Price didn't really have a room for you. That much was clear. He had a guest room, a bare bones room with the most basic supplies that the boys would crash in every once in a while. A bed, a dresser, a side table with a lamp, and a lack of personality made the room feel suffocating.
Simon wheels your other suitcase into the room, watching as you set your bag down on the bed. Neither of you had spoken since you snapped at him. He was cursing Price out in his head for putting him in this whole situation.
Johnny had several siblings, and so did Kyle! Wouldn't they be better at handling this? Simon clears his throat awkwardly, getting your attention and making you look at him.
"You hungry? There's a pizza shop up the road. Made fresh, all that good stuff." Simon offers as you stare at him. Simon's annoyance with you dissipated the longer he looked at you, truly taking you in for the first time.
You were small. That much was obvious whenever he had walked you out of the airport, but now he was noticing just how young you looked. Cheeks still a little squishy, eyes still a little uncertain, body still lanky having not grown into itself yet. He felt a pang of guilt at how he had been treating you up until now, clearing his throat again.
"Pizza." You repeat quietly, almost like you were a million miles away in your head. You take a deep breath and nod once, digging through your bag and pulling out your wallet.
"You're not paying, kid. Let's go." Simon encourages, watching as you pocket the wallet still, and follow after him out of John's house. "It's close enough to walk. Sound good?" He asks, and you nod again, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets. The silence between the two of you is awkward as you walk the ten minutes to the pizza shop.
You didn't realize how hungry you were until you stepped into the restaurant, your stomach growling loudly as you breathed in. Simon chuckles slightly at that, your eyes lazer focusing on his face. He holds up a hand defensively.
"Do they sell single slices?" You pipe up beside him, joining the line to place your order.
"Yeah, but John plans on meeting us here with our... Other coworkers soon. What kind of pizza do you like?" Simon grabs you a small paper menu off the glass top and hands it to you. The hunger you felt just seconds ago disappears at the mention of John. Not just him, but other people?
You were fed the fuck up with the entire year already, but you scanned the menu anyway. "The deluxe sounds good, but I hate mushrooms." You pick a pizza off the menu, and hand it back to Simon. He holds his tongue in telling you that John hates them too, nodding in agreement.
"Sounds good, kid. Do you want garlic knots?" Watching as a fresh tray of them gets pulled out of the oven. The baker sets the knots down, and another member of staff coming over to slather them in garlic butter. You watch with hungry eyes, nodding eagerly as the smell of fresh baked bread filled the room.
You look around the shop while Simon steps up to order, looking at the homey decor and the small stream of people flowing in and out of the shop. You could apply for a job here and start saving money again. You look hear the bell above the door jingling as some more patrons filter in and your stomach lurches again.
John and the "other coworkers" Simon had mentioned earlier, step inside. You pretend you hadn't seen them out of your peripheral, watching as Simon gets handed some soda cups and his order slip. You wondered if you could bolt it past them out the front door, hearing a gruffy voice calling you.
"Y/N, Simon, there's a free table over here."
He didn't sound like you imagined. His beard was bushier, his skin more wrinkled. He was real and standing right in front of you. Simon's hand touches your shoulder briefly, and you reel from his touch.
"I have to go to the bathroom." You blurt out, shoving your empty cup into his hand and asking him to get you a water. You don't wait for a response before you turn around and make a bee line for the bathroom.
Maybe you could stay in here forever. Maybe this was all just a dream. Maybe John would actually be a good dad and make up for all of his years being gone. Your stomach lurches again, and you throw up into the toilet.
YALL ENJOY THIS SO FAR!? IM SO FUCKING EXCITED!!!! Mostly because I haven't written much angst and it's something I want to write and practice more of! I'm so glad yall enjoy this and wanted another chapter. Part three will be worked on sooooon. If you want to be added to the tag list, it is open, so just comment below <3
(Inspired by me boiling myself alive every time I shower to the point that my beloved boyfriend is genuinely concerned for my health)
It was a rough mission. Absolutely nothing went the way it shouldâve. Bad intel, outnumbered, comms went down mid fire fight, and you had to sprint nearly four miles to ex-fil because everywhere closer was too hot to land. You made it though. Utterly exhausted and bruised to high hell, but in one piece. Itâs a real relief to see your boys again. Youâre not called for solo ops as often as Ghost or Price but itâs always rougher to be without them.
After greeting the team and dropping off your paperwork you damn near crawl to the bathroom. Your legs feel like cement and the added weight of your kit certainly isnât helping any. You shuck out of your gear and leave it in a pile on the floor that Kyle will definitely complain about later. You step into the shower and turn the water as hot as you can tolerate it, damn near boiling and just stand it. You make absolutely no move to actually wash yourself, youâre far too tired to try. So you remain in the scalding spray, waiting for the heat and pressure of the water to loosen up your muscles into to something pliable again.
Youâre not sure how much time has actually passed when thereâs a knock at the door. It opens before you can gather enough brain power to form a response and you almost laugh at the sound of Johnny tripping on your discarded clothes and cursing. (Heâs also guilty of leaving his kit in a heap, so he canât even scold you for it). âYou alrighâ in there hen? Youâve been in there a while.â You grunt at him in lieu of an actual verbal response and he hums. âI heard it was a bad one, ya wan some company?â You stick your arm through the curtain and make grabby hands in his general direction. âAlrighâ, Iâm cominââ you hear the sound of him pulling off his sweats and t-shirt through the curtain, the heâs stepping in.
At least he was trying to step in until the water hit his back.
He jumps and curses a blue streak, twisting the knob in the opposite direction to cool the lava pouring out of it. âJesus fuck Bonnie! Ya tryinâ tae boil yerself alive?â You answer by leaning forwards into his chest âfelt good when I got inâ. He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you. âCâmon luv, letâs get ya cleaned up and in bed.â He kisses your temple and reaches past you to grab the shampoo. He washes your hair gently, humming something to himself. He just lets you lean most of your weight against him, he doesnât seem to mind. Once your hair is washed and conditioned he pours body wash onto a washcloth and begins to run it over you. He apologizes and kisses your hair when you hiss at the pressure on the bruises that paint your torso.
