#implied poly141 x reader

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 4 Satanic Cult

Warning: Heavily inspired by Rosemary's Baby so all the warnings that apply to that apply here (Gaslighting, rape), Reader is AFAB but gender is not mentioned, mentions of menstration and attempts at getting a baby

Also, before I go on, I DO NOT recommend you go through legal channels to watch the movie. As it's made by a known pedo who is still alive and getting money from it, if you must watch the movie, pirate it.

You wake with a gasp again, shaking as memories of the dream fade rapidly from your mind. The new apartment feels cavernous, especially with your boyfriend sleeping in a different sleeping bag from you. There’s no one to hug you, to soothe you and reassure you that everything is okay. Hell, even if your bed had arrived early, he probably would still be snoring, completely ignorant of the terror that is currently running up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you huff, climbing out of your sleeping bag clumsily, toddling toward the bathroom on stiff limbs.

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The morning of your first true day in your miracle apartment is hectic. Your new apartment is huge, but empty, with wifi and a washer-dryer in it. All of this for $400 a month.

“This is too good to be true,” you repeat as you pull out the dishes you brought, a few of them antiques and a few from your college days.

“C’mon babe,” Brandon, your boyfriend, sighs, “Just accept that we’re getting a break. We’re in New York, I’m at a theatre company, and your writing’s picked up.”

“It’s too good,” you reiterate, separating the plates. Brandon groans and drops his head back, slumped on the couch that arrived at 6 this morning. Apparently, the moving company scrambled to drop your shit off when they heard which building you moved into, which is both great (no more sleeping on the floor!) and terrible (they woke you up and saw you in your shittiest pajamas). You rise slowly, cursing yourself for sitting on the floor again, and pick up the antique plates, moving slowly to put them into the cabinet in the kitchen. Suddenly, a loud knock sounds at your door.

“Babe! Door!” Brandon calls out, still sprawled out on the couch. You huff, idly wondering what you saw in him five years ago, before walking out the kitchen, past the couch, and opening the door. Before you is a group of four men, all of them easily around or over six foot and something in your stomach drops.

“Hullo, sweetheart,” the oldest looking of them greets you, the imperial beard doing nothing to hide his chunky cheeks, “The name’s John Price, and this is my roommate, Simon. We live on your right. These are Kyle and Johnny, on your other side.” You open your mouth, trying to say something, but drawing a blank. There’s something disturbingly familiar about these men, something scratching at the back of your brain.

“Who the fuck are you?” Brandon demands from behind you, startling you out of the spiral John had put you on. The older man’s eyes flash, his blue eyes seeming to change colors, but it’s quick. If you hadn’t been staring, you wouldn’t have noticed, but you didn’t catch the color.

“John Price, one of your neighbors on your right.”

“Whatever,” Brandon scoffs, rolling his eyes and trying to appear bigger. Brandon, who’s 5’6 and 115 pounds soaking wet, against four men who tower over him, “Leave, you limey.”

“Brandon!” you snap, elbowing your asshole of a boyfriend. He winces, but continues to scowl at the men. John frowns, but one of the men behind him chuckles.

“Y’re a lil’ shite. Don’ let tha’ get y’ in trouble,” the man in the balaclava rumbles, something dark rolling underneath his words. Brandon scowls at him while you grab his arm.

“Fuck off,” Brandon snaps, slamming the door closed on the men.

“Brandon!” you hiss again, giving your boyfriend a shake, “What the fuck?!”

“I’m not letting some British assholes take a lookie-loo of my house without permission,” he huffs, making you pause. You hadn’t really noticed, the unreasonable terror in your brain preventing you from seeing it, but the men had been leaning towards you. You thought it might have been to get a look at you, but this is New York. Why look at someone plain like you when they could be scoping out something to steal?

“Still,” you decide to ignore the part of you insisting that they didn’t care about the apartment, “It was rude of you, hun. You’re going to be an actor, you’ve gotta get your temper under control.” Your boyfriend puffs up, a scowl on his face, before completely deflating with a sigh.

