharp slap against your ass made you still. The contact echoed through your body, making you tingle and shiver. You were pretty certain it made you wetter.
Before you could complain again, Jack slid inside forcefully. The movement knocked you forward and you collapsed onto Robby’s lap, burying your head in his hip. On a different night, when you weren’t completely overwhelmed, you would have tried to suck his dick. But tonight, the simple movement of Jack inside you ground all coherent thoughts to a halt.
Jack folded his body over yours, burying himself deeply inside you. Yoh knew that you were whining, groaning, and making all kinds of incoherent noises. Clutching onto Robby help ground you, but the simple act of contact still made your fingers tingle.
Having Jack fuck you with a force that knocked the headboard against the wall, felt like fireworks exploding in your chest. Each drag of his cock through your walls made you clench. With one hand dug into Robby’s thigh, you reached behind to hold onto Jack. Cocooned between the men should have felt suffocating. Instead, each breath lit your nerves on fire.
“Kiss me,” Jack said. At first you thought he was talking to you, but when you felt Robby lean forward, you whined. You wanted to see.
When you tried to pull away, Robby’s hand kept your head and body exactly where it was buried against his skin.
“It’s so nice when she doesn’t fight us all the time,” Robby mumbled in between kisses.
You might be fuck drunk, but you still were you. In response to his comment you bit him hard.
“Fucking hell,” he exclaimed jumping.
Instead of letting go, you held on and to your surprise he moaned.
“He likes some pain,” Jack laughed. Leaning over you, no longer kissing Robby—who was making indecent noises as you bit him—he continued to whisper, “Does it feel good to have me so deep inside. I knew you’d feel like coming home baby.”
It was too hard to find words to respond, so you let go of Robby and whined for Jack. His thrusts were rhythmic and deep. He wasn’t going fast, but his speed made stars dance behind your eyes.
“So good for me,” Jack muttered. You clenched at his words. “Fuck Robby, she might be tighter than you.”
Still panting against Robby’s side, it was insane to feel so singularly worshipped and degraded by Jack. Robby held your face against him, muffling your cries or maybe just keeping them for himself. You could hear the two men kissing again which meant that Jack was no longer draped along your back. Your skin itched without his touch.
“Please,” you said not quite sure what you were asking for.
Jack’s hand slid under your hips and fingers circled your clit. It was impossible to control the way you jolted under his finger tips. So singularly focused on how it felt to be pounded by Jack, you almost missed the way Robby stroked his cock next to your face. You managed to move over just enough to reach the base of his cock with your tongue.
Instead of letting you. Robby stuck his two fingers in your mouth and said. “Suck.”
Later he would tell you it was because any touch from you made him want to blow his load.
You sucked on his fingers as though auditioning to be able to touch his cock.
“Oh sweetheart,” Robby hissed. “Your tongue.”
“She feels so good, Mike,” Jack moaned.
“Feels like she was made for us,” he replied. “Does it feel like that sweetheart? Like Jack’s cock was made to touch every little spot inside of you?”
Jack’s heavy thrusts were becoming frantic, as were his circles on your clit. Your orgasm was building, starting in your core and radiating outwards until you trembled and twitched between the men crying out. You could hear Jack’s grunts as you tight clenching finally wore down his self control.
When Jack collapsed onto you, every inch of his skin pressed upon yours, you purred. This is what your body craved. It wanted to feel the men so intricately woven into you life. If given the chance, you would burrow yourself into their chests.
Jack’s softly brushed back your hair.
“You’re so gorgeous, baby. You did so well for me,” he mumbled pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulder. You were jello in their grasp.
You whined when Jack pulled back, unsticking himself from you. In fact, he pulled away entirely, settling himself on the opposite end of the bed.
“Cmon sweetheart,” cooed Robby.
You felt your body being moved by the men until you were laying on Jack’s chest, his thighs keeping yours open, hands toying with your nipples. In your haze, you barely understood the changes until you felt Robby kneeling over both of you, his cock pressing into your abused cunt.
