Ex Husband!Ghost That Just Shows Back Up In Your House (no Matter How Many Times You've Moved Without

wait for protective price and nanny reader how about her doing the food shop with the kids and one guy always hits on her so as the kids are recounting the day to him they tell him about that!!!!!!

yk what hell yeah

part two <- part three -> part four…?

nanny!reader (18+ smut, fem!reader, infidelity, jealous price, daddy kink 🫣, unedited cause it’s just fern on her bullshit)

—•—

“hello you two, how was your day?”

john lowered himself down onto the couch as his two children scrawled away at their colouring books on the floor adjacent. he watched them with a soft smile on his face, also listening to your gentle humming filtering in from the kitchen. no doubt preparing to cook something amazing.

his wife was yet to make an appearance home, and so the kids had given up asking for her. they were happy enough with their dad coming home earlier and earlier, as well as their awesome nanny.

“good thanks,” his daughter replied, pink glitter pen clutched in one of her hands. “we went food shopping today.”

“oh yeah? and did you two behave yourselves?” john looked between his two children, who looked over at him momentarily.

they both nodded, with his son answering verbally as well, “of course we did. and, dad, we saw one of her friends there.”

john’s eyebrows twitched, threatening to raise in slight surprise. “really? was she nice?”

his daughter, catching him father off guard, let out a snort and a laugh as she slipped the cap of her pen back on before placing it aside. she picked up an orange one next. “it wasn’t a girl, dad. it was a boy.”

“a man,” his son corrected, swirling a green pen around in the air. “and we’ve seen him before. well, i’ve seen him before, anyway.”

“…have you, now?” john leaned back against the couch, one of his arms spread out along the backrest.

his son nodded once more, returning his attention to the page he was colouring, which was some sort of ocean-themed still with coral and seaweed and a bunch of cartoon sea creatures.

“yeah,” he replied. “duh, cause he works there.”

something twisted low in john’s gut. he cleared his throat, a sinking feeling became ever more present as he set up a picture in his mind— a picture of some other guy putting his hands on you, complimenting you, having your time of day. sitting on the couch, he realised he didn’t want anyone else to do that to you, his nanny for goodness sake, but him.

“he works there?” john kept his tone light. he was speaking with his children after all, both of which were extremely intuitive and intelligent, so he prayed they didn’t pick up on the slight strain of worry in his words.

“in the deli section, behind the counter,” his daughter said. “he usually gives us a piece of ham or something to eat when she stops by there.”

of course he fucking does.

“what does he say to her?” came out instead. thank god. the last time he swore in front of his children was when he hit his head the corner of a cabinet, said fuck rather loudly, resulting in his then five-year-old daughter repeating that word for the next few days.

silence.

“honey, darling,” he addressed his daughter softly. “what does the man say to her?”

his daughter put down the orange pen, the cap snapping back into place. she peered up at her father with a slight pout to her face.

“does it matter?”

oh this little—

john took a deep breath. nerves continued to eat at his stomach, which made him feel slightly ashamed. not at the fact that his seven year old daughter’s sass reminded him of the woman he had married, but because he realised there was another man out there possibly flirting with the woman he wanted.

“i’m just curious, darling, that’s all,” he replied smoothly. he then tried to his speaking to his five-year-old son a shot, which he didn’t expect to go very far. “what kind of things does he say, mate?”

his son gnawed carefully on the tip of his pen, the tip clacking against his molars. “just stuff.”

ah, right. stuff.

“stuff about, um, going out and stuff.”

that’s… better than nothing.

john could still hear you pottering around in the kitchen, mixed with the sounds of your humming, quiet music playing most likely from your phone, and the muted clanging of pots and pans together.

his daughter, thankfully, chimed in. “he’s always telling her jokes that aren’t even that funny, and asking her questions about her life and stuff. he once asked if we were her kids, and she said no, and he looked, like, happy.”

relieved, john’d guess. nosy son of a bitch.

his son decided to add his two cents too. “he asked for her number today. that’s nice.”

john felt his heart drop out of his fucking arse. her number? are you fucking kidding me? does this cunt have a death wish or something? asking a girl for her number while he’s on the job, how fucking ridiculous.

bless his son with the added that’s nice. john longed to tell him that no, it wasn’t nice. it’s rude to ask a woman for her number if she doesn’t appear interested the first few times you try and hit on her. it’s weird. let alone when you’re working at a fucking deli counter.

john took a deep breath. he was winding himself up. tighter and tighter, something dark and heavy pulling at the strings of his heart.

he removed his arm from the back of the sofa and got to his feet, knees cracking.

