nyxhiems

[nyxhiems]

john didn’t mean to say it—just that, your pies are really good and you’re beautiful, yes, and you are almost charming in your timidness but john didn’t mean to say it. he’s too old for marriage anyway; his prime years are behind him, and look where that left him—accidentally hitting on the poor employee who he knows must be half his age.

what, with the way you could barely look at him in the eye and the polite laugh you let out when john sort of rambles about something that you clearly don’t understand? you’re far younger than him, that much is clear.

he knows that and, truly, he didn’t mean to say it or that he didn’t even mean it that way but—

this is the first time he’s actually seeing you look at him. in fact, this is the only time that you’re meeting his gaze, and it tickles something within him; how the only time that you’ve managed to get over your meekness is because of his little slip up. of him telling you that he might just wife you up.

and john, he tries not to read into things but how could he not gulp down what you are clearly laying out—the way your eyes are wide in suspended elation, your body frozen between anticipation and confusion. you reek of desire. and of all people, you want him.

it is endearing. so sweet that his apologies stick to his throat, dissolving, and with a barely contained buzz, he asks, “is that what you want, sweet’art?”

the softest of, “yes,” spills from your lips and john’s hunger churns. it builds.

what a happy accident it was.

[nyxhiems]

Wolf hybrid!reader joins 141. You're a valuable asset sure. Great for tracking and hunting targets. You're fast, strong, and have a mean growl when someone pisses you off. But other than that, you're just another soldier.

Ghost didn't really get the hype. You were good, sure. But you had plenty of biological advantages under your belt. So it wasn't really fair. Simon was human and was at the same level, if not above you.

He wasn't impressed. He tended to avoid you if possible.

But Ghost didn't have much choice when on missions.

Both of you were cornered behind a low wall. Enemy fire keeping you in place. You both knew the enemy was moving in. Nearing your position between waves of shots.

Before Ghost could stop you, you jumped from your cover, gun raised as you tried to secure the position.

Ghost was forced to watched as a bullet hit your shoulder, sending you stumbling back as the enemy surrounded you. Your gun falling to the floor. He shouted for you. He didn't even know what he shouted. Just a panicked cry as he watched one of his soldiers die in the most foolish way possible.

You were on the ground, clutching your shoulder as the enemy circled you. Rifles at the ready.

But once they were in range, your pained expression dissolved.

You leapt for the closest one. Ripping the gun from his grip and tearing his throat out with your bare teeth. A fearsome growl rumbling deep from you chest. You used his limp form as cover while you darted for the next one.

Ghost watched in awe as you tore through the enemy with brutal precision. Each bite and swipe of your claws just as effective as it was gory. Eventually you were alone. Standing among a mess of enemy soldiers, reduced to nothing but dismembered limbs and steaming entrails. Covered nearly head to toe in their blood. You were panting. Eyes rabid as you darted around the field for more meat to carve from bone.

A full body shudder rippled down Ghost's spine as he watched your long tongue dip out to smear the blood along your cheek. Feeling his face flush below the mask when your eyes fluttered closed. Allowing yourself a moment to enjoy the taste of their cooling life source.

You looked even less human than usual.

It may have been the hottest thing he had ever seen.

[nyxhiems]

part 2 art

Human!reader joins 141 with vampire!Ghost. Its fine for the first couple weeks. No issues at all. Your first mission goes smoothly. But while prepping for your next op his attitude changes. You don't know why, but suddenly he can't bear to be in the same room as you. Ignores you in constantly and just seems to overall hate your guts.

You can't understand it. Sure, he hadn't always been 'friendly' to you. But he at least tolerated you. Allowed you the same stoic decency he allowed the rest of the team. You had no clue why.

You would walk into a meeting and watch him stiffen. His cold dark eyes avoiding your general direction. He would brush you off whenever you spoke during briefings. You didn't even have the chance to confront you, because the second you neared he would turn tail and just walk away.

And then it stopped. It was all fine again. He was as perfectly aloof as usual. Distant but no longer unkind. The op went successfully and the team was sent on a brief leave. Only a few weeks.

When you returned you nodded to him in greeting and were stunned to see him snarl at you. Gaze dark and so vicious it sent you scurrying away. What the hell was his problem?

It was nearly a year like this. His moods switching on and off seemingly at random. You couldn't wrap your head around it. Even when he was acting normal you were hesitant to get to know him. Afraid anything you would say or do would set him off.

And the worst part was that none of the team would do anything about it. Every time you asked if they knew what was going on they would avoid it. And you for that matter. You were on the verge of putting in a leave. Despite how prestigious this position was, you couldn't handle it.

One day walking down the hall you could see him coming. Glowering at you like you had just kicked his dog. You were already having a shitty day. Not willing to deal with his bullshit right after starting your period. You just didn't have the mental energy for him. And then he fucking shoulder checked you as he passed, sending you stumbling.

"What the fuck is your problem, Simon?"

You rubbed your sore arm as he stopped in his tracks. Turning to you slowly. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, but you held your ground. He may have been a dangerous blood thirsty beast, but he was still bound by the law.

You stomach twisted as he stalked towards you. Forcing you to back up until you hit the wall. His imposing figure looming over you.

"'M sick of you fuckin'... fuckin' teasing me..." His voice sounded angry, but strained somewhat. Like he was holding himself back from doing something very bad.

Despite you fear you felt rage bubble up in your stomach.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the chill of his icy skin even through the mask and layers of clothing. You could hear him inhale deeply.

"Walkin' around like that... like you don't know what it does to me..."

You were stunned into silence for a long moment. Confused as to what he could possibly mean by that. You had never tried to 'tease' him.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, lifting your legs to rest over his shoulders easily, burying his face into your clothed cunt and breathing in once again.

"Wait..." You gasped, then your eyes widened as you realised. "Oh my god... you fuckin' freak..." You could almost laugh at it. Thinking back and remembering that each time his mood would switch just happened to line up with your cycle. "Is that seriously why you hate me so much?"

He looked a mess below you, eyes glazed over as he drowned in the scent of your blood and musk. Blissed out, panting softly below the mask.

He was gripping your thighs hard. Too hard. Nosing against your cunt in a way that made you twitch. He was getting impatient. Too many layers of clothing between him and the meal he had been desperate for ever since he first caught scent of it.

"Don't hate you..." He grunted, voice muffled between your thighs. "Just needed you so fuckin' bad... need you now..."

You could barely squirm away from him when he started to undo your pants. Just about managing to drag him back to your bunk before he started eating you out in the middle of an open hallway.

[nyxhiems]

hi vi. si being desperate for that period pussy but also not saying anything was uhm really good. thank you for that.

💖

HMMM right. got me thinking about feral hungry vampire simon again. hes just so very cw: period sex? period oral?

part 1 art

You had seen Ghost covered in blood in the field before. Right after tearing the throat of an enemy soldier out with his teeth. The dark focus in his eyes as he moved onto the next. He was well and truly a killing machine. His very DNA designed to draw blood.

This was different.

Ghost's mask was off. You had never seen him without it before. He was kind of cute. His mouth and chin covered in blood, coating his fangs as his tongue lapped at your cunt. The steely gaze you were so used to replaced by a foggy lust. His biological hunger taking over any rational thought.

