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karlachismylife · 3 months ago

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Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

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ink-n-shadow · 4 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/ink-n-shadow/760889304907137024/dont-mind-me-just-writing-more-pet

HOLY CRAP? MORE PLEASE? (btw also LOVE ur writing and begging for more please drink water)

oh you don’t even gotta beg me baby😩

𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), pet play!141, pricegaz x reader, best tamer!price, sloppy makeout session, slight voyeur!price, unedited as usual, bad formatting (my computer is dead rn)

“sick ‘nd tired of the bickerin’,” john mutters under his breath as he shoves kyle down onto his knees next to your already kneeling body, making you huff slightly when his shoulder knocks into yours. you don't have much time to pout before john's fingers are curling in your hair and wrenching back until your glossy eyes are locked on his. "show 'im yer sorry, pet.”

you go to open your mouth, eyebrows pinched together in annoyance as your eyes meet kyle’s until john is immediately gripping your cheeks in one calloused hands, forcing your lips back into a pout and effectively silencing the apology on your tongue.

“nu huh—not with words, baby. said show ‘im, yeah?” john uses the grip he has on your cheeks to guide your smushed lips towards kyle, waiting eagerly at your side for your lips to slide against his before he’s sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. and it doesn’t take long before you and kyle are sloppily making out with one another, his hands mapping across your naked skin and tugging at your hair needily with each swipe of his tongue along the backs of your teeth.

you’re both too busy mixing your spit together and letting it drip to your smushed together chests in stringy globs that you don’t notice the way john’s weeping cock now hangs out of his fatigues, pearly beads of pre-cum slicking down his cock everytime you nearly gag by kyle’s tongue shoving too far into your mouth. it isn’t until his rough palms are gripping at both of your hair and begins tugging you towards him that you and kyle fall away from each other’s mouths, panting like mutts and covered in spit and drool. john simply repositions you both with his cock jumping between your slick lips, leaning back once more and putting his hands behind his head.

“y’can keep kissin’, just keep my cock there, yeah?”

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diejager · 1 year ago

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I really really enjoy your writing so much!! I just wanna request a fluffy force 141 with reader in Christmas please 🥺✨

Mistletoe

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

Cw: kissing, teasing, mistletoe, brat!reader, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 993

“Och, would yer look at that, Bonnie.”

You followed his gaze upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with mischievousness when you caught sight of the green and red mistletoe hanging over your heads. Someone had hung one in the arching entrance of the living-room of your farmhouse, one you cohabited with the rest of the Task Force. It was your living arrangement after you’d all confessed your feelings after Soap’s near death, unable to hold back your tears when he woke up and spilling your heart to them.

“A mistletoe,” his grin was big and gleeful, staring down at you with an expectant expression, his lips puckered and cheeks flushed a light pink, “Yer ken what it means?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a small chuckle slipping from your lips as you stood on your toes, stretching up to meet him halfway. Your face burned, heating up as you pressed your lips against his, the light stubble around his cheeks scratching your face when he cupped the back of your neck, holding you still to deepen the kiss. Your mouth parted when Johnny’s tongue brushed your lower lip, letting him ravage you in a passionate and loving kiss. Curling his tongue around yours in one last embrace, he pulled back, a string connecting you both as you panted, your hands unknowingly finding purchase on his form-fitting shirt.

You jumped when someone coughed behind you, turning your head to look while you still panted, nodded eyes meeting the warm and tired browns of Simon, his adoring squint and curl of his lips at the sight of you both curled around in an embrace.

“Forgot something, lovie?”

“Yeah, ” you smiled softly, beckoning him over with the small pout on your lips. You pressed your back into Johnny’s chest, holding his arms around your waist, “Join us, Si?”

Without a word, he steppe under the mistletoe, interlacing his fingers with Johnny as they held hands on your hips. Simon pressed his lips to Johnny, a slow and sensual kiss that had Johnny relenting to the older man, letting him take it as his pace. You stared up, watching Johnny burn red from the romantically slow peck, his body shuddering against you. You loved how soft Simon was with everyone, his rough and dark countenance smoothing to a mellow and gentle gaze when he stared at you four.

“Didn’t forget about you, pet,” he narrowed his eyes at your cheeky smile, pulling away from the Scott to devour your lips, rough and emotional.

You heard Johnny rumble, a low and amused chuckle at the way Simon turned you into a whining and whimpering mess between them. You clung to him, pulling him closer to you and Johnny while he had his tongue down your throat, tears gleaming under your lashes as the Scott peppered your neck and the back of your ear with quick pecks. You felt warm, a fire brewing in your core, a wild and untamed flame made of brimstone and amber.

“Mistletoe, sir,” you grinned at Price after you tugged him under the same archeway, a small cackle slipping from you when you caught his surprised look, “Means I give you a kiss, yeah?”

His expression softened, his stormy blues gazing at you so lovingly that you almost felt bad for tricking him, but you had to go on with the plan. He lowered himself, head bowing towards you for the kiss you’d promised with the lively mistletoe hanging over your heads. A teasing grin broke through your smile the closer he got, his gruff face and bear-like beard making you giddy, and when he was close enough, you tipped your face left and planted a kiss on cheek.

It showed on his shocked and dumbfounded expression that this wasn’t what he expected when you told him you wanted to kiss him. The scoff he let out sounded offended, glaring down at your bratty laugh, unamused by your little trick to leave him wanting.

“Cheeky one, aren’t you,” it was an affirmation rather than a question, his mouth pulled in a snarl as he caught you in his arms, wrestling you still as he nuzzled your cheek, body flushed against him as he nipped at the sensitive skin of your throat, “You asked for it, sweetheart.”

His rough hair scratched your skin, irritating your neck in the best way possible as his teeth sunk into your shoulder, the sleeve of your ugly, Christmas sweater slipping down to reveal a sliver of skin for his hungry mouth. You laughed and squirmed in his hold, teeth kicking without aim and moaning when he sucked the skin behind your ear, lapping at the same mark Johnny placed an hour before. It added colour to your blossoming mark, your body shuddering against the deep rumble of his chest.

“A brat, yeah, Cap?”

You didn’t hear him walk towards you too, too preoccupied with John’s manhandling, gasping and mewling until your back met Kyle’s chest, his lean figure grasping at your hips and attacking the other side of your neck. Lips wrapped around your nape, coaxing keens out of you as you writhed between them, mouthing off at them for ganging up on you. They only stopped when your eyes rolled back, limply clinging to Price for support as your head laid on Kyle’s shoulder, panting and heaving.

“Not much of a brat now, are they, Kyle?”

“Not anymore.”

No words were needed at the breathless whisper, Kyle reached for Price, their lips locking over your shoulder, putting on a show of devotion and adoration for your tired eyes, mind numbly taking in the softness in their eyes. They were warm around you, one smooth hand and another rough and calloused, a perfect balance of soft and hard, pulling and pushing like a soft wave beaching the sand. Something fluttered in you stomach, an embracing warmth that left you wanting more, desperate for a tasted of love.

“Merry Christmas, doll.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

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lyeofhell · 3 months ago

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pricegaz x reader aka death by dumbification

#those men wanna see you with as little brain activity as possible #pricegaz #pricegaz x reader #price x gaz x reader

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tojisun · 4 months ago

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CW: dubcon; dark n poly 141; corruption; f!reader; short ramblings!!

something obsessive and misguided; how they justify their darkness as the means of an end - the only solution. the only saving grace.

how kyle kills as a civilian, outside of his mantle and away from the guidance of his captain. his fury had blinded him, shredding the remnants of his peace until he came to a carnage - sleek and clean, almost imperceptibly modest. like it had been planned out and not spurred by the miasmic anger that razed him.

he tells himself that this is for the better. that this is to protect the people he loves - john, simon, johnny. you.

everything was for you. to keep you safe and hold you close; to shield you from anything and everything. you are not weak, he knows, but grant him this. grant him the blood coating his maw and the warm flesh flaking at his fingertips. allow him to do something more for you.

please.

kyle folds himself into an origami piece, beautiful and delicate, and drops himself to his captain so that he may be adorned. so that he may be held.

he tells john what he's done - tells him that there is nothing he regrets. that there is nothing anyone could say or do that could make him regret.

john looks at him with pinched lips, before he raises his hand and cups kyle's cheek.

then, he says, "she'll learn to forgive you."

and just like that, kyle feels himself spring loose. ease and comfort descend to him, cradling him until his tears no longer feel like sharpened knives pressing into his retinas. he weeps, not for what was done but for the realization - it was not enough.

he wants to do more. he wants to seize something more. he wants you into their fold, now more than ever.

and john, oh he knows. he holds kyle like he knows what he wants; how could he not? he had been... preparing everyone for the taking.

johnny had been easy and loyal to a fault; simon was a little more stubborn - he had denied himself for so long that it had been difficult to let him fall into his calling. into what he was good for. but john had dangled you as bait; had given simon the push he needed, and simon latched on with froth in his jowls.

and kyle? oh how beautiful he had been. john loved everyone equally, but he favoured kyle the most so it set him ablaze to see kyle's descent. his spiral. then, his retribution.

as for you, well, john had always liked a challenge, anyway.