Eventually youâre fully clean and he turns off the water and wraps you up in a towel. He gives you a massively oversized T shirt (itâs traded hands so many times none of you even know who it belong to anymore) and some sweats. Once youâve dressed he takes your hand, tugging you along to the bedroom. John and Kyle are already in bed, Simon off doing god knows what for the day (probably tactically looming behind some unsuspecting rookies). Johnny nudges you into bed between the other two, sitting on the bed while you make yourself comfortable on Kyleâs chest.
âWhat was all the yelling about?â John asks rubbing your back and Johnny snorts âgot in the shower with her and she was tryinâ tae boil herself like a lobster. Think Iâve got a third degree burn on my back.â You roll your eyes and grab his shirt, tugging at him until Johnny lays down. Youâre already nearly asleep âit wasnât even that hot, youâre being dramatic.â He squawks something indignantly that youâre too far from awake to even comprehend. Heâs still chattering on when John smacks his shoulder lightly, gesturing to your closed eyes and the way your breathing has evened out. Thatâs how Simon finds you all a few hours later, warm and comfortable. Curled around each other in bed with shitty daytime tv playing in the background.
GhostGaz and kiddos ! A lovely combination yes? Inspired by my little cousin who's partially blind and turned 6 recently :)
...
Kyle had warned him more than once.
âMy sisterâs house is⊠a lot,â heâd said, standing too casually in the doorway that morning, his thumb hooked in his pocket like he wasnât worried sick Simon might bolt. âSheâs got four kids, all under ten. Loud, affectionate, love climbing people. But I promise you'll be fine.â
And Simon had promised heâd try, that heâd be there because Kyle wanted him there. And when Kyle added softly, âIâll do damage control if you need,â At that, Simonâs chest filled with warmth.
The front door opened and immediately the house collided with him, children shouting, a dog barking, Kyleâs sister hugging him before Kyle got a word out. The kids swarmed their uncle, tugging at his hands, shouting about games and toys and school. Kyle laughed through it, calling each by name, and Simon stood back, mask secure, gloves on, trying not to feel like a shadow in the bright room.
Then Kyleâs arm swooped down and picked up a little girl. âAnd this troublemaker,â he said with a grin, tickling her until she squealed, âthis is my niece.â
She was five, maybe six, smile big and bright. Her white cane leaning by the door, her eyes not quite fixed on anything. She giggled and squirmed, clinging to Kyleâs neck, and when Kyle turned her towards Simon for an introduction, her little hands reached instinctively out.
Kyleâs grip on her wrists was gentle. âNo, love,â he murmured, âSimon doesnât like that.â
And Simon, God, Simon couldâve sunk to his knee then and there. That Kyle knew, that he held that for him without hesitation. He gave Kyle the smallest nod, and Kyle gave him one back, just as quiet.
The afternoon blurred with noise and laughter. Simon stayed on the edges, watching Kyle wrestle on the carpet with the boys, helping in the kitchen, chatting politely with Kyle's sister about her, her husband, and the kids. He didnât notice the little gremlin barreling until she collided with his shin.
âEasy there,â he murmured.
He thought about untangled her, about calling for Kyle. But she made a gentle tug, bashfully asking if she could sit... So he shifted, easing her up into his lap with a surprising gentleness. She settled easily, as though sheâd done it a hundred times.
Her fingers traced down his arm until they found his glove. Simon hesitated, then peeled it off for her, placing his bare hand into her little palms. She gasped softly, running her fingers across his calluses, nails, knuckles.
âYour hands are rough,â she said with a frown of curiosity.
âA bit.â He huffed.
âLike Uncle Kyleâs,â she declared proudly.
Simonâs gaze flicked up and caught Kyle watching in the doorway, already misty-eyed. Then the girlâs fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of his mask. She paused there, waiting.
Simonâs throat tightened. Slowly, he pulled the medical mask down and tucked it under his chin. He let her find his face.
Tiny fingers explored the lines of his jaw, the uneven ridges of scar tissue, the softened edges of burns long healed. He sat still, breath shallow, letting her map every part of him. When her hand brushed a sensitive line near his cheekbone, he flinched back before he could stop himself.
"Oh" she whispered, tilting her head, "does it hurt?"
Simon swallowed. "No, just..." His voice faltered, then shifted clumsily. "Your hands are small, you know that?"
She giggled, the kind of sound that rang clear and bright. "'Course they are. I'm little." He huffed out a laugh, and she beamed, continuing her quiet exploration, perfectly content.
Simon smiled for her, just a bit at the edge of his lips. Her fingers caught it, and she giggled.
"You're not scary" she decided at last, resting her head on his chest.
And across the room, Kyle wiped his face and mouthed, love you.
Thinking about newly retired Simon trying to figure out what to do with himself. He somehow gets roped into visiting the cat cafe you own (itâs Johnnyâs idea). He intimidates the hell out of you at first, but you smile and make tea and try not to laugh at how ridiculous you feel handing this imposing, silent man a fuzzy pink worm on string toy.
He slowly becomes a regular, he arrives once a week like clockwork, orders a tea, takes the goofy ass fuzzy worm from you, and sits in the cat room for his hour time slot. On slow days you let him overstay his time. He doesnât seem to notice and you donât mind his presence.
Heâs a little odd. Simon will play with the cats no problem, but he doesnât seem to know what to do with himself when they crawl on him. You try not to smile too big when you catch it, this hulking man staring down at a tiny tabby making biscuits on his thigh like itâs a bomb heâs trying to diffuse. You donât push him though, thereâs a skittish energy about him.
Like a newly captured feral stray trying to figure out how to be a housecat for the first time. You donât want to get too eager and startle him off, so you keep your distance.
Thatâs until Bucky arrives.
Bucky is an objectively ugly cat. A long feral black tomcat with round cheeks and a heavily scarred, sort of flat face. Heâs missing his left eye, most of his left ear, and his left leg. Your coworker named him after the marvel character for his missing limb, but itâs a fitting name nonetheless.
You find him heartbreakingly adorable, this skrungly ass cat with a meow like a smokerâs cough and a snaggletooth canine that pokes out of his mouth. He hisses at you, but will lean into your hand or crawl into your lap in the same breath. He wants affection so, so badly but is terrified to seek it out.