He wasn't eating for your pleasure. If his nose bumped against your clit that was just a happy accident. He was eating entirely for his own. Lapping at the blood staining your thighs before diving back into your leaking cunt.

Simon was totally gone. Every time you tried to tug him where you wanted him he would just growl until you let go of him. He sounded like a wild animal.

All you could do was lie there and let him feast. It felt good, but not consistent enough to bring you to climax. Each bump of his nose or graze of his teeth made you shudder, but then it was gone again before the pleasure could build properly.

Infuriating. You would have him make it up to you later.

[nyxhiems]

𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

pairing: simon "ghost" riley & johnny "soap" mactavish x gn!reader synopsis: you don't know how it happened, but somehow you've caught the attention of two buff military men who don't mind the idea of sharing you and each other. but all good things must come to an end, right? [wc: 5.6k]. note: had i not seen the sun by hoyo-mix & chevy and isabella's lullaby from the promised neverland fed my heartache and therefore the inspo to write. this fic proved that i'm absolutely not allowed to write smut because wtf was that attempt. also, i'm allergic to happy endings. tags: mdni; fluff; angst; hurt/no comfort; major character death; grief; suggestive themes (mentions of beach/public sex); poly relationship

masterlist

joining the 141 had to be one of your best and most daunting achievements in life.

not only did you become part of one of the most elite task forces, but you also got to meet the people who you didn't realise would mean the world to you.

you could still remember the day you first joined the team a year ago. price was waiting for you by the hangar, his arms folded and boonie hat low over his brow. his presence alone made you steel your nerves.

he gave you a subtle nod when you approached. "you're here. good."

"wouldn't miss it for the world, sir," you replied politely.

price gestured towards the nearby doors. "come one, time for introductions."

inside, away form the glaring sun, the air was cooler. it smelled faintly of oil, gunpowder and cheap instant coffee. the captain led you down a hallway and into the main briefing room, where two men stood by the whiteboard, deep in a quiet conversation.

one of them, a massive man in full tactical gear with a skull balaclava covering his face, turned first. his cold, unreadable eyes pinned you in place. you knew exactly who this man was: ghost, the infamous one.

the other man, a little shorter but no less imposing, wore a cheeky smirk and had a certain wildness in his cerulean eyes that screamed trouble before he even opened his mouth. you wondered to yourself whether his mohawk violated military grooming standards. it probably did, but you didn't question it.

"gentlemen," price said. "this is our new addition. thought it was about time we get some proper brains in the team."

you offered them a firm nod and a slight smile. "good to meet you."

ghost gave a grunt in response. soap, however, tilted his head and gave you a slow once-over. not disrespectfully—it more curious than anything.

"you sure they're not lost?" the scot asked price, his eyebrow arched. "looks like a civvie wandered in."

you blinked, caught somewhere between offence and amusement. you were clad in a crisp blouse and jeans. not the most military-esque outfit, you had to admit.

price chuckled in response. "don't let the face fool you, mactavish. they'll outshoot and outsmart you before breakfast if you're not careful."

this piqued soap's interest, as sniping was one of his specialties. he gave a short, impressed whistle. "that so?"

ghost still hadn't taken his assessing eyes off you. "what's your role?" he asked in a thick manchester accent.

"intel and support," you replied to the lieutenant. "tactical analysis, communications, coordination. i don't really shoot unless i have to."

"shame," ghost muttered.

soap grinned at that. "don't mind him. he's like that with everyone. give it a week and he'll be barkin' at you like you've been mates for years."

the lieutenant sent soap a sharp glare. you gave a small, polite laugh, though your spine stayed straight and alert.

they were intimidating, both of them. one was masked and unreadable, the other unpredictable and loud. nothing quite like the people you were used to meeting.

price clapped your shoulder, startling you the slightest bit. "you'll settle in. these two just don't know how to make a good first impression."

you nodded in response, but your eyes wandered around the room a little, noticing a missing member of the 141.

"gaz is out on a mission right now," price answered your unvoiced question. "i'll introduce you when he returns."

with that, the captain left.

soap extended a hand after a pause, his grin softening. "john mactavish. but they call me soap."

you took his hand and shook it. "i've read your file."

"aye, have you now?" he leaned in slightly. "and? what do you think?"

"about?"

"me, of course," soap said with a smug look on his face. "quite impressive, am i right?"

behind him ghost muttered. "impressive how? like when you nearly blew your leg off or the time you tried to flirt with a belgian field agent using google translate?"

it was soap's turn to throw ghost a glare. and you, despite yourself, let out a short, surprised laugh. just like that, the tension cracked, albeit a little.

ghost still watched you closely, like he was trying to decipher a riddle. but even that felt a tad less hostile now, like something between caution and curiosity.

soap then clapped your back a bit too hard and barked a laugh. "welcome to the circus."

a few months passed and you quickly settled in the team like a puzzle piece. it didn't take long for you to feel at home with the boys—and you grew particularly close with ghost and soap.

it was during a mission in kastovia when your bond strengthened.

snow fell in lazy spirals through the fog. the op had gone sideways an hour ago. intel was late, extraction compromised and your three-man team was stuck halfway across a frozen industrial complex with enemy hostiles closing in fast.

you crouched behind a half-destroyed generator with your finger pressed against the comms button, trying to get through the static.

"bravo team, status?"

nothing. so you tried again.

"ghost, come in. do not make me hike through a death trap to babysit you two, i swear to god—"

finally, a crackle.

"bit busy at the moment," ghost's voice drawled through the radio, low and strained. "got a warm welcome from local militia. soap's pinned near the boiler room."

"and you?"

"about to be."

you let out a deep sigh. "where's your exit route?"

"cut off. they blocked the north corridor." ghost paused for a beat. "thought we were clever, turns out they were cleverer."

"and no one thought to bring the comms specialist in before splitting up?" you retorted in exasperation. you didn't care to watch your tone around your superior at the moment. prior to the mission, you had specifically told them to stick together.

"didn't want to interrupt your little nap."

you used colourful language as you muttered under your breath, before you pulling your rifle tighter across your chest.

"alright, sit tight. i'm coming in."

ten minutes later, you slipped through the side entrance of the warehouse, heart thumping. you moved low and quiet, navigating from memory. you had studied the blueprints for days, after all. the boiler room was three corridors east in basement level, but you could already hear the chaos before even reaching your destination.

gunfire, shouts. and then soap.

"bit outnumbered here!” he barked through comms, voice gruff with strain. "any chance of a miracle?"

you skidded to a halt behind a stack of pipes. from your angle, you had a full view—the perfect spot for a makeshift overwatch. soap was crouched behind a crate, surrounded by enemies on three sides. his magazine was nearly empty. one hostile was sneaking along the catwalk above, right in soap's blind spot.

you didn't slow to think. swiftly, you moved and brought up your scope before taking a deep breath.

crack!

the man on the catwalk dropped like a sack of cement. then another, and another. the remaining gunmen turned in confusion, but it was too late. by the time ghost emerged from the smoke, blade slick with blood and eyes narrowed, most of them were already down.

soap looked up, panting. "steamin' jesus."

ghost scanned the floor, then tilted his head. "that you, rookie?"

you wanted to roll your eyes at the nickname. you weren't exactly new anymore, but still the latest addition to the team, so the alias just stuck. you emerged from the shadows, rifle lowered and face unreadable.

