Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

part 2 to this... the mutual parasocial relationship thickens

141 with reader on their team

You’re a soldier like the rest of them, but know quite a lot about medicine and therefore share the role of both soldier and medic. You’d been with them ever since the task force had been assembled and the rumours flying about on base never really died down.

You, Kyle, Simon and Johnny. Were you friends? Lovers? No one knew. Some swore they’d walked in on you and another kissing, but none of you had ever denied or confirmed that. John didn’t comment on the whispers he heard so frequently, letting his children live peacefully.

Heaven forbid one of them saw John sitting on the sofa alone; because they’d join. If Simon innocently sat down beside him, Kyle would then find him and sit next to him. Then Johnny would find them, dramatically laying across the three of them who had already fallen asleep. Eventually, you’d sniff them out and lounge on top of Johnny, only lightly disturbing him as he rests a hand over your back.

The team worked perfectly together, like a puzzle with all the pieces. A father and his four chaotic children, causing havoc with one another as laughs and giggles filled his office where they lingered after missions.

Even some nights, when Johnny would complain about his sore muscles, he’d always convince one of you to join him in the shower. That’s why peoples opinions were always so mixed on the four of you; how could a group that close not be romantic? Others just suspected friends with benefits and left it at that.

During missions, if any of the boys got injured, you’d be next to them in a heartbeat, staying calm as you patch up a non-fatal bullet wound or force an oxygen mask over their mouth after suffering a concussion or close explosion. You’d kiss their cheek, sometimes with a little too much force, after you knew they were fine and would recover well. Johnny would sometimes ask for one on the lips (and you’d sometimes give it to him).

Gaz would demand massages everywhere after the mission, and Simon (although wouldn’t say directly) appreciated when you sat with him afterwards in silence, and enjoy when you’d yap about random things. It kept him entertained and focused on something other than his negative thoughts. He’d act annoyed when Johnny, Kyle and you would squeeze into his small bed on base and refuse to budge, all lying in the small space, limbs tangled and bodies pressed close together.

However, when they all went home, you’d never mention anything about what you were doing, if you were meeting anyone, seeing family. You were always quieter on the plane ride back to England, more distant and lost in your own head. They knew where you lived, on the outskirts of London, but wanted to know more. One day when Kyle asked if you’d be seeing family, you shrugged your shoulders. “Dunno,” was all you responded with.

So John invited you round his house. Then Johnny found out, claiming his apartment was too far away and convincing John to let him stay round his house as well. Then Johnny forced Simon to stay with them (he didn’t need much convincing); and when they arrived at the airport Kyle somehow ended up in Johns car as well (influenced by you).

At Johns house, the four of you ended up falling asleep over one another on his sofa as he cleaned up the mess of the food you’d nicked from his cupboards. Johnnys snoring woke you up multiple times, but he made up for it in his own ways.

————————————————

this was a random idea I had that I needed to get down 🙂‍↕️. Interpret it how you want, they could be just friends or they could all be secret lovers. Who knows? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

in all timelines and in all possibilities 🫶🏻

key frames below the line!!

Please enjoy this smutty little scene based on a discord convo I had earlier today about sex after IUDs. Unedited and abrupt - if you know me, no you don't 😌

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

*As always, 18+, Minors DNI*

When you'd gotten your IUD a few months back, you'd been prepared for the worst. You'd heard so many horror stories before you'd decided to bite the proverbial bullet and get yours, and you thought you'd prepared yourself for every eventuality.

But you'd never heard anything about the increased sensitivity afterwards.

"C'mon hen, keep your hips up."

When you'd met Johnny, all you'd been expecting was a quick fuck. It was supposed to be a one night stand, the perfect way to test everything out, a practice run before your next longterm relationship. That was before he'd gotten you on your on your tummy, legs splayed wide around his hairy thighs as he slid into your aching center.

You'd struggled against it at first; it had never been your preferred position with past partners, especially ones as... blessed as Johnny. Most of the time, it hurt, your cervix too sensitive to last long as they pounded into you.

However, in between your last partner and your current situation, something had changed. Rather than the sharp pain you'd been expecting, there was a soft, dull ache where Johnny rested inside of you.

