Fat Reader crying because theyre insecure about their weight, and when Simon, the man Reader's been pining on for months confesses to them, they think its a cheap joke, and degrade themselves, saying "You can't even pick me up!"
Simon somehow gets Reader's number (Reader did NOT give it) and sends a video of Simon hip thrusting double Reader's weight with sweet groans, the outline of his bulge straining, clearly imagining Reader was on top of him.
Your usual letters sent out to the few soldier penpals you have go out on Monday mornings without fail. It all goes without a hitch, nothing unusual, nothing in the routine on your end changing - until you get a letter back with handwriting you don’t recognize and you realize that your letter to Lieutenant Riley was delivered. Just not to the right one.
Or:
Reader has a hobby sending letters to soldiers overseas and sends out a letter to one of her usual penpals - a Lieutenant Riley.
But this time it's delivered to a Lt. S. Riley, not her usual Lt. C. Riley
Prologue, Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Part Five Part Six
—
Your love language has always been gift giving. Either with small things found out while doing errands or cooking for people - giving something to someone you care about because it made you think of them makes something warm and pleasing curl up in your chest.
Signing up to be penpals for soldiers overseas is a no brainer. You remember doing it as a child in maybe kindergarten or first grade, just mostly small sentences written in what was probably crayon and whatever drawing you had finished that day in art class. You don’t remember if you ever got a reply but for some reason that experience always stuck with you.
Now as an adult with a strange magpie obsession with stationery and good pens - signing up seems like the perfect excuse to buy more stationery and pens while also getting the chance to give back to someone and possibly make their day a little more bearable. It means you can start collecting stickers and other small items to stick in your letters as well.
It’s nearing the end of summer when you finish writing a letter to one of your usual soldiers - a Lt. C. Riley - who you think is in Europe somewhere but don’t really know or care enough to ask because you know he won’t be able to tell you anyway. Letter finished and signed, folded up and placed in its matching envelope, you quickly place the correct stamps and addresses needed to make sure the letter gets to where it’s needed. It’s a Monday morning, so you're eager to get it sent off as soon as possible. You know it’ll be weeks before you hear any sort of reply from him, but it still makes a pleasant feeling just knowing it’s on its way and it’ll be at its destination soon.
Letter in the mailbox and on its way, you turn your thoughts now to your commute to work and think nothing more of the letter - trusting the universe to do its job.
—
It isn’t until nearly a month later when you get a letter with unfamiliar handwriting on the envelope that your mind goes back to the letter you sent weeks ago. It’s obviously from a soldier - a standard paper all military personnel seem to use is a dead give away - but it takes skimming over the letter with confusion that you realize what's happened.
Somewhere along the line someone read your handwriting as Lt. S. Riley instead of Lt. C. Riley. Oops. You’ll have to make another letter for C. Riley later you think, but right now this S. Riley has your attention despite the short one page letter.
Dear… M., I guess?
I’m not C. Riley. Unless something got switched and someone forgot to tell me. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me at this point. Military competence at its finest.
Your letter landed on my desk. I don’t know how — The mailroom here is lawless, and envelopes go where they please. Usually it just disappears forever, so consider yourself lucky it found someone.
Since you asked for a ruling: Honeycrisps are absolutely the superior apple. Anyone who says they’re “too loud” is wrong. Loud apples are a sign of good character.
As for the sand: yes, it’s everywhere. In my boots, in my food, probably in my soul at this point. The new lieutenant hasn’t stopped yelling, but I think he’s slowing down from lack of hydration. Just a matter of time now.
Your neighbor probably is spying on you. At least it’s probably from boredom and not any vindictiveness. Old ladies have nothing better to do and they’ve achieved stealth levels that Special Forces can only dream of. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Strangest thing I’ve seen this month? A guy in my unit tried to heat his coffee by holding the cup over a lighter. I watched this happen. I let it happen. Sometimes you have to let nature take its course.
If you want me to try forwarding this to C. Riley, I will — but no promises. The mail gremlins are powerful and vindictive. But if you don’t mind writing to the wrong Riley for a bit… I wouldn’t say no to another letter.
— S. Riley
P.S. Salt is almost always necessary. Or at least better than nothing.
—
You need to pause a few times to laugh, but the anxiety of your letter being delivered to the wrong person eases as you read the last few sentences of his letter. You don’t mind at all writing back. As soon as you’re settled in at your desk for the night, you find yourself intentionally leaving S. Riley's reply for last, not wanting to let your over eagerness at a new friend show too much, even if it's just to just yourself. It’s not like he would know - only your dog is witness to your weird letter writing rituals anyway. But still.
You rewrite the letter to C. Riley - this time making sure to address the envelope as clearly as you can to ensure its proper arrival - and get started on a few other letters to your non-military penpals before you cave and start writing out a response to S. Riley. You find yourself taking much more care with your reply than you expect, until nearly two hours later it’s done to your satisfaction and you can carefully fold and address it. Once it’s sitting neat on your pile of outgoing mail you feel like you can finally relax fully, settling into your couch with some hot tea and a new episode from your current tv show. You try to tell yourself that you’ll wait for Monday to mail you letters like you always do - but you know now you won’t be able to wait and give up on the pretense that you won’t be taking the letter for S. Riley out first thing in the morning.
You do feel a little bad for the guy in his unit though - you hope he at least got some form of edible coffee out of it.
It took only a week for the rest of the team to rescue you and Ghost. But those seven days had done more damage than any of them were prepared for. What happened between you and Ghost during those seven days, the outcome of it.
Soap was the first one to see you two. Kicking down the door, with the strength usually only found in alphas, and barging into the holding cell where the two of you were being held. He didn't lower his gun until his eyes landed on Ghost. Soap didn't yet register the fact that Ghost had his back to him. That Ghost hadn't bothered to turn around to see what all the commotion was about, or maybe he was guarding something from the commotion.
"Ghost-" The relief that was in Soap's voice immediately shrivels up as a rough dangerous growl comes from the other man. Soap has never feared Ghost. Never thought that the man could bring him any harm. But at that moment Soap knew that if he got any closer, he'd be in danger. Cause at that moment, it was obvious to Soap what had happened. He curses under his breath.
Ghost had his body curled around yours, caging you in between himself and the wall. From what Soap could see of you, which wasn't much with how Ghost was shielding you with his body, you didn't look good. You didn't even seem to be responsive, which was worrying. He could only hope that Ghost wasn't guarding a dead body.
"Capt'!" Soap called out as the sound of gunfire dies down into silence. "Did you find Ghost and Feral?" Price shouts back. It doesn't take long for Price and Gaz to find where Soap was. "We've got an issue." Soap doesn't look away from you two as he speaks. Price goes to take a step closer, and another threatening growl rips from Ghost's throat. Price stops mid step. "...I see." Soap nods. "He fuckin' bonded with them."
Note: this is a short fic of what I plan on writing more of later. This contains mentions of murder (duh) body parts and stalking. The full fic will likely be much darker.
Soulmate AU, where two people will have the initials of someone's name marked on their skin, in the same spot as the other. It comes with their 18th birthday. This is a nearly impossible search because anyone can have the same initials as someone else. And there's only so many spots a mark can show up before it repeats with the same letters, so and so...
So fate, the little hopeless romantic that it is, also made it so that people can feel when they're closer to their soulmate.
It's a warm spread through their chest, then through their arms and their legs. A flush of the cheeks in some cases, when they're finally face to face with their one and only. Some people experience hairs rising on their neck or arms. Others say it's like the word becomes quiet all around you, because your heart is singing a song for you to hear.
Well.
You've been waiting for years and ofc you became lonely and heartbroken. No soulmate for you. Your friends all found one, you siblings as well. And you were alone, staring at the initials that showed up around your 18th birthday; S.R.
So why not go for a camping trip? Do something nice like get away from the city and relax. Maybe go swim in a lake, read a book, crochet, or cross stitch.
You've been so caught up in reading about how others found their soulmate, that you completely glossed over the missing persons articles. Campers going missing in the woods, some body parts showing up, but never the whole body.
Silly you.
Setting up your camper for the week, making yourself a campfire, you felt a little better. Small joys that made you feel like life was worth going on. Of course, maybe you were just harsh on yourself. It's only been 6 years right? There have been cases of people waiting even longer. That made you feel even worse.
