Michael says Jack is lonely. Maybe that's why neither of you saw what was happening. (f!reader)
He takes up so little space in your home. You suppose it makes sense. Jack does have his own, one he and his wife built, just as Michael and you did. Jack isn't staying with you for pleasure. From the moment Michael broached the topic, talked about how Jack has to return to an empty house every morning, you knew how necessary this arrangement was.
Still, Jack moves like a shadow. Because of their schedule, Jack is rarely around when Michael is home, only making his presence known around mid-afternoon. That's around when Jack decides to end his daily five-hour retreat into the guest bedroom. You know he doesn't sleep. During the day when you're home alone with Jack, working in the office right down the hall, all you can hear is sheets rustling and the bed creaking.
When Jack emerges, it's a different story. He's present, friendly, and willing and able to tell a goddamn good story. Sometimes, conversation flows so well that you have to remind yourself that Jack is still mourning and may need space during his few hours of free time, but your attempts to not overwhelm him typically end with Jack finding you wherever you're holed up to keep chatting you up.
You find it easy to be with Jack, to talk to him. Not that speaking with Robby is difficult, but he's at work so much, and when Michael does eventually come home he's just so tired. You never want to burden him with your problems on top of everything that he already dealt with at work.
With Jack, you see him after he's just woken up. A little venting-session comes more naturally when you know it's not going to be the straw that breaks your husbandâ or Jack's âback. It's the same reason why Jack always talks to you when he returns from work in the morning. You're awake enough from sending Robby off to the hospital to be an eager, enthusiastic listener.
Needless to say, you like Jack. You have no reason to think that anything was unusual, not even when your friends began to make comments. They joke that you're basically having an emotional affair. The first time one of them says it, you laugh so much you nearly pass out. You tell Michael about it on the ride home. He doesn't laugh when you mention the ridiculous little comment, but he does say how glad he is that you're getting along with Jack.
You don't tell Jack about it, though. Not even the next week, when Jack wakes up on your day off with a nice bottle of Kentucky Bourbon. You think about it though, in the moment right before you convince yourself that day-drinking isn't bad for you if you do it with a doctor. Fortunately, it doesn't sour your afternoon, which unfolds with laughter and good company. By sundown, you and Jack are huddled on one end of the couch, talking in hushed tones about, of all things, your weddings.
Jack holds it together fairly well. Despite the grief and the alcohol, his voice is solid when he talks about his wife. Perhaps he's always like this, but you prefer to think it's the comforting hand you place just above his knee that helps Jack speak so freely.
He talks more of their marriage, of his wife. You smile and nod along, sniffle when the emotions become too much for you. Eventually, your head falls to the side, resting against the bicep Jack has thrown over the back of the couch. Jack stops speaking then and observes you. He takes so long to do so that your heart begins to pound in your ears. Then, he speaks.
"You know," Jack brushes a strand of loose hair behind your ear. "You look like her."
That's the moment you first question it. For a fleeting second, but in a full, coherent sentence, you thinkâ now, that's unusual! Quickly,, the thought passes. The brief contactâ the comment âgets swallowed up by the booze metabolizing in your stomach, and in the matter of seconds you've entirely forgotten about it in the first place.
When Michael returns that night, he finds you with a lazy grin and a blushing Jack at your side. You point to the nearly empty liquor bottle and tell him to catch the fuck up. He does. Like you, Michael lets the liquor quiet those thoughts of why his wife was getting drunk with his best friend. Though, perhaps the bitterness linger, because when Robby fucks you that night, he makes sure that you don't swallow all those pretty noises you used to make before Jack moved in.
When you truly question the arrangement is at the start of a long weekend. You and Michael have off and decide that the best way to spend the day is by doing nothing, so you lay in bed, snoozing the daylight away. At least, that was the plan.
Ten minutes to nine, the sound of the front door opening and closing reaches your bedroom. It wakes you, but you know well enough that it's only Jack coming home from his double shift. Then, the door to your bedroom opens.
There isn't ample time for you to sit up before a warm body slides into bed behind you. Michael is free to jolt upright. He looks ready to kill before his face falls.
"Morning, sweetheart," Jack's voice fills your ears as armsâ also Jack's! âwrap around you. When you attempt to remove yourself, Jack tightens his hold, "Jus' wait a bit. Wanna hold you when IâŚ" Jack's breathing evens. You think he's fallen asleep, but when you try to slip away, Jack utters a name.
His wife's name.
Michael curses softly in front of you. His face is twisted in pain, but as much as your heart aches for Jack, you would very much like to not be spooned by your sleep-deprived friend in front of your husband.
"Michaelâ"
"Don't," your husband grunts. The blankets pool at his waist. You're still frozen in bed, muscles taught at Jack's hands glide along them. They're lazy motions, ones you've felt countless times from Michael when he's come home from a shift half-dead and almost entirely asleep. "Is he hurting you? Are you⌠uncomfortable?"
"No," you shake your head, slowing your breath to hopefully stop your heart from pounding like it is. Your effort is made useless when Jack's hand, the one that had been resting on your abdomen, shifts upwards. "Michael," you gasp, voice thin as you try not to look as affected as you are. "He's touching myâŚ"
Your husband's eyes fall to your breasts, once barely covered by your nightgown and now encompassed by Jack's large hand. You feel the calloused pads of his fingers through the silk negligee. Michael's eyes darken, but you find no anger there. None, not even at the sight of another man's hand on you.