"You're so warm - feels like heaven inside ye."

You couldn't stop the whimper that bubbled up, and you were grateful he couldn't see your face; you were sure you were blushing. As you began to rock back, your hips pressing into his, you savored the new sensitivity, the ache adding to the pleasure starting to build. Your movements became frantic, both of you pushing towards your own orgasms.

You crested as you heard him curse behind you, his hips flush with yours as he pulsed inside you. You couldn't stop your hand from creeping between your thighs to press gently on the skin over your womb - the dull ache lingered for a moment, gently pulsing with the last aftershocks of your orgasm.

Oh yeah, you could get used to this.

tw: self-shipping; emotional boner; premature ejaculation, mild degradation

Johnny gets hard when I listen to him.

As in, paying attention. Listening to his stories, his ramblings, his opinions, his problems. I never once tell him to shut up, he simply notices himself when he's been talking non-stop for more than an hour. I sigh, my eyes start drifting around the room. I'm like a dog making whale eyes and yawning, a cat flicking her tail, flattening her ears.

And then he gives me space until I invite him to continue; asking a question, for a followup, and he obliges happily.

We're just friends at this point, but he stopped having meaningless hookups a while ago. He won't admit it, but he couldn't get hard for the woman the last time he tried having meaningless sex. It shook him to his very core.

He even went to the dick doctor on base, but his dick is fine, which makes it even worse.

And then, one evening, as I'm cooking dinner for us, because he invited himself over again, his chatty voice fizzles out after talking non-stop, no period nor comma, and I glance over my shoulder, making eye contact with him, show him that I'm still listening with a social cue.

But Johnny sits at the kitchen table, tattooed forearms resting on the top, spine rigid, breathing shallowly. He's staring at the wall as if seeing a ghost.

"You okay?" I ask, lowering the temperature on the stove to let the pasta sauce cook slowly.

"Mhm, 'course," he answers curtly, and he squirms on the chair, wood creaking under his weight.

I glance down, following the movement of his thick thighs in his jeans as he squeezes them together. My eyebrows draw together, crease now between them, an invisible question mark appearing above my head.

"The hell are you doing? Go pee if you have to. Dinner's not ready yet, anyway." I let out a laugh, because it sounds so stupid. He's a grown ass man. A spec ops soldier.

He lets out a half-snort/half-scoff at that.

"Dinnae 'ave ta take a piss," he retorts, all little too snappishly for my liking, and I almost feel like starting an argument just for shits and giggles.

"Then why did you stop talking? That's a fucking first." I taunt, dropping the wooden spoon on the counter before walking over to him, pushing at his shoulder with my fingertips.

He hisses and grits his teeth, looking like he's in pain. My attitude drops, and my expression softens. Perhaps he's having some sort of silent panic attack?

"Hey "

As I rest my palm on his back, rubbing the taut muscle mass in wide, soothing circles, he shudders and lets out a choked moan. A sound that has my whole being freeze, my hand stilling on his back.

"Keep going, keep going, keep go "

His head tips back, lips parted with a soft groan, and our eyes meet over his shoulder. His bright blue, unnecessarily pretty eyes look hazy, his pupils blown. As I peer down at his crotch, I notice the outline of his cock straining against his jeans. I always had a hunch that he's big.

No man, this cocky and capable, has a small dick.

"Are you a little excited there, Johnny?" I coo at him, palm rubbing over his back again as I lift my other hand to rest on his left shoulder, massaging lightly.

He has the audacity to nod and let out another throaty groan before swallowing audibly.

"Can you come without touching your cock?"

He nods again, his eyelids flutter, and cheeks begin to blush furiously. I've never seen that look on him before, but I enjoy it tremendously.

"Of course, you can, you fucking pervert."

Johnny huffs in what sounds in agitation, but his blush only deepens in colour and I can practically watch his cock twitch and drool in his pants.

I reach up to tug on his short Mohawk, enough to pull his head back further, and he lets out a high-pitched groan before squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment.

"Pretend ye didnae hear tha' ah," he pleads, hands balling into fists on the tabletop as I give his short hair another firm tug.