You were so saddened and depressed, drowning in your own self-loathing that you never saw the dark figure of a man watching you from behind your camper. He blended in so well with the dark forest behind him, he couldn't blame you. That and he's done this plenty times.
He waited, which was unusual. Simon didn't wait for campers to go to bed. He liked watching them scream and run. He liked when the fear in their eyes was evident. But he watched you douse your fire. He watched you climb into your camper and through a window, he watched you settle down for bed.
Why was his chest thrumming? And why did it feel like the mark on his wrist was burning?
AO3 link. <-former chapter - next chapter-> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc:7k
Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.
tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy
Author's note: hi sinners <33 this chapter was a fight bc i was unsure of what way to go with certain things and bc of so much going on in my real life. you know the deal w reader by now, otherwse go read part 1 or 2. This chapter was supposed to be longer but I decided to cut it, since it was already at 7k words. while i do have a humiliation kink, being mean to me, and saying i need to hurry up won't make me hurry up btw.<33 at least pay me. also i have a ko-fi now, wink wink.<33
Also according to Google translate: “ona delayet eto kazhdoye utro?”=“does she do this every morning?
The familiar scent of home sept into your nostrils as your face was pressed against the couch, the faint scent of the cigar smoke and of Nikolai added to the mixture. He had done nothing but push your skirt up, just like John had done earlier today, then pulled your panties down - contrary to John’s touch earlier, Nikolai’s hands were gentle, rough palms running over the skin of your ass, almost tenderly pushing your tail out of the way.
“Such a beautiful ass,” Nikolai all but purred, John chuckling from his chair, while you tried bending your back a little more, to show off your pussy as well, your tail touching your back a little, “so desperate, Lapochka”
“She is like that all the time,” John just casually commented, almost sounding proud and you hid your face a little more in the couch as Nikolai grabbed the fat of your ass and spread your cheeks, exposing your holes.
“Cute cunt,” Nikolai commented, almost if you were a piece of art that he was methodically going through, one of his hands moving to swipe a finger over said cunt, just along your lips, making your entire body shiver - until his finger continued up to your asshole, playing along the rim for a moment, “cute asshole too. You play with that?”
“Not often tha' she lets me,” John casually explained while you whimpered at the feeling; you weren’t really the biggest fan of anal sex, though you didn’t mind it. You would just rather have your pussy fucked, rather than your ass.
“Fuck me, pleasee,” You whined, hoping to distract him and Nikolai just laughed, fingers going down to run along your pussy again.
Maybe, if he was this easy to convince to fuck you, he wouldn’t be too bad to have around. As long as he didn’t try to ‘train’ you or anything like that.
Your mind turned off when he finally pushed two fingers into your cunt. The sudden intrusion burned for a moment, but it was essentially nothing and forgotten just a moment later. His fingers were thick, only slightly thicker than John’s, but the man hadn’t taken off the rings on said fingers. The metal was cold against your inside, not that you really minded.
Another finger was added and you felt your tail wag a little again — the stretch was nice, the fingers and the cold metal felt so perfect, especially as Nikolai curled them a little.
The delighted bark that left you from his touch was unexpected for the both of you, but Nikolai seemed to like it, given his repeated attack at just that spot. It made sounds leave you without your consent, your tail wag a little harder, the men laughed; honestly you didn’t give a fuck, too busy chasing your own pleasure.
When Nikolai pulled his fingers out, you didn’t even attempt to hold back your displeased sound - though it was quickly replaced by an impatient yap, as you heard him zip down his pants.
It had been a while since anyone but John had fucked you. You had grown accustomed to the feel of him inside you, on your tongue, in your hands. The weight, the shape, the length. The way his pubic hair that was nicely kept but still there, would tickle your own - the way his hairy chest and stomach would press against your back.
So when the head of Nikolai’s cock nudged its way into your cunt, your toes curled in excitement. He was a little thicker than Price, but nothing you couldn’t take, the Russian man behind you groaning out some words you couldn’t understand.
He wasn’t as long as your owner but it felt like his cock curled upwards a little, making a shiver go up your spine, a small mewl leaving you.
While John would have taken his time, making sure you were fully stretched and feeling good, doing just as he knew you liked, Nikolai once again was an opposite to him. As soon as he was fully inside you, curls tickling your cunt, he held onto you - then pulled back and thrusted hard into you, giving you no option to get used to his cock or to get ready.
Taking you, opposite to John’s familiar loving you. It wasn’t that John was never rough, he was, but without your deeper connection to Nikolai it felt dirtier. But John was right there, watching you.
Watching how his crush was fucking you hard. You were the center of attention, just like you deserved.
Nikolai’s hips and stomach hit your soft ass in a harsh rhythm, his fingers gripping onto what John lovingly called your ‘love handles’, using them to pull you back on his cock. Your mouth was open as you panted in between your loud moans, your sounds accompanied by Nikolai’s deep grunts, the slapping sounds of your bodies colliding - as well as the wet sound of his cock thrusting into your dripping pussy. You were pretty sure you could hear John jerk off as well.
Your fingers desperately tried to grip onto the fabric of the couch, but you were pushed further and further up, ending up pressing your hands against the armrest, so as to not slam into it.
Closer and closer to the edge, Nikolai’s cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl as the man moaned out words you didn’t understand. You mewled out words yourself, mind lost in the pleasure - until it was ripped from you.
An almost furious wail left you as your orgasm was so rudely ripped from you, Nikolai’s cock pulled out, you turned your head as you whined; watching him aggressively strip his cock, dark eyes on you, an almost manic grin on his face.
That asshole knew he had just stopped you from coming.
He slapped one of your asscheeks hard, making you wail again - then he came on your ass, moaning as he got it on your skirt and panties too.
“Nggh,” Your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mind right now, even as you watched Nikolai wink at you, before he tapped his dick on your asscheek a last time - and then dared to fucking pull up his boxers. Your eyes flickered over to look at John, who had just come as well. That well-known, blissed out smile on his face from when he had a really good orgasm.
“Noo,” you whined, managing to push yourself up on your elbows, body tingling as you looked back at Nikolai, “please - touch me, lemme com’, please plea–”
“Net, Lapochka,” the man all but crooned down at you, even daring to pull up your panties, dragging the fabric through the mess of cum he had just created, “You misbehave earlier.”
“I didn’t, no no,” you sat up even more, your body feeling it was on fire from the missing euphoria, “I didn’t, I was good.”
“Was not.” Nikolai raised an eyebrow as he argued back at you, tipping his head to the side, clearly not looking like he was going to budge.
So you looked over at who you knew you could always trust.
Except Price had closed up his pants as well, taking another drag of the cigar, before he shook his head.
“You weren’t exactly nice,” he pointed out, voice calm from the orgasm like that traitor he was, “threw a tantrum when you got into the house as well.”
“You can’t do this,” you whined, pressing your thighs together, before sitting up, on your knees “I wanna come, master!” Using your best cards, knowing John got weak when you called him that. And you saw it, you saw the way his fingers tightened around the cigar. But he still shook his head.
“Nikolai said no. I said no. Accept it.” He said it so casually, like it was something you were supposed to be used to. A growl left you at his words, Nikolai giving your collar a little tug.
“Don’t be like that, puppy,” he mused, sounding delighted with the entire situation, “You will survive.”
How dared they? Leaving you like this? You deserved much better!
You growled at Nikolai who just let out a pleased hum at it, giving one of your ears a little tug.
“You’re being mean - John,” you escaped the couch and Nikolai, instead going to your master, getting on your knees and crawling in between his spread legs, watching him with pleading eyes, “I’ll be good, I just need to come, then I’ll be good, I swear.”
His lips pursed for a moment, eyebrows dropping a little. He was considering it and you nuzzled against his pant leg, fluttering your eyelashes at him, hoping Nikolai hadn’t already poisoned his mind too much.
“Pleaseeee,” you begged in soft whine, “I’ll be good.”
“Net,” Nikolai rudely interrupted and you almost felt proud of the fact that you didn’t shoot him a mean look, instead keeping your gaze at John.
“Nik,” John started and you recognised the tone of his voice, the one he always had when giving into you; the one you knew to chase, to catch onto and clamp down onto. So you blinked innocently up at him again, letting out a pathetic little whimper, pursing your lips. Ready to cry, if that was what he needed to see. Your pussy was almost in pain with need and it wasn’t the same with your own hand.