“Fuck,” you hissed. “I don’t think I can.”
You were so sensitive.
“You can take him, baby,” whispered Jack in your ear. “Look at his pretty cock all red and angry for you. Don’t you want to know what you do to him?”
Robby pushed into your pussy at a glacial pace, making you feel every stretch and touch and caress. His long groan when fully sheathed inside sent a wave of arousal through you. Having both men focus on you was dizzying.
“So much,” you mumbled.
Robby draped himself over you, pressing himself invariably deeper. You swore you could feel him in your throat. He didn’t pound into you like Jack had, instead he rolled his hips sending motes of pleasure through your body that had you shaking.
“So warm and wet. Feels like coming home,” he growled.
He leaned past you and kissed Jack. Their sloppy noises ratcheting your senses higher and higher. Jack hadn’t stopped his attention on your nipples. Each tweak was timed with a roll of Robby’s hips. For a a few minutes there were just the sounds of Robby’s slick cock stroking you, the smack of their lips together, and your own quiet keening as the men used you for their pleasure.
It was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.
“Isn’t her pussy so nice?” Jack asked licking the shell of your ear; you shuddered.
“Made for us,” Robby agreed. “Made for our pleasure and made for us to pleasure.”
Your whine sounded pathetic even to your own ears.
“Aww, she’s fucked out,” Robby cooed.
He leaned down again, this time slotting his lips with you. The caress of his lips and tongue, combined with his languid strokes, emptied your brain of anything other than the two men. Your two soulmates. Being pressed between them while the bond solidified had you hazy and utterly incapable of higher thought.
“Taking us so well baby,” Jack murmured. “Cmon, cum on Robby’s dick, too. Don’t want him to feel left out.”
One of Jack’s hands slipped between your body and Robby’s to circle your clit again. It was too much. You were already too sensitive from your first orgasm, now with Robby filling you so deeply and Jack not giving your overwrought nerves a moment, you felt yourself writhing against them.
“Fuck baby,” Jack hissed.
“Clenching so hard on me,” Robby panted. “Who does this pussy belong to?”
“You both,” you managed. It felt like an unassailable truth. There was no one in the world who would be able to make you feel like this.
“Are you close?” Robby asked. You nodded.
“Cum for us. Show the neighbors what a good girl we have,” Jack told you.
His command finally gave your body permission to lose control. White, hot pleasure coursed through you. It was almost too intense to enjoy. You definitely screamed and maybe raked your nails across Robby’s back while Jack’s lips tickled the side of your neck. Distantly you were aware Robby himself also came, but it was lost in the sensations of your body.
When you finally came back to awareness, you managed to croak:
“Please tell me it’s not always like that.”
Robby was still braced over you and Jack. You could feel him, but he wasn’t putting any weight on your body. The entirety of your weight was pressing on Jack, but you couldn’t even think about moving yet.
“No,” Jack said, brushing your hair slightly. He seemed to enjoy the contact. “It’s always intense for awhile after you bond, but since you bonded twice…”
You groaned.
“Really hot, though,” Robby added. “Jack slid into you and it’s like I watched your brain shut down.”
“Ugh,” you groaned. “I can’t move.”
Between Robby and Jack, they managed to roll you off and onto the bed. While Jack held you—you still craved contact even if you wanted them to stay far away from your cunt—Robby went to grab something to clean everyone up.
He came back in with a rag and your pajamas.
He was so gentle as wiped you down, softly apologizing when you twitched under his care. He tossed the rag at Jack and it landed on his chest with a wet “plop”. Robby had slid on a pair of short and a tshirt.
“Take the shirt off,” you said as you slid your underwear back on. You were foregoing the shirt for now.
“Yes ma’am,” Robby laughed. He slid into bed next to you and you ditched Jack’s body for Robby.
