the 141 aren’t stupid -- they wouldn’t carry a photo of you in their vest or helmet. no name written anywhere, nothing on their body that could potentially trace to a woman back home.
but they all carry something.
simon has a hair tie on his wrist. black, cheap, the kind you buy in packs of fifty and lose all over the damn flat. it sits under the cuff of his glove, biting into his skin, reminding him exactly why he needs to make it home. it always smells like your shampoo for a bit before it starts to smell like his own sweat, he finds himself a new one on the bathroom floor before each deployment.
price wears a watch. it’s not the watch that’s about you, really. it’s that he started setting the second time zone to match yours. he checks it more than he should, especially at night when he can’t sleep and it’s three a.m where he is and eight a.m where you are. he’ll think: ‘she’ll be making coffee, i wonder what she wore to bed’ and that’s the closest he lets himself get to mixing you with work.
kyle wears a bracelet. it’s thin braided yarn, the kind of thing you learned to make as a kid at camp. you made it on a slow sunday afternoon while he was half-asleep on your thigh. he said ‘oh, that’s sick, darling. ta!’, put it on and hasn’t taken it off since. it’s absolutely filthy these days. and when it starts to fray, he simply keeps re-knotting it, sometimes johnny has to help get it tight.
johnny carries a folded square of paper that’s gone so soft it feels like fabric, he keeps it safe in a zipped pocket on his kit. it’s a grocery list in your looping handwriting that you’d left him on the kitchen counter one morning. eggs, soy milk, the good butter, berries, your stupid crisps, wine (red). it’s got a small heart in the corner -- that’s the most worn bit because he brushes his thumb over it every night.
He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.
Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”
He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”
His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
18+ | bunny hybrid!reader spending easter with 141:
price: this man is dressing you in the sweetest little gingham shorts to show off your fluffy tail, getting you to hop around his cottage yard to find the eggs he’s hidden for you. he’s too old to play games, so he’s content to watch from the porch as his cigar smoke curls in the spring sunshine
gaz: similar to price, he’ll be spending it with you outside. the bastard loves to show off, so he’ll pick a popular park to have a picnic with you, making sure everyone can see your bunny ears are real and not just a headband. might even enter you in a stupid hop competition just so you can beat them all and be his winner (which he will be sending to soap)
soap: he’s a family man, what can he say? he’ll have you in scotland, playing with all of his nieces and nephews — arts n crafts, egg hunts, and he even lets his niece trace your ears on a paper so she can cut them out and wear them like yours. any chance alone he’s murmuring in those fluffy white ears about how nice it would be to have wee bunny!hybrids bouncing around you all with his ridiculously blue eyes (“think about it, bun, hey?”)
ghost: sorry, it’s not gonna be cute it all. he relishes in the fact that a bunny’s tail isn’t actually a fluffy ball. he unfurls it before holding it up to thrust into your sloppy hole, squishing your ears together with his other hand like fuckin’ reins. “so tiny f’me, god—look at you—“ your back is practically bent it half towards him with his two holds on you, completely merciless to his filthy slams inside you
You wake up with a pounding ache running from your eye sockets, all the way through your temples right to the back of your head. It feels like someone’s actively trying to pull your eyeballs out of your face, and you have to scrunch your eyes, hands clenching as you writhe in pain.
Then as you seethe, you feel the horrible burn in your lungs, like acid had burned holes across the expanse of the organs. “Easy— easy, careful-“ A nurse rushes over, latching an oxygen mask over your face and finally you breathe properly again, chest starting to slow down.
“What..” Your voice comes out hoarser than it should, eyes blinking rapidly now as you look around the room in sheer confusion. “Where..?”
“You fainted from the toxic fumes in your lab. In fact, it’s all being investigated right now, so don't worry.” The nurse's hand settles on your hands, holding you down a little too firmly— almost wearily.
“Investigated..?” You blink slower now, settling flat against the bed as your brows furrow in confusion.