“thanks, you two. now i’ll leave you to it. dinner shouldn’t be too far, i’m guessing,” he said, leaving his kids in the living room as he entered the kitchen, giving them one last glance before resting his eyes on you.

you swayed in front of the stove, humming to yourself, something catchy playing from the tinny speakers of your phone. he watched you closely, the way your plush hips moved side to side, the curve of your arse looking fucking great in your trousers, the bow of the apron resting just atop it.

you turned with a wooden spoon in your hand. when you caught sight of your boss on the other side of the kitchen, you jumped, heart clattering against your sternum.

“mr. price, oh my goodness, you scared me. i didn’t even hear you come home,” you said, always polite when he came home. “i’m sorry.”

in case of company. the company you weren’t exactly wanting to keep.

the wife, obviously. the wife.

“don’t apologise, sweetheart,” he told you, crossing his big arms over his even bigger chest and you willed your eyes not to follow the movement. “and she’s not home yet. i came home early.”

of course you did, you wanted to counter with a roll of your eyes. but you didn’t. you just let him have a soft smile before you were turning back towards the pot on the stove.

he slowly began walking across the kitchen, watching you the entire time. you could hear him walking, hear the hard soles of his shoes against the kitchen tile. he hadn’t taken them off like he usually does, and you’d tell him off for it later.

the weight of his eyes on you was almost unbearable. already, your heart was beating a million miles an hour as you clutched the spoon and stirred at the soup in the large pot.

“how was your supermarket trip?” he asked you, and you thought that was slightly weird. a little too specific, perhaps.

then, because you’re a smart girl, it hit you. you sighed through your nose, shaking your head as you watched the thick, rich soup simmer before your eyes.

“the guy at the deli counter just flirts with me, that’s it. i don’t reciprocate it in front of the children, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

john was right behind you now. you could feel his presence, warm and solid, at your back. you could smell him too, and that alone had the backs of your knees weakening.

“i don’t care about flirting in front of my kids,” he said firstly. “what i care about is some cunt flirting with my fucking wife.”

your stomach dropped. “john… not now.”

“why not now?” he questioned, and now his hands were on you. resting on your hips, squeezing you there, holding you tight. “hm?”

his head craned down beside yours, chin tucking against your shoulder.

you swallowed. “i… look, he asked for my number, and i said no, okay? nothing happened, and he respected it.”

“okay,” john said calmly. “okay, sweet girl, i believe you. i believe you, baby, but…”

but…?

he continued. “if he ever talks to you again, talks to what’s mine again, i’ll fucking kill him.”

“jesus— fuck, john, don’t say that—”

he pulled you tight against him, your arse to his pelvis, and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head as he wrapped his arms around your torso.

“i’m serious,” he said between kisses. “if he ever tries anything like that again, i’ll gut him. and, if he does try again, make sure to tell him you’re fucking married, got it?”

you don’t answer. the soup seems really interesting right about now.

“answer me.”

right, okay.

“yes, sir,” you reply, and he groans against you. you try not to let the sound make you drop the spoon into the soup, but it was difficult.

“good,” he grumbled, then retreated. you missed the warmth already. he leaves a light smack on your arse in his wake, though. “we’ll continue this discussion later tonight.”

discussion. sure.

—•—

later that night, you were back at your flat. it seemed as though you hadn’t been here in days, although you only left to work earlier that morning.

you weren’t a live-in nanny. not yet, anyway. but you were anticipating it. not that john would spur the conversation, but his wife, probably. his wife who was sick of having to get up during the night for her kids, or annoyed that you turned up around half-six to prepare their school lunches and breakfasts for that day.

so you were waiting for the invite to live in the guest room. until then, however, you’d stay in your not-so-cosy little flat with a radiator that made odd sounds and a neighbour that liked to practice her saxophone in the early hours of saturday morning.

john had promised you a discussion. and, for the most part, despite the gnawing in your stomach, it was a normal discussion.

he expressed to you how he felt about other men speaking to you, as the man at the deli counter had. not necessarily in front of the children, but just in general. you were his employee, you had affirmed. he shook his head and told you you were his, employee or not.

and then the discussion progressed into exactly what you thought he had been implying originally. through context clues, of course.