"Aw, I think I won't," I reply, leaning forward to murmur against his temple, lips pressing against his burning skin, "Actually, I think... I'll make sure that sound you made is burned into my brain, so I can use it for later, Johnny. For when I'm playing with my pretty wet pussy all by myself."

"Oh, fuck !" His thighs jerk, knees bumping and rattling the table as he lifts his hips, humping the air with a pathetic cry of pleasure.

I watch the dark stain on his blue jeans become bigger while slumps down in the chair, and I keep rubbing his shoulders while he catches his ragged breath.

Muzzled at last.

I give his back a few gentle pats, pretending I'm fine, even though my heart is racing and my mind along with it. I just made him cum in his pants. Hands-free.

"Wanna talk about it, champ?" I croon, glancing at him over my shoulder as I walk back over to the stove, tending to dinner.

He lifts his hand to flip me off.

photos of simon you took:

photos of simon that johnny/kyle send you:

photos simon send you:

(the guys in the photo are johnny and kyle)

For a friends with benefits reader/possessive best friend Soap, I'm imagining reader trying initially to set some boundaries so things don't get messy and the lines don't get blurry (like maybe no kissing during sex) and Soap "I have no intentions of being just friends or just a fuck buddy" overriding each and every one of those boundaries.

Johnny "Soap" "Red Flag" MacTavish absolutely kisses with tongue whenever they hook up, even though you told him at the very start that this was purely physical / a way to relieve stress.

He'll send nudes, blow up your phone at all hours of the day, sleep over after you've hooked up even though one of your boundaries was for him to go home after sex ("hen, ye cannae make me go home in this state," he'll complain, flopping over on the bed. "It'd be cruel to send a man home after that."), surreptitiously delete the dating apps off your phone.

He absolutely greets your mom at the door to your flat in his boxers because he invited her and his mom over for Sunday brunch and didn't tell you. Pure beaming when they coo and fuss over their two babies getting together because he knows you're way too embarrassed to correct your mother and tell her that you're just sleeping with Johnny.

Underground Fighter!König X Rich!Reader IV

A/N: aw shit here we go again. This chapter is much longer than usual and has a slightly different format, but I think it turned out great! I'm also posting this fic on AO3 if you prefer it.

Psst, their relationship is progressing 👀

Part I - Part II - Part III

From the earliest he could remember, König was drawn to solitude. He wasn't sure if it was a byproduct of the alienation he’d faced since childhood, the solitude was always preferable to beatings after all. But regardless if it was learned behavior or simply part of his genetic making, he just knew he liked being alone.

He never missed people, a part of him was even glad for his imprisonment, since it meant every interaction he has had a clear and defined purpose. No nonsense and no need for pleasantries. The people around him were either fighting him, taking care of his basic needs, or paying him. Which brings him to his current, urgent dilemma.

You.

He missed you.

In every fight he has had for the past three months, he would scan over the entire crowd, searching for a glimpse of red and finding none that held your warmth. There was no trace of you anywhere, and the only answer he got from people he had threatened asked was that you were “Busy running a business”

With more patience than he knew he possessed, he waited. He sat in his cell, anticipating the sound of your heels clacking against tiles in the hallways. Sadly all he heard was the buzzing of the lights and agitating sound of the guards' boots stomping about. Nothing, not a glimpse of you to be seen for three months. As the fourth month crawled along. He could feel his mind working against him.

What did you get up to when you weren't with him?

He could feel his hands clench around nothing, knuckles white with irrational anger.

König is not a stupid man, he knows he has no right to you from the start. You were his employer, he was an investment, a cog in a multimillion dollar industry. Your father drew the lines clearly and was happy to provide, especially since he made a pretty penny and lived in relative comfort. He had such few concerns since then, as he could provide for his mother consistently, he was...Not happy, but content, which was a rarity in his turbulent life.

And then his boss passed away, and you walked into his life, with your well practiced smile and gentle voice. Speaking to him as if he was a new hire and pissing him off.

He could deal with your naivety for a while until you learned how this world works, he can't deny how endearing he found your terrified eyes and warbling lip, it helped ease the guilt he felt needling at his consciousness.

