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Soulmates
TF 141 x gn!reader Soulmate!au
Summary: you thought meeting your soulmate wasn't in the stars for you. Until you meet four men at the military base you are working at as a nurse. The other pieces to your soul, your soulmates.
Word count: 3.7k
Warnings: wounds(reader is a nurse), polyamorous relationship, soulmate au, manhandling, fluff, angst
Masterlist ->
Note: first Cod fanfic! I don't know much about Cod so please don't shoot me if this isn't accurate lol.
Finding your soulmate was a rare thing, Even though the world has been romanticizing it for centuries at every turn you make. Some people could have two Soulmates at once, their deep bond being unbreakable between them. You thought you'd never even get close to finding your soulmate, so you buried that hope deep down in your chest a long time ago to avoid getting your heart broken. Especially now that you worked as a nurse on a military base you feel like there was truly no hope left.
Which is why you are wide eyed staring at the two men who stand in the doorway of the nurses office, the both of them staring back at you in just as much shock as you are. Electricity tingling down your spine as the pieces in your soul seem to click together and feel whole for the first time. Its incredible and unlike anything you've ever experienced before, its familiar and bright.
One of the men stands at least a foot taller then the other, a skull mask covering his face. His eyes are wide behind the mask and His fists are balled up like they might shatter. The other man beside him adores a mowhawk with shaved sides, his eyes also wide but theres a small smile slowly starting to apear on his face as he continues to stare at you.
The frozen moment is broken when the man with the skull mask turns around and storms out of the doorway, making his way down the hallway with heavy but quick footsteps. "Ghost!" The man with the mowhawk calls after him, his shoulders slouch when he realizes he isn't coming back. You're silent as you watch, feeling like this isnt real, like that isn't your soulmate standing in front of you right now. After all this time of denying yourself the ability to hope and dream of a future with your soulmate, you now are in the same room as the person who is a part of your soul. And the other piece just ran away from you like the thought of just being in the same room as you burned him.
The man clears his throat to break the silence as he leans on the doorframe to keep his balance "Hes great once you get to know him..." he offers you a bright smile. Finally snapping out of your shocked trance, You realize hes not putting weight on his left leg, the reason he came here in the first place "what happened to your leg?" You walk closer to him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you approach him, the electricity between you two is undeniable. "Went and banged up my knee pretty badly"
he hisses as puts his weight onto his left leg "reckon you could take a look for me?" Sighing as you grab his arm to put it over your shoulder, trying to ignore how your legs weaken as you touch him, you navigate him to the hospital bed against the wall. Letting him take a seat on the bed, you are now directly in front of him, He looks up at you, his eyes intense, they stay on your face as you purposely avoid eye contact while he takes you in. Eyes trailing over you like hot fire, almost like you could feel the sparks under your skin where his eyes lingered.
"Lift your pant leg up so I can see your knee properly" he smiles cheakly at the effort you're putting into staying professional and rolls his sweatpants leg up past his knee so you can have a better look. Touching his knee gently, he tenses his thigh as he tries not to have a reaction to the pressure. The skin is starting bruise "how did you injure your knee?" You question him, making him scratch the back of his neck as a slight flush on pink covers his cheeks "aye well- I was running on the treadmill and-" he let's out a chuckle before continuing "I tripped over my own foot and went down on the movin treadmill" a smile breaks out onto your face before you could stop it, biting your lip so you don't let out a laugh at the imaginary. "Yeah yeah laugh it up" he rolls his eyes but the smirk on his face made it obvious hes not actually annoyed.
"Im not laughing! Im sure it hurt" then proceed to let out a small laugh before going back to pressing on his knee. "Johnny" he says, you look at him in question "my name. Its Johnny" you hold out your hand for a handshake and tell him your name. He glances down at your out stretched hand with a smirk and a raised eyebrow before encasing both his hands around yours, engulfing it in his warmth
"its a pleasure to finally meet you sweetheart"
~âĄ~
Johnny came back for another visit later that week, his knee healing nicely as the purple color starts to fade back to normal and he can now put his weight back on his leg. He sits still on the hospital bed once again, you're trying to ignore how you've been thinking about the two men non stop since their last visit as you press your thumb against his knee. He sits with his legs parted as he rests back on his hands, looking casual and calm as you stand between his legs. Feeling your cheeks heat up at his intense stare and position, His eyes once again trailing over you, but this time it felt more heavy, like he was hesitant to say something.
"id like to apologize on behalf ghost" you look up at him to see him sigh, his eyebrows frown as he continues "hes a stubborn bastard when it comes to his emotions. Hell it took months for him to stop glarin at me" he chuckles at the memory "he will come around eventually. Especially for a birdy like you. Hes just..." he trails off, looking up to the door ghost stormed out of the week prior "guarded" he finishes. A birdy like you? All you felt was rejection from your soulmate named ghost. He looked at you once and decided he wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole, and it hurt.
Sensing the dip in your mood, he changes the topic. "Ya know we have two more soulmates? Besides ghost" that sparks your intrest immediately. Two more soulmates? What? Do they also work on base? You can't believe you found one soulmate let alone FOUR. Johnny chuckles and nods, now seeing the twinkle of curiosity in your eyes as you take a step closer to his sitting form on the bed "their names are captain price and gaz"
Your eyes go wide at his statement "captain?" His smile only widens at the question before rising to his feet "i gotta get goin. Ya know Duty calls" he pats your shoulder gently "ill see ya around birdy" he says teasingly and winks, but you weren't aware he was cheekily referencing ghost's petnames. He laughs to himself before he walks out the door of the cold office. Eyes lingering where he had left, all you could wonder was:
who was gaz and captain price?
~âĄ~
The sound of footsteps getting louder makes you look up to the doorway, a nurse emerges from the hall with his bag tucked under his arm "hey! You're free to go" he smiles as he prepares to take your place while you go on lunch break. Thanking him, you walk out to the hallway and begin making your way towards the kitchen on base. While walking, you think back to what Johnny said.
