(Does anyone else find spit and bodily fluids so gross but so hot or is that just a me thing?)

———

CEO!Price

~🖤~

You had the biggest interview of your life today, this was much different than all the part-time jobs you had in the past.

This one could actually pay the bills.

Walking into this twenty-story building, you were applying to be John Price’s personal assistant. The ex-military man notorious for firing someone just because they didn’t tuck in their shirt, yeah, that John Price.

People were flooding the place, everywhere you looked, someone was doing what looked to be a life or death task. Fear etched into everyone’s faces, even the more composed one’s.

Finally after a long elevator ride you approached the CEO’s office, knocking carefully on the door only to hear a gruff British voice. “C’me in.” He sounded as if he’s smoked away his lungs since birth, probably coal black on the inside and out.

Straightening out your uniform one last time before opening the door with a smile, “Hello, sir. I’m here for th—“ “Shut the fuck up.” What?

Surprise was clearly written on your face, who wouldn’t be surprised if you were introducing yourself and someone told you to shut up?

“Sit.” So you did, graceful as a new born deer, almost falling into the seat. This was already going to shit.

“Can’t stand on your own legs, dove?” You wanted to deny that, say you were perfectly capable of standing, of sitting, and most importantly of doing this job. But you didn’t, he didn’t seem like a man who would tolerate back talk.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you out on your ass?” Panic filled you, was this really your last chance? Already? “Um, sir, I—…The bills are piling up and I— I don’t have enough to pay for them and—“

“Enough.” His voice was like steel, sharp and cold to the touch. You had fucked up big time. “Get out before I personally escort you, and you don’t wanna make me waste my time on that, it wouldn’t be good for your pretty face.”

Scurrying out of there in a heartbeat you made it outside with only just a tremble in your hands, he really was as bad as they made him out to be.

How had HR not got him yet?

Back to the job search, it’s probably gonna be some shitty diner on the outskirts of town that no one goes to other than the occasional crackhead.

But to your surprise a week later, all the applications you sent in asking, begging, for a chance to work you got hired as a barista!

But all the fun of learning how to make caramel crunches and mocha what-not ended harshly when you saw him pull around to the drive through from the bar.

He ordered a fucking caramel brulée latte?

That sure as hell didn’t suit his personality, but who were you to judge? You were definitely to judge. He fired you for speaking to him. So what did you do?

You spit a big fucking glob in his coffee, right at the bottom so when he least expected it he would get a glob of straight spit and cheap coffee.

Handing the drink to the drive-thru worker you had a smug grin, revenge never felt so good. You could almost picture it, him right at the best part of the coffee getting his sweet sweet pay back.

The next day he was…back? Oh god, you were about to be in a hell of trouble.

He walked up to the cashier, a smirk on his face. “I want the usual, and tell my dove to add a bit extra of her special ingredient this time.”

What?

There was no way he came back and said that…

But when he just looked at you, all expectant, it wasn’t a cruel joke. He actually wanted you to purposely spit in drink…Sick bastard.

Making his drink as his eyes never left your face, you could’ve sworn you were rose pink at this point. But when it came time to actually spit in his drink, his eyes were even more intense, like he was desperate for this. Like he craved this. He craved you, any part he could get of you. Whether that be spit, your flustered stare, or something more delicate.

You took a deep breath before spitting two globs in his drink with him watching, everyone in the building was absolutely horrified and you were too. Handing him the drink as he took a big gulp in front of you, “I’ll be back for the same thing tomorrow, dove.”

And with that he left, to rinse and repeat the process again tomorrow.

But that huge 1.5 million dollar donation a little later in the day surely wasn’t from him, right?

Maybe he just wanted to make sure that tiny coffee shop never ran out of supplies for his little dove to spit in.

🥀All requests are greatly appreciated!🥀

Forced cannibalism and kidnapping... sigh. Part 4?? Warning gore, not explicit, but it's there.

Part 1 part 2 part 3

You were going to be sick, you were sure of it. Staring down at the headless corpse in front of you made your skin crawl, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. "I can't -"

"You can, and will. Or, you can take its place." Simon's gruff voice in your ear, his breath brushing your neck, makes you shudder and sob softly. The basement was chilly, goosebumps popping up on your skin. The body on the table could be you. Maybe it would be with the way Simon grabs at your hips.

"Please, I'm sorry.." John clicks his tongue from behind you as he comes back downstairs. "Don't make me hurt them!"

"It's already dead, love. Don't worry." John moves Simon aside to take his place behind you, his hands enveloping yours. "It's just like skinning a deer, sweetheart. You can do it." He coos softly as he presses the knife into your hand.

He guides you through the motions of stripping skin, carving the perfect cuts of meat, and cleaning off any undesirable bits. "Soon, you'll be able to do this all by yourself." John murmurs in your ear as the blood drips onto the floor. "It's not hard to clean up, love. You're going to be so good for us."

