John "6 ft on tinder" Mactavish who has always gotten the short end of the stick from the rest of the 141 for being 5'11". who has seen and heard beautiful women excuse all kinds of behavior just because they have to look up at Ghost or Price. who has had Gaz pat his shoulder one too many times and tell the bird he's chatting up, "man's lying about his height." and who is frankly, fucking tired of it. watching with barely disguised malice as Gaz (who is barely over 6'!! the nerve of that man!!) hits on you at the bar, strikes out. and is immediately replaced by Price, then Ghost, each man taller than the last. each one gauranteed the lay if only because of his height, sulking back to their seat after less than a minutes conversation with you.
"the height not workin' out fer ya, ya deciduous bastards?" Soap grumbles.
"bird doesnt date horses," Ghost grunts.
"they what?" Soap's mouth twitches.
"don't date horses," Price grumbles, his lighter sparking pathetically as he tries to light his cigar.
"and that means?"
"Anyone over 6 foot," Gaz slumps, tipping the last dregs of his pint back and forth in the glass.
Soap nearly vaults the table, scrambling to spin you from the bar and announce,
"Ahm 5' 11"!"
you bite your lip hard against your grin, its the sweetest thing he's ever seen.
"could wear tall heels around me and ah won't complain," he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "the horses have me well trained lookin' up."
"how about from your knees?" you laugh, reaching to hook a finger in his belt loops.
neighbor!soap who comes home after a deployment to find out that someone new moved right next to his flat, cardboard boxes sat right next of your entrance.
neighbor!soap who sees you a thursday afternoon when he comes back from some groceries. you were minding your business, locking your front door as you were leaving, johnny slowly felt his cheeks hotten slightly. he couldn’t help but smirk as you were chatting a little bit, introducing youselves. you were truly a sweet treat.
you soon became neighbor!soap's obsession. he would smile everytime he'd smell your perfume in the hallway, even when he'd hear any noise coming from the other side of his wall. you noticed that you were running into him more and more as the time went by ; in front of the elevator, the letterboxes, and even in the small grocery store at the corner of the street.
neighbor!soap was slowly making you accustomed to his presence, chatting longer everytime you met again. he liked the way you would laugh when he said some stupid joke, or when you asked him about his life with big innocent eyes, feeling dizzy by your interest.
neighbor!soap decided it a random morning, you were definitely going to be his woman.
neighbor!soap who comes home late after a gym session, smiling to himself after noticing you door. however his smile quickly dropped when he got into his apartment, he stills, brows furrowing. tac tac tac, the sound of a piece of furniture colliding with the wall, probably your bed. then he hears it, the muffled moans.
neighbor!soap who clenches his jaw and try not to let the bitter feeling get to him. he can’t help but stay in the middle of his living room, listening to another man having his way with you.
slowly the jealousy gives way to excitment, and he can’t help but shove his hand under his boxers.
The first time you and Johnny have kinky sex, neither of you notice that your tiny dog is still in the room. Not until Johnny starts slapping your ass (hard enough to make the neighbors complain, you're sure) while he pounds you into the mattress, and his ankle is suddenly, brutally attacked by a five-pound ball of fur with very sharp teeth.
That you start cooing over your precious baby for protecting you so fiercely, rather than over Johnny, doesn't help matters. Neither does the fact that the little fucker made him bleed, and he can already tell the bite is going to scar. He'd rather die than explain that one to Ghost...
That night, he ends up sleeping on the couch, because your toothy terror growls every time he gets near you. His ego is so bruised he almost considers giving you an ultimatum--him or the dog. But he knows who you'd choose, and the just the thought of you leaving him makes him break into a cold sweat, so he scraps that idea before it can even fully form.
He supposes he'll just have to stock up on your little shite's favorite treats and try to bribe his way back into its good graces.
(It works, eventually. And when Johnny's finally allowed back into the bedroom under the pup's watchful eye, he's careful to make sure it leaves before he rolls on top of you and starts rutting against you like the mutt he is).
(You're just glad your dogs have finally gotten over their territorial spat. You'll never admit it, but you missed Johnny's presence in your bed. And in you).
part one - part two (youre here) - part three - part four - part five- six
warning for smut, 141 are panty sniffers! and more yanderery than the last! I have another part written but I just felt like was already dragged a lil so lmk if you want the next part! also not edited bc im lazy
“The birds just not fuckin’ into ya johnny. She never took this long to respond to me.” Simon smirks, truthfully he didn’t really remember but he was fucked off with this entire thing, not only was Johnny after his bird but texting you became a group sport, even the double text.
Simon seethes, usually you would've crawled back to him by now, you'd get drunk and call him sobbing from whatever pub you were at and you'd owe him, rinse and repeat.
At least if you were into Johnny he'd know what you were doing but now your absence started to eat at him, he just wondered your were like a deer fresh out the womb, learning to walk, how would you survive when Simon wasn't there to pick up your the pieces when you inevitably fell apart again.
simon couldnt take them fawning over you anymore so he returned to his bedroom, he had a little secret that he had to keep from those closest to him, your underwear. A collection really.
to start with, they were just tucked in his bag for when he was deployed, he’d push a pair around his cock, satin felt nice but the cream pair with little berries on? they were too cute and so you. He’d pump his cock until they were stick with his cum.
then when he was home more often and you were fucked too dumb to bounce on his cock, neglecting him after hes giving you so many? he'll remember that for next time. and really left him no choice but to scout out your discarded panties, maybe a fresh pair if you packed them, and he'd finish himself off before tugging them up your legs, his cum from earlier still leaking out your pretty pussy. something about you walking home in shame, carrying him with you, a sense of ownership simon loved.