#suns #task force 141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #pricegaz x reader

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gatorlovebot · 1 year ago

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more gaz vampire stuff because i can't stop thinking about but this time it's pricegaz x reader because i love writing poly 141 lol. hope you like it @ghosts-cyphera <3

cw: blood, descriptions of blood sucking

thinking more vampire gaz thoughts and in my mind obviously price was the one to turn gaz all those decades ago. they were in the army together and price, not being able to stand losing another soldier who he had gotten close to during combat, turned kyle.

price taught gaz everything, always kept him close, always wanted to be on the front lines with him, trusted him with everything he had. they had a very special bond. gaz was not shy to tell you about the intimate moments he and price shared throughout the decades they had spent together. he thought it was important for you to know just how much their relationship means to him.

it doesn’t bother you, the two of them having a bond you could never replace or replicate. price holds a special place in gaz’s heart just like kyle holds a special place in your’s.

it’s months into your relationship when you finally get to meet price. kyle had brought it up hesitantly, but you had no problem allowing price into your home for an extended stay. you were honestly kind of excited, having heard so many stories and seen so many photos of the handsome man, some from almost a century ago (that would never fail to blow your mind).

you feel fucked as soon as he walks through your door, the beard and the warm eyes just do it for you. but what really gets you is the way he cradles kyle to him in an embrace.

price is a perfect guest. he cracks jokes in his gruff, accented voice that gaz groans at but has you letting out a surprised giggle at the older man's crudeness. he helps with dinner, telling you that gaz has no excuse not knowing how to properly cook after he's kept him alive for almost one hundred years. and he has stories, so many stories spanning centuries, stories from before he even turned kyle. you're fascinated.

even after only a few days in your home, you three have fallen into a routine. dinners together are very important to price so you and kyle make sure to carve out time in your schedules to plan nice dinners for your esteemed guest. price cooks most of the food more often than not, but it's mostly because he refuses to let you lift a finger, playfully barking orders at kyle while you watch the pair from your spot at the dining table, sipping your wine.

dinner is delicious as always when price is left to lead the kitchen. it's almost cliche the way kyle and price sip at their red wine, the way it colors their lips a beautiful crimson until they inevitably swipe it away with the tips of their tongues when either one catches you staring. the air feels different than the previous nights the three of you had spent together. the food was homey and rich, settling deliciously in your belly. you had turned the lights down, leaving the room glowing warm from the candles you had lit in the center of the dinner table.

the more you think of it, the more cliche the entire night has felt. you and two vampires drinking wine by candlelight, eating meat that has just barely been seared on the outside. but you can’t complain with the way kyle and price look at you over their wine glasses, sharing glances with each other that you can’t quite decipher. you feel yourself growing wet as the night progresses.

after the dishes are washed and put away, the two men venture into the living room while you top off your wine. you come back to them on the couch, illuminated by the soft light from a lamp in the corner. you decide to be bold and insert yourself between the two on the cushions, feeling loose and warm as you sip from your glass and watch them share another look.

kyle hadn’t fed from you since price’s arrival. kyle has gone longer without feeding from you, but you don’t know how long it’s been for price. “so,” you start, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table while you gather your words, “dinner was amazing, as always, but i was wondering if you two were still hungry?”

you try your best to keep a straight face at your terrible come on but your lips can’t help but waver at the way they look at each other, price raising a brow to kyle as if asking for permission. kyle takes another sip of wine before nodding his head just slightly to price. as price snakes his arm around your waist to pull your back against his chest you meet kyle’s gaze and give him a grateful smile.

being fed from was an experience like no other, it quickly became one of your favorite activities with kyle. it was an act of trust and devotion and you had to admit just how fucking erotic it was to watch him get drunk on you. price wraps a big, hairy arm around your waist, “kyle, she’s such a sweet girl, you better be appreciation’ her.”

kyle laughs, a small sound, as he sets his now empty wine glass down on the table, “i do appreciate her, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he’s taken your wrist in his hand, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. you know he can feel it underneath your skin.

you know what he’s trying to get at, glad that you two are on the same page. “of course kyle appreciates me, john. that’s why i take care of him in return.” you responded, grabbing the hand that was groping the fat of your stomach and placing it around your wrist.

“ahh,” price remarks, “this where kyle does it?” he questions, big thumb sweeping across the thin skin. all you can do is nod under his intense gaze. he smiles, “the neck is quite cliche, isn’t it? and the thigh,” he rolls his eyes, “so fucking juvenile.”

you can’t help but giggle at him, knowing that you’ve allowed kyle to feed from your thighs once or twice. kyle sends you an unimpressed look before price is squeezing your wrist, trying to get your attention back.

“you sure about this, dove?” he probed, and at your nod, he added, “both of us?”

“yeah,” you respond, as easy as ever, “i trust you both.”

“you really got lucky with her, kyle.” john remarks, bringing your wrist up closer to his mouth. you see his fangs for the first time before he sinks them into your flesh, you shudder at his groan.

you feel soft lips kiss your other wrist before the sharp sting of teeth breaks the flesh. you close your eyes and let the floaty feeling wash over you. price pulls away first, laving his tongue over your skin to close the puncture marks he created. he laps up the remaining blood that stains your skin before giving your wrist a final kiss. you open your eyes and meet the red glow of his.

you get lost in them before price is grumbling at kyle, “enough, garrick.”

kyle reluctantly pulls away, lips stained red as he licks over the puncture wounds. he kisses up your wrist to the palm of your hand, kissing each fingertip. his eyes are half-lidded when they finally meet your’s, you two sharing matching dazed smiles.

price chuckles behind you, using his arm to pull you into his lap. being off balance for just a moment makes you realize how woozy you are, but you don’t have to worry about it for long. “have something you can get for her, kyle?”

kyle doesn’t even respond before he’s off the couch and making his way to the kitchen. you two have your aftercare routine down and you hum to yourself as you listen to him pouring you juice and grabbing sweets from the cupboards, snuggling yourself into price’s chest as he runs his fingers through your hair.

#gator.writing #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #pricegaz #pricegaz x reader

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syoddeye · 24 days ago

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good hunting | price x reader x gaz | 4k cw: noncon/rape, rough sex, rough oral, predator/prey, spitroasting, blood, threats of violence, victim blaming and self-blame, mild knifeplay, choking, naked woman/clothed men, they are awful!!! reader uses a fake name under duress. a/n: this has languished in my drafts since august 1st. now it's free. based on this.

The selfie with Smokey the Bear—you hope that’s the photo printed on the missing posters.

You laugh bitterly at the thought, palms stinging as you claw at roots and saplings, dragging yourself uphill. What were you thinking, coming out here alone? A few hikes, a couple of camping trips in the backwoods with your cousin and his husband, and suddenly you’re Bear Fucking Grylls. Like secondhand gear and a box of cereal bars are enough. Like you want to slog through what was supposed to be light summer rain. You slip again and swear under your breath. Trekking poles, you think grimly, will be at the top of your list for next time—if there’s a next time. If you make it out of this in one piece.

At the top, you turn, chest heaving, and watch the deer path you’d been following gradually reveal itself as an old creekbed. The rain drums harder, soaking through your so-called waterproof jacket until it clings uncomfortably to your skin. You turn in a slow circle, trying to map your options, but there aren’t many. The woods ahead look denser, a tangle of mature maples and pines. They’re darker, somehow more forbidding, but one of those trees must be big enough to offer some kind of shelter. Grumbling, you continue, hoping instinct will guide you better than your stupid sense of pride.

You can do this. You are not scared, and you’ll keep telling yourself that until you believe it.

Several minutes into your trek, you see it, but just barely.

A camouflaged hunting blind standing in a small clearing. Its roof is littered with needles and small branches, walls solid plastic with plexiglass windows, and an actual door. It’s jarring to see, out of place this deep in the woods. There must be another logging road nearby, hidden on your map, or someone must have hauled it here piece by piece. Neither possibility is especially comforting. The stories you’ve heard about hermits or ‘feral’ people resurface, though you dismiss them as internet nonsense. Still, the idea of off-grid hunters—poachers, you guess in this case—isn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.

You stand at a distance, studying it. There’s no clear way to know if it’s occupied, but you’re not foolish enough to approach without caution. You pull a hi-vis bandana from a pocket and wave it overhead. It feels absurd, but better than accidentally spooking someone armed. Better that than a gunshot wound in the middle of nowhere.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer. You edge closer. “I’m coming in,” you raise your free hand like a peace offering. You pull the door open, half expecting a warning shot—or worse.

But there’s nobody to hear the warning. It’s empty.

Your shoulders drop with a relieved sigh, and you swiftly step out of the rain at last. A cloud of unpleasant but survivable mustiness lingers, reeking of sweat, stale beer, and a vaguely earthy scent. You drip onto a worn patch of carpet sample thrown over the ground, beat to hell by time. The space itself is small, maybe cozy for three or four people, but perfect for you.

You toss your day bag to shimmy off your soaked jacket and top layer. It’s slightly chilly, but it’s nice to shed the wet garments. You dig out and hand-crank the emergency radio, swearing when only a handful of words crackle out of the cheap speaker. All that you glean is that the storm will last at least a couple of hours. It’ll be dark when you hike out.

You weigh your options: Stay in the blind, where it’s smelly but dry, or take the risk and try to find the forestry road where you parked your truck. Muttering a string of curses, you break into your snacks, resigned to waiting it out. You don’t have a death wish.

You step out once to relieve yourself once, then kick off your squelching boots and socks. If you get colder, the space blanket and hand warmers in your bag will have to do. Your cousin’s advice rings in your head: you can be unlucky, but you can’t be underprepared. You try the radio twice before stuffing it back into your bag and propping it against the wall as a cushion.

With the rain’s hammering and exhaustion setting in, it isn’t long until your eyelids droop. It’s been a long day. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to grab a few minutes of shut-eye. Not wanting to bother with eventually folding it up, you skip the mylar and drag your drying jacket over your top half. After setting an hour on your phone’s timer, you get as comfortable as you can, the handle of your multitool clenched in a fist.

A deep, rumbling voice cuts through the rain and cleaves you from sleep. You shift, digging knuckles into your eye sockets, and freeze at a second voice. A distant conversation growing closer. You almost bite through your tongue, buzzing with panicked uncertainty too intense for a tired body. Beneath your jacket, you flick the blade open in the multitool, and turn off your alarm. Hopefully, assuming they’re the owners of the blind, they’ll take pity on you.

You hold your breath when the footsteps stop outside. A deep, resonant laugh curls through the crack under the door, the plastic hinges creaking as it opens, revealing two figures. The way their faces falter suggests they’re as surprised to see you as you are to see them. They’re soaked through like you were, dressed in realtree camo and bright orange, the fabric plastered to their frames. You latch onto the twin rifles slung over their shoulders, and suddenly, hiking back to the truck doesn’t seem impossible.

It’s a long, charged moment, deceivingly calm with their stillness, before the older one taps his knuckles on the frame. “Well. Wasn’t a complete waste of a hunt. Get the door.”

The younger one doffs his cap. “Yes, sir.”

The blind shrinks as the men shut themselves in.

Your body goes cold as you watch the older man crouch and pick up your overshirt from where you left it drying. And even if he didn’t drag it under his nose, the look they share tells you everything you need to know.

They are things far worse than poachers in these woods.

You start to push to your feet, clutching the knife tightly, and the younger man lifts a hand to stop you.

“No need. You look comfortable.”

“This place is yours, I take it?” You continue, blatantly ignoring how the open palm retracts beneath his coat to rest on what you presume to be either a knife or sidearm. You get a knee under you, hands still hidden. “Sorry to intrude, I saw it was empty, it’s raining, I’ll uh. I’ll be going–”

“What’s the rush? In a hurry to catch your death?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, unsure which of the men to focus on, and hover, half-crouched. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do we,” the older man says as he drops your overshirt, easing his rifle strap to a single shoulder. It draws your attention to the breadth of his shoulders. “Company on the other hand…Wouldn’t say ‘no’ to conversation. Got a name?”