“The chemicals in your lab were strong enough to damage your organs, thankfully not harshly enough that they wouldn't recover though.” The nurse explains, not caring much about your wince as they push the iv you had accidentally loosened back into place. “We have reason to believe you also may have self destructive behaviour with the chemicals, so you’ll be banned from your lab for a whole month.”
The last sentence is what has been ringing in your head practically all day now.
Banned from the lab.
For self destructive behaviour?
Sure, you often pushed yourself hard but the safety guidelines were embedded into your bones since you held your first welding gun. Truthfully you can't believe how they could’ve even come to that conclusion— you were always on time for your checkups too! Something had to be wrong, this had to be a mistake.
It’s only later than afternoon that you finally get discharged, although very reluctantly from your constant coughing. Thankfully you were supplied with an inhaler to manage it, and you tuck it into the pocket of your clothes as you change out of the hospital gown. Just as you secure your belt, you notice how loose it sits in its usual notch, your loss of mass confusing you.
Before you can question it, a knock sounds at the door, startling you. “It’s the Captain.”
Immediately you still. If your sudden ban had agitated you so much, there was no way he wouldn’t be just as furious. It was like all of the memories of the past months had crashed down, and it didn't help that the thoughts had lingered in your dreams all night. But.. you knew you werent self destructive. He knew that too. If anyone was to help you contest this ban— he could!
You move forward to open the door, teeth gritting as your entire body straightens up, preparing to argue your case. “Captain—”
“How are you doing?”
His question immediately catches you off guard, making you hesitate before stepping back and letting him into the room. “Well..” You begin, but hesitate. If there’s one thing you’ve learnt through all of this, its that only the mission matters and not any personal problems. And it’s better you don't anger him with fluffy details. “You probably heard I'm banned from the lab, but i think there’s been a mistake, i’ve never one intened to harm—-”
“That’s enough, I already agreed to their decision. It’ll do you some good.”
You blink, surprised but he just steps forward, hand settling on your shoulder. “You really need to take a break— we never intended for you to harm yourself like that.”
——————-
“Hey, you’re alive!” Soap exclaims as you line up and grab your tray. You barely get a second before his hand slaps your back, sending you into a fit of coughs..
“Wha— the — he—ll?” You wheeze each syllable out. The chemicals had left you still suffering from a shortness of breath, making you gasp desperately as you rummage in your pocket for the inhaler they prescribed. His face falls as you pump air into your lungs with far too much force. Though the pressure in your chest finally settles, leaving you with a deep frown..
“I didn’t mean tae—” He begins, reaching out but you just shrug him off, too annoyed by his careless actions. “Ah’m sorry. Just glad to have ye back again, Price said he found you.. errr.. passed out or somethin”
So first he had the audacity to hit you and then he admits he didn't even care enough to know what happened?
You blink away the anger bubbling in your chest, not wanting to have yet another fit in this very busy hall.
What the hell is up with you anyway? Just snap out of these rebellious thoughts already— he didn't mean to harm you.
“Yeah, well, I'm okay now.” You mutter back, afraid to say more else you really do bark at him. Damnit you were so tired.
“Well, that’s good eh? So im thinking for my next weapon-“
“I’m not allowed in the labs for a month, don't even bother.” You knew you were being harsh, assuming that his only concern was his next weapon and not your wellbeing. Surely you’re villainising him again— stop that.
“Really?” He seems surprised and it only serves to anger you more.
“Yes, really.”
He falls quiet as you serve the rest of your food, seemingly at a loss for words now. It’s only when you finally grab your water bottle does he get it for you, placing it on your tray.
“But you can still draw up plans, right?”
You’ve never wanted to punch a colleague more in your life but of course, you can't. So you grit your teeth, and force a smile. “I suppose, if I'm not too ill to move that is.” And with that, you leave him standing, walking off and out the mess. However, despite your heart screaming that it was a win in your books, you couldn't help the heavy weight on your chest. Why did you have to be so rude to him? He just wanted your expertise— if anything it should be considered a compliment.
The food doesn't even interest you anymore, and you barely have most of it before throwing it out.