You hiccup hard enough to make your chest ache, eyes red and swollen from how much you had been crying. You watched Johnny and Kyle come downstairs to get all the freshly prepared meat. John washes your hands, sending you upstairs with Simon so he can clean up the basement.

You bite back a whimper when Simon grabs ahold of your arm, casting a pitiful look to John before you're guided upstairs. John knew what he was doing, dangling a perfectly plump sheep like you in front of his hungriest wolf. Simon knew that if his self-control did waver, there would be severe consequences.

You weren't just a regular snatch and grab like most of their victims. Lost in the woods, stuck on the side of the road with car troubles, camping alone and unarmed. People that would be searched for but never found. John had gone through a lot of work to get you, and you weren't going to be a meal.

When Simon gets you into your room, he grabs hold of your puffy, wet face, eyes drinking in the sight. He leans down and licks the tear trails, savoring the salty taste that he hopes had dripped into today's hunt. You freeze, eyes screwed shut as he laps your face clean before letting you go.

"You should take a shower." He nods to the small bathroom of your new prison home. "Dinner will be ready soon." The door shuts and locks behind him, leaving you to get ready for your first meal with your new family.

Can you imagine a post apocalyptic world that is ruled by alphas and the military? Omegas are rare and they tend to be wild, feral even. Most alpha's just mate with betas now. Not that anyone was worried about that out in their little base in the woods.

But something keeps getting into their food storage and it's really starting to piss the Captain off. And something keeps fucking with the rabbit traps that Ghost and Soap set up everyday. And Gaz could have sworn he saw eyes looking back at him from the darkness when he was on watch.

And something sweet is filling the woods around their base. Vanilla and cinnamon, like goopy warm dessert buns. Or warm and goopy omega instead.

They'd bide their time until you got too brave. A feral little thing like you would always push your luck and then they'd snatch you right up.

tf 141 with newbie! reader who's got the hots for them. (suggestive)
an. this is going to be a multi part series! next one will be smut.

kyle garrick

kyle, arguably, is the worst behaved around you because he doesn't mean to indulge you in the way he does. he's just so charming in a way that's practically unfair; his easy smile, that smooth voice that drops an octave when he speaks to you. kyle leans in when he talks and stands way too close than he needs to be, watching the way you stumble over your words and get all flustered when he gives you his full, undivided attention.

he figures out your crush real fast. watches the way your lips part and your breathing gets shallow when he's giving instructions or orders to you and respond with a breathy; "yes sir..." that comes out so lewd that it almost sounded as if he was fucking you. he'd been somewhat ashamed at the way his cock gave a dull throb at the sound of your voice.

he also notices how you nearly stumble over a root and fall on your face because you were too caught up in staring at him during the mandated morning jog around the base that he's leading.

how you freeze up when he leans over his shoulder during prep, murmuring praise into your ear when you spot a mistake. "so sharp, aren't you? knew you'd catch that, rookie." and he'll smile like some sort of angel when you stumble over your words like an idiot. sometimes he'll tilt his head and say things like; "you stare at everyone like that, or am i special?"

it'll come out so gently, too. said tongue in cheek, in a way that leaves room for plausible deniability while absolutely frying your brain.

he subtly indulges you too. he doesn't touch you where it would be obvious, just bumps you with his shoulder in passing and gives you a wink, brushes his knuckles against yours, fixes a strap that doesn't need readjustment.

and when you get overwhelmed and too hot and bothered his attention, he backs off just enough to seem considerate, then slips back into that mentor role that he'd long abandoned since he started this thing with you. he'll say, "easy, now. just breathe f'me."

as if it does anything but make you more dizzy. one might start to wonder if he's been winding you up on purpose.

ᥫ᭡.

johnny mactavish

johnny is a lot less subtle than kyle, to say the least. the minute he sees you trot onto base with your kit to move into what's meant to be your new home for the months you'll be training with the 141, he decides you're his. how could you not be? you'd caught his eye immediately, with the way you walk around with your head held high, that combined look of determination and nervousness in your big, shiny eyes, he couldn't help but want to stake claim on you before any of the guys did.

the nicknames start day one. bonnie, pretty eyes, lassie. he flits through them constantly, testing to see which ones make you short circuit the hardest. he practically croons them at you, too.

the first time he uses a name on you is when you're fussing with your combat uniform, trying to untangle the strap of your rifle from one of the buttons, when johnny swoops in to slide his hands over your body nice and slow before untangling you. "careful there. wouldn't want ya t'accidentally shoot yourself in the foot, hm?" you blink up at him dumbly while he grins roguishly, leaning down to ruffle your helmet over your hair. "there we go. much better, isn' that right, bon?"

you nearly passed out then, and he sees that. so he decides, since he likes to have fun and because everyone on base has been so boring lately and you've been so fucking cute and so eager to give him all the attention a man could want, that he'll entertain your cute little infatuation with him.