He reminds you of your regular in the worst way.
You have Simonâs tea waiting when he arrives, the man arrives at the same time down to the minute every week. Itâd be creepy if you didnât find it so weirdly endearing. You hand him the cup and lean in whispering conspiratorially âwe got someone new, I think youâre gonna like himâ. He raises an eyebrow at you âthat so?â You nod emphatically. âWant me to introduce you two?â Simon actually chuckles at that, little more than a soft exhale behind his surgical mask. âLead the wayâ.
You walk ahead of him to the cat room and open the door leading him towards the back area full of beds. A single ear and single eye greet you from inside a hideaway. You sit on the floor and click your tongue softly. The cat in question ambles out, beelining for your lap. âThis is Bucky, I think you two are gonna get along famously.â
Bucky does his usual routine of hissing followed by incessantly head butting your hand for pets. Simon watches, truly perplexed for a moment before he too takes a seat on the padded floor. Bucky makes his way over with his less than graceful hobbling. Simon reaches out to pet him and Bucky hisses. Before Simon can pull his hand away Bucky is shoving his face into the tall manâs arm. Simon looks at you uncertainly and you gesture for him to pet the little furball.
âGo on, heâs all talk. He actually seems to like people and is very mad about it. Been doing this the whole time heâs been here. I donât really understand it, but itâs not an uncommon behavior in ferals.â You explain, reaching over to pet Bucky yourself. He predictably, hisses at your hand before shoving his head under your fingers.
Simon is smiling, you can tell by how his eyes crinkle above the mask. âOrnery little shitâ you giggle watching Bucky all but bowling ball roll his way into Simonâs lap. Hissing and spitting all the while, then laying down and purring like a motorboat with a bad engine. You sit in comfortable silence for a good while, just you and him and a sad little dumpster cat until the bell above the door rings. You straighten and stand up âhang out for as long as youâd like, Iâll be around if you need anything.â
Simon stays until close that day, just hanging out on the floor with Bucky. You bring him the pink fuzzy worm and watch with delight as they play. Simon walks out with you, pausing to watch your back while you lock up for the night. âYâknow, heâll be up for adoption in a week or two. If you wanted to put in an application.â He shifts his weight âIâll think about it.â You smile and nod âplease do, but just know if you do adopt him Iâm gonna need updates on how heâs doing.â Simon does that soft little laugh again.
âIâll keep that in mind.â
Two weeks later and Bucky is going home with Simon, hissing in his carrier the whole way there
Oh Iâm just gonna write a silly little mermaid thing hee hee ha haâŠ1,700 words later and Iâm not even halfway done and Iâm researching the mating and feeding habits of vampire squids for lore reasons
Ghost who keeps his walls up constantly, except when heâs sick. The child that didnât receive help or comfort as he sat in his own sick blooms. He isolates himself, cause he knows the moment someone he vaguely trusts comes around him when heâs like this, heâll latch on to.
i feel icky so ghost gets to feel 100x worse than i do. so what about a trio of heroes. his three little musketeers coming to save him hm?
woooooo sick fic and forced care!
Ghost x Gaz x Soap x Reader (can be reader platonic or romantic)
...
You know something is wrong long before anyone says it aloud.
Ghost is a man of presence. Even when silent, you feel him in the room, heavy and watchful. When heâs missing, that void is impossible to ignore. The last time anyone saw him was hours ago, after debrief.
Soap is the one who starts worrying first. âBloody hell, anyone seen Ghost?â His voice is light, but his hands flex against his thighs.
Gaz shakes his head. âShould we go check on him? He looked more exhausted than usual after the mission." And of course that's something Gaz would notice.
You all know exactly where heâll be.
His quarters are dark, the curtains are drawn, and the air is stuffy and hot. And there he is, collapsed on the narrow bunk, mask tossed aside on the nightstand. His skin is flushed with fever and his hair is plastered damp to his forehead. Heâs still in half his kit, as if he hadnât the strength to finish undressing before it dragged him down.
For a second, you almost donât recognize him. He looks younger, curled up and shivering on the bunk.
You step in, and Soap and Gaz hover just behind you with armfuls of supplies.
Ghostâs eyes snap open. Bloodshot and rimmed red from exhaustion, but sharp enough to pin the three of you where you stand. His voice grates in his throat, a rasp that sounds almost painful. âOut. Donâtââ He tries to sit up.
Youâre across the room before he can rise more than an inch. âStay down.â
âI saidââ His breath cuts off in a cough that rattles his chest, forcing him sideways. He braces one shaking arm on the mattress to keep himself upright.
He squints at the group of you in the low light. Anger or fear you can't exactly tell.
Whatever it is Soap doesn't care. He barrels past you and sets a mug of tea on the stand, muttering, âYe sound like shite, ye big spook. Drink first, argue later.â
Gaz moves smoother, brining water and medicine into Ghostâs line of sight. âTake them. They'll help yeah?â
Ghost stares, incredulous, as if sheer willpower should be enough to make you all leave. His breathing is slow and half through his mouth. His shoulders tremble with the fever.
And still he shakes his head.
You kneel at the side of the bed next to Soap, lowering yourself until youâre level with him. Up close, his face is sheened with sweat, lashes clumped together, lips chapped. His hands ball in the blanket, knuckles white.
âSimon,â you say softly. âYouâre sick. We want to help. You donât have to fight us.â
His jaw locks. For a moment, you think heâll snarl, force you all out. He could order it, you think. His eyes flick to you, to Soapâs stubborn set jaw, to Gazâs calm steadiness.
âDonâtâŠâ His voice breaks. He drops his gaze, shoulders hunched like heâs bracing for a blow. âDonât fuss. Just leave me.â
Your hand hovers, then settles against his damp forehead. The heat is startling. He flinches, then closes his eyes and sinks into it.
âWeâre not leaving.â
Soap fusses with the blanket, tugging it properly over Ghostâs legs. Gaz heads to get a cool, damp cloth. And you lean in, just enough to sit and stroke his hair from his face.
His hand shoots out, snapping closed around your wrist. For a moment, he looks terrified. But you realize it's not fear of you touching him. It's his fear of you leaving.