Bars. Rideshares. It’s instinct to give the name of your ex-roommate from a decade ago. There’s no chance in hell you’re giving these creeps your real name.

“Mia.”

“Hm. Mia. I’m John, this is Kyle.” John extends a hand. You don’t take it. “Probably for the better. Rain washed most of the muck off, but I wouldn’t want to sully a lady’s hand.”

There are a couple things to say to that. Smartly, you keep them to yourself. “John. Kyle. Listen. The storm’s letting up, and I’m expected home, so I’ll be going now. Okay?”

Kyle doesn’t move from blocking the door. He gestures to his face with a smirk. “Do you know that when you’re lying, you scrunch your nose a little? It’s cute.”

“I-I what?”

He doesn’t shift an inch. “See? You’re doing it now.” He taps his nose. “Scrunching.”

You clumsily push yourself upright. The alarm bells couldn’t ring any louder.

John unzips his coat. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want you hurtin’ yourself doing somethin’ stupid.”

The walls close in further. Kyle lets his arms hang loose at his sides, fixed on you. He tilts his head, almost playful. It makes your skin crawl.

You don’t speak. You can’t. Every thought is moving too fast, overlapping the next. Your body makes the decision for you, surging forward on pure instinct. You throw your jacket at John, a quick, desperate move to buy a second of distraction. The multitool, still in your hand, trembling but raised, as you lunge at Kyle.

He reacts faster than you hoped a man fresh from a day of hunting would. His arm shoots out, deflecting like it’s nothing. Your grip tenses around the tool, but he twists your wrist, prying it free. Pain flashes up your arm, and the tool clatters to the floor somewhere, as does your phone.

“Mia, Mia, Mia…Now, that’s not very nice,” Kyle tuts, low and syrupy, like he’s talking to a child throwing a tantrum. His free hand grabs your upper arm, holding you in place with enough pressure to make you wince. You struggle, but it only makes him tighten his grip, his strength a casual and terrifying thing.

John tosses your jacket onto the floor with your top layer. “Well, you are fuckin’ lively. I like that, but Kyle here—he’s not big on surprises, are you?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

John nods, and Kyle releases, pushing you back exactly where you’d been moments before. “Now. How about that conversation, hm?”

Kyle grabs your multitool and phone before you think to reach for them. “What brings a skittish thing like you all the way out here?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, heat rushing to your face. Trembling, you fight the urge to sway, trying to smother the dizziness spreading from your gut outward.

The truck feels like it’s a million miles away. The route there, probably gone. Your phone in Kyle’s hand, its screen cracked and useless. Your stomach churns.

God, you’re not built for this. You’re not built for any of this.

“Hiking. Just hiking. So, please–”

“And you said someone’s expectin’ you home?”

“My cousin and his husband.”

“No husband of your own? No boyfriend?” Kyle scratches his cheek. “Hm. Someone, though. Probably have ‘til daylight, at least.”

“I’m not worried. I think she knows better now.”

“Dunno, sir. She can’t be too bright, hiking alone and trying to fight a man with a rifle.”

I’m not stupid, you want to shout, but the words catch. You want to argue. But it’s too late for that. You can’t explain yourself out of this. Your heart is still hammering in your chest, blood hot, face burning with a mix of embarrassment and fear, but all you can do is glare.

“You won’t let me leave. I just want to leave.” you manage.

“Tell you what, Mia. I’m a fair man.” John’s gaze flicks to Kyle, the grin tugging at his lips. “We didn’t get what we came out here for, a good hunt. So we’ll give you a chance to make things right. We’ll let you go right now. Say, one minute headstart. You give us the slip, and you’re free. All you have to do is outrun us.”

“But there’s two of you.” The words come out before you can stop them, incredulity flaring faster than the quieter, more sensible part of your brain that already knows it’s a lost cause.

John chuckles. “Right. Then, all you have to do is outrun him.”

The offer beckons like a snare, a wire you can almost feel tightening around your ankle. Your heart beats in your throat. You know you can’t outrun him. You barely made it here in the first place, and your inexperience with the outdoors is woefully obvious. Trusting them to keep their word is idiotic, too, but what other choice do you have? You nod, swallowing a lump.

“You’ll…let me go? Unharmed?”

“On my honor.”

Sick bastard. You reach for your socks and boots—only for John to kick them out of reach.

“I said we’d let you go right now.”

“But I’m—”

“Leave now, or I’ll consider your delay a forfeit, love.”

Kyle snorts, watching with something akin to amusement. Eyes you’d call warm in any other context turn cold the second you meet them. Hungry, excited. The same look John wears. It’s terrifying to think if they weren’t kitted out in orange and camouflage, and if you met them at a bar or on the street, you wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t see them for what they are. Hunters. Survival or sport, it doesn’t matter. You made their fucking day, saved a ruined game, and made it into a worthwhile pursuit again.

You shouldn’t have ever come into the woods.

Kyle stands aside to let you pass, feet leaden and unwilling to move, still in denial. Your hands shake when you open the door, push, and step out. The night air hits your face like a slap, and it’s the kick you need.

The first step is perilous. The slick ground sends your foot skidding, nearly pitching you forward. You pick a direction—what you think is the way you came—and push forward, staggering at first, then breaking into a sprint the moment your footing feels steady.

You don’t look back. You can’t afford to.

The night is heavy, the shadows thick and tangled. Low branches scrape your face and arms as you push through the undergrowth. You weave through the trees, yanking your clothes free whenever they snag. You want to believe you can outrun him and slip away into the dark. But doubt grips you, clinging like the mud coating your soles and splashing up your cargos, and with every gasping breath, the thin thread between hope and despair frays a little more.

The downpour is unrelenting, blurring the world. You don’t know how long you’ve been running. Five minutes? Thirty? Can’t think about it. Time isn’t important. Distance is.

And behind you, a cruel reminder—an unmistakable sound of movement. It cuts through the noise and forces your pace. The sound spawns him at the edges of your vision, a flash of orange and nothing more, but a panicked, shrill cry erupts from your chest anyway, burning your lungs on the way out. Fear keeps your eyes forward as you veer.

You won’t last much longer. If you were headed in the right direction, you would’ve fallen down that stupid hill by now, maybe crack your skull on a rock, and mercifully died. Your legs gradually leaden, and exhaustion slows you to a shambling jog. The ache in your side pulls with each step, a stitch that slices through your ribs, snipping your breath into gasps as it tightens. It’s difficult to ignore the way your body screams for you to stop. Give up.

The second battle is against the mounting dread. Inevitability. Even in gear, Kyle must be faster than you, with better stamina and more familiarity with these woods, but you can’t think about that.

There’s a break in the treeline ahead, maybe a ridge. If you could just get a glimpse of where you are, see a radio tower or—

Your heel catches a plush of moss, slick and slippery, and your foot slips out from under you with a cartoonish suddenness that might be funny if you weren’t running for your life. The earth rushes up to meet you, the impact jarring, your shoulder slamming into the ground before your momentum carries you further, rolling and twisting. Mud and leaves cling to your skin as you tumble, your knee colliding with a rock, your breath knocked out of you entirely.

For a moment, you lie there, stunned and gasping, chest heaving, and the mud suctions to your back. You hear it again somewhere behind you—the heavy, deliberate crunch of boots. Then, it’s right in your ear. Fingers graze your forehead, and when you look up through spinning stars, you see him twice over, blurred and doubled.

“S’alright, sweetness,” Kyle coos. “That was a nasty fall. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

As Kyle drags you back, his grip unyielding, a thought lands with a quiet, sinking weight: your truck keys are in your bag. And your bag is with John.

When Kyle shoves you into the blind, your knees hit the floor hard, the impact shooting up your legs. You lift your gaze enough to see John standing expectantly, rocking back on his heels before he crouches.

He’s holding a card, your ID pinched between two fingers, inspecting it with an exaggerated tilt of his head. His smile, when it comes, is enormous and horrifying, like he’s won another prize.

“Yeah. Thought so.” He taps the ID against your chin, grin widening. “But that’s alright. You look more like a ‘Mia’ to me, anyway.”

They talk like you’re not even there, voices steady over the sound of your sobs, your broken, garbled attempts to speak, as John undresses you. He tucks his fingers into your waistband, knuckles digging into your skin as they slide around to your fly to drag it down.

“No, no, please, you can’t–”

“Feet are a mess, clothes ruined, but she’s solid.” John tugs the canvas down, whistling at the view of your panties, the cotton damp and conforming to every dip. “Good work, Kyle.” John drags his thumb over the fabric drawn taut over your slit and huffs at the hitch in your breath.

“Please, I-I won’t snitch, if you just–”

Kyle lets out a low laugh dripping with mirth. The rustling of his clothes behind you makes you flinch. “Appreciate the assistance, there.”

“Well, you did the hard part. Can I see that knife?”

“No! Stop–”

“Glad you noticed.”

Kyle passes your multitool to John over your shoulder. It’s tiny in his large hand, like a child’s toy. He turns it over, inspecting it, then mutters cute. He hooks it under your underwear, dragging the cool metal through hair before pulling and slicing through the cotton.

From there, the seconds stretch, melting into tar. You stand frozen, eyes wide but not seeing, mind scrambling for a hold. You should react. Move. Try to fight again, but the shock is a thousand-pound weight on your back. You hear your own breathing, then a happy hum, and your arms are drawn over your head.

Their hands are the warmest things you’ve felt in hours.

Neither of them undress completely. Kyle’s down to a t-shirt, boots off, but his trousers remain, unzipped and pulled down enough to see a thatch of dark curls, the shape of him pressing insistently at the fabric. He disappears behind you, John stepping closer to consume your field of vision. Beneath your hands, the carpet, worn thin and matted, scrapes your palms. The fibers grind into your bruised knees.

John pulls himself free, cock flushed and hard. The sight of it sets you off again, and one of Kyle’s hands wraps around your neck to keep you in place.

It’s a team effort to force you back onto Kyle’s cock, given your wiggling, and perhaps it is because of your lingering resistance they don’t slow or stop. Don’t give you an ounce of relief or pause. Every inch builds to a jolt straight up your spine to your neck. Your nails dig into the scrap carpet, holding on tight, like grabbing an electric fence, the currents welding your grip shut. All that makes it out is a long, furious hiss.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Kyle groans, hips shifting to steal whatever room is left.

“She feel that good?”

“Incredible.”

You grit your teeth as Kyle squeezes and kneads your ass. The thought of rearing up somehow to elbow him crosses your mind, but John guides your chin up, and you know from his expression that it’s a bad idea.