"i told you not to split up," you reminded the two men firmly.

soap grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "knew you missed us."

"missed you?" you snorted. "i just like my job not ending in 'clean up your corpses.'"

ghost clapped your shoulder when you regrouped, his grip firm and brief. "well done," he said quietly.

soap gave you a look as you made your way toward the evac point. "alright, i admit it. you're officially terrifying."

you raised an eyebrow at that. "only now?"

"you've been terrifying in spreadsheets. this is a whole new level."

later that night, you were gathered in a small safehouse, bruised and exhausted. soap was laid stretched across his cot like a dead starfish. ghost sat with his back against the wall while cleaning a knife. you were sitting too, a mug of tea in your hand while your feet were tucked up on your cot.

you had saved their asses, but you weren't particularly ecstatic about it.

"so," soap said between sips from his water bottle, "you gonna start lording this over us now?"

"i haven't decided yet," you said mildly. "It depends on how annoying you are over the next 48 hours."

soap groaned. "we're never living this down, are we?”

"not a chance," ghost concurred quietly.

you then smiled to yourself, mirroring the lieutenant and leaning back against the cool wall. these idiots weren't just your colleagues anymore, they were your boys now. and it seemed like they knew that too.

the bond you three had only grew over time. it happened gradually: fetching each other coffee, patching each other's wounds and late-night talks about anything.

when a slight shift was felt in your dynamic, nothing was said about it at first.

but you couldn't ignore the way soap lingered longer during briefings, leaning close enough for your arm to almost brush his. or the way ghost started waiting in your room when you took showers.

you noticed the sensual subtle looks soap and ghost gave each other during missions, and you started sharing your rations with the boys when you knew they both liked the same biscuits but pretended they didn't care.

then the lingering touches started: a hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowded outpost, a thigh brushing against yours under the briefing table.

something unspoken built between the three of you. it was friendship, yes, but it was also more. there just had to be.

then one night, the lines blurred.

the power had gone out at base again and you were curled up in ghost's room. it wasn't officially your quarters, but no one said anything about it anymore. you, soap, and ghost had made it a habit to visit each other's rooms often.

the cot wasn't large, but that didn't matter. ghost was half-sat, half-lying against the headboard with a pillow supporting his lower back, and you were curled under his arm. your head was rested against his chest and your breaths synced in the stillness.

then the door opened. soap stood there, messy-haired and backlit by the hallway emergency lights, looking like he wasn't sure whether to step in or walk away.

"didnae ken you were both here," he said, his voice low.

"there's room," ghost murmured without hesitation. there wasn't really, but you three would always make it work.

you looked up, sleepy-eyed and smiling. "c'mere."

so soap did.

it wasn't weird. or maybe it was to some, but it didn't feel wrong to you. soap sat beside you first, then settled down behind you, wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. ghost's hand slid around soap's shoulder.

and just like that, you fit.

you lay there for a long time, in silence, breathing each other in. the cot creaked when one of you shifted, but no one moved to leave.

later that week, you decided you had enough of the tension.

you all sat on the roof, watching the sunrise cast a glow over the hangars. you were sipping on a cup of coffee, soap was sketching in his notebook and ghost just sat with his eyes on the horizon.

"you two know this isn't... just in our heads, right?" you brought up quietly, not looking at either of them.

"no," ghost replied, not blinking.

soap glanced at you and swallowed. "been thinkin' the same."

then you all looked at each other. there was no need for declarations or grand confession, just quiet understanding.

a couple months after making the relationship official, you three decided to move in together in glasgow. outside of base and missions, your flat was where you spent the most time together.

your home buzzed with domestic chaos as you were sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, laptop balanced precariously on your thighs while you analysed satellite feeds for your upcoming op.

three steaming mugs of tea sat on the dinner table nearby. johnny's with more sugar than he should consume, simon's black as his tactical gear, and yours with a dot of honey and a splash of whiskey.

"love, you're gonna fall off there," johnny warned from the stove where he was cooking what he generously called 'breakfast', if you could call overcooked sausages that.

you didn't look up from your screen, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as you cross-referenced shipping manifests with known arms dealers. "still got better balance than you, mactavish," you sassed, amusement evident in your voice.

then simon emerged from the shower, towel slung low around his hips and beads of water dotting his skin. scars mapped his torso like a brutal constellation. his mask was nowhere to be seen and the kitchen lighting made him seem a little younger, softer.

"christ, simon, a warning would've been appreciated," you muttered, though your eyes lingered appreciatively on the way drplets traced down his chest, disappearing beneath the towel's edge.

johnny snorted from his position at the stove, using the spatula to flip what you assumed was toast. "you've seen him naked more times than i can count, and you're still actin' like a teenager."

"oh, shut it," you gave him a sidelong glance. the fact that johnny was eyeing simon just as hungrily was not lost on you. finally, you closed your laptop and slid off the counter.

your made your way over to simon, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth where a rare smile was threatening to appear through his usual stoic expression.

simon's arm came around your waist automatically, pulling you against his damp skin. he smelled like the lavender soap you'd bought together last month.

"morning, darling," he murmured. "you missed."

his manchester accent was rough with sleep and affection. he then locked his lips with yours in a proper kiss, eliciting a soft, delighted sign from you.

johnny abandoned his culinary disaster to wrap his arms around you both. his chin hooked over your shoulder as he pressed a kiss to simon's collarbone. simon returned the gesture by placing his lips against the scot's temple lovingly.

the three of you fit together comfortably, with your frame tucked between their broad bodies. johnny's warmth radiated against your back while simon stood solid and assuring in front of you.

"you're burning the eggs," you pointed out, though you made no move to pull yourself away from the embrace.

"fuck the eggs," johnny mumbled into your neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin. "this is better."

simon's free hand found johnny's wrist, his thumb tracing over the pulse point there. it was a habit he developed during your early days together, when touch still felt like a luxury he didn't deserve. you and johnny were quick to dispel such notions from his head.

the morning light streamed through your kitchen window, catching the gold in simon's hair and turning johnny's cerulean eyes the colour of sea glass.

"we've got briefing at 1400," simon said quietly, though his grip on both of you tightened instead of loosening. reality always intruded eventually with missions, deployments and the constant loom of danger that followed you like shadows.

you wriggled in their arms to press your palms flat against simon's chest. "that's hours away. and i've already done the preliminary intel analysis."

your fingers traced the raised scar tissue over his heart, a souvenir from a particularly gruelling mission that you'd kissed a thousand times, trying to heal wounds that went deeper than flesh.

johnny's hands slipped under the hem of simon's old t-shirts that your wore as oversized sleepwear. his calloused palms found your hips, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your bare skin that made your breath hitch.