“No,” Nikolai repeated, a little harder this time, “she is too spoiled. You said that yourself, my friend.”
The signs of when he would usually gave in disappeared and holy fuck, you wanted to gnaw off Nikolai’s dick that exact moment.
“But—“ you didn’t get any further before John just shook his head, once again turning you down.
“Nope. Nik is right. You heard him.”
“So you hate me now,” you whimpered out, perhaps a tad dramatically, but god you were so turned on it hurt.
“Please, puppy,” Nikolai answered before grabbing you by the collar and pulling you backwards, away from your owner, “you are not getting to come. It is punishment for not behaving.”
You cried, cried actual tears but it didn’t help. In fact, it somehow made it worse, which it usually didn’t. You couldn’t help the sad howling sound as you were left, no, abandoned, by the men, the fingerprint lock making escaping the dog crate close to impossible. Touching yourself then felt pointless.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
They entered your house, your home, your territory. Sure you wanted to leave this farm any moment, willing to grab onto any chance to get John to move back to the city - but still. Three big, dirty and stinking hounds shouldn’t be allowed inside this farmhouse.
You had finally been let out of the crate after a little over an hour and now, barely two hours later, another punishment was forced upon you. You just stared at the three hybrids with an angry look as they passed you, where you sat in the living room in one of your many fluffy dog beds. Making no movement to greet them or offer help with anything.
The Scot’s tail wagged at the sight of you, grinning at you and yeah, you knew you were hot - but that dog needed to mind his own business. You just huffed at him and looked away. Laswell was helping in the kitchen, while Nik and Price helped show the pack where the different shower supplies were, as well as where they could find clean clothes.
“You have to get used to them, you know,” Laswell said, looking down at her phone, standing in the doorway, “do you know where the paprika is?”
“No I won’t,” you answered stubbornly, “and it’s in the kitchen cabinet next to the fridge.”
Laswell disappeared again.
“They’re probably going to use your brushes on their tails, you know,” she added from the kitchen, the words making you whine out loud and almost gag.
Disgusting. You didn’t like the idea of other hybrids using your brushes. You would have to ask John for some new ones, that shouldn’t be too hard… and maybe do it when Nikolai wasn’t listening. That man seemed to bring problems.
Even though John and Nikolai found your anger amusing as they returned, you still followed them into the kitchen. They were definitely torturing you.
“You could just sell them again,” you muttered, watching John take over from Laswell with the potatoes that were being roasted.
“You do not give up, no?” Nikolai teased, giving you a couple of pats on the head.
“No - and are we feeding a bloody army?” Yes, you were upset about several things and now the amount of dishes they were making was added to the list. They should be making those only for you, not from the men who were probably using your nice, expensive soaps and brushes.
“We’re three more than usual,” John pointed out, fishing out a piece of potato, taking a bite of it with a hum - before throwing the piece at you. You caught it with your mouth, easily, Nikolai making a small cheering sound that made your tail wag.
“File said food aggression,” Nikolai added as he put down some dishes on the table, “we need enough.”
“Besides, don’t you remember the food at the auction house?” John asked, eyes still on the pan.
You let out a small huff. You did. It hadn’t been anything to write home about and being reminded almost made you feel bad for them… almost. At least you were still the one living inside. So… technically John loved you the most. Right. Even if you wanted a tiny house now as well.
“You’re up to no good,” Laswell commented as she passed you with some vegetables, that made your tail wag from the mere smell, “go sit down and attempt to behave.
“I always behave,” you answered, barely looking at her, knowing she was just rolling her eyes - ignoring her “sure.” as well.
They did indeed have nice and brushed through tails when they appeared not too long after. They looked much cleaner, their new clothes helping them as well. They didn’t stink of sweat and auction anymore, which was a good thing you supposed.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
Dinner was tense. You sat at the opposite end, quite purposefully, while John and Nikolai tried to keep the men from fighting everyone over the food. Laswell was watching over the entire thing like a hawk and if you had to growl back at one of them, just because you wanted more sauce, you were going to throw a tantrum. Perhaps this would be another sign for Price to ship them back. Nikolai on the other end, was harder to ship back to the auction.
He in fact seemed to press his way in everywhere.
Despite having an endless amount of beds and nice places to sleep, you plopped down on John’s bed, on the right side. Your side.
Usually you would cuddle up next to him once he decided to go to bed after getting all the animals inside. It took a little longer tonight since he had three new hybrids following together with Nikolai, so you were asleep once John returned.
A displeased grumble left you as a hand patted your ass a couple of times before giving you a push.
“Move, sweetheart.” You grunted, knowing he could fit with the space left - so you made no move to make more space.
“I cannot sleep on top of you,” you opened your eyes at the voice, before slowly looking over your shoulder, squinting angrily at the owner of it. Nikolai was wearing nothing but boxers and a white undershirt, gold chain still on, like a walking stereotype.
You were not giving up your space in John’s bed. It might as well be yours and John's bed.
“Go sleep in the guest room,” you answered grumpily, not moving an inch as Nikolai laughed.
“Princess,” John sounded slightly tired, “be nice.”
“It’s two doors down,” you still looked at Nikolai, not even attempting to sound any nicer, “I’m sure you can find it.”
Bloody asshole laughed again. So, they were smooching. Fucking wonderful. Great. Just what you needed. Another man to annoy you.
Before you could do anything, a familiar hand took a hold of your ankle and pulled you down the bed, making you yelp.
“Sleep in the foot end or go to your room,” John demanded before getting into his own usual spot - that fucking traitor. While Nikolai moved to lay down in your spot.
“Meanie,” you grumbled, but still settled at the foot end, growling lightly as you stole one of the blankets hanging over the bed frame at the end. You weren’t going to sleep alone - you needed the sound of John’s snoring.
“It’s a sin to sleep together when not married,” you argued instead, pulling the blanket over you, turning your back to the men who just chuckled.
Nikolai gave you a little push with his foot in retaliation.
“As if you care about Christianity, slut,” he mused, making you grumble again. But you didn’t answer because you truly didn’t give a shit about it.
You definitely weren’t jealous at the sound of them kissing each other. Your traitorous tail definitely didn’t wag a little.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
When you woke up, you were curled in between their legs, body hair ticking your chin. You yawned softly, stretching your legs a little before wetting your lips. Both men were snoring. John’s leg was in between yours, his shin close to your crotch. You looked over at the clock.
5:43 AM. They wouldn’t have to get up before 6 AM; which meant you had time for fun. You tail was wagging, thumping a little against Nikolai’s leg, who grunted, giving it a seat - which you ignored, getting up on your hands and knees before crawling beneath John’s blanket.
You took in the scent of his musk, rubbing your face a little against his morning wood, your mouth already salivating like a good dog.
Because you were a good dog. The best. It just seemed like your owner had forgotten, so you needed to remind him. You could do that.
You pulled his boxers down slightly, only to free his cock. Licking his balls a little, taking in the taste of sweat and musk, his familiar pubic hair greeting you, before you licked a stripe up his length. John was stirring and Nikolai had stopped snoring. Your focus was on your owner for now however - Nikolai could get himself off, he had taken your sleeping spot after all.
You took the head of his cock in your mouth; it was hot beneath the covers but you didn’t mind, letting his cock slide further into your mouth, using one hand to pull back his foreskin. A groan left your owner and as you let the familiar weight of his cock, further down your throat. You felt him stir - then a hand slid beneath the cover, to rest on your head, nuzzling your ears a little.
“Well, good m’rning to you, princess,” his voice was rough, a little dry sounding and it went straight to your pussy, your tail trying to wag beneath the covers. Even from beneath the covers you could hear Nikolai’s muffled chuckle.
“Ona delayet eto kazhdoye utro?” You pretended the slightly muted words that you didn’t understand didn’t turn you on as well; Nikolai apparently had a wonderful morning voice as well.
A moan left Price as you slurped noisily around his cock, spit dripping down his balls as you sucked him a little deeper, moving your tongue. By now you could take his cock without problem most days.