He knew he was yours when you proved to have a backbone, you occupied his every thought since. He marked you as his as soon as the opportunity presented itself, it wasn’t enough, he wanted more. He wanted to spend his every waking moment pushing every button you had, making your brows furrow and see your pathetic attempt at a glare melt away into a scared, fawning look as he put you in your place. 

He both cursed and thanked the bars between the two of you. He knew he would chain you to the bed if he had the chance, giving you a necklace of bite marks and keeping you dumb and docile.

Such a spoiled little thing... Have you ever had to beg for anything? He could feel his dick strain against his pants at the thought.

He’d have to properly train you if he had you. 

Forcing you to sleep on the cold floor until you got on your unscuffed knees, pressing your tear stained cheek to his thigh as you plead for him to allow you to sleep with him and borrow some of his warmth. How cold and uncomfortable the ground is for someone like you. 

He snakes a hand into his boxers and tugs at his hardening cock as he thinks about how graciously he would warm you up. He would run his hands through your hair before gripping it and dragging you to the bed as you mewl and whimper little thank yous to him. Maybe you would be a polite little thing and call him sir too.

He would reward you, of course, you have been so good and pliant for him. Wrapping his arms around you, warming you up by pressing you against his body and groping your ass.

He bites back a groan at the memory of how addictively soft you felt in his hands. His hand strokes faster, a frenzy of images flash through his mind as he dives head first into this fantasy.

Images of him grabbing your head with both of his hands as he fucked your throat, your eyes filled with tears as wet, slick sounds reverberate through the room. Your undoubtedly expensive mascara running down your cheek while he fucks your face. 

Images of him taking you from behind, your loud moans only spurring him on and making him thrust faster. He reaches under his pillow for the silken panties you had left behind. Your scent long since faded, but the softness of the fabric reminded him of how pretty and soft your skin felt in his rough, calloused hands.

He wraps it around his aching dick, the feel of delicate fabric on his skin almost sending him over the edge. He imagines it's you, straddling his lap and bouncing on his cock.

The image of your pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm approaching, his name falling from your lips as you tell him that you want him, you need him, you lov-

His abdomen muscles tighten as he cums, coating his stomach and hands.

König leans his head back and breathes heavily, slowly coming down from his high. A cooling sheet of sweat covers his body, it makes him feel oddly filthy.

He really thought he outgrew the shame that comes after such activities, but it seems that the guilt was only laying dormant until now. He is not a stupid man, he never was. He knows this shame like an old blanket, the way it settles over him and suffocates him, muffling any cry threatening to escape. 

It's intimate, it is a shame that came from feeling stupid, naive, too trusting. He truly thought he understood how to curb this feeling, the rose colored glasses crushed under a jackboot since he was 17. 

With a sigh, he wipes away his cum and steps into the shower, hoping to wash away both the sweat and uncomfortable thoughts. But the sound of the water only spurs him on. The tightness in his chest is more uncomfortable than any bruising he had earned in the ring. You became more important to him than he should have allowed, he should have kept you at arms length or at least just enjoyed your touch without getting attached.

Maybe this was a mercy on your part, forcing him to confront the massive chasm that separates the two of you. Maybe that's why you stayed away from him, not wanting to feed him any more delusions. 

Thinking back, have you ever…? You never promised anything, the only thing that solidified any kind of relationship between you two is his skills in the ring. He thinks back to your meeting when he injured his leg, your words morphing from a declaration of affection to empty words meant to subdue him until he could get better. He reaches down and rubs his now heeled knee. ‘an investment’ he thinks. He leans his head against the cool wall, letting the water wash over him as he continues to wallow. 

He steps out of the shower and slowly dries himself, not bothering to put on any clothes as he plops onto the bed, The musk and sweat coming off the mattress is a reminder of how long he spent in this facility.

As sleep tugs on his eyelids, lets his mind wander and imagines what a life with you would be like, allowing himself a moment of respite this evening. Waking up in a bedroom decorated with whatever style your graceful tastes would prefer, having a warm body lay next to him and urging him to wake up so the two of you could eat breakfast.

The thought makes him smile, you seem like the type to get fussy about waking up early, maybe you would drag him to a morning jog. He wouldn't mind, he would probably drag you to a woody area nearby and eat you out against a tree. He indulges himself in a multitude of domestic fantasies as he wraps himself in the thick blanket you had provided for him, promising himself that tomorrow, he would move on.

