#Kyle Gaz Garrick x reader

[bi-writes]

Thinking about going into labor while your partner is on the way somewhere unimportant, who refuses to come home to help you. And instead of being alone and scared, you hang up and call up one of your childhood friends everyone thought you'd wind up with. Kyle shows up at your door, furious but does his best to hide it, and helps you through it all. Next day the father of your child has the audacity to show up like nothing is wrong to see Kyle holding your baby so you can take a well deserved nap.

he picks up on the third ring. you tremble, gripping the edge of the porcelain tub. when you finally hear his voice, just the sound of him soothes your beating heart, just a little.

"'ello, love."

"kyle?" you sniffle. his background quiets a bit. you hear a door close, and then he's a bit louder.

"hey, love. what's wrong? you sound upset."

"my water broke," you hiccup. "a-and i...i was in the bath...i-i..." you close your eyes. "i can't get out of the tub."

"jesus fucking christ." you whimper, but kyle just hums. "not you, baby. hey, you just relax, alright? you said you were in the bath. just relax, and i'll be there soon."

"kyle--"

"don't be scared," kyle chuckles, and you whine a little. "hey, you're gonna have a baby. you've been waiting for this, yeah? haven't you?"

"y-yeah..."

"aren't you excited? you always tell me how much you can't wait, right?"

"yeah..."

"don't be scared," kyle repeats. "you just relax. be happy. she's coming today!"

you smile, wiping your face a little, and when kyle hears your giggle, he sighs.

"good girl. you sit tight."

so you do. you lean against the side of the tub, and you rest in the warm water as you stare at your phone screen.

he won't answer the phone. he hasn't read your texts. he's not coming.

you hear the front door open and close, and then there's a gentle knock on the bathroom door. when kyle comes in, you try to cover up, moving your hands over your tits, embarrassed, but kyle just goes to look for a clean towel to help you out.

"it's okay, love, i won't look," kyle tells you. he smiles at you, cupping your face gently, and you look into his dark eyes. "you look so pretty. you're glowin', y'know that?" you smile through gentle tears, putting a hand over your belly, and you try to move, but it's no use. kyle drops the towel, kneeling, and you shake your head.

"i-i can't get out--" you gasp, and kyle rolls up his sleeves over his thick forearms, putting the towel over his shoulder before he reaches for you.

"it's alright. i'll get you out. i'll try not to look, okay?"

"i'm so embarrassed...i'm so sorry, kyle..." you sniffle.

"don't apologize, love. i got it. give me your hands, put 'em around me."

you lift up your wet arms, wrapping them around his neck. you press your chest against his, and he picks you up as you stand, helping you to your feet. as you cup your belly, he wraps the towel around you, covering you, and then he holds your hand as you step out of the tub.

"alright. now where's your bag, darling?"

kyle grabs your bag and supplies as you get dressed in your room. as you pull your socks on, kyle comes up behind you, smoothing your hair down your back before he starts to braid it. he used to braid your hair all the time when you were kids--he always said he wanted to practice for his sisters.

"you got the car seat, kyle?" you ask as he holds your hand, and he nods.

"mhm. in the car already."

"a-and the diaper bag?"

"in the boot."

"my extra clothes? and my...my stuff?"

"mhm. i got it, love. and whatever you forgot, i'll get it for you. alright, up, buckle in, that's a girl."

he holds your hand the entire way. you groan softly when a particularly painful contraction hits you, but when you squeeze kyle's hand, all he does is squeeze back. you take deep breaths, leaning your head back, and he hums.

"you're doing so well, love. so well."

"why..." your eyes water. you squeeze his hand again, and when you look down, your vision is blurry from your tears. "why didn't he answer? w-why...why doesn't he...w-why would he..."

"don't worry your pretty head about tha', love," kyle interrupts you gently. "only thing you need to worry about is you and her. i got it."

"o-okay."

she's beautiful. she looks more like you than her father, and kyle counts that blessing. she's got your eyes, your nose, your hair. her cheeks belong to her father, but she might as well be your twin, and when kyle takes her from you later that night, rocking her gently, he can really see up close how much she looks like you.

in the middle of the night, kyle holds your hand as you get up to go to the bathroom. your entire body is tender and sluggish, but kyle keeps you upright as you walk, kissing your head gently as he helps you take a seat on the toilet.

he even gets your underwear set up for you, with the big pad and everything, and he helps you step into it and slips them up and over your hips. you're a tearful mess as he does this, but kyle just presses his forehead against yours.

the look in his eyes, you will never forget it. the intensity. the commitment. the stability. every time you pick up the phone, kyle answers, and sometimes he's thousands of miles away. your own boyfriend can't even have the decency to answer when you're nine months pregnant--what did he fucking think the call was going to be about?

back in your room, kyle fits into the bed with you. he lets your rest your head on his chest, and when you ask him if he's going to go home, he tells you this is close enough.

in the morning, kyle's sitting outside your room with the baby. he's holding her, touching her little nose, letting you sleep in. you had a rough night, and when he found you still with your eyes closed that morning, he figured he would let you keep sleeping, just for an extra hour or so.

you deserve it.

"is that her?"

kyle's head turns with a snap. standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, is your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. not man enough to answer the phone when you most needed him, not strong enough to do the right thing and marry you, and not wise enough to realize all he had to do was take care of you, and the world would be right again. you're not greedy. you don't ask for anything. all you want is to love and be loved, and kyle doesn't think that's too much to ask for, kyle thinks you're one of the most selfless women he's ever known, so why does this fucking bastard of a man get to call himself this girl's father?

kyle looks back down, fixing the blanket over your daughter's neck carefully. he thinks he did pretty good swaddling her this time, but you might have an opinion on it.

"i'm gonna say somethin', mate," kyle says lowly. "'n after i say it, y'r gonna do some thinking, real thinking."

he laughs a little, shaking his head.

"why don't you give me my baby, and get the fuck outta 'ere?"

kyle looks up and snickers, shaking his head. he gets a better grip on your daughter, sitting back, and he fixes your ex with a sinister smile.

"and what if i don't? you gonna take her from me?" kyle chuckles. "i'd love to see you try."

he stands, raising a brow.

"listen here, and listen close." kyle takes a step closer to him. "you're a right pile of shit comin' here thinking that you can just waltz right in and be daddy of the year, alright? what kind of man are you, eh? your girl in need, callin' you, and you don't even have the fuckin' balls to answer her? take a good look at your kid, mate, cause it's the last time you're ever gonna see her."

"no, i have the right--"

"to fuck right off," kyle snaps. "if i see you near her or her daughter ever again, i'll find you, and i'll make it worth your while, mate. make you feel real sorry finally, y'hear me? 'n when i take her back home, all of your junk better be out the flat. otherwise, i'll fucking burn it."

"kyle?"

your voice pulls him away. kyle adjusts the baby in his arm, going back inside, and he shuts the door behind him, finding your eyes. you reach for the baby, arms outstretched, and kyle easily sets her down in them, watching as you cradle the tiny thing into the crook of your neck and stroke the back of her neck.

the nurses come in and drop off a few papers. one stops, looking at kyle, giving him a big smile.

"congratulations," she tells him, and he smiles back at her. she takes a seat next to him, holding out a clipboard. "do you think i could get a few details? i just need to know mum's name, baby's name--"

kyle gives it to her. your birthplace. your birthday. your name. your baby's name. then she flips a paper over, putting her pen down.

"and dad's name?" she asks.

kyle sighs, leaning back in his chair. they don't give out birth certificates right away. you have to request it. you won't find out, not just yet, maybe he'll even pick it up for you. you'll be much too busy being mummy dearest.