“Keep being good, and we won’t hurt ya.” He swipes a dirty thumb across your skin.

“Right. Face down, hips up.” Kyle pipes up, pushing at your shoulders. John assists, a wide hand smoothing over your upper back. You snarl out something mean, and Kyle rolls his hips in a dirty thrust to shut you up.

He’s as relentless as he was in the forest. Mean, too.

Sweat slicks your back and forehead. Kyle roots himself over and over, his thrusts hard and punishing, softening you up. A deep, blinding punch to your cervix has you howling in pain and scrambling, and it’s John who soothes you in a gentle murmur while Kyle snickers.

“Tongue out.” Kyle instructs, pulling you up and slowing his rhythm. “Lick his cock.”

You comply, staring at the thick of John’s wrist where he holds himself at the base. He shuffles on his knees, guiding his cock toward your tongue as your body rocks, groaning the few times it grazes the muscle.

It’s not enough. John takes hold of your head with both hands, stabilizing it to feed his cock into your slack mouth. He taps your cheek, sliding one hand to the crown of your head. “It’s game over if I feel teeth.”

You’re tempted.

Kyle picks up the pace, the motion forcing you to gag, grip migrating to your shoulders to work with John, locking you into place. It isn’t long before John joins his younger counterpart in tearing you apart. Fat, hot tears spill down your cheeks, mixing with the drool dribbling down your chin. Your throat burns. Bruising from the inside out. You won’t be able to scream after this. You’ll be lucky to whisper for your life.

A hand slips to your belly, fingers threading into your curls. It gives a tug, and you nearly bite down, instead choking on a garbled cry around John’s shaft. Kyle laughs, sliding his hand down further. His palm presses in on your stomach, finger barely skimming your clit.

“Think I, ah, should…?”

“She tried, didn’t she? She deserves, fuck, a little somethin’ for the effort.”

The sudden spike of pleasure makes you gasp around John, muscles tightening and squeezing uncontrollably. Like your body’s desperately grateful for a sliver of relief, regardless of the source. The men let out throaty groans, biting off curses as you inevitably react to Kyle’s fingers. He rubs your clit in just the right way, in small frenzied circles that take the edge off the stretch of your lips and cunt.

Your eyes roll up to glance at John, finding his mouth hanging open and cheeks flushed. His lips close into a smug line, pulling your face closer until your eyes shut again. He grunts when your throat struggles, holding you there for a heartbeat and watching your nostrils flare.

“Sir—fuck, let her breathe. She’s choking me.”

John’s cock bounces slightly on your tongue as he relaxes his grip and laughs. “Should’ve seen her eyes. Couldn’t help m’self.”

“S’alright. Listen, Mia?” Kyle pats your swollen bud hard as if your attention could be anywhere else. “John’s gonna pull out in a moment. You’re, ah, gonna thank us, yeah? It’s good sportsmanship.”

Whatever ends this quicker. You nod as best you can with a full mouth.

John yanks himself free, a web of saliva strings breaking and splattering over your cheeks, chin, and swinging tits. He continues working himself by hand, the sound awful and amplified by the thick coat of your spit.

You don’t need prompting. You suck in gulps of air. “Thank you, thank you, thank you–” Kyle pounds the gratitude out of you until you’re right there on the edge, dangling over the cliff he chased you to.

You’re so caught up in thanking them that you don’t notice John reaching his peak until it’s too late. Your words fracture over undignified cries, trying in vain to duck and dodge the ropes of his cum as it paints your face and hair. He groans low in his chest, fist squeezing out every drop. “Love hearin’ a pretty girl beg for it.”

The sight only spurs Kyle into a fury. His fingers work quicker, bordering on painful, but your cunt clenches. You wish you wouldn’t. You wish you could fend it off. But it’s no easier than it was fighting them. You come hard, hurtling into the depths of pleasure and shame and pure hate. You barely register his hand flying off of your clit to smack across your ass and dig its fingers into your flesh, pulling you back to shoot his cum as far as it’ll go.

Nothing coherent spills from your mouth. Your mind’s trapped up top, spinning, processing, but unable to even cry.

You end up in Kyle’s lap, head lolling against his shoulder. Smelling salt and dirt.

John cocks a brow, the picture of amusement as you twitch, brain coming back online. He chuckles as you shift in the natural cradle of Kyle’s lap. John takes in the sight of their work, eyes snapping to yours at the quiet sniffle that escapes from between your quivering lips. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t cry.” He coos, wiping the corner of your mouth with a thumb.

Kyle’s hands slide from your waist to your chest, playing with your tits with a tired, pleased hum. “Thought you enjoyed that near the end,” He murmurs into your neck, kissing a square of skin. His teeth press lightly in warning when you shudder, a prelude to a new round of sobs. “You lost fair and square. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

John cleans your aching cunt with your ruined panties, then disappears them into a pocket. You’re dressed back into your cargos, leaking freely into them, and your top layers sans bra, nipples chafing against the waffled material. Even your feet are tucked into socks, and a glimmer of hope flickers in your eyes. Kyle catches it and makes a point to toss your boots outside.

You’re filthy, knees rubbed raw and jaw throbbing as John pulls you against his chest, his arm locking firm around your waist. The ground is cold under you, seeping through your clothes. Kyle settles at your front, his arm draping along your side, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes in slow, deliberate strokes as if he’s someone who loves you.

He reads the question writ plainly on your face.

“It’d be stupid to try and hike out in the dark. Aren’t you happy we’re here to keep you warm?”

Your breath hitches in an aborted sob.

He smiles, teeth and all, and pokes your nose. His fingertip smells like you.

“There it is again. Scrunching.”

#pricegaz x reader #gazprice x reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cw noncon

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waves-against-a-cliff · 4 months ago

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After the end - Post-apocalyptic Omegaverse AU

Summary - You missed the end of the world. Fine by you. You thrived in your new surroundings, content to be on your own. Until something happens during your third winter.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. Uh... This came to me in a fever dream. Consider this a prologue. 141 x reader

You think you're pretty lucky all things considered. You had always been self sufficient and your childhood gave you skills you were able to call on after the entire world shat itself. To be honest, you hadn't even noticed the world had completely gone to ruin until you tried to call your pharmacy to refill your heat and scent suppressants.

The line was dead. So you called the grocery store. Dead. The movie theater, the diner, the post office. Dead dead dead. Panic seized you by the throat and you dropped your home phone onto the ground. You splashed cold water onto your face and looked into the mirror with puffy eyes and shaking hands.

What were you going to do? The world couldn't have ended. Right? You should have noticed sooner. "Fuck," you said, pulling on your shoes and grabbed your car keys, you got into your car, "fuck!"

As it turns out, you did in fact miss the ending of the world. You yelled obscenities and banged on your steering wheel. The entire small town you lived near was deserted. Windows were boarded up and cars were parked by the road with tires missing or windows smashed in.

You missed the entire end of the world.

As it turns out, the end of the world wasn't that bad. Nothing really changed. Well besides the rarity of getting your hands on heat suppressants and scent blockers. The first week after you finally got caught up on the whole "the world has ended" thing you raided.

You avoided using your car after you got a mild scare that someone else had been attracted to the noise. Hiding in the very smelly gas station bathroom while you listened to the sound of boots crunching on glass was enough to teach you that lesson.

You tore apart the pharmacy the first week, finding what had to be at least four months worth of scent blockers and nine months of heat suppressants. You took everything you deemed useful and stuffed it into your backpack before hiking back home.

You set up a routine, patrol the forest edge twice a day, care for your garden and check any trap for animals to eat. Self sufficiency had never been such a blessing.

It was the middle of winter three years later when you first saw them.

Men. No, not just men. Alphas. Their scent almost made your knees buckle when you smelt it down wind. For a moment your mind went hazy as their smells flooded your mind until that part of your brain that had been responsible for your survival kicked back in.

Alphas. In your territory. Your territory. It felt like a crime and you felt your inner omegas turmoil. As you watched the four men walk down the road that led into town through your binoculars you debated on what you should do. Run, flee while you are down wind. With shaky hands, whether from the cold or fear you didn't know, you climbed down from the perch you were on and sprinted back home while doing your best to cover your own tracks.

You went in circles, outside in the cold long past when your hands and feet had gone cold. But you were sure they couldn't follow. You were sure they didn't even know you were there.

Three years. You had been off of heat suppressants and scent blockers for years. After a while your heats had stopped coming, whether it was from lack of sleep or stress or some evolutionary thing that happened when no one to mate was around, the bottom line was that you were unprepared.

You boarded up your door and threw water on your fire. You grabbed every blanket in the house and ran into your bedroom. At first you did it for warmth. If you were going to hide you couldn't have fire to give out smoke and you needed to be warm.

Then you continued to mess with the blankets and pillows. You huffed, growing increasingly frustrated at your inability to get it right. You grabbed your laundry and threw it in too, arranged and rearranged until it felt right. It wasn't until you took a step back that you realized what you had done. Something you haven't in years. Before you was a nest. Large enough to fit many in it. Maybe even five. You swallowed hard as your fingers dug into your stomach. It was going to be a long winter.

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moon-my-beloved · 1 month ago

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neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

Introduction: the universe is never on your side.

wake up, go to work, eat, read, and go to sleep.

that had been your routine for the last couple months ever since you moved in to your new place. your new home.

it really didn’t bother you at all. the solitude, the quietness, the undeniable lack of socialization you had, it was okay with you even if might have looked like the most miserable life to others.

it was a great place to the say the least. your last resort to finally getting the fuck out of the apartment you had shared with your now ex-roommate. you couldn’t bare living there another day hearing her constant sexual acts with every guy she brought in like they were some kind of rabid animals. gross.

there was really no need to say goodbye either. jumping out of your bed in excitement when you got the message from the real estate agent that the place was ready for you to move in.

finally, finally after so many years of busting your ass and saving just enough, you had your own place. not hesitating to pack your things that same day and shove everything into your old but still functional car.

you were free.

the moving was tedious and exhausting, working your muscles out when your furniture finally arrived and giving an awkward smile to your next door neighbor which you later got to find out that her name was charlotte, but insisted on you calling her just auntie lottie. she was a nice old lady, mid 70s who frequently brought you some of her delicious homemade baking with every new recipe she came across. who were you to reject free food?

auntie lottie was probably the only person you had actually talk to ever since moving in, occasionally sitting on her porch just to chat or helping her out with her garden at times.

it was one friday afternoon where the weather was a bit too cold to sit outside and found yourself sitting on auntie lotties couch as she talked about her children, grandchildren, or just the latest gossip. you were more on the listening end of the spectrum, at times putting in your two cents when she asked of your families whereabouts and pointed out ‘how such a young lady shouldn’t be living by herself! you ought to have a husband by now.’

you knew she didn’t mean it with bad intentions but it made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment with the reminder that you were truly utterly unsuccessful when it came to relationships. sure, you had your fair share of partners and they never lasted longer than a few months before they were heading out the door when they realized your lack of intimacy.

it just never felt right and you really couldn’t blame them, despite it leaving an ache in your chest. you really don’t quite remember how the topic of conversation was brought up but she had mentioned that your other neighbors just across from you would be here soon.