“Not always - ah,” John managed to answer whatever Nikolai asked about, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head, holding your head down as he began thrusting into your mouth. A wet gurgle left you beneath the covers, air warm in your nostrils as he used you, cock forcing its way into your throat repeatedly. With darkness and the smell of John, his hand on your head, everything was normal for a moment. Just like you liked it.
The cover that hid you from the world was gently peeled away, exposing your face to the low light of the night lamp in the otherwise dark room. A tired looking John with heated cheeks and a slightly open mouth was watching you. His hair was a little messy and he needed a shave, but to you he was perfect.
He used you, fucking into your throat lazily, his moans so low they sounded like humming. His pleasure was above yours and for once you didn’t mind; you liked how he was the one who decided the pace, how much you were allowed to breathe. He could hold you down, face almost pressed into his lower stomach and there would be nothing you could do about it - there was nothing you wanted to do about it. Even though the idiot, Nikolai, was in the bed, it was a nice moment… Especially with how your owner looked as he tipped his head back a little, forcing his cock even deeper so hard that you almost gagged; his eyelashes kissing his red cheeks, breathing hard as he came into your throat, Nikolai whispering words you didn’t understand.
When you were finally allowed to pull off, you gasped for air, drool and spit dripping from your mouth - resting against John’s hairy thigh, as you caught your breath. Tail still wagging.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
Apparently the dinner last night had been enough of an experience for John and Nikolai, that they had decided that letting the hybrids eat on their own at first was the easiest, so that they could be sent out again.
The three brutes were once again let into your house - sure, it wasn’t your favorite place in the world, but the moment the three of them got inside, you suddenly loved it a bunch more - dragging along the scent of sweat and wet earth, all their eyes on you at first, then the food. Their body language was wary but not angry, their tails carefully wagging.
Freshly collected eggs, bacon, beans, whole grain bread, yogurt and fruits. Had it been served on a fancy plate in a cafe in the city, you would have loved it. But as you watched them, you despised it.
They ate like, well… dogs. It was nasty to look at and the sight made your nose scrunch as you stood, halfway hidden behind John as he was making more fried for the rest of you.
Ghost, Gaz and Soap had gotten each their own plate this time and it seemed to help on some of the aggression as well - you had listened to Nikolai and John discuss what to give them and how much and how to keep them from trying to take the whole dish, before the hybrid men came inside.
Their tails were wagging and there were pleased sounds coming from them that bordered on improper. Everything you had been taught was bad manners through years of training? They were doing that, seemingly not caring about any kind of etiquette. Much to your annoyance however, John didn’t seem to be bothered and Nikolai seemed more interested in making food for the rest of you.
Were you the only one who could see and hear how they chewed with their mouths open, ate too quickly and all messily, talking with food in their mouths?
You were far from a small person, but as John pushed you aside and exposed the rest of you, so that he could grab something and you felt the three hybrids’ gazes on you, you suddenly felt small.
Ghost was drinking water and though he wasn’t looking away from you, he mostly seemed annoyed with your presence - while Soap was chewing on a piece of bacon rather lazily, a little spit dripping from his lip, more focused on you than the food. As if it was you he wanted to eat. Whether it was in a threatening manner or an attempt at a sexual one, you didn’t know - no matter what, you didn’t like either option.
Gaz though, was looking at you through his lashes, licking the last of his little bowl with yogurt clean, with loud, slurp-like sounds; his red tongue caught the last of the white substance on the edge of the bowl. Giving it a couple more slow licks while keeping eye contact with you, a pleased rumble leaving him. Improper and loud, not even attempting to hide the sexual undertones.
They all looked at you, as if you were their dessert; hadn’t it been for you keeping the two men in between, they would probably have tried to eat you by now.
Brutes. Couple of knotted idiots. Horny bastards. Should be sent back to the military, sooner rather than later.
“Gon’ join us outside, lass?” Soap asked with a smirk on his stupid face, not even trying to be discrete in any way, the sound of several tails hitting chair legs not going unnoticed by you, even if you did your best to ignore it.
You growled at him, really all of them, before almost spitting out a “no”, nuzzling closer to John once more, pretending your tail wasn’t in between your legs. Your soft silk bathrobe at least hid some of your body.
“Don’t be snide, dove,” Ghost crooned, much more darkly, the scars around his mouth not helping him look one bit kinder even as he smiled a little, his ears tipped towards you, “haven’t even introduced yourself to us. Impolite, innit?”
“Fuck off,” you snapped back, still using John as a shield, even as the man muttered a “behave,” next to you; Nikolai only laughing with delight, giving your head a pat as he passed you to collect more plates.
“You can all play later,” John said too casually for your liking and he even just ignored your growling, continuing, “Out with your lot now, go get changed or something - Nik and I will be out soon, Laswell will probably join us.”
You dared to cast a last glance at Gaz; the Belgian Malinois and German Shepherd mix hybrid looked right back at you as he slowly licked a stray drop of yogurt from beneath his bottom lip. Once again you were unsure whether the sight turned you on or frightened you.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
“No,” you crossed your arms, defiantly looking at John with crossed arms, “ I will not.”
“Princess,” he looked at you with an almost tired expression, “he didn’t bring his phone.”
“Too bad for him,” you answered, not making any movement to even get ready to go outside, “If I go outside I’ll die. If not from your stupid hounds, then the horses will trample me to death and the geese will eat me.”
Price snorted, but he didn’t give up - because 30 seconds later you were pushed out of the door with a yelp, barely managing to keep on your feet; then shoes and a jacket followed, tumbling around you as you looked at your owner who just gave a nod towards one of the fields.
“Phone is in the pocket. They’re that way.” Then the door was slammed and as you heard the locks, you let out a little whimpery howl. A worker who passed near the barns laughed and you flipped them off, before putting on the shoes. It was a pair of John’s Wellington boots, which were too big on you - but you didn’t own any yourself, having straight up refused the idea of even going near tall, wet grass. At least he had given you one of his coats as well, which was warm. It couldn’t close because of your chest, but it was better than nothing.
The things you did for that man. You were better than this.
At least that was what you told yourself as you tramped across the gravel driveway, towards the direction John had shown.
While the boots were too big, they saved you from the dew of the grass that the sun hadn’t reached yet, even if they slowed you down.
The sun hadn’t quite gotten far up enough, so it was a little cold in your jeans and crop-top that John had dressed you in earlier. The top was white, with pink borders and said good girl across your chest, which he had caressed for a few moments and told you to live up too.
Easy for him to say.
“My my, what’cha doin’ out here, princess?” You didn’t like how you jumped at the voice and sudden appearance of the hybrid next to you, immediately growling at him. Gaz didn’t look one bit apologetic about it, his eyes almost shining with glee, tail wagging, grinning so widely that his fangs were exposed.
“Fuck off -” you snapped, stepping away from him before continuing to walk, “I’m looking for Nikolai.”
“Aaww, don’t be like that, puppy,” he continued, following you closely, even daring to get close to sniff at your neck! the nerve!
You growled and snapped at him, Gaz managing to pull his face back in time, but with a fucking laughter leaving him.
“Those teeth isn’t goin’ to hurt anyone, baby!” he pointed out smugly, following you as you walked again, increasing your pace, “You’re really just a little lapdog, huh? So weak.”
“I told you to fuck off.”
Gaz didn’t care, snickering and following along with you instead, like a hungry wolf, knowing the lamb would be vulnerable and tired soon; ready to sink its teeth into the lamb’s throat and rip it apart. You had no plans of letting any of the hounds get to you.
You snapped after him a couple of more times, hiding your excitement when you saw Nikolai, hoping that the man would get this mutt off your back.
“You could be nicer, you know,” Gaz cooed, hands in his pockets, walking backwards in front of you, his tall ears tipped towards you, tail wagging behind him, “just because you are a bitch, you don’t have to behave like one.”
You were going to strangle this motherfucking piece of shit and it was like Gaz could see it on you - tail wagging even faster.
“Why don’t you go fuck one of your stupid friends?” You asked, trying to ignore him even as anger simmered in your veins, curling around the fear of the bigger man, “it’s only a matter of time before Price sends ya ‘ back anyways!”
“Oh we both know that’s not happening, sweetheart,” he answered, voice going a little darker, licking his lips slowly. “Our owner said it himself, didn’t he? Too much to handle for him. Maybe you just need a good knot, hm?”