"kyle," he tells her, flashing her that big smile. she blushes a little, writing it down. "kyle garrick."

he looks back at where you are, your eyes on him. you smile shyly when your eyes meet, and kyle leaves the nurse to come up to you and drape a hand behind your head. he strokes along your hair gently, thumbing at your temple.

"i heard you outside, kyle."

"did you?"

"and i heard you just now."

"mm."

you blink, reaching for the edge of his shirt, and you pull him down, further, until his face is nearly against yours.

"i guess i shouldn't be surprised," you say softly, reaching up to smooth a a few knuckles down his cheek. he leans into it, licking his lips, and you bite your lip. "you've always had a habit of...taking what doesn't belong to you, huh?"

kyle laughs. always the pretty boy, ever since you were little. one smile from him--kyle could get away with anything. anything at all.

"who says you don't belong to me?"

[quarterlifekitty]

peacocking (how they show off. Maybe they're doing it to impress you, maybe not...)

König can reach the overhead bins on the plane so fucking easily. And he doesn't care how heavy your carry-on is, he's putting it up there for you. That's his flex.

Gaz is the guy who will take a picture for you and your friends at a tourist destination, and it will be perfect. Several angles, several orientations, and all taken at just the right moment. And when you tell him you made you look really good, he'll tell you he just has a way of making cameras tell the truth.

Soap smiles and he lifts shit for you. Simple as. Man is the king of carrying shit to your car for you in 1 trip.

Price speaks up on your behalf when you're clearly not going to say anything. When someone cuts you in line, or ignores your question, or gets your order completely wrong. He doesn't do it in an aggressive way, really, but it makes it clear that he's paying attention.

Ghost is in the same group entering the haunted house as you. And he doesn't flinch once. So obviously he seems like the best person to cling to when you get scared. That's what he's desperately hoping.

Rudy is going to, by whatever miracle necessary, gets you what you want. Doesn't matter if you need a refund for something, or you need to get on a plane when the gate just closed, or you need a substitution made in your food-- he just has a way with people. He doesn't raise his voice at all, but he has this way about him that makes people more willing to bend the rules.

[chamomiletealeaf]

I humbly (desperately) beg you to keep writing fat pussy reader. Like actually. Ugh, We need more plushy reader representation 🛐 Your fic is absolutely divine

IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED ANON 😋 HERE'S SOME MORE MUAHAHA

They fucking love when you wear bikinis. You'd be in a hot tub and stand up to reach over and grab your drink from the side of the tub giving them the perfect view of your fat pussy covered by the tiny material of your bikini bottoms. The way it's so noticeable when you bend over in your little bikini is so fuckin' sexy to them they can't help but cup it in their hands to cop a feel of it. Even in cute little pajama shorts they can see your sweet plush pussy when you bend over. You best believe they're shoving their faces into it from behind licking at you through whatever you're wearing whether it be your panties, bikini bottoms, or little pajama shorts.

They love eating you out from behind the most because they get to not only bury their face in your pretty fat pussy, but also because they get to suffocate themselves in your thighs and ass cheeks. Never mind if they can breathe or not, they'll die the happiest man on the planet.

And if you have a piercing? They're done for. They didn't think such a perfect pussy could get even prettier. They'd play with it with their tongues or with their fingers while fucking you.

Would make it their life mission to get you to squirt. Seeing such a juicy pussy squelch and squirt around their cocks would make them cum inside you immediately.

Pussy slapping 100% They'd slap your fat pussy while fucking you with your knees to your ears to watch how your cute little clit twitches in response. And when they thigh fuck you? It's the best of both worlds because not only do they get to feel your thick thighs squeezing them, they feel your pussy rubbing against them trapping their cock between your pussy and thighs.

Please let them play with your pussy, they just love how fat and cute it is so much.

[briarscreek]

Oooooo omg I loved reverse! Roman empire tf 141 x reader, would you be willing to do more?

I hope you have such a nice day/night.

P.s no pressure to do more, just wanted to let you know your writing is gorgeous

OMG I DIDNT EVEN SEE THIS ASK IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME A MINUTE

hope you enjoy this pookie ❤️

it doesn’t take long until the next gladiator fight that you’re thrust into the mix again. this time just against one opponent. from what you could pick up in interpreting the language, the name was skull crusher. it’s not the best translation but you got the message. and the fact that he held no weapon.

he was larger than you, could dwarf anyone easily; and a crowd favorite. a blood thirsty dog only trained to fight in the confines of this brick and mortar. you didn’t want to fight, tried to get through to him; evaded every attack and only defended yourself. but if the emperor grew bored; both fighters would be dead. you had to make a choice; you or him.

you picked yourself.

you tried to make it as quick as possible, give him something painless so that he can pass. but he kept fighting and you had no choice. you kept repeating it to yourself as you watched him bleed out slowly from his neck.

you had no choice.

you had no choice.

you had no choice.

you had no—

a hand grasped your shoulder. a blink and you were suddenly switched from your thoughts of earlier that day to being surrounded by the 4 men you met on your first night as a fighter. it was harder to breathe. they towered over you just like he did.

tears in your eyes, you were shaking like a leaf. you didn’t want to do it again. fear caused you to pick up the knife off the food plate they delivered. pointing towards them, rambling how you will survive. even if they couldn’t understand you.

one word from the bearded one stunned you into a shock.

“rest”

your ramblings ceased immediately.

“how did you— can you understand me?”

“rest.”

he led you to a changing room, the taller one with a mask took off your clothes and laid you in the bath. one man with a reassuring smile and another with differently cut hair started to use rags to clean you. not hands of lust but rags moved with care. it wasn’t until they were done did the bearded one come back with a different robe; maybe one meant for sleeping. he slipped it onto you, tying the front securely and gently held out his hand. he lead you towards the bed as the masked one pulled back the covers.

what surprised you was how gentle they all were. was this a customary service or a personal one? as your exhaustion started to weigh you down, you tried to listen in on their conversation. something to do with ‘escape’ and ‘you’.

if you ever did escape this servitude, you just hoped they wouldn’t tell. or maybe they could join you.

if only you could understand them.

[ghouljams]

thinking about mean and evil stalker gaz who watches u struggle with loneliness and limerence, who watches you resort to stupid dating apps and lowering yourself and your standards to men who would never in a million years get close to deserving you much less worthy of being in the hallowed grounds that is your home. now, does he throw all of his hard work away and just snatch you up how he wants to… or does he make his own account on that god forsaken app youre on and make you believe you hit the jackpot when his pretty face pops up? (doesn’t matter if you remember swiping left, you’re goin to see his gorgeous smile in your matches either way.)

Gaz is slick with it, he won't resort to the tactics the rest of the 141 seem to rely on so heavily. Why would he debase himself with kidnapping when he can simply pop up in your matches with a few button click. It's not like those dating apps are exactly secure, he just needs to adjust a few search parameters and suddenly you have this gorgeous guy you don't remember swiping on messaging you.

From there it's almost too easy. He already knows all your likes and dislikes, all he has to do is make them his as well. Which isn't hard when he loves you so much. Of course he'd like all your favorite foods, they're your favorite. He'll pick up all your hobbies so you can chat to him about them.

You never suspect that the perfect partner you're talking to on tinder has been watching you for months. He's just so sweet, and you have so much in common!

It feels so organic, so movie perfect. Gaz is a perfect gentleman on your date. He holds your hand, he compliments you, he's kind and attentive, and you never would guess that when his hand disappears under the table it's because he's adjusting his hard cock in his dress pants. Which is really your fault. If you weren't so sweet and gullible he might be able to control himself, but now you're looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky and he can't help moving up his plans to make you Mrs. Garrick.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; leah rests as you confront laswell over her clear interference. later, a heartfelt plea for the pack’s forgiveness stirs conflicted emotions, forcing you to grapple with resentment and the weight of leadership.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

Leah stayed the rest of the day and night. After finishing her tea and sandwiches, she’d curled up in your room, exhaustion pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sybil stayed by her side by your instruction, her large form pressed protectively against Leah as though sensing the fragility of her state.