It takes time for him to truly stop fighting. He doesnât have the breath for arguments anymore, but his shoulders are tight, and his eyes track each of you. You keep quiet about it, and just share a knowing, concerned glance with Gaz.
Soap breaks the silence, dragging a chair up with the screech of wood on tile. âRight," he says pulling his journal and pencil out of his pocket. "If we're gonna be here all night, you just lay there and sleep pretty."
Ghost exhales, the barest huff of a laugh through cracked lips. "Like one of your French girls, Johnny."
The three of you laugh a little with him.
Gaz slides down against the wall near the bed, arms folded. âYou? More like sweaty marsh monster."
You stay kneeling by the bed until your legs ache, then easing onto the floor with your back against the frame. His grip on your wrist has softened, every so often his thumb slides over your pulse.
You talk quietly. Little things. A memory of the last mission. The smell of rain outside. Soap interrupts now and then with a joke or his own very important commentary. Through it all, Ghostâs eyes flicker open and shut, fighting the exhaustion that drags at him.
He doesnât like the tea. One sip, a grimace, and Soap swears it's the old kettle's fault. But he swallows the pills with water, grudgingly, conceding to the offers that come every so often.
When the fever breaks into shivers, youâre ready with another blanket. He tenses at first, but when itâs only you tucking the edge beneath his arm, he settles.
Hours pass like that. Soap dozing half-upright in the chair, pencil slipping from his hand. Gaz a quietly nodding off. And you, keeping your hand close, letting Ghost be assured that someone is right there.
Eventually he drifts off too. But even in sleep his brow knots. And in the little moments when he stirs, fever-drunk and searching, his hand finds yours again.
By the dead hours of morning, his breathing is steadier. His hand, heavy on your arm, finally slackens. And you'd like to think, because, at last, he believes you wonât leave.
...
Eventually the fever breaks, the cough ebbs, and Ghost pulls the balaclava back on like nothing happened. He doesnât say a word about the night you stayed with him. And neither do the three of you. But there are signs.
You notice the moment with Gaz. Theyâre bent over a stack of intel printouts, his neat notes scrawled. Ghost looms behind him, reading in silence, until his chin tips down, slowly landing on Gazâs shoulder. Gaz stills for just a moment, but when he tilts his head, Ghost doesnât move away. He keeps reading, says something about old intel, and his hand lingers at Gaz's waist.
Soap catches onto it next. Heâs leaning at the counter in the mess, cracking some awful joke about the state of the rations, when Ghost drifts up behind him. His gloved hand closes on the back of Soapâs shirt, a fist curled tight in the fabric. Just holding there... like a child trying not to get lost in a crowed. Soap keeps on with his complaining like nothing's happened. But his eyes flick sideways, searching for the right thing to do. He can tell Ghost's listening, so he just... lets it happen.
And he almost always finds you. Under briefing tables, his hand brushes against yours and stays there. In transport, his thigh pressed to yours. Once, walking back from drills, his glove found the edge of your jacket and didnât let go until the barracks door shut behind you both.
No one ever says a word when it happens. He doesnât even look at you when it happens.
Soap catches your eye across the table one evening, Gaz right behind him, both with the same look, part surprise and part tenderness theyâll never name. Ghostâs hand curls around yours beneath the wood.
thanks for reading.
something something Ghost doesn't like a bunch of affection and touch and such but he does like it so so much and he like to be in control of when it happens. Finding his autonomy in safety with other or whatever.
I don't write much about König here, and I think I should change that. (This is the dumbest thing I've written in a while I love it)
König who accidentally starts stalking you when he's on leave. He saw you in a coffee shop and suddenly understood the phrase love at first sight. He wasn't sure how to approach you, so he did start following you around to try and learn about you.
If he could find out what you liked, he could approach you with that knowledge and prove he would be a good boyfriend. He was especially glad that he was trailing you throughout town when you started wandering towards a series of alleyways that didn't seem safe at all.
You sped up your pace and ducked into the alley, which made König lose your trail. He rounds the corner, stepping into the tight alleyway and looking around for you.
"Why are you following me?" He whips around, seeing you standing just behind a dumpster. Far enough that you could have a small head start to run if you needed it.
"I wasn't." König defends immediately, but you raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugs a little, lowering his surgical mask on his face. "I'm sorry. I was following you, but I just wanted to get to know you." He continues as he steps closer to you.
"Couldn't have just said hi?" You shoot back, stepping back every time he steps forward.
"I have anxiety." König blurts out, and you stop short mid step. You chuckle, shaking your head a second before busting into a small laughing fit. König felt shame filling him, not loving the feeling of being laughed at. Your laughter slows, and you smile at him with a slow shake of your head.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have laughed at you. It's just that that's the best response to being called a Stalker I've ever heard. Sorry I stalked you, I have anxiety!" You ramble, bursting into giggles again as you walk up to König and take his phone out of his pocket. "Here. I'll give you my phone number. Meet me at the coffee shop tomorrow at 11 for our first date." You order simply as you put in your number and hand him back his phone.
When people ask you how the two of you met, you say that the two of you just "happened to bump into each other" and the rest was history.
"No one would be able to take a dick that big and not get hurtâ"
Honey, you're dealing with monster porn about demons and tentacles and shit; are you really drawing the realism line there? Sorry about you but me and my fantasized body are built different.
Simon Riley has a raging competency kink and you absolutely cannot convince me otherwise. Thereâs something about seeing you or his teammates in their element, totally confident in the task being carried out. Itâs honestly super inconvenient a lot of the time.
He should NOT be thinking about Johnnyâs hands while rigging an IED, nimble fingers twisting wire and verifying the charges, tongue poking between his teeth while he focuses. Then breaking into that megawatt wide grin when he succeeds.
How smoothly Gaz takes control in an interrogation, saying just the right thing to get the subject to spill their guts and bury themselves with words. The picture of cool composure, prodding and pulling apart lies with the precision of a surgeon.
How Price adjusts plans on the fly when everything goes to hell in a hand basket. The weight of the captainâs warm hand on his shoulder when they make it out.