“Let me know when you find one,” you snapped back, relieved that Nikolai was right there, watching over Soap herding some sheep, “because none of your sad mutt dicks are coming near me.”
“Puppy - What brings you outside? Too lonely?” You could have slapped Nikolai or maybe bitten him, as he asked the questions with amusement in his loud voice; both Ghost and Soap instantly gave all their attention to you, staring you down. Had the situation been different, you would have bathed in that attention. Yet you felt fear go through your body at this point, even as you tried to hide it.
“No,” you grumbled at Nikolai, as a sweaty looking, tail-wagging Soap stepped towards your sudden little group, “you forgot this.”
“Ah, Spasibo,” Nikolai took the phone with an almost sheepish look, “I always forget. John finished paperwork, da?”
“Hello, bonnie lass,” Soap whispered as he passed you, a tad too close for your liking, hand running along your lower back, making you growl low, before focusing back on Nikolai. He stank of sweat and sheep. His tail wagging, blue eyes watching you intently.
“He isn’t, he’s waiting for a phone call. Something about problems with the tractor’s mechanic.”
“I am better than mechanic,” Nikolai argued, furrowing his brow, as if you were saying the opposite and not just the messenger, “I’ll go back. You boys can hang around with her.”
“Nononono-“ you argued, instantly following Nikolai as he began walking, sending the hybrids a mean glance, over your shoulders as a warning, “I’m not hangin’ out with these hounds.”
“awww, dove, don’t say that,” Ghost crooned, the bigger breed appearing behind you, following you closely, his footsteps heavier than yours, “we have to get to know each other, baby.”
“No we don’t.”
“Did you not socialize in the city, pretty?” Gaz asked, following on your right side, Nikolai still in front of you, not joining the conversation but no doubt listening along, “or were you too busy sucking cock?”
You snarled aggressively at him, ignoring Nikolai’s chuckle in front of you.
“Shut up,” you snarled at Gaz, who just winked back at you. They all wore outfits that seemed practical but comfortable, in stark contrast to your jeans and crop top, together with John’s jacket.
“Dinnae take it personal, cuilean,” Soap tried to weave his way in between you and Nikolai, but you merely stepped around him, giving him a shove with your shoulder - earning whistles from the other two. Ignoring the annoyed snarl from Soap.
Gaz’ hand slid out to hold onto your jacket, distracting you as he yanked you a little closer to him, “c’mon, we can show you a good time yeah? Don’t you wanna learn some new things?”
“Like what? Being mindless beasts? No thanks.”
You managed to yank it free, but the moment you did, Ghost took a hold of it from the back.
“We can be nice, you know.” He said, still a little playfulness in his voice, “when we want to.”
Once again you managed to yank the jacket free - only to almost stumble into Soap in front of you. The border collie hybrid was smirking and as you started walking to follow Nikolai, he started walking backwards, not taking his eyes off you.
“Ye’ve been angry every since we met, hen,” he continued, as if you hadn’t already turned each of them down so far, “we just wantae have fun - we’re not here to steal your master from you.”
“Your mere presence here proves that to be a lie,” you hissed back, stopping for a second, “I don’t want you here! I was perfectly happy in…”
It took you a second to realize but Nikolai was getting further away from you.
When you realized what was happening, it was too late; Soap had managed to create a space in between you and Nikolai, essentially herding you away from him. With Gaz on your right side and Ghost behind you, you had no other option than to bolt left, trying to catch up to Nikolai again or get into safety. Only, that was like throwing a bone to the wolves.
“c’mon bonnie,” Soap’s voice was louder, happier than before as he bolted after you. One glance at Nikolai proved to you that he wouldn’t be of any help. In fact, that fucking traitor just continued walking towards the house.
You weren’t supposed to be the prey here, you were supposed to be safe at the farm! All this bloody hell was because of this stupid farm!
Everything would be good if Price had just listened to you!!
The others were much faster, wearing proper working shoes instead of the ones you wore, that were too big, making it even harder to run. You weren’t really a runner anyways. Nor a fighter, but in the big city, it hadn’t been necessary. There, in the streets of London, you and John could wander without worry, the sounds of the city like an neverending soundtrack. There you could follow your owner in a nice tempo, without fearing being ripped apart by mutts like these, Soap snapping at you each time he got close. Purposefully guiding you once again, without you realizing before it was too late. It wasn’t until you spotted the shed, or rather the little house, that Price had given them - and not you, which was bordering on abuse, wasn’t it? - that you knew you were in trouble.
But despite your screaming, one boot falling off in the fighting and your desperate attempt to get away, it didn’t matter; strong arms got a hold of you, snapping teeth and fingers on your tail and nape. Soon you were on the ground, even for just a moment and it was three against one; you were doomed to lose.
The screams echoed throughout the fields, in between the wheat and the fruit trees, but the world didn’t stop spinning. In fact, it carried on, just like before. There was grass and dirt on your clothes, some of the dew wetting your exposed white shirt.
Nikolai out of sight, but you doubted the man would have helped you anyways. You couldn’t even hear his steps in the gravel as he walked to the front door of the farm house, closing it after himself; dooming you to your fate.
Ghost had hoisted you over the shoulder, letting out a grunt as you almost instantly began hitting his back, managing to tug at his tail a couple of times. Despite hanging with your head upside down, Soap and Gaz’s hands were still on you, tugging everywhere they could touch - until Ghost gave a sharp bark, from deep in his chest, that made you flinch.
It was almost like a wordless commando that the men instantly understood, dashing in front of Ghost to the shed, getting the door open while you tried twisting, almost hitting the doorframe, since it was barely big enough for the two of you, when you were on Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost didn’t do anything but grunt and force you through even as you tried holding onto the frame, desperately screaming and howling. Wordless howls and the echoes of your owner’s name didn’t change anything as the shed swallowed up every sound, the door closing behind you.
“Stop throwin’ a fit,” Simon grumbled before unceremoniously - and heartlessly, you might add - dumping you into their nest of mattresses, pillows and blankets. They hadn’t even been here for long, yet it already stank of them.
You weren’t even given a second to catch your breath before Gaz was pulling off John’s shoes from your feet, then his jacket, muttering about you getting their bed wet and dirty, like a naughty pup. He managed to avoid your bites, snapping at your fingers with his own teeth whenever you managed to get a hold of his ears - then Soap was upon you, fully distracting you from Gaz.
“These tits,” the mutt declared happily, ignoring you as he pushed his face in between your breasts, pawing shamelessly at them, “pure perfection.”
“Let go of me,” you snapped, almost feeling horror go through your body as you pulled his head back by his mohawk; only for the man to moan like a whore. Your pants got pulled down to your knees by Gaz, a yelp leaving you, unsure of where to put your attention in order to escape.
Bloody bastards; strays, mutts, illegitimate—
Soap’s hand was big as he suddenly and easily grabbed your throat, a tight grip around your pretty collar. Pressing you down into the mattress, cutting off your air for a moment, stunning you - while your hands went to dig your nails into his forearm, his skin saved by his shirt, he forced himself in between your legs; strong hands grabbed your wrists and Gaz pulled your hands over your head, while Soap tugged on your jeans even more, your well kept tail stuck in the hole in the pants.
You were crying and writhing, Gaz’s hands a little dry as they held onto your wrists, Soap freeing your bottom part. All while this was going on, Ghost just stared. Like an actual ghoul, standing a little from you, keeping an overview of the situation, leaving against the main door. Watched as the men began to humiliate you.
“Poor princess,” Gaz cooed, keeping your hand in tight grip, bending your fingers a little, trying to coax the claws out that wasn’t there anymore, “did Price declaw you?”
“Nooo,” you whined, attempting to tug your hand free as he unsheathed his own claws, letting them dig into your skin a little, as if to prove that he still had them. They were a little sharp, but not much; probably sanded down a little during their stay at the auction house.
“No? Nah you’re right, sweet sir wouldn’t do that to his favorite slutty princess, would he?”
Soap hummed, forcing his fingers into your mouth, running them along your filed down canines, “guessing he dinnae do this either, eh?”
You gurgled around his thick, dirty fingers, while tears began to swell in your eyes, from the embarrassment… not to mention anger, from the pure assumption that Price would do that to you? “Nah, ye are a pretty rescue, aren’t ye?”