You watched her for a moment before stepping out, closing the door quietly behind you. When you found Fiona in the main hall, you stopped her with a firm look. “Leah is resting in my room. No one goes in—no one—unless I say so. That includes my Mother.”

Her eyes widened briefly, but she recovered quickly, her expression smoothing into the composed professionalism you’d come to expect from her. “Understood,” she said with a small nod.

As you walked back to your studio, the weight of everything pressed down on you—your thoughts swirled, torn between the boundaries of what you could do now and what you could risk for later. You needed clarity, or at least a good understanding of how things had turned out this way. 

The decision solidified as you reached the door to your studio. Pausing briefly, you raised a hand and muttered an incantation under your breath, weaving a ward around the door. The faint shimmer of magic settled over the frame, ensuring no one would disturb you inside.

Once satisfied, you stepped in, closing the door behind you and locking it for good measure. You crossed the room to your desk, the weight of the moment settling heavily in your chest as you reached for your phone.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, the weight of everything unspoken pressing heavily against your chest. The hesitation was brief. With a sharp breath, you tapped the call button.

The line rang twice before her voice came through, tinged with an edge of surprise she couldn’t fully conceal.

“This is unexpected,” Laswell said, her words crisp but laced with curiosity. There was a brief pause, and then she added, more composed now, “How can I help you?”

The neutrality in her tone grated against you, stirring the embers of frustration you’d been holding back for far too long.

“I don’t need your help,” you said firmly, each word clipped.

The silence on her end stretched just long enough to let you know she was regrouping, processing your tone.

“You helped her, didn’t you?” you continued, not giving her a chance to deflect. “You helped Leah get to the coven.”

She exhaled softly, though whether it was in resignation or something else, you couldn’t tell. “She needed closure—”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you interrupted sharply. “I was clear with the pack, and I was clear with you. You don’t get to meddle in my business, Laswell. Not anymore.”

There was a pause, and when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, more guarded. “She was desperate. I made a judgment call.”

You closed your eyes, willing the anger simmering beneath your skin to stay in check. “A judgment call,” you repeated bitterly. “Just like the last time? When you brushed off my concerns? When you refused to see what was happening until it was too late?”

The words hung heavy in the air, the silence on the line louder than anything else.

“I made mistakes,” Laswell said finally, her tone softer but still holding that iron edge. “And I’ve spent every day since trying to fix them.”

You shook your head, though she couldn’t see it. “This is the last time, Laswell. The last time you get involved. I’ll take care of Leah for now because it’s the right thing to do. After this, I’ll see to it personally that she gets back home—safely, where she belongs.”

Laswell didn’t respond immediately, and you imagined her pinching the bridge of her nose in that way she always did when she was trying to decide whether to push back or let it go.

“In a way,” you added after a beat, your tone cooling slightly, “you respected my wishes by not coming to the celebrations. For that, thank you.”

Another pause. Then, finally, her voice came through, subdued but steady. “You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say. With a sharp flick of your thumb, you ended the call, the screen going dark as the weight in your chest shifted—not lighter, not heavier. Just there.

For a moment, you stood in the silence of your studio, the faint hum of the warded door the only sound. You set the phone down on the desk with a quiet sigh, the conversation leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

. . .

Laswell stood outside your former apothecary, her phone still in hand as she let out a slow, steady breath. The conversation with you had left her more rattled than she cared to admit. Even though she’d managed to hold her composure, your words still lingered, sharp and cutting.

Around her, the scene was bustling. Farah and Alex were inside, sorting through what remained of your belongings. They had accepted her offer of the space—not happily, but only because they respected your wishes. Their sadness was palpable, laced with a quiet anger that neither of them had voiced directly.

Whatever you had left behind, Farah and Alex treated it with care. They tucked away your tools and keepsakes for safekeeping, their movements precise and deliberate. The pack lingered around, their gazes lingering a little too long on certain items, and it wasn’t long before Soap and Gaz tried to sneak something.

Soap, ever the opportunist, had spotted a small trinket—a small wolf charm you’d crafted long ago—and pocketed it with a practiced ease. Gaz, less subtle, had picked up one of your old notebooks, flipping through it with a wistful look before tucking it under his arm.

Farah, already on edge, caught them both in the act. She turned sharply, her glare cutting through the room like a blade.

“Put it back,” she snapped, her voice firm and unwavering.

Soap gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, the kind that usually got him out of trouble. “C’mon, lass,” he said, his voice soft and pleading. “It’s just a wee thing—something to remember her by.”

Farah’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, her glare deepened, her hand resting protectively over the small swell of her belly. “I said, put it back,” she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Gaz hesitated, glancing between Soap and Farah, but the weight of her stare was too much. With a sheepish nod, he placed the notebook back where he’d found it.

Soap lingered for a moment longer, his fingers brushing the charm in his pocket. Farah stepped closer, her presence towering despite her smaller stature.

“Soap,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulled the charm from his pocket and set it down with exaggerated care. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, backing away with his hands raised. “No need to get cranky.”

Her glare didn’t waver, and Soap quickly retreated to the other side of the room, muttering something under his breath about “pregnancy hormones.” Alex, who had been silently watching from the corner, hid a smirk behind his hand. Farah shot him a look, and he quickly busied himself with organizing another box.

Satisfied, Farah returned to her work, tucking your belongings away with even greater care. 

Back outside, Laswell turned toward the door just as Ghost emerged, a large box balanced effortlessly in his arms. He moved with his usual precision, quiet and efficient, his gaze fixed ahead as though nothing else existed but the task at hand. He didn’t linger, carrying the box to Alex’s truck without a word before heading back inside.

Price followed a few moments later, stepping out with a smaller box tucked under one arm. He set it down near the doorway, dusting off his hands as his sharp gaze settled on Laswell.

“That was her on the phone, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice low but laced with a pointed edge.

Laswell hesitated, her grip tightening slightly on the phone in her pocket. For a moment, she considered deflecting, brushing him off. But Price’s eyes told her that wouldn’t work.

“Yes,” she admitted finally, tucking the phone away as though trying to put the weight of the conversation out of reach.

Price exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening as he looked toward the apothecary. His fingers brushed over the edge of the box he’d just set down, the movement almost absentminded. “And?”

Laswell squared her shoulders. “And nothing,” she replied, her tone sharper than she intended. “She doesn’t want me—or any of us—involved any further.”

Price’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening as he nodded slowly. “Yes, I figured as much,” he muttered, glancing toward the doorway where Soap had lingered earlier, his usual energy dampened into something far more subdued. “And yet here we are.”

Laswell folded her arms, her gaze flicking toward the truck where Ghost had disappeared moments ago. “She made her wishes clear,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “We’re doing this because it’s what she wanted—for Farah and Alex to have this place, for them to have help.”

Her eyes drifted back toward the apothecary’s open door. “Whether we like it or not.”

Price studied her in silence, his sharp blue eyes as unreadable as ever. After a moment, he gave a curt nod, his posture easing slightly. “Fair enough,” he said gruffly, turning toward the doorway as though considering whether to follow Ghost back inside.

Laswell stayed where she was, her hands slipping into her coat pockets as she stared at the apothecary, her thoughts churning. Ghost had returned to his task with his usual quiet intensity, and Soap had retreated to lean against the wall, his troubled expression a stark contrast to his usual demeanor.

The pack was subdued, their energy tempered by the weight of your absence and the silence of things left unsaid. But as Laswell observed them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they wouldn’t back down anytime soon.

Something about the way they carried themselves, the way their gazes lingered on your shop, told her this wasn’t the end for them. They’d find a way to keep trying. 