“you’re mine,” he muttered as he slowly pushed his cock into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt. he had two hands on your arse cheeks, spreading them apart, squeezing firmly. “d’you understand that, sweetheart?”

“yes, fuck— yeah,” you moaned into your bedsheets, arching your back as he sunk his cock deep into your pussy. deep until his hips came to rest against you, flared and dusky head pressed far inside. “i understand, i understand.”

he grumbled, deep in his chest, as he slowly pulled his cock out until just the tip rested inside you. then, he gripped your hips and pulled you back towards him at the same time he thrusted forward, spearing you on his cock in once heavy thrust.

your body went lithe, rippling and wriggling as he repeated the action again and again. you cried out, begging for him, pleading with him, his thrusts heavy and making a goddamn point. his balls slapped against your swollen clit, the soaked seam of your pussy, wet squelches falling throughout your quiet room.

john controlled the movements. he brought you back against him again and again, fucking the thick of his cock into your tight cunt, over and over, watching the way the fat of your arse cheeks shifted; the way your legs quivered; the way you buried your sweat-slick face into the sheets and sobbed as pleasure wracked through you.

the bed creaked, headboard tapping lightly against the wall. you couldn’t even bring yourself to think about your neighbours— or wonder if your neighbour will still play her stupid saxophone tomorrow morning.

your mind was swimming, drowning in thoughts of john price. he speared you on his cock, pussy taut around him, fluttering with each punch up against that perfect, gummy spot inside you. the spot making you see stars and bright little phosphenes behind your sinking eyelids.

“john,” you moaned into the sheets, bare tits rubbing against the fabric of your bed linen, nipples sore from john’s foreplay of pinching them. just a reminder, he’d said, before taking them into his mouth— a reminder of what!?

“oh, i know, darling girl, i know— feels good? am i making you feel good?”

“yesss,” you turned your head to moan, a hiccup threatening to bubble up through your trachea. something tingled in your lower spine, pleasure pooling through your pelvis, molten. “john, feels so good. m’sooo—“

you lost your train of thought through another moan as the head of john’s cock slammed repeatedly into the right place. your cunt clenched around him, arousal dribbling out and down his balls, down the fat of your inner thighs too, warm and slick.

no man had ever made you feel like this. no man had got you dribbling down your thighs, pussy wet and puffy and kiss-bitten, stretched happy and wide.

and that was the point.

“pussy’s a fuckin’ dream, baby. missed her so much these last few days, y’know. missed how tight and wet she always is f’me—” john uttered, then tapered off to listen to you mewl sweetly beneath him. he continued with a light chuckle. “yeah, my kind of pussy— just made for me, isn’t she? she been kicking’ up a fuss without my cock in her, hm?”

you nodded deliriously, mouth parted, eyes basically closed. you didn’t have the reservations to feel embarrassed by the way he was talking to you. all you felt was warmth, pleasure, and, as you always felt with john no matter where you were or what you were doing, safe.

“yeah, that’s it, good girl. taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it,” he grunted, pulling you back particularly hard. “and you were made for it, weren’t you? s’cause you’re mine. my fuckin’ girl— my— my wife.”

his accent got thicker when he fucked you, and he always let slip his fantasy— his desire to have you as his wife. put a ring on your finger. put a baby in your womb. claim you with his last name, and his kids, and his everything. he felt as though you were his already, and he sure as fuck liked to play a bit of pretend.

“john,” you moaned loudly. “john, please— feels so good, feels so good.”

he panted above you, grunting as his head dropped, sweat dripping from his forehead, broad chest rising and falling quickly.

“yeah, baby? you feel good? is— fuck— is daddy making you feel good? hm?” he coaxed with a rasp in his voice. “yeah?”