You bit down around his fingers; the bastard laughed, but still winced a little as he pulled them out again with a “bad puppy.”
“Get on with it, Soap,” Gaz urged, his tail thumping against the mattress, sending you a wink as you stared up at him, growling.
“Look’at this kitty,” the way Soap spoke made you blink away a few tears in confusion, while you wondered what the fuck he was talking about; then, as Gaz laughed like a dirty dog above you, you realized Soap was calling your pussy a kitty.
You growled, trying to raise a leg to kick him away, but his hands were on your thighs, forcing them apart; he was stronger than yourself and you were one against three. It would most likely end badly for you and as he unceremoniously mouthed at your panties, a loud whine left you.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, scraping his canines along the petty lace, “yer kitty smells divine.”
“Don’t call it that,” your voice was a little weak and it almost came out in a sniffle.
“Aww, dinnae worry, I’m gonna make it purr, yeah?”
“You’re so fucking nasty — shit!”
His tongue slid beneath the fabric, running along your pussy, making your brain shut down.
Gn!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley x Jonn "Soap" MacTavish
Simon, John and yourself, where cuddling up on your double king-sized bed in your shared home, it was a rare time of respite for you three.
Simon was on one of your arms and Johnny on the other. Both of them cuddling up to you. Simon was asleep as you racked your nails through his hair. He looked so peaceful his pretty long eyelashes softened his otherwise gruff features.
Even with his scars, he was damn beautiful. Johnny, on the other hand, was reading a comic he's pretty brown shined with the light of the setting sun.
The serene smile as he rubbed his cheek on your arm before going back to his book. These peaceful moments were always some of your favourites.
You kiss Simon's head, then with the arm his laying on, you take John's cheek in your hand and tilt his head closer and kiss his lips.
cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x reader) - part 3/3
Note: I’m sorry this took 1 million years. ENJOY! This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic.
** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)
No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used. Reader is AFAB, but no gendered terms are used in this part.
(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪
~~~~~~~~~
You gag, spitting blood onto truck bed, your face pressed firmly into the divided ridges. You track the truck turns and estimate your distance from the haven. After the soldiers noticed a guard and Kaja was missing they went into a panic. For a moment, you thought they’d kill you and flee. But the leader of this little rag-tag group of assholes said he wanted to wait. And they listened to him.
Your gamble he was a hot head with something to prove paid off. You hope it’ll buy you enough time to escape before enemy forces discover you. A worst-case scenario is the forces of your home government finding you. They will imprison you for faking your death and abandoning your country. You spit more blood out of your mouth.
If that happens, then Lukas will be alone. Your biggest fear finally realized like some tragic Greek prophecy. They’ve striped you of your equipment, but they didn’t check your shoes.
You press the toe of your left boot against the heel of the right. You wiggle your ankle back and forth until your boot loosens and you can slip your foot out. You squirm, reminiscent of a wild worm, and use your knees to push your boot toward your chest. You curl into a fetal position and bite your teeth onto the hidden stitched pocket on the boot’s tongue near the laces.
The truck drives over a hole and your body lifts, then slams back onto the hard plastic truck bed. You blink away the stars and your ears clang with a resonating chime. You swallow a wave of acidic nausea and clench your teeth around the razor blade.
It takes several, uncomfortable and straining minutes, before you manage to wrangle the razor blade into your fingers. You start working the blade into the hewn rope. You think of nothing but the loosening tension around your wrists. You cannot afford to lose focus or fall into despair. Your fingers cramp. You blink back tears and keep going.
Beyond the noise of the truck’s engine, you faintly hear a dirt bike gaining speed along the bumpy road. The soldiers arrived in two trucks. There wasn’t a motorbike among them. In rural Noreth, the odds of a civilian driving this late and this fast are slim. Your heart leaps inside your chest. It can’t be…can it?
You tighten yourself into a ball as gunfire ricochets above your head. The truck swerves and it forces your shoulder into the protruding, sloped wheel-well. The pain is dull and throbbing. Your cramped fingers begin to chew through the ropes again with the razor blade. You don’t know if the motorcycle is friendly. You can hope, but you won’t shove all your ducks into a single basket.
You need to escape. The chaffing, burning rope bites at your skin with sharp, gnawing pain. The men are shouting over the gunfire. A bullet sharply pings against the side mirror near the truck cabin.
The sound of crunching metal punches through your eardrums. You gasp, muscles tensing, and expect your body to eject from the truck and into the air.
A second passes. You exhale and realize it was the second truck. It crashed.
The motorcycle is closer. The truck veers off-road, the terrain bumpy and treacherous, and you wedge yourself into the corner with your feet braced into the side. You twist one of your arms and ignore the protests of your muscles as pain ripples through your skin.
The motorcycle revs, passing the end of the truck, and—if you’re estimating correctly—it pulls up in front of the driver-side door. The two men inside are screaming, firing their guns, and bullets hit the dry earth and ding off metal. Your wrist thankfully wrenches free of the bindings. You gasp in relief. Neural sensation flows back into your limb with prickly, sharp tenderness.
The trucks’ windshield shatters. Someone yells before a wet and punctured sound like a hammer hitting a melon overwhelms the sound. Your eyes roll back to see the truck cabin is covered in dark, dripping viscera.
A dark, hulking shape jumps onto the driver side doorway and yanks the door open. The driver screams—horrified—before he’s tossed from the seat like he weighs no more than a child. You want to believe it’s Ghost. You want to believe you’d know him, even in darkness, yet you cannot gamble Lukas’ safety. You finish untying the rope around your other hand.
The driver who’s hijacked the truck slams the acceleration to an unceremonious and abrupt stop. You catch yourself with both hands before you topple and faceplant onto the truck bed again. The door swings open and the stranger hoists themselves into the flatbed. You lift your razor blade. You’ll carve out their eyes before they take you again. You won’t go down without a fight. His headlamp glows red and casts a devilish, eerie glow as if you are two sinners awaiting retribution.
“Oh, thank god.” Simon’s rough burr is the sweetest music you’ve ever heard.
“You alright, love?” He lowers himself to kneel in front of you.
“The house? Kaja?” You croak, tasting dried blood on your lips, in your throat, and salt burns your eyes.
He nods. “Safe and secure.”
You bow your head, relieved and sanctified, swallowing the bitter depths of emotion that surge whenever Ghost is in proximity. Oh, you are a fool to believe you stopped loving him. An outrageous, weak fool. In his presence, you want nothing more than to press your lips to his pulse and memorize his heartrate. You want to kiss the palms of his dangerous, calloused hands and offer him every inch of your tattered, tarnished soul. For him, only and always, you are humble and suppliant.
“Let’s have a look at you.” Says Ghost.
“’m alright.”
You need to leave. You need to return home before another patrol arrives. You hope the motorbike isn’t wrecked. Otherwise, you’ll have to drive the truck with a bloodied dashboard. Not that you haven’t driven in worse situations but removing the truck will risk an investigation.
“Fuck off.” His fingertips tenderly touch your jaw, “I saw you at the barn.”
You allow Ghost to lift your face toward the reddish light. You can’t fathom looking into his eyes. So, you glance to the left, then to the right, checking for threats. You are alone in a field. Moonlight spills white ribbons across rows of vegetation and ripples across the fluffy, gray clouds.
“Those were some creative insults you threw at him.” He tilts your face side to side and your bruises pulse beneath his evaluation, “I think some of ‘em have the potential to make Soap blush.”
Your lips twitch and the cut on your lower lip bristles with stiff, crackling pain. He gently touches your lower lip with his thumb. Your eyes flick to his, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at your mouth.
“thought I’d never see that smile again.” He murmurs to himself then shakes his head slowly. “We ought to go before more patrols come this way.”
“Is the bike salvageable?”
“Should be,” he says gruffly, “if we’re lucky.”
~~~~~~~~~
You drive the motorcycle without noticing any of the passing, dark scenery. Ghost keeps one strong, muscled arm around your waist, and he subtly shifts and turns, watching your back while you speed along the dark roads with only a single headlight to guide you. Out of paranoia, you take different roads to confuse the trail. You worry someone might notice the thin, grooved dirt bike tracks next to the larger, deeper imprints.
Your return to your safe haven. A sense of relief turns like a key inside a lock within your chest. You touch Ghosts’ arm before he dismounts from the bike.