Even the way you move while cooking or doing your hobby. Youâre at ease and your hands donât hesitate for a moment, letting the muscle memory guide you through the familiar motion. The ease with which you all move through your space when itâs your time to shine makes something twist warm in his stomach.
Heâs so glad the between the balaclava and his poker face heâs hard (if not impossible) to read for most people. His squirming while he tries his best not get hard at the most inopportune moment possible written off as shifting weight from an old injury. His breathing picking up explained away with his temper.
(You all know better and make it difficult for him on purpose. Itâs just too fun to watch him try to hide it). Yeah, just competency kink ghost :D
Thinking about watching ghost get dressed in the morning....
He methodically picks through his wardrobe while you lie in his bed, blankets still warm from his heat. His comfier house clothes are stored in the bottom drawer, but today he opens the top to get dressed for the base.
Black compression shirt that hugs his large biceps and impossibly thick torso. Tits on perfect display, infortunate that the tac-vest he wears covers them. Then of course theres the best part.
Watching him struggle to but on his jeans.
You have yet to suggest he just buy a new pair, he's put on a few pounds since dating you and grown deliciously plump. The waistband always catches at the crease where thigh and ass meet, and without fail ghost has to do a little hop to pull them up fully. Tight jeans practically bulging with the size of his thighs, fabric flush against muscle. He looks good enough to eat.
And he always blushes so cute when you dramatically whistle and tell him "bend over sweetheart! Let me see some ass!" Because how could you not when he dresses like that.
>-;;â ;â ;âŹá· parings: Barbarian!tf141 x civilized reader
>-;;â ;â ;âŹá· synopsis: On the day meant to mark your passage into womanhood, something feels wrong. The smiles are forced, the ceremony hollow, until you're taken beyond the village, hooded, and left in the hands of those once called monsters.
>-;;â ;â ;âŹá· contents: Barbarian AU, price is the bear, ghost is the dark wolf, gaz is the white wolf, and soap is the leopard!, it'll make sense later, arranged offering/non-consensual trade, mentions of dehumanization and folklore-based fear, implied threats of violence, implied cannibalism, fear of cannibalism, reader is in her 20's, implied sexual violence (fear of rape; does not occur), emotional distress (panic, fear, dissociation)
Reader discretion is advised!
>-;;â ;â ;âŹá· word count: 1k+ words
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You shouldâve known something was wrong.
You had only seen your parents once that morningâbriefly, distantlyâbefore the others swept you off to get ready. Your mother barely looked at you. Your father said nothing at all. They wore stiff expressions, both avoiding your eyes, speaking to others instead of to you. You told yourself it was just nerves. Ceremony jitters. Tradition, maybe. But something about it⊠something about it felt off.
Today was supposed to be a celebration. Your celebration.
They were honoring youâfinally recognizing you as a woman of the village. After years of preparation, you had completed the long-standing ritual required of all women to earn that title. Now, you were of marrying age. Thatâs what they said, at least.
The feast, the procession, the jewelry pressed into your skin, the way your hands were painted with ink and powderâit was all tradition. All supposed to mark a joyful transition.
But joy didnât come. Not from your parents. Not from you.
Even as the village cheered, even as petals were thrown and horns were blown, you couldnât shake the tight coil in your gut. Couldnât ignore how your hands trembled when they fastened your ceremonial cloak around your shoulders. Couldnât stop the way your throat dried up when they kissed your forehead, then stepped back.
Why werenât they smiling?
Why werenât you?
The parade began.
You were paraded through the village like a lamb fattened for slaughterâcrowned with woven branches, led barefoot through the dirt. Cheers followed you. So did drums. Women danced, children ran, and men watched.
And thenâŠ
Then something changed.
The music didnât stop. But the people around you did.
Hands closed around your arms. You turned, confused, lips parted to speak, but they were already moving you. Steering you toward the edge of the square, past the far fences. You looked back onceâjust once.
Your parents didnât stop them.
They didnât scream. Didnât cry. Didnât move.
You thought maybe it was part of the ritual. That it was symbolic. That perhaps you had to be led into the forest as part of becoming a woman.
But no one told you where you were going. No one answered your questions.
And then came the hood.
Rough cloth. Damp. Smelling of smoke and old leather. It was pulled over your head with practiced hands. Tight hands. You kicked, cried out, struggled until something hard cracked against your skull and the world went black.
âž»
You wake cold. Your bones ache. The world smells of damp earth and pine needles.
Your body is covered in furs you donât recognize, resting on the floor of something that might be a tentâor maybe a cave. Light flickers behind your closed eyelids. A fire?
You open your eyes.
The ceiling above is made of thick animal hide, stitched together crudely. Bones line the seams. Your breath fogs in the air. You sit up slowly, teeth chattering.
Outside, voices murmur. Deep. Masculine. Sharp like flint.
You crawl toward the opening and peer out.
The forest surrounds youâtall, dark, endless. And scattered within it are shelters just like this one. Fires burn in pits. People move among them, cloaked in furs, metal glinting on their arms and chests.
Not your people.
Barbarians.
The ones your parents warned you about.
The ones they called less than menâthe beasts who lived in the mountains, who raided villages, who wore wolves like armor and drank the blood of their enemies.
You scramble back, panic clawing its way up your throat. Your heart pounds so hard it echoes in your ears.
This wasnât part of the ritual.
This wasnât symbolic.
You werenât being honored.
Youâd been given.
Youâd been offered.
Your parents gave you to them.
The same people they called savages. The same people they said werenât even human.
You remember the way your motherâs voice dropped to a whisper whenever they were mentioned. How your fatherâs jaw would tighten when the name of their tribe was spoken aloud. Donât say it where children can hear, he once warned, eyes darting to the corners of the room like something might be listening.
They spoke of these people like a myth. Like monsters.
Beasts in human skin who roamed the highlands, tasting human flesh like it was delicacy. Creatures who didnât just want your body, but your soulâyour emotions, your fear, your pain. They fed on it, lived in it, thirsted for it.
They were stories told by firelight, warnings woven into bedtime lullabies. Donât stray from the path. Donât follow the drums. Donât answer the howling in the night.
And now, here you are.
Not stolen.
Traded.
Like meat.
Like nothing.
You canât believe it.