“yeah, please,” you mewled, release pooling in the depths of your belly. your clit was hammering with your heartbeat, static buzzing up your legs as they began to tremble. “pleaseee.”

john groaned, feeling your cunt tighten around him, gummy walls constricting tight around the girth of his cock. “you wanna come?”

your eyes were rolling, body shaking. “yes, daddy, please.”

john moaned this time. “yeah, come on then, pretty girl. come for me. come all over your daddy’s big cock.”

he maintained his pacing and this thrusts as you came with a shout of his name, pussy squeezing tight and spilling arousal out the sides of his cock. your body shook, writhing on the bed beneath him, legs threatening to give way as pleasure wracked through you. white hot pleasure that had tears slipping down your cheeks as he fucked you through it.

“that’s my girl, that’s my girl,” john repeated lowly, letting you flop tiredly against the mattress. he held your hips up as he fucked himself into your cunt, arousal gushing with each movement. “fucking hell, such a wet pussy. so fucking wet for me.

you squeaked out something of a moan. he grunted above you, thrusts disintegrating into ruts, moving desperately against you as he worked himself towards completion. white hot and shining like a pearl ahead of him.

it always was like that with you.

he wanted it to always be with you. only you. he wanted to enclose you in the strong, corded muscle of his arms and hold you to his broad chest and soft stomach. he didn’t want to let you go. he wanted to shove the thickened mass of his cock into the clutch of your cunt and empty himself, fill you with his seed, flood up your womb with an entity that chained you to him. forever.

it wouldn’t happen now, he knew. but one day, he’d have what he wanted. he always did.

“m’coming, sweet girl. m’coming,” he moaned quietly, desperately humping against your backside, cock barely sliding in and out anymore, just rutting up towards the plug of your cervix, balls deep. “fuckin’ hell—”

john came with a moan of your name, hot spurts coating your insides. you replied with a mewl of your own, the side of your face pressed into the sheets below, sweat slicked across your body. his hands tightened against your hips, holding you tight against him, arse flush to his abdomen, as his cock twitched inside you. he continued to thrust lightly, working his orgasm all the way until it fizzled out like embers.

when he stopped, he didn’t pull out. he kneeled there for a moment, panting, big chest heaving with his cock still plugging his cum in your pussy. after a few long moments, you whined lightly, and he took that as a cue to keel forward and take you in his arms.

“my good girl,” he murmured, holding you between the mattress and him. boiling hot, sweaty. his cock was still plugged inside you, and you felt your lightly aching pussy clench around him. he groaned, “yeah, my good girls.”

—•—

you stood at the door to your flat, lean in against the doorframe with your arms folded over your chest. body dressed in one of his tee’s, a pair of his boxers, and some fuzzy slippers someone had brought you for your birthday years ago.

you watched john go. walk down the few stone steps and towards his car. he stopped before he reached it, though, and turned around to appraise you with— even in the darkness of night— soft eyes that shimmered under the light of the full moon. shimmered with something, maybe yearning. you didn’t know.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” john said, eyes raking down your body one last time.

you hummed, annoyed. “yeah.”

john frowned. “sweetheart, you know i have to go. just because my wife’s asleep, doesn’t mean i can be gone the whole night.”

my wife. that hit you right in the chest. slamming into your whole body actually. pulled back down to earth by that red string of fate, and you scraped up your knees when you reached the ground. cause it stung like hell, the realisation that you were in love with a man that was married.

“i know,” you replied. “i’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, i guess.”

john sighed and, after looking up and down the street, crossed the pavement once more and climbed the couple of steps before he could put his large hands over your hips and back you up against the doorframe.

“it won’t be like this forever. i promise you that,” he whispered. “but, for the meantime, i guess i’m going to have to treat my special girl right so she keeps coming back, hm?”

he locked his mouth against yours, catching you pretty much by surprise. he quickly shoved his tongue through the part in your soft lips, licking between your teeth and smoothing his against yours. you moaned quietly, something in the back of your throat, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he kissed you in a way that you’d never been kissed before.

you ran a few fingers through his hair, tugging gently, to which he groaned and pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your mouths until it snapped as you smiled up at him, coyly.

he chuckled, placing one last brisk kiss to your lips, before stepping back. you let him go, and then once again, leaned against the doorframe with your arms over your chest as he walked towards his car.

“goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, opening his car door. i love you, he wanted to say.

“goodnight, john.”

Felt on another level 😌

Me: Men ain't sh*t.