Whatever. That was their business now.

Laswell exhaled softly, brushing off the thought. She had done the best she could, made the decisions she thought were right at the time. Hopefully, with time, the strain between you and her might heal. But for now, she wouldn’t hold her breath.

Her gaze drifted back to the apothecary’s weathered sign hanging above the door. The carved wooden depiction of Sybil stared back at her, elegant and protective.

Laswell hesitated, her hand hovering near the sign, before she finally reached up and carefully unhooked it from its place. The wood was smoother than she expected, its edges worn from time and weather. She brushed off the faint layer of dust that had settled on it, her fingers lingering on the carved lines of Sybil’s regal form.

For a moment, she simply stood there, the sign in her hands, her thoughts tangled between regret and resolution.

This, at least, she could keep safe.

Tucking the sign under her arm, Laswell turned away from the apothecary, her steps steady as she moved toward the truck. She didn’t look back.

. . .

The soft crackle of the fire filled the room as you sat on the sofa, a stack of letters balanced on your lap. Each envelope bore the mark of a coven leader or an influential figure, their words congratulating you on your confirmation and, in some cases, making subtle overtures for future alliances.

You worked methodically, reading through each one and making notes on who deserved a reply, a gift, or a polite dismissal. This was just the beginning, one of many responsibilities you’d have as your Mother’s heir, and though it felt overwhelming, you tackled it with quiet determination.

Sybil lay curled at your feet, her coat gleaming in the firelight, her slow, even breaths a comforting rhythm.

A stir from the bed caught your attention, and you glanced over to see Leah shifting, her eyes fluttering open. She sat up slowly, her movements more assured than they had been earlier. Her cheeks, once pale and hollow, held a hint of color now. It wasn’t surprising—the food, tea, and subtle spells you had cast were meant to revitalize her, to help her heal from the inside out.

Now, as she stretched and blinked at the firelight, she looked better—if a little hesitant. Her gaze shifted to you, her head tilting curiously as she noticed the stack of letters.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice soft but steadier now, carrying a confidence that hadn’t been there before.

“Replying to letters,” you said absently, flipping to the next one. 

Leah swung her legs over the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. The silence stretched, but you let it. You were too absorbed in the task at hand to press her further.

To your surprise, she broke the quiet with an abrupt question, one that made your pen still over the paper.

“Do you think you can forgive the pack?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting hers in the flickering firelight. For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.

“Excuse me?”

Leah shifted uncomfortably but didn’t back down. Her light brown gaze held yours, steady despite the tension that suddenly filled the room. “I said… do you think you can forgive them? The pack. For what happened.”

Your expression hardened instinctively, the calm you had been cultivating unraveling in an instant. 

She bit her lip, glancing toward the fire before looking back at you. “It wasn’t their fault. Not entirely.”

You sighed softly, setting the letters aside as you straightened in your seat. “Not entirely,” you echoed, your tone sharper now. “That doesn’t change the damage they caused. To me. To themselves. To you.”

Leah hesitated, but there was a flicker of determination in her expression as she pressed on. “I’m not saying what happened was okay. It wasn’t. But they’re… broken. And I think—no, I know—they’d do anything to fix it if you’d let them.”

You stared at her, your thoughts churning. It wasn’t an easy thing to consider, not after everything.

Leah’s voice softened, her earlier confidence faltering just slightly. “I’m asking because… if you don’t forgive them, I’m not sure they’ll ever forgive themselves.”

The weight of her words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the fire’s crackle and Sybil’s soft breathing.

You took a long, measured look at Leah. For the first time, you saw her clearly—not the broken, haunted version she had been when she arrived, but the person she truly was beneath it all. Her beauty wasn’t just in her features, though those were striking; it was in her kindness, the quiet determination in her voice as she spoke on behalf of others.

She wasn’t pleading for herself, not really. She was pleading for them—for the pack that had been as much victims as they were perpetrators. It was selfless, genuine, and painfully earnest.

It made the weight of your resentment feel… pitiful.

You glanced toward the fire, your thoughts swirling as you turned her words over in your mind. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps forgiveness could give them something they couldn’t find on their own.

But even as you considered it, a familiar truth settled heavily in your chest. Forgiveness was one thing. Forgetting was another entirely.

Your gaze returned to Leah, and you let out a quiet sigh, your voice softer now as you finally spoke. “I may forgive them one day, Leah. But I won’t forget. I can’t.”

Leah’s expression shifted, her lips parting slightly as though to protest, but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she seemed to accept your words.

“That’s fair,” she said quietly, her hands resting in her lap. “I just… I hope, for their sake, that forgiveness will be enough.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you leaned back against the sofa, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the room. Sybil shifted at your feet, her dark eyes watching you intently.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your tone carrying more weight than you intended. “That’s all I can promise for now.”

Leah nodded again, her gaze dropping briefly to Sybil before returning to you. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

The room fell quiet again, the crackle of the fire filling the space as Leah settled back onto the bed. You returned to your letters, but your thoughts lingered on her words—and the truth of what they might mean for you, the pack, and everything that lay ahead.

banner credit

[msdespairs-thoughts]

A lover whose eyes tears up for each of their suitors’ deaths to a vengeful demon whose heart bleeds for their dearly beloveds. Only to be sealed by the ones they loved, forced in a seemingly endless cycle watching how close their once beloveds grow close to one another throughout their deaths and rebirths. A fitting punishment but one make one laugh.

How numb you become when finally freed that you mask it with a smile. Maybe your paths will crossed one day, since you have obstacles that’s threatens your once beloveds’ lives. It was in your deal after all.

Perhaps they may except you this time as some of them aren’t human anymore. But for now…

You’ll ignore the burning rage of betrayal (it not their fault)

You’ll ignore the tears running down your face (i deserve it)

You’ll ignore the ache in you heart (why does it hurt)

You’ll ignore any semblance of human empathy (i can’t)

You’ll ignore any human emotions that surface (i’ll try)

You

Are

Not

Human

Not like them anymore (i wish i was)

-

Image being a demon sealed away force to watch your loved ones from the past. Forces to watch them grow close and closer, forced to watch them love in way you never thought could happen, forced to watch them die by the same people over and over. Forces to see them not need you.

Pairing is poly with Gary “Roach” Sanderson, Nikolai, Ghost “Simon” Riley, John “Soap” McTavish, Kyle “Gaz Garrick, John Price

Inspired by bluegiragi monster au

[cod-indulgences]

Poly!tf141 x female!reader, gangbang, free use, public humiliation, rough sex, dom/sub vibes

Poly tf141 gangbang anywhere they want it. Home base? You're getting bent over Price's desk and fucked stupid before he lets the boys have their turns filling you up, leaving you so sloppy and wet with come there's no point putting your clothes back on, so why bother princess? Everyone knows what you got up to with all that screaming you just did. Go on, go shower, it's just down the hall- no, no clothes, we just told you. Now get cleaned up or we'll just hose you down outside- there you go, good girl.

You get parked in a safe house on a mission and when the squad comes back amped up, smelling like gunpowder and explosives, you don't even get a chance to ask if they're all okay- Soap throws you down on the bed and tears your panties off, throwing the scrap of broken elastic and cotton away, barely getting his cock out before slamming into you so hard you white out for a moment. He knows he's fucking you bloody like this, but you're clawing at his shoulders and moaning, and isn't this what you're here for anyhow? You belong to them, and however they want you, and when he finishes and Gaz steps into his place you moan and let Ghost tilt your head back, work his cock into your mouth, taking them both so well, so tight and wet, we know you missed us baby. Ghost holds his cock in your throat so you'll clench down on Gaz, milk the come out of him, let Price spread you open and play with the slippery mix of come and slick between your legs. He fucks you as Ghost comes down your throat, your choking a beautiful counterpoint to the wet slapping sounds.