"plenty of time then," johnny murmured, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that never failed to send heat pooling low in your belly. his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck, grazing his teeth just hard enough to make you arch against simon's chest.

you gasped softly as johnny pressed himself harder against your frame, slowly grinding his half-chub against the cleft of your ass. simon let out a low hum of approval before leaning in to kiss you again, his tongue pushing past the seam of your mouth. it seemed like last night's sex wasn't enough to satiate their hunger.

but then the smoke alarm chose that moment to shriek in protest, filling the flat with ear-splitting noise and interrupting the intimate moment.

simon cursed creatively under his breath as he reluctantly released you both, stalking toward the stove to deal with johnny's culinary catastrophe. the charred remains of breakfast sizzled angrily in the pan, beyond salvation.

"okay, that's it," you declared, pushing past both men to yank the pan off the burner and dump its contents into the bin. "we're ordering takeaway, and you're both banned from cooking until further notice."

johnny pouted dramatically. "my cooking's not that bad."

when the three of you managed to get leave in july, you didn't hesitate going on a camping trip. the scottish wind carried the scent of salt and seaweed as you fed driftwood into the makeshift firepit, flames dancing against the golden sky.

the remote beach of achmelvich bay stretched endlessly before you, turquoise water that surprisingly looked more caribbean than highland. how the beach didn't seem to have any other visitors was beyond you. johnny came up with the idea of taking you and simon to this hidden gem.

said scot emerged from the water's edge, shaking droplets from his hair like an overgrown retriever. his swimming shorts clung to his muscular thighs as he jogged up the stretch of white sand, goosebumps rising on his chest despite the pleasant mid-summer warmth.

"fuckin' hell, that water's colder than simon's personality," he gasped, grabbing a towel from your scattered gear.

simon snorted from his position on the large picnic blanket in the sand, already nursing his second bottle of tennent's. the mask was long gone after he made sure you three were the only ones at the beach.

"you're the one who insisted on swimming," he pointed out, taking a long pull from his bottle. "could've told you the atlantic ocean doesn't give a fuck about your scottish blood."

that made you laugh. the sound carried across the empty beach as you settled next to the brit on the blanket. your shorts had ridden up you thighs but you made no effort to adjust it. not when simon's eyes tracked the movement with predatory focus.

"stop being babies, you two," you said, accepting the beer johnny offered. "it's beautiful out here. let's enjoy that."

and it was. the sun hung lower on the horizon now, shades of amber and rose joining the golden sky like a painting you didn't have words for. waves rolled against the shore in hypnotic rhythm, each one catching the dying light like scattered diamonds.

johnny collapsed beside you, dripping seawater onto the blanket. his shoulder pressed against yours as he popped the cap off his tennent's, the familiar hiss of carbonation mixing with the crackle of burning driftwood.

"aye, it's bonnie," he agreed, though his gaze lingered on your profile as you tilted your head back to drink. he couldn't look away when your throat moved as you swallowed. the firelight caught the soft curve where your neck met your shoulder, a place he'd mapped with his mouth in the darkness of your shared bed.

"remember when we thought this was impossible?" you said softly, your voice nearly lost beneath the crash of waves. "can't believe we actually got leave."

johnny's hand found yours and interlaced your fingers together. his thumb brushed across you knuckles, a gesture that had become so familiar it happened unconsciously.

"we deserve it," he murmured in reply, leaning closer to rest his head against your shoulder.

"when's the last time we did this?" you asked, gesturing at the peaceful scene with your beer bottle. "just... existed without someone trying to kill us?"

simon's fingers found the hair at the nape of your neck, scratching gently in a way that always made you melt. "too fucking long."

it felt amazing to just sit here with your boyfriends, alone at the beach and away from the usual chaos of military life. you wished things could stay like this forever.

but a nagging thought in the back of your mind ruined the moment. you were a month away from the biggest operation you'd been on yet. any outcome would be possible if you weren't careful enough.

with a sigh, you straightened up a little and turned to your right. johnny lifted his head from your shoulder and gave you a quizzical look. with a small smile, you leaned in to place a soft kiss to his lips, earning a sigh of approval. then you glanced to your left and kissed simon too.

"what's wrong, love?" he asked after you pulled away, confused by the hint of melancholy in your eyes. his hand slid down to the small of your back.

you shrugged. "just... feel like it," you replied, taking the time to study his scarred face in the golden light, before doing the same to johnny, burning their faces into your memory, just in case.

then another kiss, another touch. before you knew it, you found yourself tangled between the two men, bodies trembling with pleasure as you lost yourselves in the euphony of your combined moans and grunts. stars exploded behind your eyes when the moment reached its peak.

"i love you both so much," you whispered breathlessly as fatigue slowly began to set in.

in the near future, you found yourself wishing you told them that more often.

it had been four weeks since that peaceful beach day.

the warehouse you were in reeked of rust and diesel fuel. shadows danced between shipping containers as you pressed your back against cold metal. your earpiece crackled with static.

"ghost, soap, do you copy?" you whispered into the mic, fingers flying across your tablet's cracked screen. the intel was there, enough evidence to bring down the entire arms trafficking network. but the extraction point was compromised and you could hear boots echoing through the maze of containers.

static answered. you were alone.

your tactical training kicked in as you mapped the warehouse layout in your head, calculating angles and exit routes while uploading the critical data to multiple secure servers. the upload bar crawled forward.

60%... 64%... 70%...

footsteps grew closer and russian voices were heard, low and urgent. they knew you were here.

87%...

your hands trembled as you typed rapid-fire commands, establishing redundant data streams. if you didn't make it out, this intelligence had to survive. three months of deep cover, countless lives at stake and it all came down to this moment.

92%...

a shadow moved past your hiding spot, close enough that you could smell cigarette smoke and gunpowder. your glock felt heavy in your free hand, safety already off. you'd trained for this scenario a hundred times, but muscle memory felt different when death breathed down your neck.

the upload completed with a soft chime in your earpiece, the sound nearly deafening from the tension. you wanted to sigh in relief, but then—

"fucking found you, little rat," a gravelly voice said in accented english.

you spun, raising your weapon, but three red dots already painted your chest. the tablet slipped from your grip, clattering against concrete as you faced down the barrels of assault rifles. your mind raced through your options: dive left behind the forklift, try for the narrow gap between containers, or go down fighting.

then a crackle. your earpiece had reconnected and you could hear johnny's voice frantic voice calling your callsign. he hadn't heard a response from you while the signal was jammed.

you needed thirty more seconds for the coordinates to reach base and for air support to lock on to the targets. so you made your choice.

you spoke your callsign clearly into your mic to make your presence known, ignoring the weapons trained on you. "i have eyes on primary target, warehouse seven-alpha. coordinates uploading now."

the lead gunman's finger tightened on his trigger. "drop the fucking radio," he snarled.

your thumb found the emergency beacon on your vest. a final failsafe that would paint your location with a GPS signal strong enough for satellite tracking. the small device beeped once, sealing your fate but ensuring the mission's success.

"wait, what are you doing?" johnny demanded when he noticed your ping in the system.

simon was a little alarmed to hear a hostile through your comms, before putting two and two together, and realising what you were planning.

"love, you're making it out of here safe and sound," the lieutenant said gruffly. "that's an order."

that made you smile sadly.

"tell soap his aim is still shit," you said softly into comms, knowing johnny would hear the tremor in your voice, the goodbye hidden in familiar banter.

"don't you fucking dare..." you heard the scot warn you.

"and tell ghost—"

the first bullet caught you in the shoulder, pushing you backward against a container.