“Yeah,” he admits, “It was a shitty thing to do. I didn’t have a good sleep last night, we’ve been moving shit all morning, and I guess I just lashed out due to that.” Immediately, you soften at his tone. This is the man you fell in love with, who can admit when he’s done wrong and work to be better. God knows you love him.

“Alright,” you accept his explanation, “But you owe them an apology.” He nods sheepishly before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“How about, we finish unpacking the kitchen, then we make those cookies that we’re so good at making? Use those to butter up the neighbors for my apology,” he jokes, giving your waist a squeeze before walking past you, to the kitchen.

“You mean the cookies you make sure I don’t burn?” you tease back.

“Hey! I decorate them!”

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

(“Migh’ be a bit ‘arder t’ get Pretty ‘lone, Cap.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can get him to agree with the right bait.”)

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

The next day, you send Brandon off to speak with the neighbors, cookies in hand and a kiss to the cheek, before pulling out your laptop to work a little more on your book. Normally, you’d play music or have an old show on as background noise, but you’re a little worried. What if the neighbors start yelling, or Brandon loses his temper? What if they attack him, or he lashes out for whatever reason? If you were back at your old apartment, you wouldn’t have these worries, with all the old ladies living around you cooing at how cute of a couple you and Brandon are. But, this is New York. The Big City in the United States. You don’t know anything.

You’re pulled from your worries by someone knocking Shave and a Haircut (damn Brandon for teaching that to you) on your door. Standing up, you hurry over and peek out the peephole. Brandon stands before your door, absolutely beaming with an empty tray in hand. You open the door and he steps in.

“They’re great,” he immediately declares when he steps into your apartment.

“Oh?” you intone, more than a little confused at his change in tune about the neighbors. It usually takes him a month or so to get over a bad impression, no matter who caused it. For him to be so happy? They must have said something about his acting career.

“Yeah,” he practically chirps, “Especially Kyle. He went to one of the plays I was actually on stage for, and he remembered me!” You frown, mulling over the three plays Brandon was on stage for. The only major role he played was…

“He saw you as Mercutio? Wasn’t that at an off-Broadway theatre?” you ask.

“Yeah, but it had a Tartuffe before we preformed, then it hosted The Importance of Being Earnest,” he excuses with a wave of your hand. You frown at his flippancy, but sigh and nod. Abruptly, he straightens up and grins, “Oh, and I invited them over for dinner.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

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

(“Pretty’s a loud one.”

“All th’ be’er. A bonnie thin’ wi’ a swee’ scream.”

“English, bruv.”)

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

A Saturday night finds you standing awkwardly in your apartment, glad you managed to talk your boyfriend into changing the dinner to tonight. Unfortunately, that lead to more people being invited, including Farah and Alex, who live across the hall, Ale and Rudy, who are across from John and Simon (the big guy in the balaclava), and finally, Kate and Rosemary, who live across from Johnny and Kyle (an exuberant Scot and the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen).

“So, you write?” Rosemary (“call me Rosy, dear.”) asks politely.

“Yes, ma’am,” you softly admit, flustered and nervous.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of you,” Farah hums as she sips the wine you managed to get (you politely pretend to not notice how she keeps scrunching up her nose. You’ll offer her one of the better seltzers if she asks for a refill), “Something about…”

“Nonfiction, Darling,” Alex reminds her, “They wrote about the more recent studies into cults and demonology, as well as covering the Satanic Panic of the ‘80’s.”

“Yeah, I did,” you admit, surprised at the fact he even knew. Your book was well-received, but ultimately, it wasn’t a steamy romance between a non-binary artist and their vampiric muse, so it went largely ignored. Alex grins as Farah snaps her fingers.

“That’s it,” she agrees, “You mentioned how a number of horror movies and thrillers of the time help show just what people were afraid of.”

“Ah? Uh, yeah,” you agree, confused at that. While you had spent a page talking about that, the majority of your book had focused more on news articles and stories that were either proven false or used as a cover for something more sinister.

“The Lost Boys, They Live and The Howling. I think those were the movies you mentioned,” Farah continues with a hum.