You refuse to believe it.
No. There has to be something elseâanything else. A mistake, a mix-up, some elaborate ritual your village kept secret until the final moment. Something twisted and old and symbolic.
But the truth keeps pressing in, heavy and suffocating.
You werenât taken.
You were given.
Your thoughts race, frantic and desperate, trying to conjure even a single explanation that makes sense. Maybe it was a trade agreement. Maybe for peace. Or protection. A gesture of loyalty. A debt.
Maybe they didnât want to, maybe they had no choiceâ
But no matter how you twist it, no matter how you try to make the puzzle fit, it all leads back to the same gut-sickening truth:
Your parents handed you over.
Their only child.
Their daughter.
They let you go without a fight.
Your breath comes faster now. Too fast. Your chest rises and falls in shallow gulps, your eyes burn as tears sting your lower lashes. You press your palms against the ground, trying to steady yourself, but the earth feels like itâs swaying beneath you.
And thatâs when you hear itâ
Footsteps.
Not one.
Several.
Heavy. Measured. Coming closer.
You freeze.
Then, instinct kicks in.
Your eyes dart around the tentâthis massive structure of stitched hide and boneâbut thereâs nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Itâs just you and the fire. You press yourself back, scooting until youâre wedged in the farthest corner, limbs curled in, body shaking. The firelight flickers over you briefly, exposing the sheer panic on your face.
The footsteps stop just outside.
Your lungs go still.
The flap of the tent shiftsâdrawn asideâand they enter.
One by one.
Four enormous figures, each one ducking under the threshold, their sheer mass making the already-huge space feel crushingly small. Their presence is immediate. Dominant. Terrifying.
They donât look human.
They look like nightmares.
Each one is cloaked in fur, bone, leather. Adorned with teeth and claws strung like trophies along their bodies. They wear masksâanimal heads hollowed and worn like armor.
The first wears a towering bear skull atop his broad shoulders, his eyes hidden beneath the thick shadow of the mask. He carries no weapon, but you donât need one to be dangerous when youâre that large.
The second wears a dark wolfâs head, pelt draped like a cloak over his chest. He doesnât move like the othersâthereâs a stillness to him, a silence that makes your skin crawl.
The third is lighter, with a white wolf mask and a body decorated in ivory beads, claws, and pale fur. His head tilts when he looks at you, and for some reason, it feels almost gentle. Almost.
The fourthâ
God. You hate the fourth.
He wears a cat-like animal maskâsomething feline, maybe a leopard. His chest is bare, thickly muscled, marked with old scars and painted lines. The way he walks is casual, almost amused. A predator with time to spare.
They stop just inside.
Four men.
Four monsters.
Four beasts.
You donât know which one is worse.
You curl in tighter, trying to shrink into the shadows, praying theyâll ignore you. But they donât speak. They just stareâthrough you, past you, into you. Like theyâre trying to figure out if youâre a threat, or prey.
They feel too close.
Even when theyâre standing on the other side of the fire, they feel right on top of you.
And somewhere deep in your stomach, dread coils.
You hopeâGod, you hopeâthat they really are monsters. That theyâre more beast than man. Because if theyâre men⊠if theyâre human⊠if they have the capacity to feel, to wantâ
Then this will be so much worse.
Youâve heard stories. Of what men do. What they take. Of women discarded and broken, left as nothing but vessels for someone elseâs hunger. If these are the kind of men your village fearedâif your parents knew that, and still gave you upâ
It would almost be better to be eaten.
Bones and all.
The silence stretches on, heavy and unbearable. You feel their eyes on you, picking you apart, weighing every breath, every twitch. You canât stand it. You canât stand the not knowing.
So you break.
Your voice comes out small, terrified. Cracked like old wood.
âAre you⊠gonna eat me?â
Itâs barely more than a whisper. A childâs voice. A broken prayer.
The silence holds for one breath.
Two.
And then the leopard-mask lets out a howl of laughter.
It bursts from his chest like an explosion, his head thrown back as the sound echoes through the tent. Loud. Wild. Startling.
You flinch so hard your back hits the wall of the tent.
God, how you want that stupid cat to shut up.
The white wolf looks at you, visibly confused.
ââŠEat⊠youâŠ?â he repeats, tilting his head.
His voice is low, accented. Soft in a way that doesnât match the rest of him.
The leopard is still laughing, hands on his hips now like he canât breathe, and you burn with shame. Your face goes hot, your eyes prick with humiliation.
How stupid. How stupid you must sound.
âJohnny.â The bear-mask speaks at last. His voice is deep, gravelly, sharp with warning.
The laughing oneâJohnny, apparentlyâchokes on another chuckle, then finally quiets, though you still see the grin twitching beneath his mask.
You press further back into the corner, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.
The white wolf is still watching you.
But somethingâs shifted.
Heâs not confused anymore. He looks⊠curious.
And the silence returns.
bones and all mentioned đ€ | lemme know if you wanna be in the taglist! | i will differently add more onto this like the moodboard and playlist ! | this took forever to make so please enjoy! | borders by @saradika-graphics !!
Okayyyy A/B/O Nikghostprice. Inspired by a post of ideas @s0fter-sin they also let me yap while writing :3
2,700 words.
Content warnings : sex (mild amounts) , extreme self depreciation because Simon is silly, mentions of roba alluding to SA,
Simon knew he got in the way, that was his whole life summarised.
He was only ever kept around because he was useful for something for the other, to the point they could put up with him slightly.
Or they were too nice to kick him away, and were entertaining him much like a stray dog. The second was obviously the current situation he was in.
He had somehow crash landed his way into the middle of Nikolai and Price's sex life, and both were too nice to outwardly kick him out.
And Simon, selfish Simon, didn't leave. He knew they didn't actually want him, but he couldn't say no when they offered.
He knew he was causing issues and should call it off, but he just couldn't. It was so so selfish. But that's all Simon was, selfish and unwanted.
The two had given him the slightest hint of affection and he'd clung to it like a pathetic wet pup.
He hadn't even been hauled in giving them some kind of fun of sex.
No.He had been on a mission and been dumb. He wasn't paying attention, he was distracted and it got soap hurt.