"no! no, no, no! were you shot?" johnny, you recognised. you'd never heard him so distraught before.

pain exploded through your chest like wildfire, but you continued even as warm blood soaked through your tactical vest.

"—t-tell ghost i fulfilled my duty," you said between laboured breaths, the concerned shouts from soap and ghost through your earpiece giving you a last moment of comfort.

"where are you, love?" simon demanded. "talk to us. tell us where you are, we'll come get you."

while his tone remained mostly even, there was no mistaking the panic in his words. your boys would be the last thing you heard. you would've preferred to hear their sweet nothings instead of their pained cries, but it was better than nothing.

"package... delivered..."

the second and third shot silenced you forever, but your beacon continued its steady pulse, guiding hellfire missiles toward the warehouse complex. in your final moments, you'd given your life to keep millions of others safe.

you had given the 141 all the intel they needed to complete the mission. target locations, enemy strength and the proof that would dismantle the entire network.

your body crumpled to the concrete floor, blood pooling beneath you as the warehouse erupted in chaos. the enemies scrambled for cover, shouting orders in panicked voices as the distant sound of incoming missiles grew louder.

miles away, johnny's anguished scream echoed when you stopped responding while his GPS signalled the imminent missiles headed for your location. simon's fist slammed into the nearest wall, leaving bloody knuckles and a spider web of cracks in the plaster.

they'd lost their anchor, their brilliant analyst who could effortlessly read enemy patterns and coordinate strikes with precision.

the warehouse complex disappeared in a ball of orange flame, taking the arms dealers and their operation with it. mission accomplished... at a cost that would haunt the surviving members of task force 141 for the rest of their lives.

johnny's fingers trembled as he pulled the dog tags from his pocket, the metal warm from his body heat despite the october chill. the engravings with your name, service number and blood type had worn a little smooth in places.

details that once meant everything now felt like cruel reminders of mortality.

the sight of your name etched on the headstone before him felt jarring. that darling name johnny and simon would utter with love, now served as a statement that you were no longer with them.

they never found your body. disintegrated in the explosion, they were told. it felt extremely unfair when they watched an empty casket being lowered into your grave.

simon stood beside him, a towering shadow against the grey sky. neither of them had spoke during the drive here, the weight of shared loss making words feel inadequate.

"they always said these fuckin' things were too loud," johnny whispered, letting the tags clink together. "complained they'd give away their position during night ops."

simon's jaw tightened and his scarred hands clenched at his sides. the big man who survived torture, betrayal and countless missions looked utterly broken standing in front of your grave.

"should've been me," he finally said, voice barely audible. "should've been me who died on that bloody mission."

johnny's head snapped up, anger flashing in his cerulean eyes. "don't you fuckin' dare, simon. they'd kick your arse for even thinking that."

the tags slipped from johnny's grip, landing with a soft thud on the damp earth. he dropped to his knees, pressing his palms against the cold ground.

"i can't lose you too," he choked out, the words meant both for you and the man standing behind him. "christ, simon, i can't do this without either of you."

simon's composure finally cracked and he sank down beside johnny, his large frame folding awkwardly as he placed a hesitant hand on the scot's shoulder.

they had both shared your love, your bed, your dreams of the future that would never come. and now they shared this suffocating emptiness of your absence.

the wind picked up, scattering autumn leaves across the graveyard. in the distance, a bugler played for another fallen soldier, the mournful notes carrying across the cemetery like a final farewell they never got to say.

johnny's shoulders shook as the melody washed over them, each note a reminder that this was the military: lives cut short in service to something larger than themselves. he'd heard that same tune at too many funerals, watched too many flag-draped coffins disappear into cold ground.

"they hated that song," simon said quietly, his voice rough with unshed tears. "said it was too bloody dramatic."

a broken laugh escaped johnny's throat. "remember when they tried to get the base band to play 'highway to hell' at morrison's funeral instead?"

for a moment, the memory lightened the crushing weight on their chests. you were always quite irreverent, challenging protocol with a smile that could disarm superior officers and enemies alike. the thought of you arguing about appropriate funeral music was so perfectly you that it hurt.

simon picked up the fallen dog tags, running his thumb over the worn metal. "what happens now?" he asked, the question heavier than he intended.

johnny wiped his misty eyes with the back of his hand, leaving streaks of dirt across his cheeks. "we keep goin'. because they'd haunt us both if we didn't."

the silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the distant sound of traffic beyond the cemetery gates. simon's grip tightened on the dog tags, the metal digging into his palm.

"they always said we were stronger together," he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar manchester rasp that had once whispered you endearments in the dark. "the three of us against the world."

johnny's breath hitched as he stared at the headstone, remembering lazy sunday mornings tangled in sheets.

your laugh echoing between their bodies, how you'd trace the scars on simon's chest while johnny made terrible jokes just to see you smile. the way you'd kiss them both goodnight, your lips tasting of mint tea and promises you'd all believed would be forever.

"two of us now," johnny said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "christ, how do we even begin to figure this out?"

simon stood slowly, his knees popping from the movement, before extending a hand to johnny. when their fingers touched both men felt it: the phantom of your presence in the space between them.

you had always been the bridge between their different worlds, the translator who made their rough edges fit together seamlessly.

johnny allowed himself to be pulled upright, his hand staying in simon's. neither wanted to break the connection. the lieutenant leaned in to place a comforting kiss to johnny's brow.

"they made us better men," simon said, his thumb brushing across johnny's knuckles. "made us believe we deserved something good in this fucked-up world."

his words made johnny's chest feel tight. he remembered your fierce protectiveness, how you'd patch their wounds with gentle hands while cursing their recklessness. the way you'd hold them both during nightmares, your steady heartbeat anchoring them to something safe.

"we owe it to their memory," johnny declared in a whisper, his brogue thick with emotion. "to try. to not let this destroy what they built between us."

nodding, simon finally released the dog tags into johnny's palm. the metal felt impossibly heavy in the scot's hand, weighted with memories of their shared missions, love and pain.

milkk--t © please don't repost, plagiarise, translate my work, nor use it to train ai.

[nyxhiems]

2000s romcom type of situation where Gaz wants to date reader's best friend, but your bestie only wants it if you're dating too.

So Gaz does the obvious; convinces Soap to go out with you. Obviously you know that Johnny is going on yhis date with you because Kyle wanted to go out with your friend, but he's fun, and a nice company, and definitely not bad on the eyes, so you oblige easily.

A few dates later and Johnny just invites you to go with him and some friends of his to a bar, since the romantic dates weren't matching your vibes. And there, you happen to meet Simon, Johnny's friend. A behemoth of a man that somehow doesn't intimidate you one bit.

And you three hit it off easily. You pretent to be super into Johnny and Johnny does the same so your friend and Kyle can date happily. The thing is that after many triple "dates" with both Simon and Soap, you notice how they're awfully close, and a few dates later you blurp it out, more out of curiosity than judgment.

"are you two dating?"

Johnny pales, Simon goes beet red, you press, asking if that's why Johnny is faking being with you. You're not hurt, you've come to adore these two. Eventually you find out they did like each other, but hadn't made no moves — until you just made them confront those feelings that night.