——
The next day doesn't fare any better for you. You’re overwhelmed with coughing fits even in the shower and it didn’t help that your entire body ached. Something about damage to the nerves in your hands and feet, apparently. You couldn't listen to the nurses much over the whirring oxygen machines.
“You alive..?” The short knock at your door has you agitated, the pounding headache that’s been eating at you all morning only throbbing harder.
“Barely..” You mumble beneath your breath, slowly padding over to the door before weakly opening it to meet Gaz.
“You know you shouldn't hole yourself up here doing work all day— it’s good to take breaks.”
“Actually I haven't done anything today..” You hate that you have to fight off the urge to mention the harsh symptoms you’ve dealt with for the entire morning. After all, only focus on the mission, that’s it.
“Oh—? Are you on medical leave? I know you’re banned from the labs but..”
You’re half tempted to close the door right in his face at this point but something tells you that would be a very bad idea. It’s just so ironic, that he only knows the facts connected to your job but not the medical symptoms they caused—
You have to shake your head to snap yourself out of it, giving him an awkward shrug instead. “No, technically I'm not on leave.”
“Oh.. so why aren't you working?”
You honestly wish you could make him feel the pain throbbing through your body at this very moment, but you can't because that’d probably make you guilty of assault. You force another smile, swallowing firmly. “The chemicals I work with have left me with bad shortness of breath and nerve damage. Maybe tomorrow I can write up your plans, Kyle.”
You watch as his face slowly drops, but it doesn't make you feel any more satisfied.
“Oh- I didn't know.. Did you not follow the safety protocols?”
That was your last straw, and honestly you felt way too close to your legs giving out right now so you just do what you do best, shrugging. “Probably.” Agreeing with his words are easier than contesting them, and soon enough you get to slump back into bed again and pass out.
——-
Two weeks have passed since then, mainly because you’ve been avoiding them like the plague this entire time. But it’s also good for you too, finally able to settle your mind from the months of stress you’ve been put through. You sleep more hours, finally do the things you’ve been putting off, and you’re starting to find love in your work again. Besides, having a break from them has given you time to sort out your feelings and the mismanaged anger you always seemed to have towards them. They were soldiers with a job! You couldn't expect them to chase after you.
You stop by the mess hall at a later time today, and since you already ate with them that morning you don't really mind doing the same now.
“Hi.” You grin as you take a seat at the end, Gaz shuffling up for you. “How’d your training session with the lower ranks go?” Of course, you grin, only focusing on his day because you’ve learnt now not to talk about yours.
“Went quite well, actually. Got a good bunch for once.” He replies, scooping a final spoonful into his mouth whilst you grab your first.
You hadn't been eating in the mess that much recently, mostly from being too weak in your first few days off. Now you couldn't help but salivate at the food sitting there, no matter how crappy it could be sometimes.
That means you end up eating a little too quickly— the dessert actually looks good today, and this was one of the few serotonin boosters in your life.
“Arent you going to slow down?” Ghost comments, sitting opposite, and his eyes narrowed on your plate. Immediately you pause, giving him a sheepish smile as you swallow down the last bite you shoved in.
“Sorry, ‘m pretty hungry today.” You chuckle, because you’ve all had your moments, especially how they usually scoff their food down after a hard mission.
“From what, eh? Yer not even working right now.”
You turn to see Soap snort at his own words, after practically licking his own plate clean. He pats Gaz who snickers too, leaning back in his chair and locking his eyes onto you as well. “He’s right, you know. Like- we’re actively doing physical work all day, and then paperwork on top of that.”
“I guess- i’m still a bit ill and—“
“Dont you just sit in your room for most of the day?” Ghost adds, tilting his head in your direction, especially when your fork reaches for the dessert next.
It’s so embarrassing, your stomach feels queasy as you feel the burn of all of your eyes on you. They’re staring— judging— your choices. They don't even think you deserve to eat, and hell, they’re right, aren't they? You haven't been doing any work so they’re not actually wrong. They keep on looking at you expectantly though, like you have an answer for why you’re hungry despite the fact you don't deserve it.