"Ya know we have two more soulmates? Besides ghost"
You wonder if they work on base too? Would they also turn you away like how ghost did? Maybe he already told them about how vile of a soulmate you were and now they are avoiding you. Its all so overwhelming to think about, especially at work of all places.Â
Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice the person emerging around the corner from the other hall, his pace naturally quick as his legs take wide strides around the corner. You are ripped out of your trance when you crash into a hard chest, getting thrown to the floor in the process. "Oh shit! Im so sorry!" A smooth voice rings out above you as he reaches out to help you up, before his movement flatter. Looking up to see who you bumped into, a man stands above you with his lips parted in awe as he stares down at your form on the floor, his hand still out stretched as its frozen in Place, eyes darting across your face.
You are confused until you feel the familiar tingle of electricity shoot up your spine in quick flashes, your heart beating rapidly as you look into this mans eyes. "U-uh..." he stutters, not knowing how to get his words out, before shaking his head and clearing his throat before properly offering his hand to you "here let me help you..." his hand grabs yours, lifting you with ease.
You can feel how warm his palm is, how it fits perfectly around yours. Your chest feels warm and fuzzy at the sight of him. He let's go of your hand once your on your feet, the loss of contact makes the both of you yearn for more. "I should've been looking where I was going. that's my bad" he scratches his neck while he avoids eye contact. His nervousness taking you off guard. Johnny was a ray of sunshine, immediately wanting to be in your bubble and talking to you. While ghost retreated into himself and ran for the hills. But your third soulmate was...bashful almost. His kind smile was calm and refreshing, like a cool breeze on a summer day.
He let's out a small chuckle "soap has been talking so much about you. And now that i finally met you im not sure what to say" your eyebrows frown at the unfamiliar name "soap?" You question. He looks confused before realising his mistake "johnny" you make a quick "oh" then pressed your lips into a line, hes amused at your realization on who soap is. You should've guessed, So they all go by their code names?
you smile as you hold out your hand for a handshake, mimicking the one you gave Johnny when you first met "im y/n" he takes your hand, smiling as he now holds eye contact "kyle. But you can call me gaz" So this is gaz, hes cute. You slightly tighten your grip around his hand "Nice to finally match the name to a face" he smirks "likewise"
the beeping of a phone breaks the tension between you two, making gaz drop your hand to dig his phone out of his pocket. He slightly winces at the contact name, you can briefly see the name "simon" on the caller ID. "I have to go" he says hesitantly, like he doesn't want to end this interaction "but it was nice meeting you darling" he smiles warmly like he truly ment it, before politely nodding at you and continuing his way down the hallway as he answers his phone, now with a prep in his step, hearing his voice talking to the person on the phone as he walks further away.
You let out a breath, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you continue walking to the kitchen. You've now met 3 out of the 4. The 4th one being a captain. Nervousness builds in your chest, oh god.
~âĄ~
You're not able to get yesterday out of your mind as you worked, thoughts of how bizarre it is to be meeting all your soulmates out of no where swirl around in your head, and you have yet to meet one of them. "i think im going to take my lunch break" you say to the other nurse sharing the work shift with you. She nods and goes back to reading her magazine.
While making your way to the kitchen once again, you are anxious about bumping into one of them again. The feelings from simply holding eye contact is breathtaking. Now successfully making it to the kitchen without a soulmate in sight, you let out of breath of relief. Now you can have your tea in peace. Opening the cabinet above you, you pull out a flavored tea bag from one of the boxes the military base provides, holding it in your hand as you open another cabinet next to it.
Reaching up for one of the last mug sitting on the top self, you struggle to touch it. Standing up on your tippy toes, you still are not able to reach it, it taunts you as it sits high up on the self. Huffing out a irritated sigh as you stare up at the cups with annoyance. A strong spark going down your spine takes you off guard, before a gloved hand comes into your vision, plucking a mug right off the shelf with ease. Turning your head to see who crept up behind you, a skull mask is hovering over you as he stares down at you. His glare is icey as it pierces through you, his body extremely close to yours as he lingers behind you, pretty much caging you in between the counter and him.
He holds eye contact as he sets the cup down on the counter in front of you, like hes trying to intimidate you. He let's out a quiet rumble that sounded almost like a small growl, before slowly backing away from you. His tall figure stalking out the kitchen like his purpose of being there in the first place was to intimidate you then leave. Keeping your gaze on the entrance, your stunned at the interaction, he hadn't said a single word to you.
Looking down at the mug, you notice its a baby pink color with cute bunny faces on it. Your lips slightly quirk up without you realizing it. Using pink bunny mugs and silent glares as a intimation tactic isn't very scary.
~âĄ~
Loud voices echo throughout the halls of the base as they grow closer to the nurses office, booming through the doorway, making you immediately stand up in alert. Four men rush through the door, three of which you recognize, and one who you haven't seen before. both Johnny and gaz are on either side of ghost as they hold up his heavy frame, trying to keep him on his feet as hes unconscious from blood loss. The other man beside them holds authority as he motions the two men carrying ghost towards the hospital bed against the wall with a firm voice. They lift ghost up onto the bed gently, being mindful of his injury. The man you don't recognize finally turns to you
"he has a gunshot wound-" he goes to speak but abruptly stops once he catches your eyes, making his throat go dry from the sparks raging in his body as he looks at you. He quickly clears his throat and continues "gunshot wound in his shoulder. He passed out due to blood loss in the helicopter on the ride back" he manages to stay professional even though his eyes seem darker then a few moments ago, unable to leave your form. Shaking your head, trying to brush off the fireworks in your chest and way his gaze is following your every move makes your cheeks heat up. You hurriedly rush over to ghost who is laying soundlessly on the bed, dragging along a metal rolling table of tools behind you.
Switching into professional mode, you unlatch his tactical vest and with the help of Johnny, he slightly lifts ghost up so you could slide the fabric out from underneath him. Before taking a pare of scissors from the metal tray and cutting open his shirt to reveal the wound. While looking over the bloodied wound as you put on a pare of gloves, you feel worry clouding your mind as you stare at your soulmate laying unconscious on the bed.