His long arms wrapped around you and he nuzzled the side of your face. His bare skin against yours soothes the prickling sensation of your soulmate bond.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Your heart clenched painfully. All the history and memories and yet you still were laying in their bed. They still were telling you they loved you. You felt yourself tear up a bit. Before you could respond, Jack was against your back. Being held by the two men finally allowed you to relax, melting into their embrace.
“I love you,” Jack said. “I love you both.”
Jack preened when he felt you relax into them. Over the last six month of knowing you and spending time with you, all he wanted was to make your life easier. He wanted to make you feel seen and cared for in ways, he was pretty certain no one had ever done for you.
Recognizing that his mere presence allowed you to calm down so much, your already noddle-like body became pliable between him and Robby was exhilarating. He bonded with you. He felt the world completely stop except for you. All he wanted for the rest of his life is to feel you relax when he held you.
“I love you both, too,” you said softly.
Robby kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger against your skin. He reached for Jack’s body on your other side desperate to hold you both. His heart felt so full and content for the first time in a long time. There wasn’t this feeling of missingness—of knowing you were out in the world and not in bed with him and Jack. He was almost asleep when you quietly said,
“I’m moving back to Pittsburgh.”
Robby was suddenly wide awake.
“Really?” Jack asked.
“Transfer was approved today,” you said softly.
“Move in with us,” Robby said suddenly. Technically he and Jack hadn’t talked about it but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that’s what Jack wanted too.
“Please,” Jack echoed. “I want to see you more than just dinner in your sad office.”
You laughed and wiggled on your back in between the men.
“I’ll draw up a contract,” you said.
Robby snorted, “Is that obnoxious lawyer for yes?”
“Mm-hmm,” you replied grinning.
“You’ll move in?” Jack asked.
“I will.”
Jack made a happy noise and began to pepper your face in kisses, making you giggle and push him away.
Robby threaded his fingers through Jack’s and rested them on your bare stomach.
“I love you both, so much.”
——
Robby was halfway to work when he realized his keys had a new small keychain on them. At a crosswalk, he paused and saw a tiny silver paper airplane, not quite the size of his thumbnail, dangling from a short chain. On one side were Jack’s initials and on the other side were yours.
Hanging on Jack’s keys was an identical paper airplane, because no matter how far away you traveled, they would be waiting for you at home.
Drunk!ghost who slurs on and on about being married when gaz drops him off to you. He makes a big deal of not touching you when you try to guide him upstairs, tells you "m' lovie 's gorgeous. Never need anything else so fock off–"
And of course he refuses to let you sleep in the same bed as him, he's married, got it? So you sleep on the couch after watching a movie, awfully endeared by your husband.
Only to wake up to him standing over you at 3am with the saddest puppy dog eyes asking "why're you out here, love? Did I do something wrong? :(" and bodily hauling you to bed so he can smother you in slightly more sober cuddles.
No thoughts, just fem!reader who isn't used to men being gentlemen to her and task force who doesn't let her do ANYTHING.
"I'm hungry," you said in a flat tone. It was just a passing comment. Nothing serious.
"Hungry? What do you want to eat, dove?" Soap took out his phone, waiting patiently for you to say what you wanted.
"Oh. Em, I was joking..." you whispered. Maybe you weren't, but you were too shy to admit it.
"Come on, bird, tell us what you want," Price looked at you with a little smile on his face.
"Sushi..." You turned your head, trying to avoid their eyes.
"Sushi it is." Soap started to search his phone for the nearest sushi restaurant.
"Fuck, my room door is stuck and won't close. I need to fix it. Where's the toolbox?" you said, entering the common room and waiting for an answer.
"Are you fixing it by yourself?" Gaz asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
"Hell no." He stood up from the couch, grabbed the toolbox from one of the cabinets, and walked out of the room.
Thankfully, your door ended up looking like nothing had ever happened. Thanks, Gaz.
This was your third lap running around the base.
"Soldier, stop right there," you heard Ghost shout at you, and you obeyed instantly. "Your laces are untied."