Ghost’s mask shines red from the lamp and drying blood. You stare unflinchingly at him.
In this moment, above all other moments, you feel fearless. You can’t say that you fear losing him. Not really. Because you’ve lost him once already. The pain is manageable. It’s tolerable. And although you don’t want to lose him a second time, you think it is inevitable, and he deserves the whole truth. You can’t claim to love him and not offer him the complete truth.
“I deserted the agency.” You say, “and faked my death in Al-Qunbar.”
Ghost is silently contemplative for a few seconds.
“How’d you manage that if you were in an operative-run infirmary?”
“At my request, Price registered my stay under a Jane Doe and claimed I died after succumbing to complications of my injuries.” You explain, “but before I left, as a gesture of goodwill, I gave him the coordinates to this safe house if he was ever in trouble.”
His shoulders stiffen slightly. You wonder if you’ve struck a nerve telling him that Price knew your location while he remained in the dark.
“I refused to raise Lukas while I was an operative in the field. And I knew…if I wanted to keep his parentage a secret…then the only option for us was to disappear, play dead, and wait until we had a chance for a permanent home.”
You lift your gaze to the house behind Ghost. Fondness swells inside your chest.
“It was almost Noreth until the conflict started.” You say thickly through tears, “Lukas loves to watch things grow. He deserves that, you know? He deserves…” You stop yourself.
In your heart, Lukas deserves the childhood you never received. He deserves warmth, and safety, and fulfilled promises and silly games and how to make friends without also learning how to manipulate them.
“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “I trust that you won’t reveal our existence to anyone stateside or internationally.”
Ghost responds and his voice is like shrapnel. “Understood.”
Samira embraces you the moment you cross the threshold. You grimace and smother your wince at the back of your throat. You must’ve been hit – somewhere – alongside the bruised or possibly broken ribs that their leader gifted you. She holds you for several seconds and then rests her forehead against yours affectionately.
“You cheat death too much,” she chides. “Eventually, I fear He will get pissed off and come looking for you.”
You tease, “and you worry too much.”
Samira rolls her eyes, then her dark gaze pins Ghost. “You were meant to recover Kaja and return. Kaja says you stole her motorcycle and vanished.”
Ghost shrugs his big, heavy shoulders. Samira shoots him another withering look, but then Soap wheels into the main living area, and she switches into Doctor-Mode. You catch her expression soften when she regards MacTavish.
You ask, “where’s Lukas?”
“Upstairs.”
Lukas is awake, alert, and bouncing on his feet when you enter his bedroom. The injuries on your face throb with pain and dried blood cakes your clothes and hair. Lukas smiles when he sees you. You drop to your knees and open your arms.
“Hello, my sweet boy.”
“What’s on your face?” Lukas asks, touching your bloodied skin, and your throat tightens. “Boo-boos?”
You nod. Lukas’ expression morphs into grim seriousness. His little brow furrows. “I’ll help you, mommy.” He wiggles out of your grasp and drags a plastic box of band-aids from underneath his bed. He sticks band-aids to your face, your hands, your wrists, and arms. You stifle your tears. He kisses the band-aids.
Lukas exclaims, “All better!”
“All better.” The words are thick and clustered inside your throat. You don’t have the energy to move from the floor. You lie down and pat the spot next to you. Lukas doesn’t question it. He lays next to you, and you card your fingers through his hair. His brown eyes are watchful and sleepy. You hum quietly and stroke his forehead, his nose, and his small shoulders with tender, bloodied hands.
You are a killer. Would Lukas still love you if he knew? You hope so. Your heart and soul is shredded into tiny pieces, and they belong to your son. Although a few tattered pieces belong to Simon, too.
Lukas eventually falls asleep. You pull yourself upright with some difficulty and your body quakes in protest. You glance at your stomach and chest to see your shirt has bled through with wet, fresh blood. A swarm of dots blur in front of your vision. You wince and awkwardly push your hands beneath Lukas to lift him from the floor. A cold, clammy sweat breaks out across your neck and forehead.
Ghost enters your peripheral vision. “I’ve got him.”
He lifts Lukas into his arms and places him carefully onto his bed. Your head swims. You might pass out. You squeeze your eyes closed to stop the room from violently spinning. Your cottony mouth forms a few letters and strings them into a slurred sentence.
“How long were you hiding in the hallway?”
He ignores your question. “Where’s your kit?”
You manage to pull yourself onto your feet. You plant your hand against the wall for balance. You want to call out for Samira, but blood fills your mouth. You sway. Ghost is suddenly there. He grips your arm and your head lolls into his shoulder.
“Your kit.” He repeats sharply.
You swallow the copper-tasting blood and cough, “closet.”
Ghost half-drags, half-pulls you out of Lukas’ room and into yours. You lean against the wall while he opens your closet and pulls the medical bag hiding beneath a pile of clothes. You watch him through heavily lidded, blurry eyes.
He approaches with a pair of scissors and starts to cut away your shirt. The scissors make a crusty ‘schrrrp’ sound as he gnashes them across the blood-soaked fabric. Up close, you can hear his breathing. It’s ragged and low and reminds you of a pissed off horse. You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. The blood loss is making you delirious.
You flutter your eyelashes at him, “if you want me to get undressed, Ghost, you ought to buy me dinner first.” Your shirt falls to tatters on the floor. His fingers prod at your stomach and ribs. You wince, but don’t flinch away.
Ghost hisses. “I’m in no mood.”
“Do you hate me?” You mumble, blood dribbles from the corners of your mouth. You want to meet his gaze, but his focus is on your blood-covered body. You wish he’d look at you. You wish he’d touch you without such clinical coldness. You shut your eyes. You wish for a lot of things…
You mutter, “I wish we never said goodbye.”
“and I wish you would come with us.” You admit while fighting to stay conscious, “I wish you had the chance to know him – to really know him. He’s so good, Simon. He’s good.” Wet, hot tears scald down your cheeks. It’s a miracle that someone so innocent and good could come from someone like you. A goddamn miracle. You hiccup and are unable to stop the tears.
A cold, biting sensation ricochets across your skin. Your knees weaken and you topple forward into him. He smells like gun oil and exhaust fumes. The world is a dark, shifting, and ambiguous shape as Ghost lifts you and deposits you somewhere warm and soft.
You try to pry your eyes open but they’re too heavy.
“Stay with us,” Ghost murmurs, “stay with me.”
~~~~~~~~~
Ghost inhales slowly and cigarette smoke bites at the back of his throat. It burns. It smolders. His mind is twisted with thoughts of you. You are upstairs, your lips ashen, Samira is by your side and her expression is pinched sour with worry. Dawn bleeds like an open wound across the horizon and all echoes of last night are burned away.
He hates the idea of staying here longer than necessary, but what can he do? He can’t abandon Johnny.
He can’t abandon you.
A fleck of ash drops from the burning ember and whisks away on the breeze.
He can’t abandon his child.
The little boy who felt so fragile, so small and innocent in his arms. The boy who’s got eyes like his only less shadowed, less haunted. Lukas. He overheard Agathi call him ‘little light’. Your moth charm still dangles around your throat. Lux. The call name he gifted you.
Follow the light.
Ghost snubs the cigarette out against the wooden fence post.
~~~~~~~~~
Samira demanded you to take it easy during your recovery. You lost a lot of blood. Your lower two ribs were broken. Your household chores are reduced to washing dishes and prepping food. It drives you a little crazy, if you’re being honest, but at least you don’t suffer alone. Johnny makes for good company. You swap jokes, and play cards, and read together in silence during bed rest.
Agathi and her boys left yesterday morning. Their papers cleared. Their transportation confirmed. The house is quieter without them. And Lukas misses them terribly. You miss them too, but you hope they are safer and happier wherever they are. Their departure means Noreth is stabilizing. It means extraction is nearby. It means you and Lukas will leave soon.
The kitchen buzzes with the sound of the battery-operated camping lamp. You scrub the soapy and cold sponge across a sticky plate. Everyone is asleep. Ghost is in the barn keeping watch as he always does.
He hasn’t spoken to you since you passed out in his arms.
You endeavor to not take it personally. If he hates you for your secrets then he hates you. There is nothing you can change about that. You cannot – and will not – beg him to go with you. You will not trick, or convince, or manipulate your way into a ‘happy’ outcome. Ghost always saw this haven as temporary. A place for Johnny to recover. Nothing more, nothing less.