The worst part was that Price wasn't even here to defend you right now. He would, right? Surely. You were told he was the one that brought you to the infirmary in the first place, so he definitely would say something.
“Oh.. I guess so.” You say awkwardly, eyes darting downwards as Soap laughs before reaching over to snag your dessert plate.
“Here, i’ll do ye a favour? Ye don't want it, do ya?” All you can do is shake your head slowly, watching as he scoffs it down without a second thought, continuing a conversation with Ghost like they hadn't just humiliated you.
—-----------------------------------------------
“Captain..”
You slip into his office, the nerves in your fingers tingling but not as queasy as the ones in your stomach. It’s been two days since, and not only has their behaviour worsened but your increasing annoyance has only come back full force again. The guilt is only hitting you full force, especially as you draw closer to snapping. All you want is to be good.
“Hm? What brings you here?” He looks up from where he’s sat at his desk, a box of cigars peeking out one of his drawers as you get closer.
“Your soldiers, that’s what.” You huff, trying to make it seem more like a joke than anything. It’ll lessen the blow but not the churning feeling in your gut.
“Those muppets? If they’re trying to convince you to go back into the labs, you’re still banned.”
“I know, i know.” You slump into the small chair to the side, limbs crumpling almost immediately. This was almost the same as the first time you made a successful weapon.
It was so long ago now, but you remember them finding you immediately after the mission was over, Soap practically squeezing your half awake body so tight as he rambled over how well it worked. From then on, you were asked a million things all the time, even from other Lieutenants and as much as you loved to see your work thrive, it was exhausting. So you had found yourself escaping into the Captain’s office, just like you were now. Except that time he let you talk about whatever, and he also conversed back with you, until you even came over to help him with organising the more menial paperwork and the clock starting flashing midnight.
“What did they do?” His voice snaps you out of the memory, and you sit up a little more, one hand rubbing your neck.
“Feels like none of them even acknowledge i’m sick.” It came out way more bluntly than you intended, but even as you glance up, his eyes dont meet yours.
“Cant expect them to know everything about you.”
You let out a laugh at his words, assuming he’s being sarcastic; he had to be.
“I mean it’s hardly more than the bare minimum. They remember whenever i say i’m working on something they want but not that i passed out two weeks ago?”
“Everyone passes out— they’ve had more broken bones than you can count.” His nonchalance on the matter has you furrowing your brows until you sit up properly so you can watch him.
“I passed out because of prolonged exposure to chemicals, pretty sure that’s not as simple as a broken bone.”
“Well what would ya like then, huh? You want em to deliver your food and rub your back?” He huffs and leans back in his chair for a moment, fingers pinching his brow as you just look at him in confusion. You were supposed to come to your Captain for help, but he looked like you just told him that you had plans to revolutionise.
“I’m just saying.. they keep demanding things of me that I can't give. I’ve been able to make the prototypes on a good day, but even then sometimes i lose my breath just from small things and —“
“Are you here just to complain?”
Taken aback, you just stare at him blankly, before slowly standing. “What..?”
“Look, kid. This is the military, yeah?” He says it so condescendingly it makes your brows start to narrow, especially by how his eyes pierce into yours. “We’ve all worked through injuries and tough times before. Torture sometimes too. Your incident caused a lot of trouble, you know? We’re lucky I convinced them you were self destructive.”
“You.. told them that?“ It suddenly clicks in your head, why the nurses watched you like you would snap, why the psych eval had taken much longer and was far more intrusive than ever. You had no idea why you had been attending therapy sessions regularly either. “I’m not— you know that. Why would you blame it on that?”
“I cant afford a bloody inspection right now, kid. We have lives to deal with, missions to plan. It wasnt even hard to argu you breached the safety requirements.”
“You’re the one who made me push past the safety guidelines— you and the others demanded that of me!”
“I lied for everyone's sake. Your job would be hardly affected by that kind of claim unlike the others.”
“No— this was never about me, was it? It’s always you- Soap, Gaz— always you all!.”