One of the pack got hurt because of his incompetence, and now he couldn't handle it. Rather than looking after Soap and dealing with all the paperwork like a good responsible alpha.
He shut down. Like a pathetic toddler throwing a tantrum, he just shut down. He wasn't even the one hurt for fucks sake. Yet he was being pathetic.
Price obviously couldn't stand the level of pathetic one member of his team was being.
Should anyone have seen Ghost they'd have got a bad impression of the whole team. Price had roughly grabbed the back of Ghosts neck, scruffing him till his knees went weak and then dragged him back to Price and Niks shared room, pushing him into the bed.
Wait, not a bed, nest.
Simon had never been in a nest, it was so comfortable and soft, and the only scent he could smell was safe and calm.
His eyes had fluttered closed quickly. A mix of the stress and the sudden relaxation from the nest and scent. It was so warm and comfortable.
Simon had felt even worse because Price had stayed up the whole time, clearly worried that should Simon wake he'd do something dumb or steal or something.
Then when Simon woke it had taken him a second to get his brain working the nest so comfortable, before he remembered Nik was coming home today. Simon could only imagine how fucking pissed the alpha would be if he came home to find Simon, another alpha in his and price's nest.
He had scrambled out before price could even shoo him out. Better to leave before he was forced to. The amount of time they would tolerate him was limited, he needed to make it last.
Simon wasn't even too sure how he'd tumbled into their sex life. He silently mused lying on the now cum covered bed, Price licking the remains of Niks cum from the Russians hips.
He just somehow ended up in it, but he wished selfishly, he wished so badly those bites on his neck would inch just a little closer to his scent gland.
He loved their scent intermixing with his, he just wished they didn't make him wash it off right after. He wished he could bottle the scent of his and theirs mixed and smell it whenever he was stressed.
But that was selfish.
He had so much already, he couldn't push for more. They had picked him up, like a sad wet pup, and out of some form of pity or feeling of obligation, entertained him.
And now, like usual he felt those warm, soft but rough hands, urging him up, to go wash off the scent. It always hurts slightly, they made him wash off the scent everytime.
But he knew he was being silly. They were a bonded pair, he didn't deserve to keep their scent on him. He stepped under the shower letting the warm water soothe his aching muscles slightly.
The showers would be nice, if he wasn't washing off their scent. Apparently he was taking too long to wash up, because Niks rough hands began lathering him with body wash and washing him up.
Nik was clearly eager to get Simon out so he could go back to cuddling with his mate. Nik quickly washed Simons body before putting a towel round him.
Simon can take a hint, he wasn't about to overstay his welcome he grabbed his clothes putting them on, and hurrying out of there before he could actually be asked to leave.
As he left he heard Niks sigh of relief, clearly glad the other Alpha was leaving. It hurt a little, but Simon had no right to be hurt, he was intruding and they were so kindly entertaining his neediness.
That night, like many others he slept curled up in his bed, cuddling a pillow as if it would replace the touch he craved.
Meanwhile John sighs, laying on Niks chest, happily burying his face in that lovely hair and alpha scent. âWish he'd stay longer sometimes, wanna cuddle."
The man below him hummed âYes, but we must wait until he is comfortable, no?â
John rolled his eyes with a grumble. He knew this, he had told Nik this many times. It didn't mean he wouldn't be annoyed at not being able to cuddle Simon.
His scent blended so well with both of theirs, he fit in so perfectly and Johns inner omega purred with happiness the first time he had gotten Simon curled up safe and asleep in the nest.
But nonetheless, they had to wait until Simon was comfortable. They had been biting near the scent gland in offering, but he hadn't accepted. And that was fine.
Although it didn't stop John from burying his face in Niks luscious locks and groaning âYeah yeah, I know darling but likeâŠ. Ugh. I know he has issues with stuff, so we are going at his pace. But it's obvious he doesn't sleep well. I just wanna pull him into the nest, and get him sleeping and happy.â
Nik nodded solemnly, running hands down his omegas back âDa. I know.â
Both of them had been thinking Simon was hot for years, but it wasn't until after a mission when Soap had got injured slightly, and the alpha froze up, they realised how well Simon fit in.
John had tried to snap Simon out of it, but he was too deep in his head, so he had to resort to doing what any good pack leading omega would do. He gently scruffed the other. Just enough to make him malleable before hauling him into Nik and his nest, burying him in the strongest scents of pack and calm till he fell prey to sleep.
John had stayed up to make sure Simon was sleeping safe and sound with no issues.
In fact he happily stayed up, watching the other man's pretty face. Purring and grooming him, making sure his hair was untangled, and he was safe. Simon sleeping so happily had John's inner omega purring with pride and happiness.
When the man had woke he left quickly, but John hadn't blamed him, sometimes you just need your own space, especially after something like a hard mission, but atleast he'd slept.
Nik had come home, and was overjoyed that Simon had been there, his scent blended so well, and Nikolai was so happy to hear how well he had rested, grooming and praising John for getting him to sleep.
He was much like a pup to them.
They loved him dearly and wanted him as comfortable and safe as possible.
Simon groaned, curling up on his bed against the wall, it had been a long mission. For everyone involved, Price was exhausted, Soap was in med for minor injuries, and Simon was dead on his feet.
He found his dumb brain wishing for the warmth and comfort of the nest with Nik and price. It was dumb, he somehow got himself so used to the nest.
It was so selfish to even want that, Nik and Price were probably just trying to relax and decompress. He curled up tighter, absently smelling the remaining scent of price still on his gear.
It was comforting. The omega smelled like cinnamon and something distinctly safe and warm. Niks scent really wasn't on anything of his, unfortunately.
But god Nik smelt heavenly, a mix of Oil and earth. It was strong but grounding, it wasn't an overwhelming musk like some alphas.
He could almost smell Niks scent with how much he was thinking about it. Actually, hang on.
No, he could smell Niks scent!? Why was Nik coming here? Had Simon screwed up? Was Nik coming to tell him it was all over?
He flinched as he heard the knuckles wrap against his door. This was it, they were tired after that mission, they didn't have it in then to humour him any more, still he called out a come in, watching as the door creaked open.
The alpha walked in, his scent filling the room, still slightly relaxing Simon despite everything.