He might hold affection for you, he might even care about you or Lukas, but that doesn’t change the reality of your roles.
You are a deserter. You have enemies that would happily tear you apart. You are dangerous. You would burn the world if it meant keeping Lukas safe. And Ghost? He’s a man who doesn’t let anyone see his face. A killer that shares the same soul as you. A solider with enemies. A past and childhood you’ve barely glimpsed into.
You are devoted to your son, to your family, to the hopeful future without bloodshed.
Ghost is devoted to his country, his place within the ranks, his duty as a solider.
The front door swings open. You glance over your shoulder to see Ghost enter. The harsh light of the lamp illuminates his shiny, brown eyes.
Your heart aches. He will do the same thing he’s always done. He will see you, say nothing, and walk toward his shared room with Johnny. You turn away.
“We’ve got to talk, Lux.” He says quietly.
You scrub the sponge harshly and the plate nearly slips from your fingers. “Do we?”
“We do.” His footsteps thump behind you. “Noreth entered peace talks. It’ll be safe to travel soon.”
You nod absentmindedly. Why is he bringing this up now?
You say, “I know.”
Ghost twists the knob to the camping lamp. The buzzing stops. The kitchen falls to complete, silent darkness. Your hands drip with chilly water. Together, in the dark, you are two hearts, four lungs, and timid, unspoken dreams. You hear the barest suggestion of fabric moving and you assume he’s closer to you.
He says, “give me your hands.”
You extend them and his fingers trap your wrists. The pads of your thumbs touch rough, scratchy stubble. Your breath quivers in your throat. You feel his pulse, deep and steady, like waves crashing into the shore.
“Go on then.” He urges.
His hands slide down your forearms and hook loosely at the bend of your elbow. Your index swipes across the scar on his upper lip. It’s familiar. You’ve memorized this scar. You see it in your dreams. You trace the shape of his plush, dry mouth with your fingertip. His hot breath exhaling slowly through his nostrils tickles your skin.
Your heart stammers at the absence of fabric near his cheekbones. You caress his nose along the bridge and tentatively stroke his brow. His fine, thin eyebrows are feathery soft beneath your fingers. You touch a weathered notch between his brows, a wrinkle carved through years of worry and stress and extreme focus. You smile to yourself. His skin is faintly tacky around the eyes from his black-camo paint.
You’ll carry him in the blackened whorls and spirals of your fingerprints.
His hair is short and glides silkily through your fingers. You trace the shell of his ear, his cartilage thin and delicate. You are pulled closer by a magnetic force, by gravity, by fate. You are a planet, and he is a comet blazing through your sky ever-so-often and painting your world in sparkling, white-hot streaks of brilliance.
When you return to his pulse, it thunders beneath your touch, and his jaw flexes under your hands. He has given you an enormous and precious gift. You piece him together like a ceramic mosaic. You aren’t greedy when it comes to Simon. You will take what he can give. And you know he functions much the same.
You say, “my eyes are going to adjust soon.” You lick your lips. “I can shut them if you like.”
“You’re entirely too good-hearted.” He grouses.
His nose skims along yours. The skin-to-skin contact, along with the pleasant rough accent of his voice, makes your toes curl. Stagnant shadows and blotches of darkness move like bruises across your vision. Simon smells like gun oil and smoke and sweat. Lethal. Dangerous. Heavy. It should be abrasive, but it’s an aphrodisiac to you. You tilt your neck back and sigh languidly. You are predators in a dark room. Yet you roll on your bellies for each other, you offer the supple skin of your throats and press knives into each other’s palms. Kill me, kiss me, be done with it.
“Have you forgiven me?”
His large hand envelops your throat, “‘m getting there.” Your heartbeat is in your ears, saliva thickens on your tongue, and your core throbs with acute longing.
“Shall I get on my knees?” You tease knowingly.
His chest vibrates like a strummed guitar string. The tip of his tongue flicks across the seam of your lips. Your lower back bumps into the counter. You open for him. You taste his ragged breath on your tongue. He must’ve shared a smoke with Johnny recently.
Ghost pinches your jaw in his hand, fingers digging into your skin, and he kisses you like its punishment. He kisses you like he’s claiming you (as if you didn’t already belong to him after he dragged you from the ice).
His large hand splays across your back and you feel each individual digit. He wants to meld into you. He wants to fuse your bodies together so nothing - and no one - can rip you apart lest they face the calamitous wrath of a nuclear explosion.
You tug at the root of his hair, pleased, and he grumbles lowly at the back of his throat. Something hot and sharp twists like barbed wire through the spaces of your ribcage.
Ghost says, “you kept secrets in order to protect him.” His breath fans across your wet lips. “I could never hate you for that, Lux.”
He pinches your jaw harder. In the low-light, you see him through your half-lidded eyes. You see the shape of his brow, his nose, his jaw. All of him. Simon Riley. The man you love.
“Never.” He declares before kissing you again. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, wet and suckling, and drool pools at the corners of your lips as you attempt to devour him. You pull his hair, his clothes, your fingers twisting and grasping and yanking. You want to drown. You want to burn. Simon’s affection and attention is all-consuming. It pulls you apart like a natural disaster.
He lifts you effortlessly into his arms and instinctively you wrap your legs around his wide hips. His hands come to rest at the swell of your bottom, and he squeezes you close. Your noses squish together. You feel the tacky, black paint on his skin smearing against your cheeks. You feel your spine hit the wall and he pins you there, all his weight and strength, his breath fills your lungs, his hands burn like a tattoo against your skin.
“Ask me,” he rasps desperately, “to come with you, love.”
“W-what?” The world knocks off its axis.
“Ask me.” He repeats. Your eyes scan his face—his beautiful, weathered, war-torn face—and seek any trace of deception. His brown eyes are framed prettily by his blonde lashes, and they regard you with open, tender affection. His mouth is softly open. His pink tongue glides across his lower lip and it glistens with saliva. He is willing to give it up. His life. His career. For a life with you.
“Simon,” You cradle his face between your hands. Your throat tightens. “If you come with us…you’ll lose everything.”
His big, calloused hand strokes the side of your face, “nothing compares to losing you twice.”
You lean your forehead against his. You can figure out logistics and details later. Simon could technically find work in a private sector. You could try and arrange to live somewhere cold so he could wear the mask—or at least keep his face hidden. As long as you’re together, you can figure it out.
“Simon Riley…” You begin, your heart beating wildly in your chest, “once MacTavish is secure and returned safely to Price…”
Ghost snorts, “I hadn’t forgotten about Johnny.”
You roll your eyes and smile. “Regardless, once that’s done, will you…will you leave with Lukas and I?”
~~~~~~~~~
The briny air fills your lungs and your hands slip along the wet, metal railing of the small boat. Your face is damp from the spray that lifts in foamy, white splashes alongside the boat’s edge. The boat lurches and jolts across each tiny, cresting wave. The sky is beautifully gray like spun dark wool. The clouds stretch in long, languid brush strokes.
A lone seagull calls out before swooping near the water. You turn away from the scenery and twist your body toward your companions.
Lukas is bundled up with a thick scarf and heavy hat and big, navy coat. His gloved fingers form tiny fists near his cheeks. He barely stirs despite the bouncing motion of the boat. Simon has wrapped both arms protectively around his son and holds him close to his warm chest.
His eyes—bereft of the usual shadow of dark paint—lift from Lukas and meet yours. They crinkle softly at the edges. His mouth is hidden by his black balaclava, but you suspect he’s smiling. You tilt toward him and rest your cheek on his damp shoulder. An overwhelming sense of peace blankets over you.
Sunlight breaks free from the clouds and the world glimmers and sparkles like a freshly cut diamond. The light suffuses the air and encases you within a bubble of brilliance. Simon sighs. You peek upward and discover his eyes are closed and his face is angled toward the sunlight. You glide your fingertips across his knuckles and rest your palm over his hand.
Together, you hold your son and each other, and face the bright future with hope in your hearts.
(tag list from earlier parts that im just including lol: @anonymousmay22 // @urisu // @sodbos // @confuseddipshit ) sorry if i missed anyone who wanted to be tagged LOL)