So now you're fake dating Johnny whenever your friend is near, while Simon is always kind of hovering, since the dates are actually between the two men. Kyle hasn't yet discovered about it.

[nyxhiems]

Safe house 2

Ghoap x f!reader (continuation of this)

-this is a re-do of part 2 so if you read something else, apologies, but I didn’t like it so decided to change it 😅

-Warning: this will be a slow-burn

——————————————————————————

You didn’t move for a long time—not really. Just breathed. Swallowed. Let yourself float in the warmth.

Ghost’s fingers still stroked against your ribs, Soap’s arm a soft, grounding weight around your thigh. Your breath trembled in your chest, lungs full of heat and hesitation.

If you just let it happen—if you leaned back into them again, followed the thread of tension pulling tight between you all—you knew it would change things. You could feel it in every careful touch, every pause that stretched like a held breath.

You wanted it. God, you wanted it.

To turn and let yourself be seen, wanted, held. To be chosen. To be safe with them, like this.

But the fear—that old, familiar, cloying fear—sank its claws into your gut before you could act on it. Froze you there between the promise of intimacy and the weight of everything you’d carried for years.

You remembered what came after, last time.
The silence. The distance. The loss of someone you thought would stay. It wasn’t even a relationship—not anything close. Just late-night texts, drinks, soft laughter and fingers tangled in sheets you didn’t own. A casual arrangement that felt anything but casual to you, right up until the moment he walked away. A friend you trusted. Who said he could handle it. Who couldn’t look you in the eye the next day.

It had felt like someone ripped a piece of you out by the root. So you swore you’d never let it happen again.

Better alone than left behind.

So now, lying between two men who made you feel safe in a way no one ever had, who didn’t press or demand or treat you like a broken thing to fix… you still pulled away. Quiet. Careful.

You shifted back first from Soap, gently untangling your legs. His hand fell away from your thigh, fingers twitching like they missed the contact. Then Ghost—his arm was heavier, firmer. You paused, bracing yourself as you nudged it loose, and he let you go without resistance. But you felt it. The subtle way his fingers lingered, just for a second longer than necessary. You sat up, the cold air sweeping in immediately. It bit through the rumpled fabric of your shirt, making you shiver—but the ache in your chest burned hotter.

The bed shifted behind you. "You alright?" Ghost’s voice was still low, husky from sleep, but edged with something more now. Concern. Confusion.

You nodded. Too fast. "Yeah. Just—It’s morning."

Soap groaned into the pillow. “Barely.”

"We’ve got pickup in thirty." You reached for your jacket and pulled it on with stiff fingers, “We should get moving.”

Ghost sat up, watching you. You felt his eyes on your back. “You sure that’s all?”

Your fingers fumbled with the zipper, and you forced a laugh you didn’t feel. “Don’t tell me I’ve got to justify dragging you out of bed now.”

Soap made a grumbling noise but didn’t press. Ghost hesitated, then nodded once and moved to grab his gear.

You exhaled—relief and regret all tangled up together. They didn’t ask again. No one mentioned the warmth that lingered in your skin. No one commented on the tension that had bled out of the night and hardened into distance with the sunrise.

It was easier that way. Cleaner.

You knew you’d made the right call. You weren’t meant for that kind of closeness. Not anymore. And maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was just self-preservation. But either way, you told yourself it was better this way. Better to never reach than to reach and be left hanging. Again.

You moved through the motions like muscle memory—gear up, boots laced, weapons checked. Your hands were steady, even if your chest wasn’t. Ghost stood by the door, checking the comms, mask hiding whatever thoughts still lingered behind his silence. Soap offered you a protein bar with a crooked grin like nothing had happened.

And maybe that was the gift they gave you. no awkwardness. No judgment. No expectation. Just… normal. Steady.

You smiled at Soap as you took the bar. "Thanks."

"Next time," he said, stretching his arms above his head, "I get the middle."

You scoffed. “You were basically in my skin last night.”

"Aye, and? I’m a cuddler. You knew that going in."

Ghost’s low rumble followed. "You’re a furnace, is what you are."

"Better than an ice block." Their banter filled the space like warmth. Easy. Familiar. As if nothing had changed. And maybe, for now, nothing had.

You tucked away the ache. The longing. The part of you that still burned with the memory of their touch. You could live without it. You had lived without it. Because having them like this—alive, beside you, still yours in every other way—that was worth more than anything you might lose trying for something deeper. You weren’t ready to risk that again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Today, you just needed to know they’d still be there and when the truck arrived and the three of you climbed into the back, shoulders bumping as the engine rumbled to life, no one said a word. But Ghost’s thigh pressed warm against yours. Soap leaned in just slightly, his shoulder brushing yours on the turns. Still there. Still yours, in the only way you could allow for now.

——————————————————————————

Back at base you didn’t leave your bunk.

You had time to think. More than the panic that swept you initially allowed you to do earlier. But now. Alone. You had time to dissect everything.

Just sat there, elbows on your knees, staring at the wall like it might blink first.

Your head was a mess.

Last night had felt like a dream—warm and slow and safe in a way you hadn’t let yourself feel in years. You’d been held. Cherished, even. Not just by one person, but two. The kind of closeness you hadn’t known you were still capable of wanting until you’d woken up wrapped in it.

But it wasn’t real. Not really. That was just comfort. Circumstance. A sliver of something easy between people who trusted each other in the field. That was all it was supposed to be.

And if you reached for more—if you wanted more—you risked everything.

Maybe it was already ruined and it would be like a delay action time bomb and they would slowly start to distance themselves from you anyway, even without you taking it further.

What if it was just sex?

Your stomach churned. That was the worst part—you weren’t even sure if that would be better or worse. Sex, at least, you could box up, keep it light, say it meant nothing and walk away when it got too heavy. But you knew it wouldn’t be like that. Not with them. Not with this.

Because when you let your mind wander, it didn’t stop at skin and heat. It wandered into mornings and long stretches of quiet. Into Soap laughing over his coffee. Into Ghost pressing a hand against the back of your neck just to ground you. Into wanting them not just when your body ached for them, but when your soul did too.

You didn’t want just sex.

You wanted them.

Which made everything worse.

Because wanting them meant risking what you had now. And what you had now—friendship, trust, safety—it was solid. It worked. It wasn’t fragile. You weren’t fragile.

But this thing blooming in your chest?

It was glass.

And the team didn’t need cracks in the glass.

Not for something as inconsequential as feelings.

You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your face in them. Told yourself over and over:

This is a bad idea.

This is a bad idea.

This is a bad idea.

A knock at your door interrupted the loop.

You froze. Then cleared your throat, trying to sound like a person who hadn’t been silently spiralling for the last hour.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

Soap.

Your heart kicked up.

You got up and opened the door. He stood there in workout gear, towel slung over his shoulder, a bottle of water in one hand and a familiar lopsided grin on his face.

“You up for the gym?” he asked casually. “Figured you might want to shake the dust off. Or punch something.”

You blinked. “You want to go to the gym now?”

He grinned, “worried you won’t be able to keep up?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m saying I’d like to keep my dignity intact, thanks.”

“Well, c’mon then,” he said, already turning. “We’ll go light. Might even let you win at something.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. The first real one in hours.