He lets out a long sigh, eyes closing for a long second before he stands, right before you with his arms crossed. “Like i said— this is the military, not your university. We’re here to get the job done, and if you cant handle a bit of roughing up, then maybe this isnt for you.”
“Are you.. asking me to quit?” After everything you’ve done, all the weapons that helped them through every mission. Every prototype, every plan.
“You’re either in or you're out— I want no more of this nonsense and complaining.” He huffs, turning around to place the files in another cabinet. It’s obvious he clearly expects you to stay in; it was more of a rhetorical question. He knows you’ll never actually leave.
“Fine.. then I’m out.”
“Good now—- what?” He turns, watching your hand tremble as you grip onto your access card. “Stop your games, you’ve got work to do too you know.”
“I quit, Captain Price.” You say, knowing it’s the right decision. You’re terrified of just quitting everything right here and right now. But you’re also angry, and frustrated, and most of all, betrayed. By yourself for not realising sooner, by the taskforce for treating you like a tool and by him for expecting you to follow his every whim.
The card clatters as you drop it on his table, leaving you with your id so you can still sign the official resignation and then leave through the general access doors.
You step back before he can say more, letting the door swing behind you as the tears well in your eyelids.
———————
i wanted more angst hehe
no more kofi links this months, if you liked my content and fics and would like to support please consider donating to a charity! Whether its to palestine, sudan, congo, the uyghurs in China or even supporting the civilians hurt in Iran, please do what you can. Even if you dont have any money to give, think about clothes you can donate to your local womens/homeless shelter or other items you dont use anymore. please support your local communities even if it means getting your coffee from a local spot rather than a usual and please remember to be kind to yourself first and foremost. Thank you all for your support on the last chapter!
You constantly get scented by them. At first it’s a bit overwhelming but eventually you get used to their scents. You constantly tell them you don’t need to be scented so often but that doesn’t stop them. They purr quietly, rubbing their neck on you and putting your face into it.
When you all decide to sleep or just relax in the nest, you always have to be right in the middle. They curl around you, making sure to hold you all night in one way or another, the sound of their soft purrs and protective grumbles being white noise.
They always attempt to feed you, which you in turn complain about until they stop. But sometimes, when you’re tired, you let them do it.
You’d never been in a pack before, so you just thought all of this was normal. That maybe it was normal to be constantly coddled by your team and pack.
Apparently it was unusual for Price, your captain and pack leader, to hold you in his lap while doing paperwork, big hands cupping your thighs and holding your waist. Every once in a while he would scent you, making sure everyone around base knew who you belonged to.
It was out of the ordinary for Ghost, your lieutenant, to cage you in on the mat during sparring. His mask would be pulled up to his nose, lapping at your scent mark, hand between your head and the mat holding it to the side for more access.
It was rare for Gaz, one of the sergeants, to climb onto the couch behind you, body molded around yours. The heat from his body radiating into yours as he nuzzles into the back of your fully scented neck, deep purrs rumbling through his chest.
And it was odd for Soap, the other sergeant on the team, to crawl into bed with you at night. The others usually kept him in check, but when they didn’t he’d always find his way to your bed. His hands holding you in a firm, possessive way, growling softly in his chest when you try to move away.
almost immediately into dating, simon riley would buy you a gun.
probably a 9mm. matte black, no frills, utilitarian. nothing bigger than needed. comfortable enough to hug your palm, heavy enough to remind you of the implications of what you carry.
and really, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you.
you knew he was a soldier, knew he kept closets full of gear and could disappear without a sound — appear the same way too. you knew how he moved, how his eyes never slowed until they met yours. knew there was something unsaid about his skill level, redacted parts he left out on purpose. but even above that — you knew the truth of him. under the mask, under the muscle, under the scars of his past. the boy who grew up with vigilance as his only defence. you know enough to know you don’t survive what simon has survived and come out normal.
you come out disciplined. dangerous. prepared.
simon doesn’t believe in luck. won’t leave his trust in the cavalry showin up in time when that’s already failed him many times before. simon doesn’t deal in safe.
he deals in preparation. for the worst. for even the most unlikely.