His eyes flutter open when the door hinges screech, a cursory look at the window high above on the wall tells him its dark outside. He groans and rolls to his stomach, assuming it is a doctor or guard coming to check up on him.

The cell door is open and an angelic voice calls out to him;

"König...?”

You step into the dark cell, eyes still not adjusting to the dark. Buzzing with energy, you can’t believe how much you missed him while you were away. You only stayed in your house to shower and freshen up after a flight, putting on a light weight, earthy red colored dress as you rushed to see him.

You see him stir, awake and likely recognizing your voice, the thought of him just as excited to see you as you were him makes your heart swell.

“Are you awake?” you say, smile evident from your tone. 

“I am now,” he grumbles, his voice still hoarse. 

“I’m sorry, I just came back and couldn’t wait” You giggle and place a hand on his back, he is a furnace and it only reminds you of how cold you were, the flimsy dress offering no warmth. 

‘Fuck it’ you think, getting on the bed and laying on top of him. Resting your head on his back. You almost melt into him, the warmth seeping into your bones. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches when you lay on him, still making no attempt to push you away

“I missed you” you sigh into his shoulder blade, the exhaustion from the long flight and constant work making you less reserved with your feelings, you can’t remember a time when you were this docile and cuddly with any of your previous boyfriends. You were always cautious with other men, a wall built solid around your heart. You knew what most of these men wanted was money, it was always a fact that lingered whenever you lay next to them. Despite the fact that he was nowhere near as rich as any of your ex boyfriends, there was something about him that felt…transparent? There is a strange, almost caveman quality to him, what he wants, he gets. He has been misogynistic, violent, perverted, and he has never once been deceitful. It’s refreshing, having grown up knowing only prim and proper men doing a hell of a job of covering up those exact same qualities. You appreciate him so much more now, having dealt with these people exclusively for months. 

“Where were you?” he blurts, he sounds hurt. 

You lift your head from his back, reaching out and scratching gently at his scalp, the prickle of his buzz cut hair pleasantly rubbing against your finger pads. He hums, his body relaxing more with each gentle swipe of your thumb.

“I had some business to attend to, since my father passed away there were a lot of deals left hanging, so I had to tie some loose ends with business partners” you whisper softly, leaving out the grueling schedule of meeting after meeting after flight after fake smiles after email. 

“Just business partners, ja?”

You blink. 

Oh?

You lean in and press a kiss to the base of his neck, you know he could feel you smile against his skin. He is unbearably cute when he’s pouting.

“Just business partners,” you whisper, he hums unenthusiastically. You move and lay next to him, he turns his head away from you and reaches for the nightstand, grabbing his mask. It is too dark to make out what his face looks like, you only got a glimpse of prominent cheekbones before he turned. 

You prop yourself up on your elbow as he turns to face you, features now concealed behind the mask.

Unexpectedly, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close, only then do you realize he’s naked, his erection pressed flush against your thigh, of course he’s hard. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his masked cheek. 

“Are you jealous?” you tease. Not bothering to hide your glee. He only huffs in response, it’s not needed when it's this obvious. You push him on his back and lay next to him, using your arm to press his head to your chest.

“You don’t have to be” you purr, snaking a hand under his mask and rubbing his stubbled cheek, making him sigh and nuzzle more into your breasts as you pepper his temple with kisses. 

You trace a nail down his neck as he shivers, his breath is choppy and he closes his eyes tight. You glance down, his dick is twitching against his abdomen, pearly droplets of precum coating the trail of hair running down his abs. You reach down, having to maneuver your body lower so you could comfortably wrap your hand around his cock.

Your head now rests on his chest, rising with each deep breath he takes. You start to pump him slowly, relishing the way his cock throbs in your palm. You lift your hand from his crotch and spit on it, earning you a sinful whine and a muttered ‘fuck’ as he grips the sheets tight. 

You stroke him faster, the filthy sounds coming from both your actions and his mouth sending a bolt of heat down your core.

You lean in and bite his pec, just around his areola. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as his hips stutter upwards, you can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as to why he enjoyed that. 