he keeps this up constantly. adds in handsiness, too. every time he passes you in the hall, if you make the tiniest mistake, if you just exist, he's there, touching a shoulder, nudging an elbow, murmuring one of his endless nicknames in that low, sing-song voice that has your face burning brighter than a sweltering sun. it gets worse, too. he amps the touching and does it in front of others to make his claim on you known, all the way up until one day, when you're on the field and did so well for your first real mission, he rushes up to you and gives you a big, mushy kiss in a very specific spot.

too far from your mouth to be the real thing, but too off from your cheek to make it an innocent gesture. if you turned your head slightly, or quirked your lips up just a tad, your mouths would be brushing. and he knows that. maybe when he tries it again you'll take the bait and kiss him on the mouth yourself so he can't get the blame for initiating things when he finally takes you off to his barracks to fuck you silly.

ᥫ᭡.

john price

price is not a flirter. not towards you, at least. he's seen your kind before. scrappy but willing to learn, a good kind of soil for him to plant his seed in, however that may be...

he's as encouraging to you as possible. he notices how good you respond to him when he does, how you stop in your tracks, face flushed and seemingly too nervous to breathe normally when he tells you; "thats my girl." or "good work there, kid." or "atta girl." he'll say these things to you while resting a huge hand on your shoulder or lower back, hand nice and firm on your body. sometimes, he'll even give you a good old pat on the ass to send you off on your way, despite being quite aware of all the depraved thoughts you have of him.

price has been trying to slip into a guiding, paternal role towards you to establish an entirely platonic bond between the two of you, but its not working at all. you start craving his approval, touch, and constant recognition more than air.

limits are pushed, but not intentionally. he's been teaching you dependency without ever acknowledging it verbally, but he knows. he knows everything. he sees other things about you, too. when you skip meals, when you're too tired to move at the same pace as everyone else, when you've been pushing yourself too hard to prove how good you are for him. and so he intervenes.

there's extra food slid your way, lighter assignments given to you, and regular, private check-ins while he tries to hold himself back from doing despicable things to you in his office when you cry into his chest about your bad day.

you don't make it easy, though. giving him eyes and pouting up at him as he holds your face and swipes your tears away and some drool from the corner of your mouth, his thumb pressing a little too rough on your lower lip. he knows you'd feel so much better if he just let you suck on it. or something else.

ᥫ᭡.

simon riley

simon is a hoverer. he's constantly following behind you from a distance, watching you like a sniper would a target. from when one of the lads had mentioned how you've always been staring at him from across rooms and mentioning to your rookie friends how hot he was, he'd been curious to know why you hadn't the balls to say it to his face. he's not a fan of being spoken about in rooms he's not in, even if it's praise. and he doesn't want to be the object of some schoolyard crush anyway.

he'd been following you at first to try and silently goad you to confront him or tell him about your feelings so he could shut them down, but, uncharacteristically for him, he gets very side tracked. you're such a gentle creature, smart, capable, but distractable and too caught up with making friends and having a good time on base. and so he must correct you.

for some reason, correcting you, to him means his huge, marred hands adjusting your posture when you're doing a task, adjusting straps, hoisting the weight of your kit onto your shoulders, and not your back. you'd had it on all wrong.

he's heavy handed, using a firm grip on your forearm to move you out of the way of something, a palm flat against the small of your back to guide you forward. he's turned into a presence that blocks others without comment, and you are eating it up, to say the least. what made him want to pay so much attention to you all of a sudden? had you caught his eye like he'd caught yours? the thought makes you dizzy.

he also brings you gifts without explaining himself. a better knife. gloves. a little badge to put on your combat uniform because he knows you like them. trinkets from somewhere he won't name. he'll always push them into your hand and says; "for you."

then walks off.

simon is also weirdly protective of you. shuts down any of the rookie's who fancy you by glaring at them menacingly when they try to approach you. during missions, he'll position himself so you're always covered. it feels like foreplay to you, honestly.

but if anyone asks why, he'll just shrug. "asset."

he notices how much you enjoy his unwavering attention. sees the flicker in your eyes when he leans down to speak right into your ear, the quick intake of breath when his hands stay on you a little to long, and how you can't seem to speak coherently around him. all of it makes him forget more and more about why he'd wanted to shut you down in the first place.

see more in my cod masterlist!

see more in my main masterlist!

On their way to destroy the titans 🫀

Redraws are fun

That one young justice episode that was just divorced men beating eachother to a pulp

Fuuuuck dude I got drunk last night and tried to take down the villain on my own and now he’s texting me some ‘I’m the only one allowed to defeat you’ shit bro what do I do

Dc fans who have 0 critical thinking and no media literacy will never understand how good and complex of a character slade is, and i just think that that’s so sad