"Oh, yeah, I will—" You were cut off abruptly in the middle of your sentence, watching in shock as Ghost knelt down in front of you, tying your shoelaces.
"There you go. Watch out next time," he said, looking at you flatly before standing back up.
A meeting at 7:00 AM? Boring. But you had no choice. You were just about to put your hand on the doorknob when another hand stopped you. Price opened the door.
"Ladies first." He stepped aside to let you go first.
i love videos of otters showing off their favorite rocks or their babies it’s so fucking adorable.
now imagine prices secretary who’s an otter hybrid coming back from maternity leave.
unfortunately, because she doesn’t have a present partner or reliable person in her life to take care of her baby at home, (and also due to plot reasons) she brings her baby back to work with her.
price is happy to have you back and is even more so when he sees your little one is healthy and will be hanging around.
you eventually show the rest of the team of course, all of them congratulating you on the baby and letting you know that you can always come to them if you need a favor.
it starts off as simply greeting them when you first come in, your pup either in your arms or their carrier. they all take turns saying their hellos and good mornings, sometimes even acting as if they’re having a conversation with the pup before you make your way back to your office.
then you slowly begin to show off your pups outfit of the day, they all coo and awe at whatever your lil pup is wearing, sometimes even suggesting what their next outfit should be. (price suggested something green, gaz suggested maybe something camouflage while soap joked it would be hard to find them. ghost simply bought them little skeleton gloves.)
then at some point, you would simply find them just to show off the lil pup.
whether it was because lil pup was wearing a new outfit, sounding like they were gonna say their first word or even when they were only sleeping.
you would find them during their lunch, march right to their table and show off your chunky pup, no words said at all as you held out the sleepy pup while they all chuckled and cooed.
once you were satisfied you would leave back to your office, a satisfied smile on your face.
johnny and simon both eat like dogs. like you could actually feed their meals to a dog. sweet potato, ground beef, and whatever veg was about to turn rotten. and no seasoning. time can’t be wasted on seasoning in their household.
dinner is a fleeting affair. both of them hunched over their bowls and inhaling. you’re staring at them in shock as they devour their flavorless, meaningless slop.
then to the couch for tv time. you feel a bit like a zookeeper that’s just thrown a limb of mean into a lions enclosure. the beasts fed, and now they lick their paws and relax.
they don’t even like the two teams playing on the television right now.
“why don’t you two come to my place tomorrow for a change?”
“wot? something wrong with our flat, dove?”
“no, no! of course not!”
they may look like lions but they frighten easily. the last thing you mean to do is scare them off.
“course not, just thought a change of pace might be nice?”
they share a weary look. change isn’t their favorite thing, not after years of strict military routine. they agree nonetheless. and they show up right on time, no surprise there.
they share another weary look when you ask them to take off their shoes before coming in.
“i made dinner. just something light,” you smile despite knowing dinner was far more effort than you care to let on.
johnny barrels towards the kitchen. “what’s the occasion, lass? you did all this for us?” and you shrug.
“just thought i’d thank the two of you, y’know. you’re always around to lend a hand.”
they just gape at you like there’s no brain activity happening within their thick skulls.
“well, have a seat then.” you gesture towards the set table with proper cutlery and a vase of flowers in the center.
you bring them both their plates of food, no ground beef, or sweet potatoes, or cottage cheese. and they hunch themselves over, ready to inhale as per usual.
“hasn’t anyone taught you how two to take your time?”
they stare at you again. just as stupidly as they did moments ago. this time they’ve gone silent because both of them are half hard beneath the table.
“going slowly makes it better, you know. not everything is a race.”
and that’s how you end up with simon between your thighs and your back pressed against johnny’s chest as he rubs your shoulders.
“slow, right? that makes it all better?”
simon is rolling his hips agonizingly slowly, dragging his cock against your warm walls.
“simon, faster please,” you beg him. he’s been going at this for the better part of an hour.
he tuts at you. “none of that. you wanted slow, you’re getting slow.