On the transport home there's other soldiers, other men staring at you, their own cocks out in their fists, aiming stripes of come your way. You barely even register them, your squad a knot of muscle and skin around you, each moving in turn to fuck up into your ass and cunt, Ghost and Price sharing you with their foreheads pressed together, Ghost's mask lifted just enough to lick at each other's mouths. Soap and Gaz fuck you between them, rocking you back and forth as they rub their cocks together inside you, only a thin layer of flesh separating them. Hands pinching your nipples and stroking your tongue, whoever isn't inside you fitting their cocks into your hands like toys, moving you where they want to be teased. Gaz and Price, Soap and Ghost, each taking you until you lose track entirely, only the pleasure covering your mind in a haze, drooling openly as you're fucked and fucked and fucked, until your body is so ruined that when they're finally finished Price has to carry you into base, lay you down into a bed that smells like them, let you drift out of consciousness with their come still drying down your legs, across your belly, your pussy and ass stretched open and tender.

The next morning of course, is when you get to thank them for treating you so well- and they did treat you well, remember love, how you cried and came for us over and over, begging for more? What better way than on your knees in the mess, swallowing your breakfast of come, your cunt still sticky and swollen? It's what you deserve, being so good to us.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End Teaser

Get early access!

“Fuck-” Kyle curses as he removes his slick covered fingers from your and coats his cock in your arousal. “Needy,” Kyle mutters teasingly as he leans over you, blocking your view of the others completely which makes your inner omega whine for some reason. “Don’t worry pretty omega, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs in your ear as he teasingly grinds his cock up against your clit sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

[quarterlifekitty]

why they started that sugar daddy life lol

Like the rest of them, Gaz's career doesn't budget for consistent availability. He'd feel bad if he was always keeping a girl at home waiting for him to come back. Solution? Pay a girl. It's like having a girlfriend on retainer.

We've discussed this. Soap's too fucking weird to pick up women who don't have some sort of monetary incentive. He has too many weird preferences about what you're gonna smell like when you meet up with him. Normal girlfriends don't like that.

Ghost fucking hates dating. he doesn't wanna have to sit through an interview just to get pussy on a consistent basis. And he's also pretty possessive so he realizes that falling in love with a regular prostitute would probably end badly. He also doesn't want a girlfriend that can get mad at him for being emotionally closed off.

Price is too damned controlling. Wants to know where you are all the time, wants you to answer right away when he calls you, wants to know who you're talking to in your spare time. And money can buy any privilege, including a right to your privacy.

König is terrified of rejection, and of a breakup. Paying you is like his insurance against that. And he can't be broken up with if it isn't a real relationship, right?

Nikolai just wants the dependency from the get-go. He wants to be your world, and for you to need him. What better way to do that than funding your lifestyle?

Rudy is too particular about style. He's even met a good amount of prospective sugar babies that wouldn't yield on this area. Nail and lip color has to be red. Wants you in pumps when he takes you out to dinner. Wants matching lingerie sets, garters, and stockings.

[tactical-jellyfish]

Watcher 1-1

Part Nine

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (I will cover the symptoms as well as possible, but any and all corrections are welcome) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

There is something special about the barracks room you share with a man named Keegan Russ.

It doesn't lie in the construction, nor in the beds or how they're both unfortunately twin-size with terrible mattresses. It is so special to you because it is the very first space you've peacefully shared with someone you can comfortably admit to trusting.

Sure, temporarily, you're shared a room with Soap. Shortly before the... incident, you'd spent a good chunk of your time with Gaz. Still, you never quite felt like it was yours as much as it was his.

Back then, it had been something purely sensical. Of course the room didn't feel like it was yours, you've been here less than six months. Looking back, that feeling stung a good dose more.

It was a lucky night, in that neither you nor Keegan had suffered a nightmare. That just meant the thing to wake you was his alarm, blaring directly in your ear because Keegan always stole the part of the bed closest to the wall. You always let him have it.

The first thing you do is tiredly grab the bottle of lotion from the small nightstand, and sit yourself on the bed's edge, dispensing just enough into the warped, burned flesh of your palm.

If someone told you four years ago that you'd have to moisturize your stump first thing in the morning because it got dry overnight, you would have given them a really weird look.

Still, it's that motion that draws your favorite American to wakefulness. Every last time.

"Mhhngh, wh- oh."

Most of the time, Keegan just watches you get yourself ready. He'll pass you the compression "sock" that covers the stump that used to be your leg, gently kiss at your neck as you slip on your leg.

He used to talk more, but the quiet is good, too. It's simpler, and you struggle to speak in the mornings. Some complication or other, you're not sure. Smoke inhalation, you remember someone bringing up, in the early days.

Still, you can feel him shift behind you as you grab your prosthetic, and you feel two thick arms wrapping around your waist as he gently pecks your cheek, feels up on one of the few non-marred parts of your body.

"Hello to you too, Keegan."

The chuckle he gives you is worth the strain to your throat, and you can feel his cheeks rounding with a smile against the column of your throat.

There's a grateful hum that quickly turns into a soft grumble of annoyance as you rise on foot and fake limb, the younger still shrouded with blankets and drowsy. You've become accustomed to this.

"Already?"

"Yup."

Keegan groans again, but catches your hand in his own when you offer it, and hauls himself out of bed, rubbing the sleepy crust from the corners of his eyes and reaching to his clothes for the day.

"Thanks, Newton."

Your call sign drives a snort from you, and Keegan smiles when he hears it, though he doesn't react further, and a comfortable silence–broken on occasion by the soft rustling of clothes–settles between these sacred walls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course, there are many parts to a morning, Keegan is not the only person you see anymore.

No, you do have people you... tolerate, now.

Maybe tolerate sounds rude. You do like Hesh and Logan, but in the mornings the younger really does test you.

At the very least, Keegan is the one who receives the brunt of that energy, as Hesh passes you the coffee.

"Real sweet, David, thank you."

The way the corners of his lips twitch up is enough to make you smile, too, and lean forward enough to press a little peck to his cheek.

It's always good to make sure everyone's in order before travel. You learned that from Sarah, and she'd hate to see you not living up to that.

Granted, she'll only be on the other side of the pond for another few hours, at the very most.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe the only person you can admit to missing from your old task force is Nikolai.

The big Russian is someone you were only granted the honor of meeting once or twice, but he'd also never been a person that's entirely defied everything you were supposed to know about them.

Your last text from Nikolai isn't a scalding "fuck you". No, that's Soap. Bitch.

The slightly angered reverie is broken by Logan, with a strong, slightly knobby hand on your shoulder. Just a short tap, to bring you back into it.

You'll give him the credit, he knows how to handle people. Sometimes even Keegan misses a slip that's quiet like that.

"I'm here, kid."

He offers a lopsided smile at the curt response, goading you into giving him just a little more, Newton, c'mon. You humor him, this time.

"Thank you, Sergeant Walker, I commend your work for this team's morale."

You can't believe you ever used to confuse the brothers, when you watch Logan beam and puff his chest up a little at the lightest praise. Youngest child, to the very end of the line.

His mother must have been a hell of a woman, if Hesh was right about Logan being just like she used to be.

That tender thought must make you smile just a bit too wide, because he leans forward, and taps you on your nose.

"Told you I would get you to smile by the end of my first year."

"That-" He's pulling you into his traps, you almost said it didn't count. Why in god's name does Logan do to make everyone horse around like school-kids? No rational team would take this seriously "Fine, you win, Walker. Enjoy it."

He does, right up until the copper starts to land. This time, on British soil.

Your thanks are met with a phrase you can't quite parse, but you give the pilot a firm nod anyway.

Today's been good to you, even if the change in pressure has caused the phantom pain to spike. You take a moment longer to savor it before the second shoe drops.