“really? I thought no one lived there..” furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you brought the cup of tea up to your lips. it had been empty ever since you got here. no visible cars or sign of life making itself known for you to determine if someone actually lived there. you just figured it was empty.

“they’re an odd bunch but they’re sweet and handsome. most of the time they’re gone. no worries though, I’ll introduce you to them, dear.” you really weren’t fond of that idea and by the way her eyes wrinkled with that sly look she gave you, a worried chuckle made its way past your lips.

“sure, that would be nice.”

true to her word, they arrived the very next day.

the engine of a black SUV waking you up from your three-hour nap that had your joints popping back in place after stretching your limbs out of their locked positions with how long you had been lying down on the couch.

that wasn’t really what caught your attention though, fighting off the idea of just going back to sleep before your ears caught on the multitude of voices from outside. reluctantly, you get yourself out from the confines of your soft blanket and sit up on your knees to open one of the blinds with your fingers.

your eyes widened at the sight before you. four big men, all of them carrying a variety of duffle bags make their way out of the car. some of them stretching after what you presume a long drive.

you can’t quite get a good look at them but you could tell they were all pretty good-looking even from the distance. starting with the one who probably had better hair days with the way his mohawk was a total mess, leaning against the tallest man you have ever seen as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. skull mask doesn’t seem to be bothered by the shorter man’s tactics. an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling face first on the pavement as they make their way to the front door.

flicking your eyes towards the other side of the car, you zero in on probably the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. he wears a cap, the UK flag displayed on it and you almost gasp when he turns just enough for you to see how smooth his skin looks. totally not jealous. the last of the group finally gets out from the drivers seat. he looks older than the other three but his stance screams authority and respect once he adjusts himself. these were the neighbors lottie was talking about?

but before you could ponder the fact that you were living across four big scary men, mutton chops turns around towards your direction and makes eye contact with you.

you flinch away from the window a little too hard, tumbling your way over the couch and down onto the floor.

“shit!” you quickly cover your mouth, lying on the ground in defeat and your pride more broken than it already is for at least a few minutes before you slowly get yourself up and warily open the blinds again only to find that they had already headed inside.

letting out a small sigh of relief, you sit down on the cold floor. tilting your head back to rest against the cushion of your couch as you beg to any god out there that they didn’t catch you basically eyeing them down.

auntie lottie will definitely hear about this on your next ‘girls night’.

a/n: this is me forgiving myself after not uploading something for 2-3 months.? I’m sorry ;-;

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red5tars · 1 month ago

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cw: cheating (against reader)

imagine being kyle’s partner. met him at some bar a few months back, the one night stand turning into two. then four. then more.

it’s jarring to see how where you two are now. sure, he was a good fuck, but he’s an even better boyfriend. everyone you know loves him, and everyone he knows loves you.

well, except price.

and it would be so much easier to ignore him if he wasn’t so significant to kyle. boss, captain, father figure. if kyle puts you on a pedestal, he has built a shrine for price.

fondness that teeters on obsession.

still, it’s not your place to say anything. he’s probably just looking out for him! after all, you’ve heard about his nasty divorce (it was kyle who told you. you can count the amount of conversations you’ve had with price on one hand), and that he just wants the best for his sergeant. his son.

so you leave it. whatever is between them is none of your business. besides, the worst thing price has done is send you a sharp glare. there’s absolutely nothing to be worried about.

until you catch your boyfriend on his knees for his captain, face pressed right into john’s pubic hair. his adam’s apple is more pronounced, thanks to the thick cock jammed in his throat.

it seems his adoration leaned more towards affection then.

#capt price #sgt gaz #pricegaz #gaz x reader #cw cheating #5tars writings

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konigsblog · 5 months ago

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TW/CW: RELIGIOUS THEMES, NON-CON/DUB-CON, BLACKMAIL. READ THE WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ ⛪

Priest!Price who forces you to repent for your lustful and wicked sins, for rebelling against the beliefs of your religion. The sight of you before him is hypnotising; on your knees, tears streaming down your gleaming, shining cheeks with your eyes tightly closed, murmuring a prayer beneath your breath while trembling anxiously.

Fuck, he could take advantage of you like this, blackmail you to get exactly what he craves. You wouldn't dare tell anyone. Y’know, he could easily pry your jaw open and force his meaty, sweaty cock down your tight, strained throat for the blasphemous bullshit you've been spewing behind his back. You wouldn't want your loved ones finding out, would you?

He'll force you to memorise specific verses and apologise for your sins, leaving you vulnerable and helpless before him. You'll stumble over your words, desperately attempting to string a coherent sentence together, with his broad hips driving against your plush rear and his hung, hefty dick stuffing your tight, drooling hole. You memorise these verses to mumble them out between broken sobs and muffled whines, apologising profusely for your sinful actions.

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omegapropaganda · 5 months ago

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novemberheart · 3 months ago

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{overview} You and your pack navigate through your heat

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, MDNI, sexual content, mating & marking, p in v sex, multiple partners, cursing

Chapter 32 <- Chapter 33 -> Chapter 34

You weren't quite sure if you had even been so well cared for in your life. If you had- it felt minuscule compared to this.

Your alpha and betas had set up John's bedroom to accommodate you. They moved your bed into John’s room, pushing your bed with his to make one large one.

You weren't even sure if you needed the pills to spur on your heat. They were doing a good job with that already.

You could tell Kyle was livid. While he was in better physical condition- out of a sling and cast, he still wasn't cleared to lift heavy objects or do anything too strenuous. He settled for stocking the bedroom up with your favorite snacks, and drinks, while also helping you collect items around the house to build your nest with. To him, it felt small, but to you, it meant the world.

The pill looked big even in Kyle’s large hand.

“What if it doesn't work? I'm not good with heats anywa”-

“‘Nough of that, my love,” Kyle cut you off. You were perched on his good knee, his arms holding you as close to him as possible. He brushed some stray hairs away from your face. “Being a bit irregular with your heats means absolutely nothing and I wish we could get that through your pretty head,” Kyle sighed, his lips pressing against your temple in emphasis. John hummed in agreement, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. You would need all the nutrients you could get.

“He’s right, sweet girl,” John sighed. He handed you the glass, bending over the couch, his lips pecking yours. “Bloody perfect,” he mumbled. You maintained eye contact when he pulled away, the look in your eyes making him groan. “Save that for Simon.”

“I want you to mark me too,” you whined. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles white against the couch.

“Can’t say no to that, John,” Kyle begged softly, his own brown eyes pleading. “The doctor said it would be alright if you stayed with her,” Kyle reminded. “The smell of you will help. You're both their alphas,” Kyle continued, referencing you and Simon.

“He snapped at me earlier”- John began to remind.

“Because you tried to take her from me,” Simon spoke, causing you to jump. “I don't mind sharing, as long as it’s an equal give and take,” Simon kept his eyes on you as he spoke. You whined softly, shifting on Kyle’s knee. You took a deep breath and grabbed the pill from Kyle’s hand, popping it into your mouth with one fluid motion.

“Are betas invited to this?” Johnny breathed from the doorway.

That would only be fair.

You would think eight hands would be enough. Yet not one of them seemed to dull the fire in your belly.

“How ya’ doing, pet?” Simon hummed. His mouth hadn't left your shoulder, trying to find where his mark would look best on you. He made sure to avoid John’s spot, the alpha grumbling when he even came close to it. You were sprawled out on top of Kyle- a panting and whiny mess.

“I’m hot,” you whined. Johnny's hands were the first to reach you, preferring to yank at your shorts than the tank top you were wearing. Kyle chuckled beneath you, his hands moving gently up your sides, pinching the hem between his fingers.

“This alright, lovie?” he hummed softly. You nodded quickly, sitting up so you were straddling his waist.

“Go slow,” Simon groaned, his hands expanding over every inch of skin Kyle uncovered as he pulled your tank top over your head. “Fuckin’ hell,” he cursed softly. The others had hardly any time to enjoy the sight before Simon was pushing you back against Kyle, hovering over both of you. John stopped Johnny from pressing himself between the two of you, by rolling atop the excited hound.

“Just enjoy the show,” John murmured against his heated cheek. “Yes?”

“Yes, alpha,” Johnny agreed, his eyes already narrowing on you. John rolled onto his side, Johnny's ass pressed firmly against the growing bulge in his pants. You clawed at Kyle’s shirt, the fabric tearing under your nails. You kept the torn shirt in bed, the soft fabric making decent nesting material. His warm skin still felt cold against you, your omega purring softly at the contact.

Simon's hand gripping the waistband of your shorts caught your attention. He paused, waiting for the go-ahead. You wiggled your hips in response, pushing back hoping to catch any sort of friction. He grumbled something low in his throat, pushing you back down against Kyle. He finished what Johnny had started, pulling your shorts down your legs. His hands massaged their way back up your legs, his thumbs digging into the sore flesh. His hand dipped between your legs giving your inner thigh a rough squeeze.

“My mark have to go on ‘er shoulder?” Simon hummed, bending down just enough for his teeth to graze over your bottom.

“Nobody’ll see it there,” Kyle hummed a lazy smirk across his face. His fingers ran up and down your sides, making you erupt in goosebumps.

“Cannae have that,” Johnny mumbled. Johnny's hands had twisted themselves in John's shirt to stop himself from digging into your softness. Simon's fingers brushed over your clothed heat, a small gasp escaping you. You buried your face in Kyle's neck, your thighs twitching around Simon’s hand.

“Soaked through the fabric,” He mumbled, his thumb swirling experimentally. Johnny groaned loudly, John pressing him further into the mattress. Your scent had already switched a flip in the beta's brains, their breathing syncing with yours, the room filling with soft, needy pants. You whined, your hips raising away from Kyle's, your ass high in the air. “That’s it, sweet girl,” Simon muttered. His thumb pressed down, finally giving you the pressure you were chasing. A breathy moan left your lips, Kyle's hips shifting below you at the noise.

Simon pulled his hand away.

“No,” you grumbled, your hand catching his wrist. He pulled away quickly, his hands pushing yours back down towards Kyle.