These mf's show up:

Me upon seeing these men:

ok simon and his mail order bride live rent-free in my head now and, like, what i wanna know is what their anniversaries look like? not just their one year anniversary, but also their fifth or tenth? how does it change as they settle into that deep comfortability that comes with being with someone a long time? -391780

this piece i still consider canon mail-order bride, but i see it almost as an extra than a continuation of the current story since it is very much in the future of that timeline. <3

mail-order bride

it's difficult to see the potential of something so mangled. sometimes things are so worn out and so used that they don't reflect what their purpose was. instead of function, they see flaw. instead of value, they see waste.

sometimes you wonder if that's what they saw in you. sometimes you wonder if that's why you were given to him.

that's what they made him. simon was a tortured dog they let loose. they saw value, but only what was left, and perhaps they thought something like you might help them squeeze just that little bit more out of him. one more year. one more op.

the sunlight wakes you up. you forgot to pull the blinds, but when you see simon sleeping peacefully next to you, it's worth it to be up so early. you know as soon as you move, he will wake, so you keep still for just a few more minutes.

today marks ten. he doesn't look much older. he seems to have stopped aging ever since you asked him to put in his papers.

like always, as soon as you sit up, simon blinks awake. he's bleary, but conscious, and when your eyes meet, you smile at him. he lifts his big hand and rubs your back gently. you don't speak any words so early in the morning, but you don't have to. there isn't much to say when the love of your life loves you, and you love them back.

you push the blankets off, giggling when you reveal the black and orange balls of fur that blink up at you. they almost seem irritated that you interrupted their sleep, snuggled in the heat that simon radiated. they'll just have to deal with it.

you drag your hand down simon's leg wordlessly. you hear his deep breaths from behind, and you reach into your bedside table to press a little balm into your hand before spreading the ointment across his knee and under it. you work it into the muscles nice and slow; any faster, and simon will hitch his breath in pain, and you'll have to start over.

you kiss his knee before laying back down, settling into his side, and you lift up your left hand, wiggling your fingers knowingly at him before looking up towards his face. he smiles down at you sleepily, raising his hand to cup your fingers.

"still love me?" you ask softly, and simon pretends to think about.

"mmm..." he rumbles. "still love ya."

"but do you still like me?"

"more everyday."

the first few years were spent trying to play catch-up. fancy dinners, expensive gifts, handwritten letters that could've been novels to try and stuff the love you have for each other all in one night. they were all wonderful; you think about those nights all the time, and you cherish the gifts he's given you like they are a part of you, but today feels different.

today might not be just another day, but it's just as special as yesterday. and the day before that. and the day before that.

when it's time to really wake up, you let simon guide you. he walks easy, barely a limp, and he sits you down at your vanity to help you do your hair as you add your serums and moisturizers. he's good with that brush, running it through gently, parting your hair the way you like so he can tie it up. he'd braid your hair if you asked him to (he said it wasn't unlike all the knots he knows how to tie--and he meant it, no one dutch braids like him), but you know your show came out last night, and you want to watch them with the scones you have proofing in the fridge.

he makes the coffee and tea while you set the scones in the oven. you fill the cat's bowls while he cleans out the water fountain. it's wordless, the morning routine, but you like the times when you brush by him. when your arm runs against his. when your hands bump going for the same cabinet. when he leans down as he passes you, kissing along your jaw before he keeps walking.

bliss. fucking bliss.

he's waiting for you in the living room once you pull the scones out of the oven. your coffee sits on the table on its coaster, in your favorite mug, and he's under your blanket as he flips through the tv. he already knows what you'll want to watch, and you bite back your smile when you notice him typing it into the search bar because he didn't see it when he scrolled past (you keep telling him to wear his glasses, but he'll never listen).

you take a seat next to him, thumbing at his cheek, and he takes a scone off the plate before biting into it. he smiles when he tastes chocolate, looking at you knowingly, and you reach for his hand as you settle against his chest.

you used to be mangled, too. a mess. pretty on the outside, dying on the inside. all fried wires, a traumatized animal, learned behavior of relieve and appease that kept you out of trouble and out of sight.

you have never seen simon this way. and simon has never seen you this way. no hopeless potential. no wasted space. no diminishing value.

i matter because you matter. you matter because i matter.

hidden, not broken. disguised, not incomplete. you did not have jagged edges, only armor that you tried to put up to protect yourself.

you tip your head back to look up at him, and when he cups your jaw to stare back at you, you're relieved by what you see in his eyes.

ten years. it will be nothing like forever. it will be nothing like your next life, nor like the life after that. it's comforting to know what home looks like. maybe you will recognize it the way you recognized it in this life.

no, that can't be it.

you recognized it because it had already happened. in some other time, in some other place, you were sitting where you sit now, looking at simon the way you look at him now.

you knew who he was before you even met him, and you will know who he is when you meet him again.