"Did the bullet exit?" You ask, making who you assume is captain price speak up "im not sure. The bullet still could be in the wound" he sounded closer than you thought, turning around to face him confirms that theory. Hes hovering over your shoulder watching you work on ghost, unable to stop himself from keeping a close eye on him. He looks down at you, realising how close he is to you before taking a few steps back "sorry..." he clears his throat again. Gaz glasps a hand on his shoulder with a soft smile on his face "he will be alright cap"
~âĄ~
After awhile of patching up the wound, it was finally bandaged and done. Ghost was still unconscious on the hospital bed, his chest rising with each breath slowly. As you put away the rolling table of tools and sanitized everything, Johnny rests his palm on ghosts masked face, stroking his thumb over the fabric where his cheek is. Hes only wearing his balaclava without the skull mask on top, letting you see part of his face more properly for the first time. Trying to not stare at the men, you busy yourself with putting away the tools instead. Until you feel a large hand touch your shoulder. Turning around, you're met with captain price. You get the familiar feeling of sparks and nervousness blooming inside of you.
"Good work. You did good" hes trying to remain professional as a captain but hes obviously failing at he takes you in properly for the first time, unable to stop his head from slightly tilting in amusement at the way you avoid eye contact, you're now feeling sudden butterflies in your stomach at the praise "Oh! thank you" He smiles fondly at the nervousness you're displaying, already smitten by you, he could just eat you up. being soulmates with a captain is so nerve wracking. you feel the prying eyes of the other two men as they watch the interaction, smirking as they exchanged a look.
"Names John price" he extends his hand out professionally, engulfing yours as you meet his with your own hand. You tell him your name with a small smile, making him nod his head "nice to meet you sweetheart" letting your hand linger in his before letting go. "Captain we gotta get back" gaz breaks the moment between you two, making price nod at him. His eyes moves to ghost for a few moments, then let's himself find you again.
"until next time" he smiles at you then turns around to walk towards the door. Johnny winks at you and bids his goodbye "ill be back later baby" his out right flirting makes your cheeks burn as he walks out through the door. Gaz chuckles "bye honey" and with that they were all gone. Leaving you flustered at their petnames. They obviously knew what it did to you.
Biting your lip to conceal a smile, you can't believe you have now met all of them, they all give you a roller-coaster of emotions, Always leaving your skin hot and your heart pounding with excitement. The sound of a low groan breaks you from your internal dialog, Making you turn around to see ghost slowly shifting around as he groans from pain.
Rushing over you quickly put a hand on his bicep "don't move to much-" you are cut off by him quickly grabbing your arm roughly and pulling you towards him, making you fall onto the bed, hitting your knee on the cold metal frame in the process "ouch!" You're now hovering over him as you catch yourself from nose diving into his face.
His eyes open in alert as he blinks, finally realizing its you who touched him. He looks around the room before he comes back to you, his gaze falling to his tight grip around your arm. His hand immediately falls away from your arm as if it burned him. Letting you get up off of him, hissing in pain as you put your weight on the knee that hit the metal. He tries to sit up as he looks at you with something that close to regret and dread. But groans as pain shoots through his shoulder "Fuck" he curses. At the pain and at himself for hurting you.
"Stop moving" you say as he tries to get up again. He finally let's himself fall back into the mattress with a irritated sigh. You step closer Hesitantly, afraid of triggering him again. He notices and pauses. "come 'ere" his voice rumbles lowly as he watches you closely. You approach him slowly. Glancing at the bandaged wound before meeting his eyes. They hold a sense of regret within them, mixed with something much deeper. Now standing at the edge of his bed, his eyes roam your face for any discomfort.
When he sees none, he reaches out his hand to gently touch your knee, letting his palm cover it as he rubs his thumb across it, then he peers to your arm, he frowns "im...sorry" the apology is foreign in his mouth, letting it sit in the air as he looks away, retracting his hand in the process. The two words are heavy, like hes apologizing for more then just grabbing you. You offer him a soft smile "i know"
Those were all the words exchanged while you rebandaged his wound. Him staying quiet as you worked. But his heavy stare never left you, making your body feel like it was boiling hot. He never broke eye contact if you looked up, you being the one to turn away first. Its like hes pinning you in place with just a look. Finishing up rewrapping his bandage, you finally meet his piercing stare, he holds it. Much like how he did in the kitchen a few days prior, but this time much softer. "Thank you" he says quietly, his deep voice sending electricity up your back.
The way hes not pushing you away and letting you stay close to him gives you hope, that just maybe he's warming up to you just like Johnny said he would.
Authors note: would yall be interested in a part 2? It would be very kind of you to let me know if you liked this! <3 id love to do more with this plot.
Obsessed with Vampire!Price x Vampire Hunter!Reader.
For starters, Price is not the brooding, woe is me vampire. Heâs very old, so heâs not impulsive and reckless like many freshly turned vampires are. He is pragmatic and maddeningly calm even when he has a stake or silver blade at his throat.
You were raised in a guild of vampire hunters, and you had been trained to believe vampires were nothing but mindless, soulless killing machines. They ran on instinct alone and feel nothing.
(poly werewolves 141 x female human reader || part one)
The forest had a rhythm to it.
Not one of ticking clocks or hours counted on a calendar, but a living rhythm- crows taking wing at dawn, the hush of deer at the river come twilight, the cicadas sawing the silence into ribbons each dusk.
You had lived long enough in your solitude to learn that rhythm as if it were your own pulse; it told you when the seasons turned, when the rains would come, when the bears would lumber down from the higher ridges.
And now, it told you this: you were no longer alone.
Not alone in the way of creatures and their breath in the dark. That, you had already grown used to. It had been weeks since the night of blood and storm, since four shadows had collapsed on your porch and vanished again like wraiths. Weeks since your quiet life had been rewritten with the subtle signs of guardianship- the gifts left on your steps, the predator tracks cut short by heavier, sharper prints circling yours, the strange hush that fell upon the clearing as though the forest itself bowed to some unspoken command you werenât privy to learn just yet.
This was different.