love comes in many forms. and maybe for simon it’s not candle lit dinners or couch cuddling movie nights (though of course you bribe him into those anyways. he’s never quite been able to say no to you) it’s making sure he does everything in his power to make you capable.
and he does it with all the patience he’s got to offer. there’s no expectation no pressure no timeline — god knows simon isn’t expecting you to become a super assassin overnight. he takes you out to some half-forgotten range an hour outta the city, tucked in nice between the pine and fog. sets up the targets and has you aim at them empty, watching the way you hold tension in your tendons. teaches you how to force it out through breath. how to work the weapon like an extension of yourself.
the rundown is quick and simple. caliber, kickback, magazine release. then he steps back and tells you to shoot.
you exhale the breath like he taught you and pull. when you miss, he nods once and says again. you go through three full mags and miss each one. it isn’t long before your palms burn as bad as your cheeks do with the humiliation of it — but it’s all forgotten when you land just a tap off the bullseye and simon walks over with his hands up.
“that’s how it starts, sweet’eart.” he murmurs, smirking against your mouth.
simon riley is a man of many talents, but his greatest achievement yet is loving you. and maybe it’s not always voiced by ‘i love you so much baby.’ — but instead it’s running you through drills around the crooked ikea furniture in your living room until the sun has set and the moon is out. or blindfolding you and telling you to unload and reload the mag. or leaving sticky notes with unlikely scenarios scattered around the house and quizzing you on your answers while youre cockdrunk against the counter.
you’ve learned his language by now. hes protective and realistic and a little bit cynical. but god does he make you feel alive for it.
you know by him teaching you how to use this gun it’s his way of saying i will do everything in my power to keep you alive because im in love with you and i wouldn’t survive a fuckin day if i lost you.
this is in the "141 and john price's wife" universe. still gn pronouns. i also don't think price texts that much- old man syndrome.
the 141 absolutely have a group chat dedicated to pictures and information (porn) about their little wife.
it starts, as many silly things do, with johnny and a picture of you asleep on the couch. cuddled into the armrest covered in the tortilla blanket he'd gotten you as a gag gift, and it was just too good not to share. (although he only sent one of the thirty he actually took, he's gotta keep as much of you to himself as he can.)
then it was kyle with you in the yard, laying in the grass after cutting down branches in the sweltering heat (something john would never let you do if he'd know about it, but he appreciates the flush of your cheeks and the angle of the photo makes it seem as if you were under him doing another strenuous activity.)
and it continues like that for months, cute little pictures of you gardening with price, walking with simon, watching tv between kyle and johnny- just sharing the daily life of their pretty bird.
but the real nature of the group chat doesn’t start until simon sends a picture of you bent over, putting something in the oven, in the tiny, red daisy duke shorts that are only just long enough to be considered inappropriate for the public.
sr: fuckin' lucky that shit only takes 10 minutes to cook or we'd be in the kitchen all day.
soap: fuuuuuuuuckin' hell
kyle: don't rub it in simon, we'll be home in two days
sr: don't worry, i'll warm 'em up for you
price: Behave yourselves.
and it all just unravels from there.
john's the next culprit. he has loads and loads of less than decent pictures of you, perks of being the first husband, but he's not reaching into the stash for this one. he has a point to make: if anyone's getting off to pictures of his wife, he's gonna be the one sending them.
it's barely two hours after the other three left that something is sent into the chat. face down, ass up, cunt dripping with cum as price uses his thumb to keep your pussy open to the camera, the rest of his hand palm down on your ass, the ring on his finger glistening in the flash.
sr: fuckin' filthy captain
soap: BRING ME BACK, PUT ME IN CAPTAIN
kyle: tell 'em i said thank you
it's not surprising that the minute he comes back, johnny's on you. methodically placing the camera, making sure it captures all of you and his face buried between your thighs. it wasn't the first video sent into the chat but it's definitely one of the best ones.
your head thrown back, hands in his hair, gripping what you can so you can grind your pussy on his tongue. his phone is just close enough to hear your small pants and groans as he sucks on your swollen clit.