now these panties were all he had, and he wasn't gonna share them. maybe with Johnny, if he was good.
after a week it just wasnt doing it for him anymore, he needed to see his girl but all his texts weren't sending:( and he hadn't seen you at the gym or the pilates class you spent so much money on. almost like your little temper tantrum was serious this time.
okay so it took simon a week or two to turn up begging, well demanding your forgiveness.
or he would've, if you answered the fucking door? after coming over and almost fighting your door guy a few times, he gets the hint, stealth is wealth and all that.
now here he is, staring at you through binoculars, on the rooftop opposite your building, like he's gathering intel or some shit. originally he was gonna keep this to himself, threes a crowd after all but it was chilly on the rooftop and simon is all about efficiency and your safety of course!
thing is, that pesky door man knows who simon is, and its doubtful a stick on moustache and boiler suit is gonna convince him that simon is also the buildings engineer!
through this process they've found out your building has a lot of security issues, nobody even thought about cyber security so when gaz sends out an email with a list of apartment numbers and a time, stating some maintenance was needed, no one bats an eye.
and of course you dont want any awkward conversations, like offering them tea or coffee 50 times while they try to focus but they'd think you rude if you dont and you can't ignore them, thats rude too. so you have to go out and stay out.
so you go shopping, you've been needing more underwear anyway!
soon enough John and gaz are in your apartment, putting up hidden cameras, slipping trackers into the linings of your most worn clothes, rifling through your belongings and testing out your perfume, trying to figure out which one you use daily from the memories of your scent lingering on simon and around the flat.
however gold is struck when they come across your laundry basket! feral is the best fitting word, Johnny will froth at the mouth once they tell him and of course share the bounty of their conquest.
> i haven't written in a long time. it's good to be back.
× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.
Part 1
Traitor.
That's what Price thinks as Simon and Soap drag you from the table, nearly choking on your food as they give you no time to understand what's going on.
Alarms ring in your ears as you force the piece of stale bread down your throat, trying to stand on your feet but they're taller than you, so your feet end up dangling, useless. You take a deep breath, your voice shaking as much as you are.
"What's going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?", you ask, looking at Simon, desperate to find an explanation for this other than the anger and torment in his eyes.
Simon doesn't answer. Nobody does. Soap's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything, his expression hard.
No.
No.
You can tell they are not joking when you realize they're taking you downstairs. Sweat rolls down your face, fear creeping from the base of your neck to your toes, making you snap. You beg them to tell you what's going on, to explain why you're being dragged down there. You kick and struggle, a sob ripped deep from your chest as you start screaming, begging for a reaction. And then, pain.
Tears fill your eyes when it's Simon who hits your stomach with his fist, effectively shutting you up. You can smell the blood from past tortures mixed with bleach, and, distantly, the scent of forgotten wet rags. There's something salty in the air, and that's when you freeze, the pain in your stomach becoming nothing compared to the fear that grows in your chest.
They know you.
You've been with them for nine years. They know your fears.
"No. No. Please. Simon, Johnny— Please, please, please" you beg, sobbing as you can't do anything but go limp and heavy in their grip, doing the best you can to keep them from tying you to the chair. But it's useless.
Stars and colors dance behind your eyes as a fist connects with the side of your chin. You wonder if it would be better if they made you pass out right now. Maybe if you bite your tongue, it could—
"Gag her" Price tells them.
He's trained you for nine years.
He knows you.
You try to bite down on Johnny's fingers as he stuffs your mouth with an old rag, but it's difficult when your senses are unfocused after such a hard punch. The rag wet and disgusting, the scent and the taste making you sob again, shaking your head, your eyes big as you look at Simon.
Please.
Then a wet rag is pressed to your face. You inhale sharply as cold buckets of salty water are dropped right on your face, the cloth making it impossible for you to breathe. Salty water fills your lungs, making you choke and cough around the gagging rag.
You can hear questions, accusations, but you're paralized with fear, with pain and grief.
Grief.
They've been your friends, your family for so long. It's impossible to tell if you'll live through this. It's impossible for you to think of them as anything but monsters.
You know they usually did this with traitors, with enemies when it was necessary.
And you know they never enjoy it.
You've scolded Simon for smoking so late at night, you've had so many drinks next to him when he can't even speak. Simon often flinches awake from nightmares, startling you and then sharing quiet nights side to side.
You know this.
But then Simon hits your face again, taking the rag out of your mouth, and you can't find the love you have for him. It's expelled from your body with each hard cough, with each drop of blood falling from your nose.
"Did you not hear me?" Price demands, his arms crossed. "I'll ask one more time, then."
Smack.
Your chest is heaving, the fear so paralizing you can't even feel each punch as much as you should.
"What did you tell them?" Price continues, not looking one bit anxious for you to answer. He stands in front of you, his feet dry despite the salt burning your lungs.
"I don't know what you're talking about" you manage, looking up at Price, your eyes wide and bloodshot.
With a hard yank on your hair until your head is thrown back again, you're gagged once more, and the rag is pressed to your face. The salty water keeps on filling your lungs, unable to breathe, unable to cough around the gag.
You can't say anything. You truly don't know shit.
Hours later, when it becomes clear you won't speak, Price kicks you across the chest, hard, and the chair flips back.
You're tied up to the chair, exhausted and wet, your lungs burning with salt.
Memories of you as a child, nearly drown to death by your cousins, fill your mind. It had been a good day, until it wasn't.
Simon had held you when you told him, kissed you, and tucked you in for a good night sleep.
Johnny managed to make you crackle when you told him, patting your head, and saying your cousin had awful skills.
Now, there's nothing. Nothing but pain, and the burning in your lungs.