You flatten your tongue over his nipple before wrapping your lips around it and sucking on them while rubbing the tip of his shaft at the same time, making him moan loudly. He turns his head away from you, you can feel the heat of his flush flowing down his chest. 

“Look at me” you say breathlessly, the hand on his dick slows, stroking lazily. Soft, blown out pupils make contact with yours, his head still turned away. 

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Your voice sounds sinful even to your own ears. You feel his cock twitch, begging for release. He nods slowly, you can barely make out tears wetting his lower lashline. 

Your hand stills just under the crown of his cock. 

“Do it then” You grin, “Fuck my hand, make yourself cum” 

His eyes widen, darting around your features before he starts to thrust into your hand, making you grin wider. 

“That’s it, keep going, you're so good for me aren’t you? You wanna be a good boy for me don’t you?”

He doesn’t respond. Just groans and continues to thrust upwards. You lift three of your fingers, your thumb and index barely touching him. He whines, his voice high pitched as German curses spill from his mask-covered mouth. 

“Don’t you?” you repeat with more authority now, he nods vigorously, too horny to be concerned with something as trivial as shame. 

“Ye-yes! fuck, bitte liebling, I want to cum, please let me cum” He whimpers, his voice breaking as he moans. He rolls his hips, trying to get any friction he can. 

You oblige, wrapping your hands around his shaft tightly and pumping him as he sings your praises in a mix of english and german, he thanks you repeatedly before his muscles pull taut, rope after rope of white cum coats his stomach and your hand. Neither of you moves, only your heavy breathing filling the room. König is the first to break the silence. 

“I…Missed you too” 

You smile and nestle into his chest, his arm wraps around you, gently petting your hips. 

“I like your dress” he mumbles into your hair. You roll your eyes and kiss whichever part of him you could reach, such a silly man you've gotten yourself tangled with. You hardly settle into the bed before you hear a soft snoring. You have to bite your lips to suppress a giggle. 

Slowly, you try to lift yourself up to leave the bed without disrupting the sleeping giant. 

The muscular arm around you tightens and you are secured against Königs side. His mass then rolls and lays on top of you. You groan as you feel his semen smearing over the dress he supposedly liked. 

The weight of him pins you to the mattress, making you unable to move with the exception of your hand which was tapping at his side repeatedly, you curse the fact that he isn’t ticklish. 

“König”

“Mmm?”

“Get off”

He gives you a kiss on your cheek. 

“Nein” 

I hope you guys like this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it ^^

Reblogs and comments much appreciated, please let me know what you think <3

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not friends not lovers but a secret third thing

(simon riley x f!reader, same rank!)

violence, cod inaccuracies, reader is a badass

simon riley never calls you baby

until he does.

you tell him it has to stay hidden. you can't be known as "the girl fucking the lieutenant", no matter if you're the same rank as him, the same sweat and tears put into the job. it scares you, the thought of losing decades of hard work over some stupid fling with a man they call ghost. a man who brings you tea on your sick days, a man with soft eyes and a listening ear, the only man who's ever brought you to orgasm. the push and pull of your autonomy and your love is ever growing, that bone deep fear rooted in your marrow.

simon's scared too. scared of waking up and it's all a dream. scared that his enemies will find out, scared that it'll show he isn't so dead after all. he's been a rotting thing on earth for nearly four decades and he's comfortable with it; no matter how alive you make him feel. his hand on your waist feels right, but he can't bring his heart into the light.

so you call each other "lieutenant." maybe "riley" when he pisses you off, just to get under his skin. "dove" is rare, but it warms you up just the same, gives you an unbidden vision of hot chocolate and snow days. mainly its "l.t.", remnant of johnny, the respect and friendliness woven together sweetly. you murmured "babe" to him once, in the early morning when he sneaks out, and felt his shoulders bunch, the weight of it too much to bear. that was the end of pet names, or so you thought.