soap: i could spend the rest of my life right there
sr: you let 'em fuck yer face like that?
soap: lt i'd let 'em gag me
soap: then step on my dick
soap: then leave me on the floor to rot
*kyle, price, and sr disliked three messages*
soap: like you fuckers wouldn't
and kyle is not a man to be left out, but he is also not as keen on sharing his private time with you as johnny is. so there aren't videos coming from him, instead he has 4k close ups of your tits after he spent almost an hour sucking hickeys into every part of your chest he could reach.
and kyle is like an artist, he makes sure your hair is splayed out perfectly, and that you're just fucked out enough to give him a bright smile. he also makes sure that the locket they gave you, the one that's has their names engraved on the inside, sits perfectly above the swell of your boobs. and goddamn is he proud of his pictures. (it's not hard for you to look pretty in pictures because you're already pretty but kyle thinks he's the best at actually capturing it).
soap: another two things i would put my face between until i suffocate
*sr, price, and kyle disliked a message*
soap: go fuck urselves
and simon is just mean, fingers peaking under your panties, finding your clit just to sit there, finger pressed on your bud, only moving for a few seconds before falling still again; his other hand hold your hips down so you can't do anything but wait for him to move again. and he does it the entire length of the manchester game until your panties are completely soaked through.
soap: stone cold, lt. stone cold.
but before he can do anything, he has to take his picture so the other fools can remember what a whore you are for him. and because it's between games he'll let you sit on his dick and grind into him during commercial breaks. maybe he'll even film in and send it to the guys, let them see you drip all over his lap whole stretching to fit him in your cunt.
but whether his team loses or wins, he'll flip you over and fuck you into the couch cushions, so at least you get that!
then they're all away on a mission, and you know about their little chat (it's hard not to when suddenly they have a camera out every time you're in their vicinity.) so you take it upon yourself to give them their fix. and why not play around with them well you're ar it?
it starts when you go shopping merely three days after they left. they tear up your bras and underwear so obviously you would need to buy more eventually. but usually when you go shopping one of them is with you to share their opinions, but since they're away, you just have to send pictures instead!
a whole catalog, in facts. you've got angles, dressing room lighting, and a whole lot of time on your hands.
*you sent 22 photos to 'the bird house'*
you: i can't choose :(((
you: help me out?
kyle: give me 6 hours to fly home and i'll help you with anything
price: Looks great. But I can't tell from the pictures, you'll have to try them all on again when I get home.
soap: licking the screen isn't working, captain i think i need to go home.
*sr saved 22 photos to Camera Roll*
kyle: smooth riley, real smooth.
and of course it doesn't end there. you have a chance to torture them a little bit with zero consequences and you're going to take it.
but it takes a while for you to send videos, usually you send your outfits, or the tiny bathing suit top you wear while tanning, even one of you in the kitchen in nothing but your tiny apron. (it's the only one that john does not appreciate, popping a boner between briefings as a captain is not hie proudest moment.)
but as the months go longer and longer, you get more and more desperate. your toys are reserved for times like this, a small bullet vibrator and a thick 8-inch dildo. it's nowhere near as nice as fucking your men but it'll have to do for the time being.
and you know them being away is not their fault and they'd be home in an instant if they could choose to be; but if you have to deal with your pent-upness, so do they.
so you set up your phone, leaning it on the lamp that sits on your bedside table, so it captures your entire body, covered only by sheer light-blue lingerie and your locket, as you sink down the length of your dildo, vibrator pressed to your clit. you send four different videos, one for each of them, in the order they came into your life (you think it's cute, they're one picture away from firebombing the whole country they're in and flying home).
you: just something to hold you over until you get back!
kyle: so good for us babe.
soap: yer evil bonnie.
soap: my arm can't keep up with this
sr: birdie thinks it's real funny now
you: i do
sr: not gonna be so funny when we get home, yeah? might have to give you a refresher about what happens teasing birds.
price: 6:30am tomorrow, get everything you need in order because you aren't moving for the foreseeable future.