“Be a good girl,” Simon warned, his hand heading back between your thighs. Simon's finger wrapped around your panties beginning to pull them down your legs. Slow enough to torture you, but fast enough to give you hope. Kyle's hand collided with your bottom made you jolt, your shriek being cut off with a moan. His hands pressed against you, stopping the sting before it had even arrived.

“Couldn’t help it,” Kyle apologized against your ear. “Should see my bloody view,” he grumbled, his teeth catching your ear. His hands flung to your thighs, spreading them apart for Simon. The sudden movement leaves you completely exposed. Johnny ran his fingers over Kyles, his mouth watering at the way you pooled around Kyles fingers due to his strong grip.

A large hand rested on Johnny’s lower stomach, making his breath hitch. His hips instinctively rolled upwards, the tightness in his boxers bordering on painful.

“Doing so good, hound,” John murmured in his ear, his hand finally dipping below his waistband. He made no move to wrap around his cock, instead favoring scratching up Johnny’s thighs.

Simon's thumb slipped between your folds. His thumb running up and down your bundle of nerves slowly, applying more pressure than your body may have been ready for. You gasped out a moan, your hips trying to pull away. You would've succeeded had Kyle not held you in place.

“Too much,” you whined. You bit down on Kyle’s shoulder, growling against his skin.

“So sensitive,” Kyle groaned, against your cheek. He raised his head, biting you back.

“Simon,” you whimpered out. You were torn. One second you were pushing yourself back against his hand, the next moment you were trying to squirm out of Kyle’s grasp. “Kyle,” you added. The beta groaned underneath you, giving your thighs a squeeze.

“What do you want me to do, lovie?” he hummed,

“Make him slow down,” you panted, your eyes nearly in the back of your head.

“Just take what your alpha has to give you, love,” Kyle whispered against your head. Your mouth fell open at his words, the pressure in your lower stomach building at a rapid pace.

“I’m not ready to cum,” you babbled. That made Simon stop. You could feel him before you could see him, his large body draping over you and Kyle.

“Not ready?” he mumbled. His lips pressed against your heated cheek, breathing in your scent deeply. You quickly nodded your head. “How about comin’ around a cock?” he mumbled. His words affected everyone, each of them letting out a groan or a gasp. You could only manage a nod. “Words, sweet girl,” He grumbled.

“Yes, please,” you panted.

“Might know someone who could help you with that,” Simon mumbled, his scruff rubbing against your shoulder as he pulled you up by wrapping a strong arm around your middle. One of his hands rested against your stomach, your thighs shaking around Kyle’s hips. Simon's other grabbed yours, guiding them to the band of Kyle’s sweats. Kyle's breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling quickly. Your hands ran over the dark curly hair on his lower stomach, your fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. Kyle groaned as he was finally set free, the tip of his cock resting against his belly button. Your mouth fell open again. He was intimidatingly long. While he didn't match John or Johnny in girth, no spots inside you would go untouched after him.

“Kyky,” you whined, growing nervous. He shushed you gently, leaning up to hold you against his chest. Hands were on you in an instant, rubbing soothing circles against your soft skin.

“We’ll go as slow as you need to, princess,” Kyle murmured, brushing your hair away from your heated cheeks. “If you still want to,” he added, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. You nodded your head. You did want to continue, you just didn't want to make a fool out of yourself.

“Slow?” you mumbled back.

“Slow,” he affirmed. You rested your head against his shoulder, your eyes meeting Johnny’s. He leaned forward, his lips capturing yours. Kyle whined when Simon wrapped a large hand around his cock, tapping his tip against your soaked folds making you gasp. Johnny let go of you, settling back against John, both men watching you for any signs of discomfort- or pleasure. Kyle's hands remained on you, keeping you grounded and soothed. Simon guided him to your entrance, precum already staining your pretty folds. He pushed in gently, both of you gasping as he pushed past your tight seal.

“Fuck,” Kyle grumbled, his lips pressing against yours to distract him from the warmth enveloping his tip. You moaned against him, your hips pushing themselves down. You don't know what you were worried about. Every inch was pure bliss as he rolled his hips against yours, slowly splitting you open. You pulled away, sitting up suddenly. The new angle giving everyone a perfect view of his throbbing cock losing itself inside you. You whined, your claws scratching against his hips, trying not to break skin. Your eyes trained between your thighs, Simon's hands holding your hips steady. You were nearly there, just a few more inches. “Fuckin’ perfect,” Kyle growled, his thumb running over your clit, using the same movement Simon had. You tightened even more around him, the action making him stop. “Open up for me baby,” he purred, taking all the power away from you as he rested his hands on your side, pushing you down further on his cock.

You were praised when you finally sunk down, your cunt nestled against his sparse curly hair.

“So deep,” you whined, your knees already beginning to give up.

“So deep,” Kyle repeated. If he wasn't so enamored with the sight before him, his eyes would be in the back of his skull. You fit him like a fucking glove, every inch and vein finding the perfect home in your suffocating heat. He couldn't stop himself anymore. He sat up, strong arms wrapping around your middle, using the leverage to pull you down against his chest, his hips rolling out of you in one fluid motion. You didn't have time to dwell on the suddenly empty feeling, because he rolled back into you making your vision go spotty. You cursed, your nails digging into his arms causing the skin to break. Neither one of you could care. You joined his rhythm quickly, the two of you panting and whining like animals. Your hands pressed against his chest, pushing his back down against the mattress, fucking yourself on his cock.

The room was silent besides the two of you, everyone too enraptured to even move.

“Just like that, lovie,” Kyled encouraged, using his hips to guide you when you lost your rhythm. You were begging now. Physically and verbally.

“Please, Ky,” you nearly sobbed. “I need”-

You cut yourself off with a moan, not able to focus on anything other than the drag of his cock against your walls. Your lower half had given out, your forehead resting against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind though, his hips picking up right where you left off- better actually. Simon's hand rested on your stomach, slowly traveling lower like he was trying to please you without interrupting. His middle finger rolling over your clit was the final nail in your coffin.

You came hard- all of your senses shutting off. Pleasure coursing through your veins with such relentlessness you couldn't do anything but sob out.

“No, no, no,” Kyle growled as your hips tried to escape his grasp, he held you down, his own hips leaving the bed with how deep he buried himself inside you. The only thing you could feel was sudden warmth unloading itself inside you. It wasn't a knot, but it was enough to satiate the clawing urge inside you, your cunt absorbing as much as it could from him. He flopped against the bed, holding you close. He had never felt so lifeless yet alive at the same time. His own body quivered at the intense high.

You couldn't feel anything except Kyle. You couldn't quite tell where you ended and he started. Every twitch, groan, and mumble felt like it could be yours. You could feel lips against you. A pair on the back of your arms, a pair on your shoulder, and a pair on your forehead. You could instantly recognize John’s hand on your lower back, your omega purring happily deep within the chamber of your chest. His hand rested against your cheek, his thumb running under your wet eyes.

“You both did so good,” he murmured, making both of you preen. They were shocked actually, that Kyle was able to perform as well as he had, given the condition he was in just a couple of weeks ago. Simon rested against the two of you, half on his side, half draped over you.

A lazy smile etched your face when Johnny began to kiss against your jaw.

“Mac,” you mumbled. Your leg extended forward, wanting to be near him. Instead, your leg skimmed against a wet spot in his boxers. He grumbled quietly, a hazy look in his eyes. You peered down, coming in contact with the mess he had made in his boxers. Wasn't his fault John was stroking him in time with Kyle’s thrusts. You whined at the loss, pulling at his boxers, thick, white ropes staining his skin and the red fabric.

“Why’re you whining?” he questioned, teeth nipping just below your ear.

“Could’ve come in me,” you whined, looking at him through your wet lashes. He groaned, his forehead bumping against yours.

“You were a bit full at the moment, peaches,” he reminded, his lips quirking. Kyle’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. “I can give ya’ more if you stop pouting,” Johnny soothed, his hand flattening over your back. “As long as it’s alright with the alphas,” Johnny smirked, rubbing his cheek against yours, coming face to face with Simon.

Simon's eyes scanned over to John like it was a decision that needed discussing.

“She needs all the prep she can get for you,” John hummed. Simon grinned like a shark. You were too high for the words to even register.

“Have at it, pup,” Simon sighed. Johnny breathed in relief, grabbing you by your thighs and maneuvering you to spot he had previously occupied. He rested over you, peeling off his shirt, which you quickly stole out of his hands, rubbing your cheek against. He smiled down at you, kicking his boxers to the floor. He pressed your knees together, kissing each of them before hooking your legs onto his arms. You giggled, the stretch actually feeling quite nice on your achy legs.

He ran the head of his cock through your folds, Kyle's spend already beginning to seep out of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he began to bully himself inside of you.

“Steamin’ hell, you even open her up Garrick?” Johnny groaned through gritted teeth. You accepted him greedily, your walls clamping around him like a vice. Kyle was too blissed out to be mad, Simon speaking for him when his hand collided with Johnny’s ass. His hips stuttered, a not-so-surprising groan escaping his lips. If he wasn't spreading you out in all the right places you would've laughed. “Fuckin’”- Johnny cut himself off, his mouth attaching to your neck and chest, leaving teeth marks and slobber in his path. “Mine,” he growled against your ear, your head being pushed into the soft pillows. His hips were harsh, the force of it making the headboard collide with the wall. Simon's hand rested on Johnny’s neck, pulling the eager mouth away from you.

It was then he saw it. The perfect spot for his mark. It was across from where John wanted to put his. High enough on your neck where it could be seen with almost any shirt and had just enough room so the mark could be seen from behind and front. His mouth watered at the sight. Must've been why John picked a similar place.

“Don’t stop,” Simon growled against Johnny’s temple. Simon leaned over his teeth nipping at the skin. You had an immediate reaction judging by the way Johnny groaned.

“Alpha,” you gasped, your hands not being able to decide between gripping onto him or Johnny. You settled for both, throwing your head as far back as you could to allow him the space he needed.

He ran his tongue over the sensitive spot, taking a deep breath.

His fangs sunk into the skin with ease.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed! SIMON FINALLY DID IT! See you 🫵 in four days for chapter 34! 🧡

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lovifie · 11 months ago

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 5: Home Sweet Home

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Aprox 5k words

W: Captain Price x Reader x Kyle Garrick (the poly 141 is building).

“I honestly think this is an improvement from your flat.” Ghost comments leaving your bag on a chair. “It is sad, but it's true.”