Keegan's right there behind you, one more time, pressing his masked face into your neck so you know precisely who it is.

"You know we'll all have you, right?"

You take a second to take a breath, hand settled on the door of the helicopter, still hesitating just a little.

"Affirmative."

The second thing he says comes in a whisper, intended for only your ears, from your very favorite nurse. Your person.

"They like you just like I do. Everyone's got you, and I love you."

Those words used to make you cry. This time, they make you nod, and push the door open.

"Good choice of words, Russ. We can discuss that later."

There will be no discussion that happens later. It will be much closer to an act of fraternization, and you both know this. You know he knows this because Keegan's bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

Still, your foot hits the floor, narrowly followed the running blade, and you give the men before you a deeply unimpressed look.

"Hello, Task Force 141."

Is it a purposeful disrespect to not greet your former captain by his name? They can't prove that.

Still, unless you've forgotten to count, there's one more soldier than there used to be.

"...And company. I didn't think you'd find new... backup so soon."

You hide nothing. Not as you look at who must undoubtedly be your replacement. Masculine-presenting, masked and he's... glued two little wires to his helmet.

What a fucking joke. They almost did you a favor by transferring you out, really.

"Firecracker?-"

Johnny is cut off firmly by you before he can finish, a tone that almost borders on reprimand.

"My callsign is Newton, MacTavish. I don't use anything unapproved."

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[lay-z]

🎀 Day 16 – Driving home for Christmas

A continuation of 🍷 Day 8 – Dinner time, which means it’s set in the same universe!

Synopsis: When Christmas comes around again, it’s Kyle this time around who asks his Captain if he can come over for dinner.

Pairing: husband!John Price x wife!Reader x Kyle Gaz Garrick Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | Kyle's POV; curvy!pregnant!Reader (some physical descriptions); dom!Price; hurt/comfort; breeding kink; pregnant sex/pregnancy kink; objectification; threesome; unprotected sex; choking; fluff/aftercare

Word count: 3.2k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Kyle feels like he’s having a very vivid déjà-vu. 

When he raises his fist and knocks on the heavy cedar wood door, flashbacks of last year’s Christmas Eve are triggered and playing in front of his inner eye as he glances up at the Christmas lights and decorations adorning Price's large house.  

Flashbacks and memories that leave his face burning despite the biting cold nipping at his skin and, admittedly, his cock stirring hotly in his chic beige pants. 

He hasn’t seen you since the summer, roughly five months ago, when Price had invited the team and Laswell for a barbecue in his backyard. The moment you'd stolen him away for a quick make out session in the laundry room after the Captain, standing by the grill, had given his blessing with a curt nod, was the last time someone else had touched him intimately.  

And now, Kyle still catches himself having a desperate wank to the phantom feeling of your delicate hand wrapped around his throbbing prick and your wonderful lips against  his sensitive neck, whispering sweet praises into his ear like you did way back in the laundry room in your perfect house all while your husband (and his boss) knew what was happening. And every time, Kyle spills his load all over his own calloused knuckles with a pathetic whine, wishing they were yours instead.

Oh, bloody fucking hell, he’s such a goner for you. 

His jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth, swallowing thickly; dark eyes zeroed in on the front door while his other fist tightens around the expensive bottle of red wine he brought for you. 

Kyle checks the time on his Rolex. 17:56 p.m., punctual as always. 

He tugs on his winter coat before adjusting the front of his pants once more; uncomfortable to stand in front of the threshold of another man’s house, obviously bricked up for said man’s wife before he even gets the chance to say his greetings. 

When the door opens eventually, Kyle’s heart is already thudding harshly against his ribcage with a mixture of anticipation and excitement, though it stutters briefly when he is greeted by Captain Price’s mug instead of yours. 

“Garrick,” the older man greets curtly, steel blue eyes flickering to glance past the Sergeant briefly.

And Kyle knows that look too well, knows his Captain is being extra vigilant for some reason, sweeping the perimeter, even though it’s his own estate and if someone else were to be around, his security system would surely pick up on it. Still, due to their jobs and shared experiences, both men know to never get too comfortable.

Eventually, Price opens the front door wider and steps aside in a non-verbal invitation, “Good to see you, Sergeant.” 

“Thank you, sir. Likewise,” Kyle replies, straightening his shoulders as he walks into the entry hallway past his Captain, who immediately closes and locks the front door behind them once more. 

The house smells heavenly, like freshly baked cookies, spices and some kind of roasted meat, mixed with the natural smells of your home. It's a concoction of scents that nearly leaves Kyle feeling both nostalgic and yearning. 

“Bird’s in the living room, lad,” Price says with his usual gruffness yet underlying care as Kyle hangs up his coat on the vintage rack. “I know she’s been looking forward to seeing you again.” 

And Kyle has been looking forward to see you, too. More than he’s comfortable to admit. 

“Here,” Kyle says, offering the bottle of red wine for the other man to take with his chest puffed out proudly, because he remembered that like a good, obedient soldier would. “You told me she prefers red.”  

He watches in confusion as his Captain’s eyes crinkle in the corners, crow’s feet appearing as he looks at the bottle in the Sergeant's hands in what can only be described as amusement before accepting it eventually with a gruff chuckle and a firm clap on the younger man's shoulder. 

“Aye, lad, that’s very thoughtful of ya.” 

Kyle does find you in the living room, wearing a tight black knitted dress, curled up in the loveseat in the corner next to the old bookshelf that looks quite Cold War-esque and the large, classically decorated Christmas tree, with a pale blue hardcover book in your lap and a steaming cuppa on the small side table next to the sofa. 

Even without the fairy lights illuminating you from behind, you look radiant, like you’re glowing from the inside out, and something in his heart aches, deep behind his chest – something dangerous and exhilarating that takes his breath away momentarily. 

Once you notice the familiar, young man standing frozen in place in the open doorway to the living room, your eyes light up, a breath-taking smile spreading on your lips. “Hello, soldier,” you chirp and bookmark the page you’re on before closing the book.  

“Hello, princess.” He replies softly, cheeks heating up even more at the sound of your voice greeting him so happily.

And while Kyle tries and fails to catch the cover and title of the book as you put it aside, he does notice the way you untuck your tight-clad legs from under yourself with a soft groan before heaving yourself up and out of the loveseat with a sudden struggle which he doesn’t quite understand. 

His brows furrow in concern, attentive eyes scanning your body as you adjust your dress around your shoulders. “How have you been?” He asks, taking a few measured steps towards you. 

“Oh,” you giggle softly, eyes twinkling with mirth and that familiar gentleness as you watch Kyle approach, “I’ve been… well.” 

Then, you make a tiny gesture that makes everything click into place for the Sergeant at once. You caress the top of your belly lovingly while supporting it with the other, and suddenly, Kyle notices the prominent bump that was initially concealed by the black fabric of your dress and the veil of his metaphorical rose-coloured glasses. 

His heart nearly stops in his chest, auburn eyes widening comically and he stops dead in his tracks while something strange starts happening in his brain, like its most primal and savage parts are being stimulated for the first time in his life.

“Congratulations,” Kyle manages to say, cracking a smile, though his voice is too rough, too breathless for his own liking. “You look lovely, sweetheart.” Breathtakingly beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. He could go on, but chooses not to.

You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Very, very pregnant, and fertile.  

And it is all Kyle can focus on for the rest of the evening. He’s embarrassingly hard during dinner, while he watches his rough and tough, stoic Captain dote on you like the loving husband he is. Everything makes so much sense now, too; why Price had taken more leave in the past couple of months than he ever has in his whole bloody career, giving up more responsibilities to Ghost, his second-in-command, and being even more secretive and guarded about his personal life. 

The longer he stays and is forced to watch the happy couple, the more envious he becomes.