And you followed him.

The gym was mostly empty. A few scattered grunts and clangs of metal in the background, but quieter than usual. Just you and Johnny, bantering between reps. He made a show of struggling through push-ups just to hear you laugh. You challenged him to a pull-up contest and beat him by one—barely—and he dramatically collapsed on the mat in defeat.

It was stupid. And fun. And easy.

So easy.

And as you watched him grin up at you from where he lay, arm flung over his eyes, chest rising and falling with exaggerated gasps, something in your chest loosened.

Maybe… maybe this didn’t have to be so terrifying.

Maybe you didn’t have to have all the answers right now.

Because here he was. No pressure. No tension. Just Soap—your friend, your teammate—reminding you what it felt like to breathe.

You sat down beside him and offered your water bottle. He took it with a quiet thanks, sipped, then passed it back.

“You’re good at this,” you murmured.

“Good at what?”

“Making it easier to be in my own head.”

Soap glanced sideways at you, “Well, I’ve got a vested interest in keeping you sane.”

You gave him a faint smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nudged your knee with his. “Don’t want to lose my best gym partner, do I?”

Maybe it was still a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe your heart still beat too loud when he touched your arm, when you remembered Ghost’s breath at your neck. But for the first time all day, you didn’t worry about it affecting your friendship. You could go back to the way it was and nobody would get hurt. You just had to learn to ignore the ache in your chest that called you a coward every time you repeated ‘better alone than left behind’ in your mind.

Next part here

[nyxhiems]

Johnny shyly admits to u one day that he actually has a pretty difficult gag reflex and it makes it hard to suck ghost off, right?

So ofc you offer to help him learn, you have experience and ur a good friend! This leads to you sitting next to ghost, watching Johnny kneel between large thighs. He looks beautiful, flushed and hot where hes buried into ghosts crotch, nose against his pubes. You decide to just observe, occasionally reaching over to yank at soaps hair and correct a movement.

He's got good technique, ghost is just big, but you know Johnny can take it. He just seemed a bit scared, backing off at even the hint of a gag. So u do what ur there to do, give Johnny some help by grabbing his head, angling him properly, and shoving him down. He splutters for a bit, but hes able to fight off any gags, so you do it again on the next downstroke. Ghost hums appreciatively, head thrown back and a bit overwhelmed.

The thing that really gets him? When you finally get Johnny down all the way, reach a hand to his throat, and lightly squeeze where ghosts cock bulges a bit. When ghost finally cums, you hold Johnny down at make him take it all :)

[nyxhiems]

Pup!soap being introduced to reader, the others lounging around the living room. Its casual in the way meeting someone's dog is, kyle telling you to hold out your hand so soap can get used to your smell.

Of course the mutt instantly starts licking and sucking at your fingers. All this earns him though is a few pets and "Awe! Hes so cute!" When he nuzzles a cheek against your palm. That only makes soaps dick twitch, hips swaying as he tries to get some friction from the plug in his ass. "Oh and hes friendly too!" As a hand wraps around his dick.

Just that sensation has him coming, instinctively biting at the side of your hand, breaking skin. Ghost is on him in seconds, prying his mouth open while price take you to the kitchen to get bandaged. "Not well trained, though. I think puppy needs some kennel time to cool down, yeah?"

[nyxhiems]

thoughts on band!141 x neighbor!reader

it was late, too late in the night for four grown men to be playing whatever rock song that they’re covering right now. you shift in your bed, taking your phone in hand to see what time it is. it’s two in the morning, almost three. you groan into your pillow incredulously, what are they on? you kick your covers to your feet, getting up and ready to leave your house in the cold night, grabbing a random sweatshirt not bothering to change from your pajama pants as you leave barefooted in a rush, closing your front door with a loud bang. you’re already thinking how you’d catch their attention since they’d most likely not hear if you ring the bell, but you didn’t have to because they were playing with the garage door fucking open.

now that you're close enough, you can make out the melody of an arctic monkeys' song. the beautiful black man that you’ve seen one too many times is the first thing to catch your attention, he’s the one singing after all – he’s playing keys too, and for a moment you forget a bit of your anger to ogle at his hands. there’s two guitarists, no bassist even though there’s a bass resting in a chair nearby – they all must play a lot of instruments, you think. the guitarists are the older man of the group – from the conversations you overheard a few times – and the one with a slight overgrown mohawk. you couldn’t miss the giant in the drums even if you wanted to, and you’re not surprised to see his face covered by the skull balaclava. your neighbor has strange habits and him and his friends could be easily labeled as off-putting people, but you don’t fucking care – you just want to sleep.

“hey,” you yell comically, and the men slowly stop what they’re doing to turn and look at you. your relief is immediate, the loud noises no longer banging in your head. “it’s two in the morning, lads. keep it down, will you?”

your neighbor – the one with the mohawk – laughs quite amused to your face, “it’s friday, bon,” he eyes you up and down, smugness radiating off of him as he adds “yer jus’ bitter yer nae out with some friends.”

his accent matched with the shit eating grin makes you want to jump him, but instead you scoff, rolling your eyes. you could say that technically it's saturday because it's past midnight, but you don't have the energy. so, you simply say firmly, “keep it down, i won’t ask again.” turning on your heels and leaving, going straight upstairs after making sure to lock your door. you manage to fall asleep right as your head hits the pillow, maybe you just needed something to dream of.

[nyxhiems]

New-born vampire!reader who thinks that it's really funny to have 141 running around like lost, little boys, so you run away for a day.

Ends up crossing paths with a vampire couple in a dimly lit pub, and they say that every vampire should know how to drink tequila, and they'd teach you.

Ale and Rudy – from what you've heard – drink shots after shots, and you wonder how they manage the taste – even being a vampire you're not immune to the way the alcohol burns down your throat.

"We're very old," Ale tells you. "Been together for many years too."

You smile at him, their exchanges so precious it makes a longing feeling settle in your heart. You should probably get back to your men.

Before you can leave, Rudy whispers something in Spanish to Ale before addressing you. "You should feed before going back, it helps to balance the alcohol."

You smile kindly at his suggestion. "Well, I can't. I only drink from my friend who's helping me– Well, friends."

You don't miss the way both their brows knit together. "You only drink from other vampires?"

"Only from my friends, yes. Why?"

"Well, it's just..." Rudy side-eyes Ale, who gives him a nod to urge him to keep talking. "Me and Ale have been together for about 200 years now... And I can count with one hand the times we feed on each other."

You don't miss the meaning behind his words, but you can't actually believe it. "What are you saying?"

This time, it's Ale who answers you. "Feeding on other vampires is not something to normalize. If they volunteered to help you, great, but you have to know, it's a really intimate thing to do... Certainly, they told you so, right?"

No... They didn’t tell you as much, but you could feel it deep inside you whenever Kyle or Johnny held you close, whenever they whispered praises at you for "doing sooo good".

"Actually, there's a saying from where we come from..." Rudy adds. "That if a vampire needs another vampire to survive, then that means they're destined to be together."

The words make your head spin, a faint buzz makes its way to your ear and helps to keep you dizzy and disoriented. After saying your goodbyes, you step out of your stool at the bar and walk out of the pub.

Mind set into getting this story straight.