And he is right. The safehouse you have been assigned to is not ugly, it is just… artificial. Decorated to look lived in, but you know it isn't. Photos of people you don't know on the walls, books you haven't read and blankets you can tell are going to be itchy. But no one can trace you back here.

Ghost drove you here, Price made Soap and Gaz stay with him to have a chat with them. Chat, you are glad to be able to avoid, at least for now.

The safe house is not too far away from the base, but still enough not to be linked to it. It is a nice neighbourhood, better than your last one, it makes you want to go for a walk.

“Try to always stay inside, alright?” Ghost tells you sitting beside you. He caresses your thigh looking at your face. “I know it sucks to be stuck inside, but this whole thing would lose its purpose if anyone sees you leaving or entering the house.”

“So I can’t never leave the house?” You ask looking down. His gloved hand still caressing your thigh, and your hands find their way to it, playing with the fabric of his glove.

“You can, just need to be careful. But never alone, unless it is an emergency. Please, if Price hears you are wandering around alone he'll have a stroke.” He chuckles, stops moving his hand and instead puts the palm up letting you play with his hand. “You should have seen him yesterday when he woke up.”

“Was it that bad?” You ask, guilt flooding your heart at the mental image of Price panicking because of you.

Ghost nods. “He thought that we were pulling a prank on him, that we have you hidden. He made us show him our room, and then he went to look all around the base. Until I showed him the security footage of you leaving he didn't stop looking around.”

“I feel like an asshole.” You admit, unable to look at him and focusing on your hands together with his. Your fingertips find their way inside the glove and you begin to caress the palm of his hand mindlessly.

“It was a pretty asshole move.” Ghost chuckles looking down at your hands. “But I can understand why you would do it, everyone else too. No one blames you for doing it, birdie. You know that, right?”

It is then that you notice the current situation, Ghost is sitting side by side with you. Thigh pressing yours, one of his hands is on your lap with your own hand inside his glove caressing his skin, feeling the warmth. His other arm is resting on the back of your chair, and his hand find its way to your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb and moving your head to look at him.

He is wearing a basic black balaclava, no paint around his eyes, and you can see his blonde lashes for how close he is to you. Unconsciously, you look to where you know his lips are and you notice movement under the mask, he is smiling. He sighs and presses his forehead with yours. “C’mon, birdie. I made a promise this morning, don't make me break it so fast.”

“A promise?” You ask curious as you look back to the hands on your lap.

“Yeah, to Price. You are not supposed to know it.” He chuckles. “I shouldn’t tell you.”

And you shouldn't push it, you should be nice. But you are nosy and he hasn't said no jet. So you look up to him, through your lashes and ask softly. “I won't say anything… please?”

He groans closing his eyes and pulls his head back looking ahead of you. “How can I say it?” He pulls the hand from behind your head to rub his face. “Price and I talked last night, about how since we met there has been an… attraction between all of us.”

“Okay.” You agree, feeling a light blush rise on your face.

“And we talked about how we did a poor attempt at having control over it. And how we basically jumped you, and that was wrong of us, like, you were literally handcuffed when you were with Gaz.” He says sighing, feeling embarrassed with himself. “And I definitely shouldn't have done it the way I did.”

“It's okay.” You admit, still unable to look at his face. “I didn't complain… wait.” You say finally looking up at him. “You knew Gaz and I were…”

“Humping each other like teenagers? Yeah, I noticed.” He says chuckling when he sees your shocked expression. “Birdie, I took the car for maintenance the next morning to check the car's suspension because of how many potholes and curbs I hit. And you think I didn't do it or purpose?”

You cover your face with your hands chuckling in embarrassment, Ghost hugs you from the side bringing you close to his chest making you feel the vibrations from his laughs. “Are you getting shy now, birdie?” He asks and you nod, unable to answer. He then gets close to your ear and whispers: “You weren't shy when I had my tongue up your ass.”

You shriek slapping his arms to get away making him laugh with his whole chest and when you manage to get up, he grabs your hips keeping you within arm's reach. “Let me go, I'm going to sleep.” You say trying to keep some kind of pride.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, was just playing.” He says standing up and hugging you again. “Just like how I played with your clit.”

“Shut up!” You exclaim, heating up, whether it is from embarrassment or something else, is not important right now. He laughs again and drops a kiss on the top of your head as a peace offering: “Go to bed, birdie. I'm sure you didn't get much sleep last night.”

You slap his arm one last time before walking down the hall, but he calls you again making you turn: “Take this, is a burner phone, so no one can track you through the phone. Price, Soap, Gaz and my number are already on. If you need to send anyone else a message or something, we will send it through your phone back at base, the antenna back at the base makes it impossible to track.”

You take the phone from his hand and slap your forehead when you see the time. “I need to call my boss!”

“About that, you don't have to worry about it. You are now on a witness protection system, so you actually can't just go. Price is going to talk to him, and he will figure it out. Price will take care of it, don't worry.”

You nod, not completely convinced, and after getting a kiss on your forehead you get inside the room, ready to sleep.

A couple of hours later, the clatter of pans and dishes wakes you up. You look at the time and realise you have slept almost all morning, so you stretch still on the bed, stand up, wash your face in the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen when you are met with Kyle's back.

“Morning.” You say smiling walking up to him. He whips around looking disproportionately scared by the situation and you look at him confused.

“Fuck sake, doll. We gotta get you a bell or something, almost shit myself.” He says with a hand on his chest and you laugh at him.

“That's what you get for being a snitch!” You exclaim putting your hands on your hips.

A perfect smile appears on his face that gets you weak on your knees, and he cups your face still smiling. Dammit, pretty boy. “I just couldn’t help it, luv. You look irresistible when you are flustered.” He says giving you a peck on your cheek. “Are you hungry? I brought you some groceries and bought you lunch.”

You look over his shoulder to check what he bought, and satisfied with his choice you bit the bait of his peace offering. “You are safe for now.”

The safe house is far from a mansion, but still, it is much better than your flat. More than one person can fit into the kitchen, there is a sofa and an armchair in the living room with a TV on a coffee table. Down the hall, there are two rooms and a bathroom with an actual bathtub inside. So yeah, a lot better than the old one.

Kyle and you have lunch on the sofa, and after you both stay seated basking in each other company. You can't help but stare at him and think about the first time you were close to him.

In just the last two days, you have grinded yourself against Kyle's dick, kissed and gotten yourself eaten out and fingered by Price, gotten your ass eaten and pussy fingered by Ghost and kissed and throat fucked by Soap.

Truly an interesting Tuesday.

It's not like you had never done those things before, but still, before them, it has always happened after a relationship was built and not in the order it happened that's for sure.

Fooling around with Kyle was rejuvenating, you are not even old, but still, it felt like fooling around with your first boyfriend. Horny enough to need to feel each other but not ready still to face the vulnerability of getting naked in front of each other.

With Price, he made you feel like a fucking goddess. As if he should be the one thanking you for eating you out. You could hear him moan against your cunt and there was not a centimetre of skin he didn't kiss that night. Such a soft way to make love it almost didn't make sense how nasty he make out with your pussy that night.

Simon was the opposite like a professor teaching a bratty student their place. Any of these men could have you on your knees begging if they put their mind into it, but Simon made you want to act up. Pull his string and step on his nerves. He left you so vulnerable, completely naked and exposed to him, and still, there was not a second where you didn't feel safe.

And Johnny. Oh, sweet, sweet Johnny. You couldn't wait to get your hands on him again. Something about the way he whined your name when you had only barely touched him, the way his pupils almost got a heart shape when you kneel before him.

But that little shit had a big mouth, not that he meant to cause harm, you know that. Unlike Gaz, the second little shit truly was striking for gold this morning. And now, he was sitting on the other side of the sofa, with your feet on his lap looking all innocent and completely unbothered by everything.

So calm.

It bothered you.

Little shit doesn't deserve peace and calm.

Little shit deserves a kick on his balls.

But just when you are about to, you remember his face last night when he saw you enter the mess hall, looking terrified and like a wounded puppy. He looked so worried, and he hugged you so warmly. So the kick doesn't arrive, instead, you plant the heel of your foot right on his crotch forcing a grunt out of him.

“Easy, luv” He says rubbing your ankles.

“You deserve worse.” You say looking at his face as you keep pushing around.

“Rude, why do you say tha-at?” He asks half moaning the last word.

“You were going to rat me out this morning.” You answer beginning to move your foot up and down his growing erection.

He closes his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa. “You just look so delicious when you are flustered, doll. Couldn't help myself, would you forgive me?”

“I'm not sure yet, I'm still deciding.” You respond, pressing with a bit more force on his tip earning a moan from his throat.

“Take all the time you need.” He mumbles as he starts to move his hips against your feet.

Confusion floods your brain for a second, Ghost couldn't even kiss you this morning because he had given his word to Price but Gaz was happily humping your feet for his satisfaction.

Did Price don't make him promise? No, that doesn't sound logical. Kyle was the one who started everything, Price must have made him promise more than everyone else. Kyle simply doesn't care about it.

Price won't like that.

If only Price got to know Gaz had broken his promise.

There it is, your kick on his balls.

Figuratively.

For now.

You sit up, removing your feet momentarily earning a whine from Gaz at the loss. He looks at you with a pout on his face, cheeky bastard. It only lasts until he sees you undo his belt, and then a boyish smile appears on his face.

He reclines with a smug smirk on his face and looks up to you as you get his growing boner free. You lick a thick strip of spit into your hand and start to stroke his dick slowly. You look at his face and he looks back delighted.

“If you treat me like this every time I bother you, I'm not stopping ever, luv” He says between whispered moans.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” You ask chuckling.

“When my mouth is busy.” He admits, licking his bottom lip and leaving his mouth half open so moans can slip easily.

“It's that so?” You ask, and with your free hand you raise your t-shirt exposing your tits with a little bounce that Gaz doesn't miss by the way his dick twitch in your hand.

“Fuckin’ hell, luv.” He says beginning to move his head, but you pull his hair back and pressed your tit against his head which he gladly begins to suck onto making you groan softly.

“Much better.” You sigh closing your eyes enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth against your nipple, you move your hand from his head down to his jaw caressing it and feeling the muscles of his jaw flex as he makes out with your boob.

Slowly and shamelessly, Gaz's hand find its way down your back. He doesn't bother to play coy, and as soon as the hand reach your waist, it goes under your pants and your underwear grabbing a handful of your ass cheek making you whine.

You press your thumb and index in his cheek, pressing between his teeth forcing him to open his mouth and say: “Play nice or I won't play with you, Garrick.”

He smiles at you as much as he can with his cheeks pushes and sticks his tongues out to lick your nipple. “Yes, ma'am.”