--

it's a foggy day on what becomes the worst night of your life. the mission is at a standstill, the intel outdated. you were supposed to be taking out a terrorist organization, blowing up the base of their operations, but instead the building is damp and abandoned, echoes of life the only sign they were here. price is in your ear, telling you to clear one last room and retreat, simon already on his way out. you nudge your way into the room with caution, years of practiced steps coming to you on instinct. for some reason, you don't catch the glint of a stranger's eye in a hidden corner. you don't see the rope in his hands, the knife between his teeth. the next thing you see is the floor, fog seeping over concrete as rough hands gag you and mutter promises of ungodly harm.

something's wrong. "price." simon murmurs soft and low, crossing out of the building to the tree cover below. "where is she? s'pposed t' be out by now." he's scanning the building through his scope, looking for that figure he knows so well, could find blind. "copy. 'er tracker says she's still in the buildin'. let's-" there's a piercing scream in the air. the ravens take flight from the trees. dark wings, dark words. "ghost-" "goin' in." a sigh on the other end. he can practically feel price's hesistancy but he doesn't care, heavy feet already moving back into the building. "you're goin' in blind, radar's jus' gone out." he swears under his breath, clearing hallway after hallway as the building falls back into silence. just as he comes upon a 4-way split, you scream again, the sound far away and to his left. "'m comin' dove, hold on." there's no gunfire, no sounds of fight. it's so eerie he thinks he might have dreamed it, his worst nightmare come true. his instincts lead the way, some knowledge of your location hidden in his blood. pop. finally a gunshot, and if he squints hard, he tries to imagine it being from your weapon. he's close, nostrils expanding at the scent of you, memorized even without your favored perfume.

there were four of them. you still can't believe you missed them, the thought in the back of your head as you fight for your life. scrambling from the rope one tries to force on you, becoming an eel as you slip out of their grasps. this is what you do, what you're trained for. until someone stomps down hard on your ankle, the force of it cracking straight through. you scream, can't help it, searing pain blinding your vision for precious seconds. they take advantage of it, gloved hands tying your own behind your back in a tight knot. you can't reach your comms so you scream again, this one out of frustration, desperation that your team, that simon, might not find you.

the big one shuts you up with a hand to your throat, a bruising grip that leaves you unable to speak. they aren't well trained, fumbling hands and shaky grips, and you're finally able to reach your holster, shooting the first between the eyes before you can even glimpse his face. now you're in your element, adrenaline covering the pain of your ankle as you fight back, shooting one after the other, digging out your knife for close combat. it's over in a blink, the men no match for your skills, and once you double check they're dead, you collapse in the corner, the pain of your ankle roaring. that's when you hear it.

"baby?" it's him (but it can't be). he's never called you that. you pretend not to see when he whispers it into your neck as you feign sleep, when he murmurs it in a grunt as he's deep in your cunt. he's never said it to your face. "baby!" it's definitely him, that gruff voice cutting across the fog. you whine out of frustration, your throat too sore from your attacker to call out. instead, you limp to the door, almost running into simon as he comes crashing into your own personal hell. he sweeps you into his arms and you let him, grabbing his shoulders to make sure he's real.

"y' hurt?" he takes a look around the room, at the carnage in your wake. "my brave girl." you're sobbing, unsure whether its from frustration or relief. still can't believe you got caught, feeling like such a stereotype to have your knight in shining armor rescue you. "handled them all y'rself, hm, baby?" he's all sweetness and it hurts, seeing his eyes swell in pride as he takes in the four dead men, gunshots and a knife sticking out of one's eye. "why- why are you calling me that, simon?" he's ushering you out, your arm around his neck as you limp towards freedom. "proud of you." he says it simply, eyes trained on potential threats, not watching your reaction.

"aye, i told you, gaz. ye owe me a drink." soap's voice crackles through the comms. they were on. which meant your team heard the whole thing, heard simon practically claim you, knew you were together, thought you were a slu- "she's too good for him. i don't believe it." gaz's voice replied. "bugger off." simon grumbled into the mic, the sounds of them snickering loud and clear. "good?" he turned back at you, stopping you before you approached the clearing where your team waited. his eyes told you something different, that he'd walk out of here right now if you wanted. the cock of his head meant he'd follow you anywhere, live off the lamb for decades if you wanted. that was all you needed to know. you nodded and pushed forward. "yeah, i'm good, baby."

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this is SO CRINGE but it's been in my drafts forever and needed to start paying rent