“Well, yeah,” you admit, “Mostly because of the heavy lean of conspiracy and the manipulation of innocence.”

“You also mentioned a number of movies that use demons and demonic summonings, like Evil Dead and Pumpkinhead,” Alex pipes in, practically melting when Farah patted his cheek.

“Of course,” you acknowledge, “They helped prove exactly what many news sources at the time were claiming as occurring around the country. Especially with Hellraiser, summoning demons for pleasure was a widely used excuse for children being hurt.”

“How long did this research take?” Rosemary asks, tilting her head curiously.

“Um, about two years,” you confess, “Luckily, most of the newspapers and stories made it to archives that was able to upload them to databases when using computers became commonplace.”

“Neat,” Alex chirps, swiping Farah’s half full glass to trade with his empty beer bottle. The look of betrayal on Farah’s face makes you laugh at their shenanigans.

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

(“At’s nae fair. Lookit how pretty they ur when they laugh.”

“It’s Farah an’ Alex. They’ve always been good at gettin’ people t’ relax. Makes sense they can do it with Pretty.”

“You see who’s not lookin’ at Pretty?”

“Th’ lil’ shite ‘o’s ‘pose t’ be their boy? Yeah, clocked it.”

“Might need t’ give Kate some money for Rosemary to seduce ‘im?”

“Or get one ‘o th’ birds at th’ corner t’ do it.”)

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

A month passes, and you slowly relax around your neighbors. Farah and Rosemary invited you to a book club, often arguing good naturedly about male writers and how they write female characters. Kate and Alex have taken to walking you through understanding sports, while Johnny (“Call me Soap, bonnie!”) will add random tidbits that usually make you look at him in confusion. Kyle, John, and Simon talk to you about all sorts of random things, usually true crime, classic literature, and cooking respectively. Through this all, Brandon’s career seems to be getting better, with him being understudy to bigger parts or acting in decently important minor roles. The downside is that he’s not home nearly as often, leaving you somewhat lonely and lost.

“So, I was thinking,” he starts one morning, when his most recent play wrapped up, “Do you want a baby?”

“What?” you ask around a mouthful of breakfast.

“A baby,” he repeats, “Like, I know we’re still not sure about marrying, but you said when we got together that you wouldn’t mind a baby out of wedlock. A bit out of order, sure, but you seem lonely.”

“And you think a baby will fix that,” you intone. Brandon nods sheepishly, recognizing your tone. Taking a breath, you rub at your eyes, explaining, “Hun, we shouldn’t have a baby just because I’m lonely when you’re working.”

“I know,” he agrees earnestly, “But, it would also be a symbol of love. And you’ve said you wanted one.” Brandon takes a bite of his own breakfast and says, “Just think about it. Okay, sweetheart?”

“…Fine,” you sigh, smiling when he grins at you before seeming to realize he’s got a mouthful of food and scrambles to cover his mouth. Laughing, you stand and drop the dishes into the dishwasher, leaning down to press a kiss to Brandon’s head.

Through the next week, you mull it over. Having a baby is a big commitment, one that Brandon’s shown he can make and one you know you want to make. Just, the thought of a little one, who is half you and half the man you love. It fills you with warmth and adoration, picturing a little boy with Brandon’s big green eyes, or a little girl with your nose. Maybe a little one who laughs like Brandon and smiles like you.

“Okay,” you say to Brandon one night, startling him from his phone.

“Okay?” he repeats, confused.

“Okay,” you repeat, “Let’s make a baby.” He blinks at you before beaming brightly, rolling on top of you and peppering your face with kisses.

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

(“Pretty’s ready. Just gotta pick a night.”

“Bin payin’ ‘tention t’ their monthly. Shuid be a week oot from noo.”

“Good work.”)

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

You and Brandon work together to calculate when you are most fertile. It took a bit, as you refuse to use those menstrual apps, knowing just what they’re actually used for, but you managed to narrow it down to three days.

“We can still practice,” he had joked and you laughed, bumping your shoulder against his own. Now, however, you aren’t laughing.