You could still kick him, literally. It would be faster and it'll probably erase the stupid smug smile from his face. But patience is a virtue.

So you shove his face against your boob again, and sigh when you feel his fingers travel down your lips. He moans when he feels your wetness just for your disgrace, the last thing you needed was to grow his ego. He slips them between your lips, gathering up the wet arousal pooling on your panties. He moves then to the front and begins to rub your clit with his fingertips.

There is precum leaking from his tip, and you bring your fingers up to press your thumb against his slip and circle it, smearing his precum around it, making him moan.

“Let's go to the bed, Kyle.” You half mumbles half moans.

“Let me just do it here, doll. Inaugurate the living room” He mumbles against your skin. You slap him on the back of his head and stand up.

“I'm planning on having most of my meals on this sofa, so get up.” You argue pulling his hand.

“If you are still hungry, I have something you could eat.” He jokes as he stands up, making you look at him with a grimace look on your face making him laugh.

“Don't ever say anything like that, Kyle. For god sake.” You say shaking your head as you walk your way to the room. You open the door and quickly take the rest of your clothes. You look back at Gaz who is looking at you a bit stunned and you chuckle. “I think it would make it a lot easier if you took off your clothes.”

He pulls his t-shirt from the back of his head throwing it somewhere, and gets rid of his clothes as he walks up to you. When he was almost bent over himself on the sofa, whining around your boob, it was easy to get confident and boss him around. Now, with both standing up and as he gets closer to you, you need to look up because of the size difference. He notices it too, how you start to speak softer and your expression is kinder.

He chuckles to himself, positioning his hands under your arm and effortlessly throws you back on the bed, crawling over you instantly. You try to sit up, leaning on your elbows but a firm hand on your chest gets you flat on the bed soon.

You look up to him and see him cock his head like a dog. “What?” You ask and it makes him smile with that fucking toothpaste ad smile. “There it is, I thought you lost your voice. You went silent so suddenly.” He teases.

“Oh, shut up, Kyle.” You say chuckling and pinch his nipple making him chuckle as well. For a second you stay chuckling, looking at each other and enjoying the opposite company. Until suddenly it feels a bit too intimate, and almost at the same time, you make eye contact feeling shy regardless of the lack of clothing.

So you cup his face with both hands and pull him close kissing him on the lips. If he can’t see the affection in your eyes, he can't accuse you of anything.

He caresses your hip, drawing circles with his thumb as he slowly reaches your mount and you slightly spread your legs involuntarily.

“Eager little thing.” He mumbles against your lips smiling, and you bite back: “I can feel you leaking onto my thighs, Kyle. Don't get cocky.”

He chuckles under his breath and without more preamble one of his finger finds his way inside your cunt as he uses the palm to rub your clit making you moan. Wet kisses travel down your throat when you move your hands to the back of his face, his finger’s movement becoming faster and not for long before a second one finds his way inside as well. You lower one of your hands to rub his erection against your tights, feeling the wet spot at his tip growing.

Fuck does it feel good to be desired.

Little moans of your name leave Kyle's mouth against your neck giving you goosebumps and causing you to squirm in his hand needy of more.

“Kyle… please” You moan throwing your head back.

“Not yet, doll. I wanna see you come as prettily as you did on the car again before I get my dick inside this little tight cunt.” He groans against your cheek.

You moan at his crude words arching your back, twisting your face to kiss him. Teeth clashing in the process, but too desperate to care. The band on your stomach snaps almost surprising you, and for a second you can hear your ears ring. Kyle’s hand is still rubbing your clit, but almost like a feather now helping you ride out your orgasm.

You make eye contact with him, checking on you to see if you are alright and when he is satisfied he sits up, pulling you closer circling your legs around his slim waist and palms his erection; rubbing your clit with his tip. “Are you all right, luv? Need another second?”

“Fuck me already, Garrick” You tease propping yourself up on your elbows.

Kyle smirks at you and slowly enters his dick stretching you out; he leans down closer to your face and you both moan on each other mouth as he enters. Slowly enters, and then draws back, just to enter a bit more. Little by little, as he kisses your mouth passionately. Your hands on his back slightly scratch his skin making him groan softly between moans, his tongue enters your mouth caressing your own.

This all started as a way to get Gaz in trouble, but honestly, you are starting to hope it doesn't work. Just so you have to try again.

“Fuck, doll. Such a sweet lovely cunt” He mumbles, already losing his mind, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips. “Sucking me in so fucking nice.”

It shouldn't turn your own as much, such crude words, but you are not really thinking clearly and every word that leaves Gaz’s mouth is like a compliment to your core that makes you clench against his dick.

“Do you like that, doll?” He asks against your neck dropping little open mouth kisses. “Hm? When I tell you how fucking godly you feel, luv?”

“Yes, fuck, yes” You moan back, curling your legs and pushing him closer, wanting him to go deeper as if you were not feeling him up to your cervix already.

His hand found its way down to your clit, circling it with his fingertip, making you meowl at the sudden extra stimulation. You can feel your orgasm approach, and you open your eyes to look at Kyles's face.

But when you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Price leaning against the doorframe; cigar in hand, a disapproving look on his face and a formidable hard erection on his pants. You lock eyes with him, a shameless smile creeping in and making Price shake his head with a similar smile on his face.

The focus quickly moves back to Gaz when he starts to thrust more shallowly, rubbing your clit quickly. “Cum for me, please. I wanna feel you come around me, please, please, doll, please.” He moans against your skin, and completely ignoring Price's presence, you come undone in harmony with Gaz.

Little black dots blur your vision for a second because of the surprising pleasure, almost missing the way Gaz moans your name we come undone following you. You are not sure if you are seeing or imagining when you see Price walk out of the room, and when you try to raise your head to see you come face to face with Gaz. “You okay, luv?” He asks with heavy breathing looking at your face and smiling.

You nod at him smiling, simmering in the afterglow of your orgasms. Only breaks away when something drops next to your head on the bed.

Gaz and you turn to look at Price who is now standing behind Gaz. “Shit.” Gaz mumbles trying to peel away from you, only for Price to press a hand on his back pushing him back against you making you both groan since Gaz is still inside you.

“No, no, please, don't stop on my behalf. I wouldn’t like to bother you.” He says dryly, no vestige of humour in his voice.

Gaz looks at you, making eye contact for a second until both of you turn to look at whatever it was that fell next to you, and when you see the lube bottle it finally sinks in what the two of you have just done.

Both of you quickly try to look at him, kind of guilting the other to not get the short side of the stick. “Settle down you pair of brats.” Price says, he sits on the back of Gaz’s thighs, pressing him deeper making both of you softly moan again. He uncaps the bottle, pouring a fat blob of it in his fingers and pulling Gaz’s hair back making him arch his back once he throws the bottle back. “Unlike this brat, I’m not gonna fuck you, birdie. But the two of you put on such a show that has me in need of some… release.” He says while he caresses Gaz’s hole with his fingertips, getting through the muscle ring as he enunciates the last word.

“Shit, Captain…” Gaz moans, feeling your cunt clench when you feel his dick twitch back to life for a second time. “Don’t “Captain” me now, Kyle. What about your truce? Did any of my words get to your head or was all your blood down on your dick when I was talking to you?”

Gaz is not the only one getting the reprimand, a new cocktail of feelings is developing inside you. There are some hints of shame, the shame of getting caught mid-orgasm, the shame of Price barely acknowledging you at all, and the shame of feeling like you are intruding on whatever arrangement they had before you came into the picture. Again, the little self-aware thoughts that permanently reside in your mind appear, making you aware of the situation.

A loud moan from Gaz brings you out of it before they can materialise, and you come face to face to the fuck out face of Price after bottoming inside of Gaz. Having sex with Gaz was gentle, with more roll of hips and deep thrusts; but Price? He is obviously annoyed with the both of you, and his hard and fast thrusts are proof of it.

You can feel Gaz’s dick hardening inside you stretching you again. And even though he isn’t physically pulling in and out, Price's thrust forces his hips to roll against you giving you a delicious constant stimulus both inside and against your clit. That, joint with the fact that Gaz is moaning in such a filthy way against the skin of your neck quickly has you moaning in tandem with him. Bitting your lips to quiet them, feeling like they are not wanted, like you are just collateral damage to Price and Gaz's little get-together.

You force your eyes close when you feel Price look at you, he furrows his eyebrows when he notices you looking uncomfortable. Are you not enjoying it? Why do you turn away from him?

He switches his rhythm, caressing Gaz’s hips with a hand and bending down to cup your face with the other. He grazes your bottom lips freeing from your bite and drops his thumb inside your mouth making you lick it. He drops down to your ear to whisper: “Don't run from me, sweetheart. Not again, please.”

He raises his hand on Gaz's hips to hug him on his chest, pulling him close to him, and biting him on his shoulder. With what little space that earns Gaz, he begins to move between you and Price, earning a moan from everyone in the room.

It is such a filthy scene, so porn-worth, still, there is such a palpable sense of care from everyone involved. Fuck, the moment they get bored of you it's going to hurt like a bitch.

“I can't!” Gaz moans, the overstimulation getting the best of him. Poor boy getting his prostate destroyed and his dick milked at the same time. You can't barely manage yourself, you pity him. But again, that's what he gets for snitching.

“Yes, you can. And you will.” Price moans against his neck, and at the same time he drags his hand down your body just to rub your clit causing a chain reaction when you clench for the reaction, causing Gaz to groan and clench as well.

Is not much longer until you feel Gaz finish inside you for a second time, drooling against your shoulder skin while he hugs you needy of something to ground him. You quickly hug him back when you feel yourself spilling over the edge, and just a couple of seconds later Price finishes as well inside of Gaz.

He drops himself over the two of you earning a groan from you for being squished by both men, but you only get a chuckle in return from the both of them. “At least like this, we know you aren’t going to go running again.” Gaz murmurs against your skin only for you to hear, warming your heart.

“The two of you are gonna give me a headache, I just know.” Price mumbles kissing his bite mark on Gaz’s shoulder while making eye contact with you. “Get washed, dressed and come down to the living room. We have a little meeting the five of us.”

When he goes to sit up, you quickly grab his shirt pulling him close and ask softly. “Can we stay like this for a little more, please?” The neediness and clinginess being too hard to ignore.

Kyle and Price look at you as if you are the most precious thing on the whole planet and quickly nod going back to the weird body pile you were on. “Yeah, of course we can.”

Heyaa, how are you? 💗

Hope you liked the new chapter, please please drop a comment if you like it or if there is any scenarios you would like me to include 💗

Thank you again for all the support, you guys are the best

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