It began with smoke: not yours, but a thin, rising thread of it curling from the tree line across the lake. The abandoned cottage there had stood for years, sagging into the earth, its roof bowed, its hearth gone cold. You had passed it once in your first spring here, peered into its hollow frame and decided it was a place ghosts might linger and one youâd not waste time on.
But one crisp morning, you looked up from your own chopping block and saw smoke rising from that chimney, steady and sure. Not ghosts, then. Neighbors.
You almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. Neighbors. Out here, where the road gave way to little more than deer tracks, where storms cut power for days and the forest demanded a kind of loyalty from those who dared live in it. Few came this far. Fewer stayed, and the closest civilization was the village more than a few miles away.
And yet, the very next week, you saw them.
Four men, crossing the river path with lumber on their shoulders, voices a low rumble of camaraderie. They moved like soldiers: even in their quiet, you recognized the familiar cadence of it. Broad-shouldered, scarred in places they did not bother to hide, eyes sharper than any civilianâs had right to be. You stood at the edge of your garden with your cane, watching from beneath the brim of your hat as they passed.
They raised hands in greeting. Not intrusive, not prying. Just a neighborâs courtesy.
âMorning,â the one wearing a cap said, polite and friendly.
You returned the nod, though your throat felt thick. Morning.
And then they were gone, melting into the forest trail with their burden of timber.
It should have ended there; A curiosity, an oddity you would eventually grow used to, the way one grows used to a ravenâs nest high in the eaves. But it didnât end, because you noticed the rhythm shift again.
One night, when the coyotes returned, you woke to find your porch lamp already lit, its flame burning steady in the storm winds. You had not lit it. And in the woods beyond, instead of growls, you thought you heard the heavy tread of boots driving the animals off.
Another morning, your cane slipped from your hand as you struggled with a basket by the river. Before you could stoop to fetch it, one of the new men appeared on the path, his russet-colored sweater catching the light, eyes gleaming. He bent and handed the cane back with a grin quick as a flame, gaze bright and unreadable. âCareful there, Miss. Slippery ground.â His voice was warm and careful as honey, and he vanished again before you could properly thank him.
And yet another time, as dusk bled into the forest, you froze on your porch when a bear lumbered near the treeline. You were reaching for your gun when you saw movement from the corner of your eye.
A pale shape- no, a man this time- standing just beyond your gardenâs edge. He didnât shout, didnât wave his arms. He only stood, utterly still, eyes fixed on the animal. And somehow, impossibly, the bear huffed, turned, and wandered off, as though cowed by something larger than it could name.
When you blinked, the man was gone before you could thank him.
They eventually introduced themselves to you proper, of course. John Price, Kyle Garrick, Simon (just Simon), and Johnny MacTavish. Normal names. Names no one in the village had, so they couldnât be related to anyone there. They gave them easily, with the kind of ease soldiers had when lying about where theyâd been stationed or what unit theyâd served in- it wasnât so much dishonesty as a well-worn habit of keeping the truth folded deep.
You offered your own name, a little stiffly, though your voice warmed when Johnny tilted his head, smile bright enough to catch in the lamplight.
âBonnie name for a bonnie lass.â Heâd said, syllables lilting. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and you found yourself looking away too quickly, unsettled by how closely he looked when he said it.
John had only given you a slow nod, his pipe stem caught between his teeth, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. Simon- towering, quiet, eyes like bruised steel- didnât say much at all, only let his gaze sweep across your porch as if assessing its defenses. Kyle had been the first to offer a hand, warm and calloused, his grin kind, his touch gentle and firm.
It should have ended there, polite words shared over a fence-line, the sort of introduction that fades back into distance.
But it didnât: you began to notice them even in the smallest corners of your life, even after those previous few instances.
Once, when you walked to the cottage after a trip to the village with a pack too heavy for your frame, you found yourself flagging by the first step of your porch. The weight dragged your bad leg nearly to buckling.
Before you could curse the ache in your thigh, the strap lightened- lifted clean from your shoulder. Kyle had taken it without asking, carrying the burden as if it weighed nothing at all.
âYou shouldâve called for one of us,â he said, his tone almost scolding, though softened by his smile. âCouldâve saved you the trouble.â
âI didnât know I was supposed to.â You replied, half defensive, half annoyed by the pack, the fall, and the ache in your leg.
His answering smile was gentle and so pretty you wanted to look away, boyish in a way that contrasted with the scars along his jaw. âSupposed to? Maybe not. But next time, eh? Youâve got four big men around, weâd carry anything you asked for.â
He didnât give the pack back until you were safely at your door, and even then he dropped it on your table and only then left.
Another evening, you lingered in the garden, tending to the last stubborn shoots of late summer. Your hands were deep in the soil when you realized you werenât alone: Simon stood just beyond the fence, arms folded, shadow long across the tilled earth, a balaclava on his face.
You startled, dropping the trowel. âHoly shit, I didnât hear you.â
âYou werenât meant to,â he answered simply, voice deep enough that it seemed to stir the very air. Then he climbed over the fence, and knelt beside you. âLet me help.â
You frowned, brushing dirt from your palms. ââŚ. Why are you here?â
His eyes moved- slow, deliberate- across the treeline, then back to you. âBecause youâre out here.â
He didnât explain further and didnât step closer. But something in the words lingered in your chest, heavy and oddly steadying. He remained until you finally rose, cane in hand, and went inside.
Only then did his shadow slip away into the dusk.
John was more deliberate in his approach, but quieter too, woven into habits you didnât notice until later: your woodpile, once dwindling faster than you liked, seemed replenished each week with neat stacks of logs you didnât recall chopping. Your fence rail, loose and wobbling, had been reinforced with fresh nails one morning before you woke.
You caught him once, pipe smoke curling through the mist as he set down an axe (deliciously bare-chested, though you didnât let yourself focus on that for now).
âJohn, you donât need to-â you began, bristling at the thought of being pitied like this.
He cut you off with a steady look, his voice calm but edged. âA stormâs coming, and I hate having nothing to do, doll. Let me do this for you.â
There was no mockery in his tone. Just fact and just care wrapped in command.