At least he didn't smell angry, so it wouldn't be an aggressive cut off. Nik walked over to the bed, sitting next to Simon. âJohn is very stressed, come to nest, da?â
Simon nodded slowly. Price wanted to be there when breaking it off, but didn't even want to leave the nest to do it. That stung a little more then it should.
He'd be being told about how he couldn't be a part of this anymore while the comfy warm nest he has selfishly grown accustomed to was right there.
Still he followed Nik silently, internally wincing at Niks hand on his back. He knew this was it, it was over. And still Nik was being fucking gentle! Why couldn't Nik have just ended it there in Simon's room, rather then walk him to the nest, with one of those great big warm hands on his back, gently rubbing it.
He took a deep breath as the door opened, smelling the cinnamony scent hitting his nose. It still somehow relaxed him, despite knowing what would happen, he loved that scent.
No one spoke for a minute. It was silent. It was shitty, Simon just wanted this over with.
Then Price reached out from the nest, grabbing Simons wrist and suddenly pulling him in. Simon barely got a chance to work out what happened before Price was snuggled up against him nuzzling his neck, hands running I've the alphas body.
Simon blinked, frozen and thoroughly confused âUhhâ
.Nik sat in the nest too, running a hand through Simons hair âLet him be. He was concerned about if you are injured.â
Simon was still thoroughly baffled but let price scent and groom him. This didn't seem as if he was being kicked out, much the opposite. Prices purrs were vibrating through the room loudly as he grooms Simons hair, scent smelling distinctly relieved.
The touches slowly turned from gentle relieved to hot kisses, burning with intensity, and hands grasping his belt.
Simon didn't fight it, but glanced at Nik trying to discern what the dynamic was today, but Nik just sat back, cock already out, resting heavy and hard in his hand.
Seemingly just watching today.
Price was clearly desperate, kissing roughly, while tugging Simons pants down, with soft panting moans.
Simon let himself sit back as Price eagerly lapped at his cock, already preparing himself with sweet little whiny moans.
Nikolai absently threaded a hand through Simons hair as he sat back, stroking his cock, while watch his omega settle on Simons cock, already riding the other. The soft sweet little moans, and the sweet cinnamon scent of Price was filling room as he fucked himself dumb on Simon rock hard cock.
It barely took anytime before Simon and the others were cuming. He knew he had to get up, he had to leave, before they decided they were done and booted him, but he was so so sleepy.
Exhausted from the mission and now this, everything hurt and it was so warm here. Surely he could just rest his eyes for a minute.
His eyes fluttered closed, feeling so warm and safe.
Simon drifted in and out of sleep, until he suddenly woke properly around an hour later.
Shit. Shit shit.
They were gonna be so pissed. He tried to sit up, but was stopped by a warm weight on his chest. He blinked, looking down to find the shape of Price, resting curled up, head and torso against the alphas chest.
Price wasâŠ. Asleep on him? That didn't seem like he had to leave. He glanced around seeing Nik still awake behind him.
He also vaguely registered he was clean.
Niks hand came back into his hair, stroking it back âLay back down, da?â
Simon let himself be pushed back down, thoroughly confused. âBut⊠uh.. don't⊠don't you want me goingâ
The Russian blinked at him, taking his chin in one of those big warm hands and tilting it up to make eye contact. âWhy would we want that?â
Simon paused⊠âCause you'd want to beâŠ. With ..yourâŠ. Mate.. Not having me in the way?â
Nik gently bapped his head. âYou are basically second mate. Shut up.â
Simon's brain stopped. What did Nik mean, he was basically a second mate? He just got in the way, they always made him wash the scent off.
âBut⊠but⊠youâŠâ
Nik cut him off with a gentle kiss âWe what? You are second mateâ
Simon felt like his brains was melting out his ears. He sat up, ignoring the groan/whine from Price as he rolled off Simons chest. âButâŠ. You⊠you make me wash off your scent everytime?!â
Nik blinked incredulously at him âIs aftercare! To wash off cum and sweat. You want scent? Then stay and cuddle, da?â
Simon stammered shutting and opening his mouth several times âButâŠ.but..I⊠why⊠Why would you want me to have your scent?? I⊠I mean I'm not even marked by either of you.â
Nik was now looking at him like he was dumb, and Simon felt a flush spread over his face.
âYou are not marked⊠because you have not accepted our offers and courting. We would not mark you without consent?â
âOffers??? COURTING?? What fucking offers!?â Simon practically squeaks.
Nik face palmed. Hard.
âA mark left near a scent gland is an offer, of marking. This is basic knowledge, da? Where did you get your sex Ed?"
Simon froze. âI⊠well âŠ. I kinda âŠuhm⊠didn'? My father..â the word father was laced with thinly veiled disdain âDidn'... Really believe in thatâŠ. And then⊠uh⊠Roba.. happenedâŠâ
Simon takes a shakey breath voice quietening âAnd⊠well I wasn't really.. planning on uh ⊠being with anyone⊠ever.. again⊠but now I'm with you.â
Nik stared at him, face softening. âI .. Simon. Do you know what consent is?â
Did he-? Of course he fucking did. âYes! I'm not a fucking idiot Nik!â
The Russian patted his shoulder. âJohn and I have been trying to court you for months. We want you as part of our relationship, permanently. You do not have to leave, da? It is your nest too. We want to mark you, and have your scent.â
And⊠oh. They⊠they wanted him?Simon half expected Nik to yell sike, but he didn't, he continued to look at him with that soft, sincere expression
. Someone actually wanted him? He.. he was allowed in the nest? The warm safe nest? They actively wanted him to stay and not leave.
âI⊠I⊠you⊠you want me?â He felt tears welling in his eyes, and he knew he sounded like a pathetic pup.
The Russian pulled him close, nuzzling his neck, and rubbing his cheeks along Simons cheeks.
The Englishman froze. He really wasn't sure what was going on.
Nik stared at him
âI⊠scenting Simon. You know what?â
Simon squeaked slightly as he felt himself be tugged forward onto Niks chest, big warm arms wrapping around him.
He was still confused and overwhelmed, but god it was hard to be sad with his face pressed in those hairy tits.