⤷ FEED ON: BLURB COLLECTION

[nyxhiems]

Overseas 🇺🇸

[nyxhiems]

Just sniper things 🐦 (low stakes mission)

[nyxhiems]

Patience 💤

[nyxhiems]

Welcome to Kinktober 2025!

As there wasn’t an official Kinktober prompt list last year, we’ve put together an unofficial one for 2025, along with an AO3 collection. The graphics were all made by @latte-cucumber, and she's also made a banner that you’re welcome to use for your Tumblr Kinktober posts:

More information

Kinktober is an October prompt challenge that’s been running in one form or another since 2016. There are three prompts for each day in October, and the challenge is to use one (or more!) of the prompts to create something for that day. If you don’t want to use any of the three daily prompts, you can swap them out for the bonus prompts at the bottom of the prompt list.

Our askbox is open for questions about how the challenge works or what the prompts mean.

Prompts

Masturbation – Orgasm Control – Incest

Coming Untouched – Ageplay – Kidnapping

Threesome – Nipple Clamps – Alien Abduction

Voyeurism – Sounding – Hypnosis

Finger Sucking – Wax Play – Dacryphilia

Outdoor Sex – Humiliation – Intoxication

Blindfolds – Chastity – Bloodplay

Webcam – Figging – Cages

Exhibitionism – Shibari – Tentacles

Oral Sex – Punishment – Consensual Non-Consent

Come Licking – Handcuffs – Somnophilia

Sex Work – Kneeling – Sissification

Dildos – Dom Bottom/Sub Top – Medical Play

Omegaverse – Possessive Sex – Choking/Gagging

Semi-Public – Object Insertion – Sex Pollen

Remote Control – High Protocol – Fire Play

Messy Sex – Service Kink – Anal Hooks

Size Queen – Dom/Sub – Genital Torture

Creampie – Sensory Deprivation – Electricity

Mirror Sex – Golden Shower – Dubcon

Rimming – Forced Orgasm – Monsterfucking

Quiet Sex – Crawling – Gunplay

Biting – Praise Kink – Enemas

Anal Sex – Gags – Noncon

Double Penetration – Impact Play – Pillory/Stocks

Lingerie – Cuckolding – Sex Robot

Hair Pulling – Animal Play – Gangbang

Multiple Orgasms – S&M – Needle Play

Body Worship – Omorashi – Full-Body Bondage

Breeding – Fucking Machine – Degradation

Hot Tub Sex – Foot Fetish – Writer’s Choice

Bonus prompts:

Aftercare

Fisting

Wall Sex

Sugar Baby

Uniform Kink

Free Use

Temporary/Permanent Marks

[nyxhiems]

Simon’s Secret Wife

It was more of an open secret, really. All the TF141 members knew Simon had gotten with you then married you a few years ago. What they hadn’t done is met you.

It was understandable. The members lived dangerous lives, and there was always the lingering fear of not coming back home or even coming home to an empty house. There was an ever-present dread in the back of each member’s mind that harm might come to their loved ones because of them.

That’s why they never seriously pushed to meet you. Making his life miserable because of it, though— that wasn’t off the table. “Hey, Riley, when are we meeting yer sweetheart?” They’d laugh raucously. “I’m sure he chased her away and just lied to us this whole time about dating her.” “C’mon, Riley. Just a photo. Please! We’ll even take a silhouette at this point.”

Simon would scowl when they teased him. But every time they begged, a smirk would grow on his face, his ego fed by their desperate curiosity. They each have their ideas about what you were like. Sometimes, they’d murmur and gossip when Simon wasn’t around.

“I think she’s a pretty, shy little thing.”

“Nah, d’ya really think someone without a mind of steel could put up with Simon’s lifestyle?” “She’s probably really sweet for Simon to be able to trust her.” “Do ya see how soft he is when he talks about her? It’s subtle, but it’s there. I’ll say she’s a pure soul to reform a rough lad like him.”

Still, time passed; and, short of meeting you, all they had were conjectures. That is… till Simon got kidnapped. It had been a rough mission. Simon had been sent into the underbelly of crime without any weapons or partners due to the high risk. One minute, they had their eyes on him; the next, all communications were cut off.

By the time the team rushed in— completely ignoring orders from the higher-ups about maintaining mission protocol— he had disappeared.

Back on base, their minds raced a miles per hour. They went over the mission a hundred times, trying to think of what they could have done to prevent Simon’s disappearance, wishing they could turn back time. Their faces remained grim. A heavy fog of gloom hung over the base. They tried to ignore the pit growing in their stomachs, but they all knew that their chances of recovering him were growing slimmer the more time passed.

That’s when Price made an announcement that made them freeze in their tracks. “Riley’s missus is coming over.” Eyes opened wide gazed at him.

“Shit! That cannot be good! What are we gonna tell the poor woman?” Soap exclaimed. Price didn’t reply. It was clear he was too distressed, despite his face being unrevealing of his emotions.

The team’s tension grew as they awaited your arrival. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before you appeared in front of them. Price ushered you into the meeting room. Their eyes traveled over you. You were a rather tall woman. Between your dark clothes suited for travel and your sober face, you looked like you were in mourning. That fresh reminder of Simon’s loss made Gaz swallow. As you walked past them towards the front, they could feel their breath hitch for no reason.

You turned and faced them once you reached the meeting room’s podium, giving them a better chance to study you. A tinge of surprise passed through at your age. Not elderly, but you were definitely older than Simon. You had a refined air about you, like elite aged wine.

“We’re so sorry, Ms. Riley. We assure you, we will do our best to bring our boy Simon back home.” One of them spoke up, needing to say something to relieve the tension.

They’d fully thought you would burst into tears. They’d imagined themselves sitting awkwardly as Price attempted to console you. But no. You scoff, and they feel themselves brace at the sharp sound. “That would mean a lot more if your best was enough to keep him from being captured in the first place.” The members eyes widen as large as saucers. Anger was a predictable reaction to grief and loss, but they hadn’t anticipated the absolute authority in your tone. You stood ramrod straight, like a stern teacher, peering down at them. They shrunk a bit.

”Hello, TaskForce 141. Don’t bother introducing yourself or forcing pleasantries. You don’t have the time, and I don’t have the patience. I am Y/N L/N, also known by my call sign Legion.”

Oh shit! In all their wildest conjectures, they’d never expected Simon to have married a legendary soldier with one of the most successful records in special forces.

Watching them like a hawk, your eyes narrowed. Your mouth was tightly knit together, and you posture looked like that of a demon about to devour them… true to your call sign. Like many a commander with rookie soldiers, you didn’t bother sparing feelings. “You mangy lot lost my husband and forced me out of retirement. Now ye’d better find him, or I’ll hunt you down personally. Is that clear?”

A shudder went through them. When training, their instructors at the military academy had held you up as an example. They’d drilled into their heads the high standards you'd set. Time after time, you’d forced your way into impossible areas, tackling the most complex and difficult missions and often leaving a truly demonic wake of destruction behind you. And now, if they didn’t perform well, the force of your fury would be aimed towards them.

Is this any good? Should I do a pt. 2 with the other part of the story?

[nyxhiems]

Just sniper things 💥 (botched mission)