And when he walked past you to the gate, boots crunching against frost, he paused just long enough to murmur, âYou shouldnât be doing it alone, anyhow.â
Johnny was the opposite of Johnâs steady gravity. He was the fire you kept roaring in your fireplace during winter- restless, bright, and impossible to ignore. He turned up most often in the in-between hours, whistling as he carried back game from the woods, or lounging on your porch rail as if it were his own.
âDinnae like the way that trap was sittinâ,â he remarked once, nodding toward the line of your snares along the brush. âLet me change âem for ye, lass. Or add more.â
âIâve been setting those for years.â You replied, defensive and unimpressed.
âAye, and maybe Iâve got sharper eyes.â He winked, grin flashing quick. âHumor me, hen. No harm in letting me take a look.â
And somehow, by the end of it, youâd let him place new snares, his broad hands surprisingly delicate with the wire. You told yourself it was easier than arguing, but the warmth in your chest when he looked up, face flushed with exertion, said otherwise.
There were subtler things too. Things you couldnât explain: when you once left food cooling on the windowsill overnight, you woke to find no scavengers had touched it, though the forest was full of them.
When you walked the river trail, you sometimes caught the smell of woodsmoke and earth that wasnât your own, and felt the hair on your arms rise as though someone padded just beyond sight.
And in the coldest nights, when your pain kept you awake and the silence pressed too close, you sometimes swore you heard it: the long, low timbre of a howl rolling down from the ridges. Not threatening and not mournful, but something as deep as the forest itself. Claiming.
It should have frightened you.
You fell asleep without clutching your gun.
Bit by bit, you softened toward them: At first, it was in the way you didnât chase them off when you found them mending something around your homestead. Later, it was in the way you let Kyle carry heavy things without argument, or let Johnny sit on your porch and chatter until the stars came out, or let Simon stand in the dark corners of your garden without demanding he explain himself.
And with John, it was in the way you eventually set two mugs on the table instead of one when you brewed tea on colder mornings- never asking if heâd stay, but always finding the second cup drained when you returned from the stove and found new chopped wood.
They were men, yes. But they were something else too, something you hadnât yet named. Their movements were too fluid, too sure-footed, their eyes too sharp when they caught the light. They carried the forest with them, as if it bowed to their passage.
And sometimes, when you looked too closely, you thought you saw it: a shadow of fangs when Johnny grinned too wide; a glimmer like molten gold in Simonâs eyes when the moon was high; the twitch of Johnâs shoulders, as though his body itched to shake free of its human shackles; the way Kyle sniffed the air, subtle, like scent was as telling as sight, and accirately told you whethere itâd rain or not.
Subtle signs and little truths you kept tucking away, telling yourself they were tricks of light and fancy- but you knew the rhythm of the forest better than anyone.
And the forest whispered back to you, clear as bone and blood:
These men are not just men, and perhaps peace did not shatter.
Perhaps it only changed shape.

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âLeave a light on fâme, yeah?â
It was how he said âI love you and Iâll be back homeâ in his own way. You were never allowed to know the specifics, where he went, how long heâd be gone. But you could always count on a long kiss at the front door and those words whispered against your forehead in a final embrace.
You continued on in life, waking up to cold sheets, going to work, drinks with friends, and the never ending upkeep of the house. The silent house that technically you shared, but rarely cohabitated. There were no photos of a smiling couple on the wall, no extra set of shoes by the door and no coat waiting beside yours for the next adventure.
But there was always the light. A table lamp, picked up at a thrift shop one day to fill an empty space in the living room. It had seen better days before you hefted it home, a relic of another time of solid metal and outdated fabric. It filled the space in your living room and its dim light became a hopeful beacon home.
As youâd wander off too bed, whether it be an early night where you just couldnât take the silence anymore or stumbling in after one too many with the girls, you made sure to turn the lamp on. A gentle tug of the cord, casting shadows in the living room and some rays through the closed blinds.
Youâd send a small prayer every night that youâd wake up and the light would be off, signaling Simon had come home. Likely asleep on the couch because he always woke you up when he lumbered in, and Simon hated waking you.
The longest youâd gone was 3 months, 90 nights of turning it on and turning in. Only to wake up to that damn light creeping under your bedroom door, getting clicked off with a sigh. But there has always been an end to the storm, that joyful morning, like a kid on Christmas seeing that Santa came. Youâd roll over, see no light from the other room, and launch out of bed, attacking the poor sleeping soldier with kisses and tears.
But this had been 4 months. And then 5 months. At the 6th month mark, you started turning on more lights. Each light switch, cord pull or button to push became a little prayer. By the 8th month, your front yard looked like the crack of dawn. Every single light was on. All night. Hoping to draw him home, to be that beacon he always requested. Your poor neighbors probably thought you were crazy, and by then, you felt like you were too.
Your heart couldnât let you stop, no matter how ridiculous you felt, haunting the halls like a ghost at dusk. Turning on every light methodically, working your way through the house and glancing back to the driveway one last time before bed. Then continuing the routine in reverse in the morning, switching them all off as tears fell.
Until one night, you woke up to a warm body and a rough whisper.
âWhat the bloody hell is our light bill now?â
.-.-.
Blame it on the fact that Iâm from the south and country music is part of my bloodstream. Inspired by: every light in the house by Trace Atkins
crying on the toilet omfg
Margaritaville
For days now, youâve been seeing the same broad-shouldered man lounging around the resort. Or: the knocked up on vacation au Part 1 masterlist
-
A familiar voice rouses you from a daydream that was just getting good. âAre you going to spend our entire vacation by the pool?â
ââŚIsnât that what weâre supposed to be doing?â
You lift your sunglasses to meet your friendâs eyes, no need to squint against the sun because the way sheâd stood in front of you blocks it from blinding you with your sunglasses off, inadvertently blocking the one thing youâd been hoping to keep your eyes on.Â
Irritation prickles at the base of your spine, but you resist the urge to snap no matter how tempting it is. Youâve been getting away with murder these past couple days and throwing a fit wonât get you anywhere but in more hot water.Â
youâre drunk - simon ghost riley
âyâwanna know what stupid looks like?â he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. âyou, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.â
based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.