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES THUNDERBOLTS*

@dilfl0v3rss why we aint never talked abt this 🧍🏽‍♀️🧍🏽‍♀️

★ CHARACTER AESTHETIC !ONY!

the last pic has me trembling

Coolmath, Y8, abcya and there was another we did in preschool

my esteemed faggots i present to you

hurricane yaoi

by @ annya.zombie on tiktok

10 Found Footage/Documentary Style Movies To Consider For October/Halloween

Godly. Thats all i can say 💙

i need to get this thot out there fjvjdjdjjs you tend to be quiet in the bedroom, thinking that your moans are too embarrassing for frank to hear. but when he has you face down in the mattress, going so hard and deep. You muffle yourself with a pillow and it turns out you’re loud and frankie just wants to hear more

⌒ 🍒 . ꒱ 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲

pairing: frank castle x female!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, vocal!reader, self consciousness, soft!frankie, light exhibitionism + mention of future exhibitionism, light mention of claiming, possessive behaviour (welcomed by reader)

a/n: frankie would absolutely encourage you to embrace it <3 here’s a short ficlet (500> words)

please reblog if you enjoy! it helps out a lot <3

frank thinks it’s entirely endearing that you actually think the pillow makes any difference to how loud you cry out his name; with every thrust in and out of your warm and wet walls, the difficulty in lowering your voice soon grows out of hand for you to have a hold over.

he entertains the act out of his own amusement, the false security of muffling your sounds with the pillow allowing your moans and whimpers to flow freely without the knowledge that you were being just as loud as you were before you stuffed your face into the soft pillow.

“oh— shit, frankie! please… y’feel s-so good— so big i-inside my little pussy,” you moan, unable to help the way the filthy words spill uncontrollably out of your mouth.

“i know, babydoll, can feel the way you squeeze that pretty pussy around me… this pussy was made for me, huh? fuck, baby, y’make the prettiest sounds for me,” teases frank, his words causing you to elicit a whine that has the man chuckling.

but as sweet as he finds it, he misses listening to those pretty noises without the muffle of the pillow obstructing the melody of your cries.

with an arm encompassing your waist, frank eases you up to meet his chest. his pace remains brutal, the vulgar sounds of his hips smacking against your behind mixing with the embarrassing echoes of your wails and gasps as you bring a hand up in an attempt to suppress the sounds.

“hey, hey… no more of that. ‘wanna hear the way my babydoll sings for me, want all of them to know how good y’feel right now.”

bringing his other hand to your wrist, frank gently pries your own away from your lips barely unable to hide his smile at the continuation of your gorgeous sing-song of sounds— and frank’s pretty sure this is the closest he’ll ever get to hearing the sounds of heaven.

“f-frank… s’embarrassing!”

“no, ain’t nothing embarrassing about it; god, d’you know how fucking pretty these sounds are? how beautiful it is to know that i’m the one causing those sounds to spill so easily out of your pretty, little throat? fuck, baby… so perfect and y’can’t even see it.”

maybe it’s his gentle encouragement and praise, maybe it’s the fact that you’re so far gone and so unbelievably close to suffocating his cock and spasming around his thickness to care about your noise levels. when you cum and bathe the room in what frank could only describe as the tune of an angel, he can’t help the growl it pulls from in turn.

he fills you with his warmth, his load coating your inner walls and marking you as he had done so many times before, exacerbated by your lewd comments of ‘that’s it, frankie, fill me up with all your cum, this is your pussy’ and ‘show them who i belong to, show them that i’m yours’.

“you’re mine, babydoll. if they don’t know from how you screamed for me, then they’ll know when they see my load trailing down these pretty fucking thighs; and if they still don’t know? then i guess we’ll just have to give them a private show.”

part 2 lol

so apparently it's really fucking hard to get into the SAS. and ontop of that I've been getting tiktoks of people going around an army base asking why they joined. most responses were to pay off student loans, bills, school, (someone said there's was 6 years of prison or school and *mental note for idea*), the recruiter lied or spoilt them, barracks bunny.