When his gaze find your face again, you find his expression that of worry. "Do you want him to stop?" Michael asks.
"What?" Your face heats as you stutter, "M-Michael, he's touching my tit!"
"That's not what I asked, baby," Michael says softly. "It's okay. If you don't want him to stop, that's okay."
Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. It feels as though your brain has stopped working entirely.
Michael just smiles, truly smiles. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you're reminded of the same motion, done by hands so similar to the ones brushing your concealed nipple.
Michael leans down, his lips brushing yours as he whispers, "If it means anything, I like seeing his hands on you."
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ive been trying to runaway from this photo all week.
mouthing on pope's bulge before he goes out surfing, rubbing your cheek against until he's so stiff the the outline of his monster cock is all anyone can see. he's yanking on your hair and shoving himself in your mouth, groaning when your whining, gagging on his thick length. "s'your problem now, honey, told you to stop. deal with it and open that mouth wider"
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Things you shouldnât say around Task Force 141, unless you know how to deal with the consequences.
Itâs a rare lazy day at the 141 HQ on base in Hereford.
Lazy for you, at the very least, due to an upcoming long holiday weekend and the blessing of being one if not the most efficient secretary around.Â
Days like this mean itâs time for some groundwork, cleaning up messes from the past weeks, and doing all the filing youâve been procrastinating for longer than youâd like to admit.Â
But they also mean that either your boss or one of his men will approach you to ask for your lunch order at some pointâmore than happy to indulge in some much-needed downtime between training and paperwork.Â
While Captain Price sits behind his desk with you standing next to him, signing some documents for you, the other three men all lounge around the room like they donât quite know what to do with themselves if no orders are given.Â
Kyle and Johnny manspreading on the leather couch in the corner, Simon is standing by the open window with his mask rucked up and a ciggy dangling between his gloved fingers.Â
âWhat about shawarma? Havenât had thaâ in a while,â Kyle suggests, scrolling on his phone as he continues to look for restaurants and chip shops nearby.Â
Johnny groans next to him. âAye, âs good, but gives me the fartsââ A loud smack. âOw!â Your eyes flit up with furrowed brows, holding out another document to the captain.Â
âBruh.â Kyle kisses his teeth snidely, shaking his head as he drops his hand again while Johnny rubs the rapidly flushing nape of his neck. âThereâs a lady present, Soap.âÂ
Simon snorts, flicking ash out of the window before taking another drag.Â
âMuppets,â Price mutters under his breath as he takes the next document from your hold.Â
âWhat do you want then, sweetâart?â Simon asks you directly, his voice even more gravelly before he exhale a plume of smoke. Â
Smiling, you give a little shrug. âWhat do I want?â You chuckle, feeling bold enough to crack a joke for once. âHow about a fat baby and a husband whoâs utterly obsessed with me.âÂ
And suddenly, the office goes eerily quiet; tension skyrocketing as your face begins to heat up furiously within seconds. Now too embarrassed to even look up, you miss the severe look all four share with each other, as if youâd just spoken some forbidden wordsâor given the permission to cross a line theyâd drawn themselves.Â
âUhm,â you clear your throat awkwardly, tapping a neat stack of papers on the captainâs desk, âI mean uh... just some chips andâand a sandwich maybe?âÂ
But itâs too late, they all heard you loud and clearânoticed the underlying truth and longing in your words, even if you tried to mask it with humour. Â
Both Johnny and Simon stare at you like theyâve finally locked eyes on their target, and while Kyle can nudge Johnny hard, the young Sergeant can only debate to throw a boot at the Lieutenant to snap him back to reality, but then Price clears his throat and takes the lead.Â
âRight,â he says gruffly, âsandwiches sound good, darlinâ.â Â
The leather of his office chair creaks as he leans back leisurely, regarding you with a strangely soft look and a friendly pat on the back of your hand, like heâs soothing a bristling kitten. Â
âWould you be a dear and call the sandwich shop to have âem prepare our order? Iâm positive Soap or Gaz will pick it up for us later.â Â
âYes, sir,â you answer tentatively, and you catch how both Sergeants nod all too obediently, flashing toothy smiles at you with a rather suspicious glint in their eyes while Simon lights another cigarette with his broad back now turned towards you, now holding an awkward tension in his shoulders.Â
âBrilliant.â Price clears his throat again and you suddenly feel lout of place, like theyâre having a fully non-verbal conversation about a secret youâre not briefed on. Itâs feels entirely different than the times they talk about anything classifiedâlike this is personal.Â
âNow, darlinâ, if you have all the signatures you need, Iâll have some intel to share with the team.âÂ
Itâs his polite and roundabout way to tell you to leave, so you give a quick nod as you gather the files youâd brought, and you hate how your hands are trembling with adrenaline, feeling like youâre watched by four apex predators.Â
And when the door to the captainâs office closes behind you with a final click, it echoes inside the empty hallway along with the shaky exhale of a deep sigh as you curse yourself for cracking that joke and making the men uncomfortable.Â
Meanwhile, just behind a heavy door and thick walls, the core of TF-141 is already planning their upcoming mission, now determined more than ever since knowing you to fulfil your greatest wishâÂ
Giving you a fat baby, each, and four men utterly obsessed with you along with them.Â
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I really fucking hated how that AI-generated picture spread, so I made this quick edit of Pope and Shawn like a week ago. Use the damn Photoshop instead of using AI, guys.
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