ââââ-
itâs honestly not even your fault.
youâll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - heâs the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now youâre blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simonâs arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.
simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because heâs the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.
needless to say, heâs used to this by now. used to the way youâve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesnât say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesnât complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if heâs a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.
heâs tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.
âjesussiâyouâre big.â itâs slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. âlike, industrial grade. military-issued big.â
the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober youâd see the smirk heâs biting back.
âtha right?â
âmmm. like a fuckin tank,â you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. itâs involuntary - just like itâs involuntary when he twitches. âor an armoured vehicle. yâshould come with airbags.â
simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.
maybe heâs not as used to this as he thought - because this isnât just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.
hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.
âyouâre drunk,â he breathes.
you grin. âsoâre you.â
ânot even half as much as you.â
you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. itâs quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like heâs checking to make sure you havenât stripped mid-hallway. itâs just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.
âmânot that drunk,â you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. âi meanâi am, but not likeâŚmemory loss drunk. iâm still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.â
itâs only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.
â..and how insanely big your hands are,â you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. âlikeâbiblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell yâthat?â
and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth youâre beginning to feed.
âdonât.â he says, and itâs torn. ânot now.â
heâs all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesnât break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.
âyâever choke a girl out with them?â you press, unfettered. ânot like, unconscious, but like. in bed?â
a most pleasant marriage (john price x f!reader, minor simon x john x reader)
medieval arranged marriage au, SMUT, reader is a virgin, i did no research i fear, 4k wc
The emerald grass below your window, stories high and nearly minuscule, sways as you wait. And wait. And wait.
He was supposed to come two days ago. Your new husband, a foreigner, promised to you by your father in exchange for help to gain his own lands back. Greed begets greed, and while your maids help you change for your nightgown to a favorite dress of light blue, your stomach churns at the thought of the kind of man who would make such a promise. Your father has refused to educate you in any sort of war strategy, but youâre wily enough to know that promises can easily be broken. That the sagging stone buildings of your kingdom, small and unimportant to bigger ones that stomp on it like a bug, are no prize to be won. Why would your future husband want to help such a land when he could just as easily take it?
And so you wait outside of the arched slits of your stone window, your stitching in your lap as you halfheartedly nod to the chattering gossip of your ladies. After tea later in the day, sugar and butter heavy in your stomach, you nearly doze to their droning in your chair.
The clattering of horses wakes you right up.

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How I feel asking for a Pt 2 đ
IN CONTEMPT | simon riley
You tried to move on, but no one quite measures up; not to the way he touched you, not to the way he ruined you. But when he reappears, you can feel him even before you see him. The past has a way of punishing disobedience, and now, itâs here to settle the score.
âď¸ SEQUEL TO: â RETURN TO SENDER â | [ AO3 ]
18+ AU, fem!reader, takes place in the UK, porn with plot, pathetic!reader, harddom!simon, soft!simon, cuckolding, stalking, dirty talk, implied voyeurism, extreme exhibitionism, praise, rough sex w aftercare!, breeding kink if you squint, smidge of degradation, unprotected sex, cream-pie, oral sex (f!recieving) fingering, squirting [ 16.6k words ]
Fuck Simon for vanishing, for leaving you with nothing but a ÂŁ21.90-shaped hole in your wallet.
Itâs humiliating, reallyâhow twenty quid can leave such a deep dent in your otherwise empty pockets. But the alternative? A fate you couldn't afford to entertainâsleepless nights, baby-screeching, endless tears, and a lifetime tethered to a man who couldn't even be bothered to stick around longer than 5 minutes after fucking your brains out, taking your favorite pair of oversized sweatpants on his way out, too. So, you swallowed the morning-after pill and kept it moving.
The immediate days after he disappeared blur together in a heavy, sluggish haze. You still show up to work, still plaster on a smile that doesnât quite reach your eyesâthough it never did, even before Simon. Every shift is the same bullshit but somehow worseâcustomers testing your patience, coworkers draining the last bit of energy youâve got, and a boss who somehow manages to be more insufferable than the rest combined, multiplied by ten, then squared.
RETURN TO SENDER | simon riley
It was a joke. A letter to a criminalâUK's most wanted. You told him he was hot. Told him you were a virgin. Left your address, because itâs not like heâd ever get out, right?
â 2K FOLLOWER SPECIAL .á | [ AO3 ]
18+ AU, DUBCON, fem!reader, takes place in the UK, porn with plot, pathetic!reader, harddom!simon, asshole!simon, implied stalking, (morally irredeemable) pining, oral (f receiving), shit-ton of degradation, praise if you use a magnifying glass, virginity kink, pussy pronouns, pussy & face slapping, dacryphilia, unprotected sex [ 10.2k words ]
â SEQUEL : ' IN CONTEMPT '
Who knew working at Tesco would be such a fucking nightmare?
 Itâs almost absurd how people can forget how to use their brains the second they step through the automatic doors. Itâs a massive store, but youâve come to believe that its sheer scale only amplifies some customersâ overwhelming stupidity.Â
You find yourself watching, day in and day out, as people stumble over the easiest parts of shopping, like scanning a barcode or finding the right aisle despite the sign above their heads. Itâd be laughable if it wasnât so damn frustrating. You canât even afford the luxury of venting because you're stuck behind the register, forced to plaster on a fake smile, nodding while they hold up the line, your eye twitching as you answer the same question for the umpteenth time in 30 minutes.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of gritted teeth and hollow patience, your shift comes to an end. The relief is brief, but itâs there, at least. You drag yourself out of the store, shoulders slumped under the weight of the day. The commute home isnât any prettier, but itâs a kind of mindless ritual thatâs grown familiar over timeâ20 minutes on the train, crammed between strangers who are just as exhausted, just as done with the grind. The train lurches and hums beneath you, a rhythmic noise that almost lets you forget the stress. But youâre too far gone for that kind of escape, your mind still whirling with all the things youâve had to swallow throughout the day.