It’s a mean feeling that takes root in his heart, poisoning it slowly like the black plague; squeezing and mocking all while he can simply blame himself, because he was the one who’d asked to come over this time.

He wasn’t invited which makes him he’s an intruder, and it’s starting to show in the way Price keeps whispering sweet nothing’s into your ear while he sits next to you on the loveseat in the living room, after moving back there once dinner was finished and the table was cleared. Now, Kyle can only watch how his Captain coddles his gorgeous wife; kissing your temple and rubbing his big hand over the swell of your pregnant belly possessively, as if his Sergeant isn’t currently sitting in the armchair right across from you.

Kyle realizes begrudgingly and with a stabbing ache in his heart that the times, when his Captain would let him have a small taste of heaven, of you, are over. It’s too sudden, too soul-crushing, like a band aid ripped away too swiftly and taking bits of hair and scabs with it, though it should have been foreseeable from the beginning.

It wasn’t supposed to last, anyway.

His heart clenches painfully as he makes the rash decision to simply slip away, leave you two be while he will go on his merry way to drown his sorrows and loneliness in some cheap liquor. And when Kyle catches the sound of your soft giggles once more, elicited by Price who nuzzles into your neck affectionately in a way that has Kyle’s cock chuffing even worse, his legs start developing a mind of their own and he stands up from his seat at once.

Of course, it only catches their attention and an awkward silence ensues. 

The Sergeant clears his dry throat, shifting on his feet uncharacteristically insecure. “I should head out,” he announces, glancing down at his expensive watch. It’s barely past 8 p.m. “–while I can still drive.” He adds with a forced chuckle. Kyle made the conscious decision not to drink as much as last year in case you–No, no he really shouldn’t go there. 

However, before Kyle can say his thanks and bid his goodbyes, you and Price share a look that the younger man has seen before, and then the Captain gets out of the loveseat with an old-manly grunt.  

“Nonsense, Garrick,” he objects gruffly, making a dismissive hand gesture as he walks past Kyle over to his vintage liquor cabinet. “We’re having another drink.” 

Then, there is the distinct sound of clinking glasses, the unscrewing of a bottle and the gluck gluck gluck of liquid as said glasses are filled while Kyle furrows his brows, glancing over his shoulder at his Captain’s broad back before his eyes shift back over to you, sitting oh so prettily as you blink up at him with your beautifully bright doe-eyes and another tooth-achingly sweet smile before you shift and go on to push yourself up from your seat. 

And right when Kyle wants to rush to your aid, Price stops him by clasping a hand over his broad shoulder, offering a glass full of strong, amber liquor as he leans in to murmur into Kyle’s ear in a way that makes his skin pebble with goose bumps: “Isn’t she gorgeous, lad?”

Yes, yes, you’re gorgeous. Bloody perfect.

Especially now, sprawled out on your marital bed in the master bedroom while Kyle watches you get eaten out by your husband as if the latter is feasting on his last meal.

Your radiant body arches and stretches on the mattress; all soft lines and feminine curves while your round baby bump keeps drawing his gaze in like the most beautiful sight Kyle has ever been allowed to see. Your breasts are larger; your nipples and areolas a shade darker in contrasts to your glowing skin, and he can’t wait to trail his fingertips along the faint stretch marks along your hips and up your belly. It’s mesmerising. You are mesmerising, absolutely breath-taking.

The whole situation feels much more intimate than the first time last year, too, when the Captain had talked you into fucking the stress and sadness out of his Sergeant’s system, and then the stolen moments of sweet passion that had followed in between whenever he was lucky enough to see you. Always just you and Kyle while Price had given his blessings upfront. Now, though, now the latter is actively participating, and Kyle is trying to figure out his role in this. Less an intruder, but still not wholly part of it all, he figures.

The cries of pleasure which your husband is eliciting from you, eventually pull Kyle out of his stupor and he watches as you shudder and tremble with another intense climax before you mewl and paw at Price’s shoulders with panting breaths, trying to either nudge him away or get him even closer, and the latter pushes himself up on his elbows before sitting back on his haunches, still fully clothed while Kyle was ordered to strip down to his underwear.

“Please–” You whimper and hiccup breathlessly in a way that makes Kyle wince when his cock throbs and twitches painfully in his boxer briefs.

Price chuckles as he licks your arousal from his lips before bringing his hand up to wipe at his mouth. “Use your words, m’love. We’ve already been through this so many times, no?”

You nod eagerly as you swallow thickly, and Kyle can see the gloss of tears in your eyes. He wants to kiss them away, needs to keep overstimulating you all the same to coax more of those saccharine sounds from you, determined to make more memories he can feed on to get him through another year, most likely longer (perhaps forever), of withdrawal from you.

“Garrick,” Price barks and makes a sharp gesture with his hand before scooting away from between your legs, creating more space. “You’re going to fuck my pregnant wife now.”

Kyle’s stomach drops into an open pit for a split second, though the clear order given by his superior does make his heart rate exhilarate and his cock leak even worse in his underwear. His eyes flicker nervously between Price and you, until you reach your hand out to him with half-lidded eyes, a sweet smile and small nod.

And it’s all the encouragement Kyle needs, before he answers with a curt, determined: “Yes, sir.”

However, when Kyle reaches for the condom he’d placed on the nightstand buoyantly, Price clicks his tongue in disdain. “No need for that, lad,” he assures him, “not this time.”

Then, you chime in so sweetly, telling him that it’s okay, that you want to feel him without any barrier, and Kyle’s brain blanks as he positions himself on his knees between your legs; caressing and groping your supple thighs, a full-body shudder wrecking through him at the first touch of your skin after months of being deprived of it.

He grasps his cock at the base, drags his weeping cockhead through your pretty, glistening folds, coating his length in your syrupy slick while gripping your hip with his other hand before guiding his thick tip to your entrance and pushing in slowly, feeling your velvety walls clench and squeeze around him while he sinks his cock deeper, and then, all the air rushes from his lungs with a drawn-out, breathless groan as Kyle finally comes home again.

“That’s it.” Price’s voice coos gruffly, and Kyle can feel the mattress shift behind him before warm, calloused palms trail along his toned sides and settling on his waist with a tight hold, and his dark eyes widen in surprise as he stares down at you, gorgeously spread open and taking his cock like you were made for him, too.

This definitely never happened before, Price joining in like this, but when you continue to mewl for more while nudging the heel of your bare foot into Kyle’s backside urgently, he’s too far gone to think properly; all reason and restraint melting away like candle wax, leaving nothing but pleasure rather than the pain he’d endured for the past year.

“She feels incredible, doesn’t she, Sergeant?”

It’s a rhetorical question, because Kyle is already gritting his teeth, muscles coiling, trying not to cum already as he bottoms out inside your gummy channel. You do feel different. Hotter, slicker, sweeter, utterly intoxicating, and Kyle doesn’t know if it’s the fact he’s not wearing protection or if it’s your pregnancy making your pussy even more addictive.

He nods anyway, holding eye-contact with you. “Yes, s-sir. Fuck–!”

And then, Price pushes Kyle’s hips forward at once, thrusting the younger man’s cock deeper into your fluttering cunt, making you and the Sergeant moan and yelp obscenely in unison while your plump tits jiggle tantalisingly. “Then fuck her properly, Sergeant. She needs it… and so do you.” He growls into Kyle’s ear; rough beard scratching over heated, sensitive skin.

Price tells Kyle to fuck you, but it’s obviously the Captain who’s setting the pace here; guiding and pushing his Sergeant’s hips as the latter fucks you desperately yet carefully while his own clothed and throbbing cock ruts against the younger man’s bare, plump ass.