141 (poly?) x notsobaddasssoldier!reader

and now i can't stop thinking of soldier!reader. who really half-assed their way through everything - only doing the job for the money and to pay off student loans + they had nothing better to do.

who somehow ends up being adopted by Price (kinda like Gaz i guess ???) all because reader happened to be in the right place at the right time and saved Price's ass while managing to complete a mission the Task Force were doing.

and it's not that you saved his ass or completed the mission that makes Price go *this is mine* - it's the fact that afterwards all you can say is-

"this shit is so not worth paying off my student loans."

"oh fuck i forgot to cancel my subscription. fuckk- waste of fucking money"

- all the while a building is burning in front of you but yeah just not at all concerned about what had just happened. so price just *grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you up, claiming you as part of his task force now.*

(lol you probably can't do that irl but this is fiction sooo suck my ass.)

and laswell's just like no... they are very much still green john. way too green. no.

but it's too late. he's already introducing you to the task force. singing your praises and you're just like

"man he promised to pay off my student loans and give me food." basically how ur recruiter got ya ass.

enough said. you get the whole off the books speech, saving the world by doing things others wouldn't like. but u couldn't give a rats ass - you should but nah...

and like... you know you're the rookie... you're still green... but some of the shit 141 do you just...

"so you just gonna kidnap the wife AND the child...? right... kid, you wanna watch bluey? here..."

"and you do this often...? crazy."

but you don't exactly protest. how could you with how much you get paid. you kinda just side-eye and look away when it's geta a lil crazy. *bombastic side-eye*

and the other 141 guys - oh my days. become just as enormed as price and want to start really trying to amplify your skills. but every time, they start explaining how to do things - the best way to go about a situation or how to fight a certain way.

you pull this face. like your top lip pulls back, your eyebrows scrunch together, and there's a slight frown on your lips as they speak. like you look confused/disgusted. but you don't even realise cause-

"why're you pulling that face?" 141

"that's... that's just my focusing face..."

"oh..." 141 feels bad

then when they do take you in feild you're shaking your head no. like you haven't been around that long. what the fuck? now you're bout to infiltrate an enemy base!?!?!

"can i just wait in the car?"

"no." price

"i'm gonna vomit."

"aim at the enemy." ghost

people think that because you're suddenly in this badass task force that surely they're just using you for your assets.

they all think you're the 141 barracks bunny. and maybe you should be pissed or annoyed or grossed out. but all you can do is sigh and pause from the burger price got you, and let out a long exhale.

"fuck... maybe i can just do onlyfans or be a pornstar... shit maybe it's not too late..."

"military is bascially sex work - selling my body..."

"not that different from what i'm doing now. body being used, check. body sore in the strangest places, check."

your tone so empty, blank and nonchalant, but there's a serious look in your eyes that when you grab your phone out to maybe do a little research on how you could do that, your phone is snatched from your hand by one of the guys and they walk out the room without a second look back.

with an annoyed huff, you go back to eating your burger. but suddenly, you turn to the person who genuinely thought you were a barracks bunny.

"hey you think if i be a barracks bunny i get out of missions and shit?"

"...that's not how it works..." rando.

"fuck."

and maybe you try...

like you go to price's office and the guys are already in there, chatting about something that you should really pay attention too but you can't be assed. instead you unashamedly start to speak...

"if i suck ya'll dicks can i get out the mission?"

"no. you still have to join." gaz says amused

"even if you-" *que long sigh from price* "even if you suck our dicks."

"that's fucked up. i should've done porn."

and with the most hurt and broken-hearted look on your face, you leave the office, closing the door with a dramatic sigh. the guys just stare at the door in... confusion, amusement, and maybe arousal if ya'll dig that

idk man just gimmie more soldier!reader who just really ain't the fucked, there for money, lowkey hungry and doesn't know what the fuck is happening. kinda a pet or little sibling energy that the 141 love.

bonus*

"wait so they aren't sucking our dicks?" *soap says getting slapped in the back of the head by ghost

a/n: brain is rottinnggg. i should be doing so much other shit but... cod just consumes my brain 24/7