The train empties as the sun sinks below the horizon, each stop peeling away another layer of the late afternoon crowd. You finally step off the train at the final stop, the air crisper than when you left for work nearly 11 hours ago. The walk home is short, but itâs long enough for your legs to remind you that youâve been standing for hours. Ten long minutes to your flat, a familiar route that feels both comforting and suffocating in its monotony.Â
line-up [alpha!141 x omega!reader]
summary: pack 141 shows their interest in you.
pairing: alpha!141 x omega!reader
warnings: +18 (mdni), omegaverse, a/b/o, mild sexual themes, heavy misogyny, low self-esteem, forced exchange of personal items (underwear).
part 1: the gift exchange
youâve heard that theyâre picky.

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simon is a chronic starer. thank god this freak doesnât have blue eyes.
kyle invited you to a pub.
hadnât seen that man in a near decade, family friend who was lost to circumstance and a lack of serendipity. you were excited to hear what heâd been up to, what he swamped while knee deep on deployments.
last minute he asks if his friend can join you.
wasnât a problem. any friend of kyleâs is a friend of yours, he has an impeccable sense of character. but you sorely regret your lenience when you sit down and the stranger stares.
youâre tapping your nail against your glass, kyleâs soliloquy foggy as you vehemently avoid eye contact with the bloke who has yet to move his eyes from you.
sweat forms, mouth dries, breath stales. its like heâs glued you to the seat. fly in a trap. his eyes are darker than honey though. molasses, dirt thatâs seemed to dig your grave while your still breathing and-
your name grounds you. you blink.
kyleâs eyes narrow. âyou alright?â
âuh,â you steal a glance at the stranger. heâs still staring.
kyle follows your eyes and snorts through he nose. pats the manâs shoulder and your shocked he doesnât bite.
âoh, donât worry about simon,â he winks at you.
âmeans he likes you.â
(Poly 141 x neighbour!reader: the way to a manâs heart is through his stomach! (Or in your case, the way to four menâs heart is through their stomach))
It started with cookies.
Youâd been in the middle of baking a double batch- oatmeal chocolate chip, your personal favorite- and realized halfway through scooping them onto the tray that youâd made far too many for one person. It wasnât unusual. Baking was how you coped with stress, and ever since youâd moved into this apartment building, stress had been in no short supply.
The guy in 4A had blared music all night. Your hot water barely lasted five minutes. And your smoke detector had developed a habit of chirping at odd hours.
But there was one bright spot- your neighbors in 4C.
Youâd seen them coming and going. Tall, broad, and always carrying duffel bags that looked far too heavy to be legal. They kept odd hours, too, but never caused trouble. One of them- Johnny, youâd learned later- had even held the door open for you when your arms were full of groceries.
Which was why youâd stood outside their door that evening, balancing a plate of cookies and feeling like an idiot as you knocked.
Not-Johnny had answered first, blinking down at you in surprise, though his smile was warm and he was beautiful. You couldnât blame him; you had barely spoken to them more than a few short words.
âUh⌠hi?â
âHi.â You forced a smile. âIâm your neighbor from 4B. I, uh⌠made too many cookies?â
His eyes dropped to the plate immediately, and you swore you saw something primal flicker behind them. Still, you worried.
âI mean, if you donât want-â
âNo! No, we want. Come in- Johnny! Get over here!â
And that was how it started.
The second time had been lasagna.
Youâd just finished assembling it when you realized- again- that youâd made too much. So, after psyching yourself up for ten minutes, youâd knocked on their door for the second time in as many weeks.
Price, who had introduced himself along wuth Simon the day you dropped off the cookies, had answered that time, his expression guarded until he saw the foil-covered pan in your hands.
âYouâre joking,â heâd said, but when you started to retreat, heâd stopped you with a firm, but gentle hand on your back. He had such a nice, big hand. âDonât be ridiculous, lovie. Get in here.â
That night, youâd sat at their table, sharing stories and laughter while they cleaned the dish down to the last crumb.
After that, it became routine.
You started âtesting recipes,â and they became your eager guinea pigs.
And they never seemed to mind.
And nowâŚ
The smell hit first- roasted garlic, browned butter, and something rich simmering low and slow. It snuck out from the slightly cracked kitchen window and spilled into the shared hallway of the apartment building. For men used to MREs and takeout, it was practically siren song.
Gaz was the first to notice, lingering just outside the door labeled 4B- your door- with an almost predatory focus. He wasnât proud of it, but his stomach growled so loud that Soap- rounding the corner with a gym bag slung over his shoulder- laughed outright.
âYou stalking the neighbor again?â
âShut up. You smell that?â
Soap inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered shut for a beat before snapping open.
âJesus wept- what is that?!â
âI donât know, but Iâm this close to knocking.â Kyle held up his fingers, barely an inch apart.
âShe already fed us last week, mate. Dinna push it.â
âBut what if sheâs testing another recipe?â
Gaz wasnât wrong. You had a habit of showing up at their door with dishes too good to refuse.
They hadnât stood a chance.
After the cookies and the lasagna, it wasnât long before other dishes followed: casseroles, soups, pies, and even homemade bread. And the worst part? You bow always prefaced it by saying you needed an opinion- like they were doing you the favor.
It wasnât until Price called you a âbloody saintâ over a pan of enchiladas that Ghost finally put it together.
âYouâre using us as taste testers,â heâd said flatly.
Youâd grinned- too cute and too smug for your own good. âIs that a problem?â
Not a single one of them had said no, just as stated before.
Which led them here, hovering outside your door and pretending they werenât waiting for another offering.
â⌠Fine.â Soap muttered, raising his hand to knock.
But the door swung open before he could, and there you were- apron on, hair pulled back, and flour dusted across your cheek.
âHi!â You chirped, eyes bright. âPerfect timing!â
Gazâs grin was pure relief. âTell me you need opinions. Please, love.â
You laughed, stepping aside to let them in. âI always need opinions. Come in!â
Inside, the kitchen was chaos. Cutting boards and mixing bowls were scattered across the counters. A Dutch oven bubbled on the stove, releasing clouds of savory steam. Plates of food- half-assembled sandwiches, stuffed peppers, and what looked like chocolate tarts- sat waiting.