Kyle can barely hold himself together after months of loneliness and touch-starvation, and the absolute overwhelming feeling of being buried inside you now, hearing you moan and cry out his name while the full weight of his Captain’s powerful body is pressed flush against him; he’s heating up, front to back, sweat trickling down his neck as one of Price’s mammoth hands snakes up his chest, squeezing his pec harshly before curling around Kyle’s throat, putting pressure on his Adam’s apple. 

“Oh, fuck, – Cap–” Kyle gasps and pants, and his head lolls back against Price’s broad shoulder, short-circuiting with new sensations while his dark lashes flutter; hips still grinding deeply and fast-paced into your dripping cunt until your gummy walls convulse and squeeze him rhythmically as your climax seizes you, making you cry out in ecstasy in a way Kyle hasn’t witnessed before while his own pleasure boils over, and he grips you feverishly with both hands, long fingers digging into the fat of your thighs while Price’s hot breath ghosts over his sweat-slicked skin.

“That’s it, Gaz,” he murmurs, squeezing Kyle’s throat tighter and cutting off more of his airflow, “–fill her up, lad. Breed her good.” 

And Kyle does as he’s ordered; eyes rolling back into his skull, crying out despite the pressure around his neck as his cock pulses and shoots several thick ropes of cum into your eager cunt; vision blurring as he comes harder than he has in what feels like forever.

Much to his surprise, once his mind has come off its post-orgasmic high, the aftermath isn’t as strange as Kyle anticipated as soon as Price had gotten involved.

His eyes are closed, his cheek resting above your naked chest, mindful to not put any unnecessary pressure on your sore breasts, while he listens to your steady heartbeat, his warm palm resting on your baby bump, stroking his thumb over your skin absentmindedly.

“Did it kick yet?” Kyle asks curiously, his voice slurred with exhaustion. “The uh… baby, I mean.”

“Yes,” you answer, laughing softly as you continue to scratch your fingernails along the curve of Kyle’s shoulder blades, feeling his skin pebble with gooseflesh. “I think he’s sleeping now after all the commotion,” you giggle, “– just like his daddy.”

As if on cue, Price’s snore cuts through the tranquillity, curled around you on your other side protectively. Kyle snorts softly before letting out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He's always dreamed of having a boy.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

I can't find my comfort fic yall. I didn't reblog it to my blog and I'm like "damn I wanna read that" so like could you all help me find this fic?

It's a poly 141 fic. X reader. The little series follows a nurse who is romantically involved with the team and like there's a part of the story that is like her and Simon having sex and she insists that he's pretty and he says it. And it's really sweet. There's another part where it's mentioned that she is the one that trims up John's beard. She gets upset at point because the guys don't out right reject some other woman's advances but they do but she reads it wrong.

Like help yall

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

"You’ve Got This, Love"

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of stress, mild language, lots of fluff and comfort.

Author’s Note: Life can be stressful, but that’s okay—our lovelies are here to remind us that we’re not in this alone. Hope this story brings you some comfort! 💜

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The faint sound of the front door unlocking pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Your hands rested on your laptop keyboard, frozen in place, while papers and open books formed a chaotic circle around you. The air in your shared apartment felt stifling, a physical manifestation of the pressure weighing on your chest.

“Love?” Kyle’s voice called gently, the familiar warmth of it immediately soothing some of your frayed nerves. His boots landed softly on the mat by the door, and his duffle bag was set aside with a faint thud.

You didn’t respond right away, too caught up in the swirl of worries that had been your constant companion lately. Instead, you rested your head in your hands, exhaling shakily.

Kyle appeared in the doorway of the small living room-turned-office, his dark eyes scanning the scene: the cluttered desk, the untouched tea gone cold, and you, slumped over with stress practically radiating off of you. Without a word, he crossed the room and knelt beside your chair.

"Hey," he murmured softly, one hand coming to rest on your knee while the other gently nudged your hands away from your face. "What’s going on, sweetheart?"

You looked at him, and the genuine concern in his expression made your throat tighten. “It’s everything,” you whispered. “Getting back into college, work deadlines, just… life. It feels like no matter how much I do, I’m always behind. And I don’t know how to keep up.”

His brows drew together in a mixture of sympathy and determination. “You’ve been carrying all this on your own, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low but steady. When you didn’t answer, he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing soothingly across your skin. “Love, you’ve got to let me in. You don’t have to do all of this by yourself.”

“I don’t want to burden you, Kyle,” you said, voice trembling. “You’ve got enough on your plate without me adding more.”

“Burden me?” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. His gaze softened as he leaned closer. “You’re never a burden, sweetheart. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to carry this stuff together. That’s what love is about.”

Your lips quivered, and you tried to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. “I just… I feel like I’m failing. Like I can’t get anything right.”

“Hey now,” Kyle said firmly but lovingly, tilting your chin so you couldn’t look away. “Listen to me. You are *not* failing. You’re doing your best, and that’s more than enough. You’re smart, hardworking, and so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I see you, love. I see how hard you’re trying, even when you don’t think it’s enough. And I’m so damn proud of you.”

A tear slipped free, and he caught it with the pad of his thumb. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest, his hand smoothing up and down your back in slow, comforting strokes. “You’ve been so busy worrying about everything, you’ve forgotten to give yourself a break.”

Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt as you let out a shaky breath. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you in a way nothing else had all day. “I don’t even know where to start, Kyle. It’s all just too much.”

“Well, for starters,” he said, his lips brushing your temple, “you’re going to close that laptop and step away from the desk. No arguments.”

“But—”

“Nope.” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his grin soft but unyielding. “You can’t take care of everything if you’re running yourself into the ground. So, we’re hitting pause. I’ll make us a fresh cuppa, and we’ll sit on the couch and just… be. No work, no school talk, nothing stressful. Just you and me.”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes and the gentle squeeze of his hands over yours made it impossible to argue. “Okay,” you said quietly.

“Atta girl,” he said, kissing your forehead before standing and offering you his hand.

You took it, and he led you to the couch, grabbing a cozy throw blanket along the way. Once you were settled, he tucked the blanket around your legs, making sure you were comfortable before heading to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. Setting them on the coffee table, he joined you on the couch, pulling you into his side. His arm wrapped securely around you as you curled into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

“There,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “That’s better. Now, let’s talk about something good. What’s been making you happy lately? Anything at all.”

You thought for a moment, the tension in your chest beginning to ease. “I saw this video earlier of a dog trying to carry a stick that was way too big for him. He kept getting stuck between trees but refused to let go. It was ridiculous.”

Kyle chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “See? That’s the kind of stubborn energy I like. You could take a page out of that dog’s book—don’t give up, no matter how hard it gets.”

You rolled your eyes with a small laugh. “Are you seriously comparing me to a dog right now?”

“Only the best kind,” he teased, his grin widening. “The determined, unstoppable kind.”

His playful tone and unwavering support made you smile, and for the first time in days, the overwhelming weight on your shoulders didn’t feel quite so heavy.

As you sat there, wrapped up in his warmth and love, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you really could handle it all. Not alone, but together.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[ghouljams]

Absolutely cannot have fresh shaved/waxed pussy around the 141 boys.

Soap will cry over it, mourning the loss of your bush and "talking his girl(your pussy) through the loss" ie fingering you until you're soaked and sore as punishment.

Price will make it his mission to give you beard burn, shaking his head like a damn dog while he's eating you out, scratching the hell out of your pussy and thighs with his beard. He's trying to bleach the damn thing you just know it.

Ghost is the worst. Taking the opportunity to leave his dental imprint in the soft flesh surrounding your clit. He's going to bite until you're sobbing just to see the dimpled marks he's left.

At least Gaz is sweet. Pressing little kisses over the newly shaved/waxed skin, giving your clit soft little licks and pulling back to rub his fingers against your clit with gentle praises. Until you realize he's been doing that for the last hour, giving you just enough to keep you making those nice breathy noises but never giving you more. Maybe you should try Soap again...