“that’s not—not what i meant,” you pant. you roll your head back to look at johnny, hoping he might help you out. he just brushes your hair from your sticky face instead.
“dinner was nice, sweetheart. now enjoy your dessert.”
johnny and v have a psychic link. it's not actually psychic 'cause duh, but it's whatever is so close it looks like it to the untrained eye. a new form of cybertelepathy, maybe? or is it more 'ganic, like something to do with them actually sharing parts of their central nervous system before they were seperated? it doesn't fit a neat definition because johnny and v aren't neat people, but messiness is a given for everything in night city.
they can see each other from across the room and know exactly what the other is going to do -- every situation goes as though it's been rehearsed. there's a certain uncanny synchronicity some find, um... unnerving? like, if there was a scav behind v, johnny didn't need to say he was gonna shoot in v's direction. they already knew he was going to and ducked out before they were caught in the crossfire. johnny didn't even need to check if they were in the way; he just knew they weren't. no talking, no hololink, no cyberpsychosis that would make two people perfect killing machines like that... (okay, maybe it's a little creepy, who the hell cares?)
some people say the way v and johnny move and talk reminds them of those merged twin-fighters in kabuki -- their names were... certo and esquardo! right and left, yeah, that's them. (v remembers the twins, and they remember beating both bodies badly.) the twins already had that shared-womb and growing-up-together connection, and it only deepened when their neural oscillation synchronizers were installed and they became 'one person.' but, honestly? the twins look like a sham, a schtick next to v and johnny. they look like they belong under the big top playing pretend with the clowns and the strongmen.
the twins identify, very staunchly, as one person with two bodies. v and johnny are... more ambiguous with it. they often blur the lines between themselves 'cause there isn't much of a line to begin with. their defaults have been switched to we/us/ours instead of me/i/mine and one hardly uses "you" to refer to the other 'cause of how easily plurals fall from their lips. (like, "rainin' like someone's pourin' from a fuckin' bucket outside. v, we got an umbrella?" instead of "v, where d'you keep the umbrellas?") it isn't exactly easy for others to follow when johnny is spinning some yarn about this badass shit they pulled off when he refers to both himself and v with we/us/ours often and regularly, but it's kinda romantic? so that gives him a few points to make up for it.
really, "you" is saved for intimate moments where the cracks in the unified front show, if only just barely. the cracks aren't faults, per se, just individualistic traits or wants that shine through. johnny asking v "how're ya doin'?" 'cause he wants to hear their voice. v telling johnny they "bet you can't make those strings sing," 'cause they want to watch his fingers dance across the neck of the guitar. gentle caresses of fingertips against a jaw, eye contact unwavering and unbreakable and silently, (if secretly), saying, "it's only you i can want; it's only you i can love."
biker!simon who desperately needs a distraction after quiting the military. using his bonus for taking his retirement, he decided to buy a brand new bike to keep him distracted from the loneliness.
biker!simon who takes his new loud bike to go to an appointment downtown, very satisfied by his latest purchase.
biker!simon who parks his bike on the sidewalk, engine still running. he's on his phone to check his new doctor's adress again, eyebrows furrowed under his balaclava and helmet.
biker!simon doesn't notice you right away, he does when you are a few meters away from his bike. he looks up, and you're talking to him, he can't hear anything with his helmet but also the loud ass sound of the engine running. he panicks a little, brows furrowing even more, he can't help but notice how beautiful you look, his eyes landing on your phone in your hand. were a woman like you really asking for his number?
after a few seconds that felt like minutes of him looking at you intently, simon decides to turn off his bike to hear you better. he's a bit excited to hear what you are saying to him, he doesn't know what he was expecting but it was definitely not this.
"can you turn down your fucking engine ? you biker guys are insufferable" you spit at him as you walk away with a nasty look.
biker!simon looks at you as you walk off, his mouth is slightly agap and his phone is still sitting in his hand. he's not even mad, he gets up from his bike and walks to his appointment with a big smile on his face, he has no idea why but he definitely liked that.