âI⌠mightâve gone overboard.â You admitted, and if you hadnât spent all day in the kitchen, your cheeks wouldâve gone warmer.
Soap whistled low, eyes raking over every dish. âNot complaininâ.â
Price arrived just then, texted by Kyle, trailed closely by Simon, who took one look at the spread and froze. His eyes swept from the roasted chicken resting under a blanket of fresh herbs to the still-warm biscuits stacked beside a bowl of honey butter.
âWhatâs the occasion?â John asked, smile amused, but you just waved him off.
âPracticing.â
Gaz was already halfway to the table, trying to decide what to start with, but Simon lingered, watching you carefully. He had his balaclava on, though you havenât yet dared to ask why he wears it.
âPracticing for what, exactly?â
You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your apron. âThereâs this⌠thing next week. A community bake-off. And I thought it might be fun to enter.â
Soap arched a brow. âYouâre entering this in a bake-off?â
âWell, not all of it. Iâm still deciding which dishes to use.â
âYouâre winning.â Kyle said immediately, filling his plate.
âDefinitely.â Johnny added, already reaching for a sandwich.
Simon, still lingering, crossed his arms and stared down at you. His height will never, ever not make your breath hitch. âYouâre testing all of this on us?â
You looked up at him through your lashes, pouting just a little. âYou donât mind, do you, Simon?â
His gaze darkened- not in anger, but something softer, heavier. It made your stomach flip.
âNo,â he said simply. âWe donât mind.â
You swallowed and turned quickly to the oven to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks.
The next hour passed in a blur of taste testing, arguments over which dish was best, and repeated assurances that you were going to âblow the competition out of the water.â But beneath the laughter and teasing, you failed to catch the way they looked at you- how Price lingered by the stove just to steal extra bites, or how Johnny kept offering to help, hovering close enough that you brushed elbows more than once.
And Simon? He was the worst of all. He didnât say much, but his eyes tracked your every move, following the way your hands worked the dough or wiped flour off the counter. He was the last to leave, hanging back as the others helped clear plates.
âYouâre serious about this bake-off?â he asked quietly.
You nodded. âThought it might be fun.â
âYou donât need it.â
â⌠What?â
He gestured at the now-empty plates. âTo prove anything, I mean. Youâre alreadyâŚâ He trailed off for a few seconds, and though you were left blinking at him, you didnât rush him. âGood enough.â he murmured at last.
The compliment hit harder than you expected, and for once, you didnât have a clever response.
âThank you, Simon. That⌠means a lot to me.â you said softly.
And just like that, the others reappeared, breaking the moment. Johnny patted Simonâs shoulder with a knowing smirk, and Kyle slung an arm around your shoulders, while Price merely watched. Your kitchen was now spotless, cleaned by them.
âWhenâs the next test run?â Gaz asked.
âI donât know yet.â
âWell, let us know. Weâre free anytime.â
âYeah,â Soap added. âAnytime.â
You laughed but this time, you didnât miss the way Price was looking at you- thoughtful, like heâd already made up his mind about something.
The door clicked shut behind them after that, leaving your apartment quieter but no less warm. The scent of roasted garlic and herbs still lingered, and you found yourself smiling as you surveyed the spotless kitchen. Theyâd made quick work of the mess, trading jokes and lighthearted jabs as they wiped down counters and stacked dishes in quite the uniform style.
You didnât know what youâd done to deserve neighbors like them, but you werenât about to question it.
You caught yourself humming as you tucked away the last plate, the sound of their laughter still echoing faintly in your ears. It was easy with them- comfortable in a way that felt rare and almost too good to be true.
And maybe it was.
Because what you didnât know- what you would probably never know, such a sweet and trusting thing- was that your apartment had been wired within days of your first visit to their door.
To them, it had started with a conversation.
âSheâs alone,â Price had said after the second time youâd brought them food, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative frown. âNo sign of anyone else coming or going.â
âSecurityâs shite.â Gaz had added, gesturing vaguely toward the shared hallway where your lock barely functioned half the time.
Soap had shrugged, easygoing as ever, but his eyes had been sharp. âBetter us keep an eye on her than let some arsehole get the chance.â
And that was that.
Price had ordered the equipment, Ghost had handled the installation, and none of them had lost sleep over it. Not when it meant keeping you safe.
It wasnât just the cameras, either.
Simon had reinforced your locks under the guise of âfixingâ them after you mentioned a struggle with your key. Johnny had talked you into letting him check your windows âjust to be sure they latched properly.â Gaz had set up an app on your phone to âmonitor deliveries,â though it also let them track your location if needed.
And Price? He always lingered at the door just long enough to ask if you needed anything else- subtle, but enough to make sure you knew they were there.
You never questioned it. Never noticed the way they moved like a unit around you, anticipating problems before they could arise. Never caught the glances they exchanged when you mentioned a repairman or the way Simon hovered near the window any time a car idled too long outside.
You just kept feeding them, trusting them in ways that only made their resolve deepen.
Price was the worst.
Heâd leaned against the counter tonight, watching you laugh at Johnnyâs jokes and swat at Kyle when he tried to sneak extra bites, and the thought had hit him harder than he expected, while Simon watched on in amusement and was the only to successfully swipe a few more bites.
They couldâve had this already.
If life had gone differently- if timing had been better- you couldâve been his. Theirs. Someone to come home to instead of just someone they visited between deployments.
He hadnât said anything, of course. None of them had.
But as they left, heâd lingered in the doorway, letting his hand rest lightly against the frame.
âDonât let âem eat it all before the bake-off,â heâd teased, lips curling into a smile. âTheyâll start begging if you do.â
Youâd laughed, and God, it was dangerous how much he liked the sound.
âIâll make sure to keep them in line.â
His smile softened. âGood girl.â
You didnât notice the way Simon shot him a sharp look at that- or the way Johnny and Kyle exchanged knowing grins.
And later, when Price sat down in front of the monitors to check the feeds, he didnât let himself feel guilty.
Because you were safe.
And as far as they were concerned, that was all that mattered.