“John? What are you doing here?” you ask, looking between your neighbor and Brandon in confusion. The older man gives you a smile while your boyfriend gives you a sheepish grin.

“Oh, just giving a trade,” he explains, handing over a can of irn-bru with a grin, “We never got to thank you for the cookies all that time ago. Figured we can finally give you something in return, thanks to Soap’s mum sending us a crate of th’ stuff.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking a sip of the opened can. John’s smile seems to grow while Brandon’s face flickers. You furrow your brow, looking up at them in confusion again, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Brandon immediately insists, “Nothing’s wrong.” You hum and take another sip of the soda. The three of you stand there and talk for a bit, although something starts to feel off. You blink rapidly, fighting off the woozy feeling that seems to be threatening to overwhelm you.

“I- I think I need to go lie down,” you mumble, stumbling over to the bedroom, not even taking the time to tell John and Brandon good night as you practically fall onto the bed.

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

At one point, you open your eyes to see that you are surrounded by your neighbors. All of them are naked and chanting, with John between your legs. His eyes flash red, before he steps back, leaving a beast in the spot he was standing in. Everything is sluggish and dreamlike, even as the creature crawls over you, drooling and growling as something tries to press into you. You try to struggle, your terror sharp despite the lethargy that grips your body. It’s useless, and the beast pushes in. The pain is unbearable and darkness takes you once more.

(“Is my part of the deal done?” Brandon asks when it’s all over. Price scoffs at the little coward that hid in the living room while the ritual commenced, feeling His Lord chuckle at the selfishness of men.

“‘Course,” Price agrees easily as Farah and Alex redress quickly, the couple always a little shyer than the rest, “Now, your acting career is secured. If you want to go higher up the rungs, that’s on you.”

“That’s all I need,” the idiot insists, oblivious of his own inadequacy. Price looks over at Ghost and nods. It’s time to get Pretty away from the shitstain who sold them to His Lord. Ghost nods in return and disappears out the door, not even stopping to pull on a robe. Price huffs in amusement, and starts making plans for the nursery for His Lord’s heir. After all, you will need all the support after your baby’s “father” cheats on you, and they want to support you, even beyond the birth of His Lord’s heir.)

[fractiousmink]

Ghost is making your period everyone’s problem. Not just the team, which they don’t even see it as a problem, those three are all delighted at any opportunity to take care of you, but everyone. The whole damn base. Spends most of the month basically ignoring you and the second you start bleeding? Wears his tac vest even when he doesn’t need it cause it’s filled with snacks, tea bags, pain meds, he’s got a rice filled stuffy that you microwave to heat up strapped to him. He buys you expensive period underwear and reusable pads, which he always has spares on him as well.

Which is great for you, but makes him INSUFFERABLE otherwise. Absolutely refuses to go to any meetings or training you can’t come with, or at least get to him “in case she needs anything”. Will not even consider just leaving the things you might need in your room or something sensible. Sends rookies and random sergeants off to get you a seat so you can sit by him as he runs drills, or to heat up your stuffy when the cramps get bad. And if you need something while he’s talking to another lieutenant or a commanding officer? Fully stops listening to them. Just flat ignores them until you’re squared away. Price absolutely encourages this behavior btw.

Gross period sex ranting below the cut

You cannot convince me that this man, however he is written, doesn’t have a blood kink. Even the sweetest, fluffiest incarnation of this man is a fucking fiend for period sex. Guilt free way of getting his dick covered in blood, maybe get you off for some pain relief? Sign him the fuck up. You and him don’t usually fuck, Soap meets most of his needs just fine, but for the 5 days you’re bleeding? No one else touches you.

Makes you drag your messy cunt all over his abs and thighs, loves the blood on his pale ass skin. Half the time her doesn’t even fuck you, just fingers you till you cry and then jerks himself off with your blood. You like your ghost mean? Don’t worry, he’d be so condescending while bullying your poor sore cervix. “Quit your whining pet, you and I both know you’ll feel better once you’ve come a few times. Now hush and let me deeper.” He’s so mean and acts like her doing you a favor even though he’s literally feral for your blood on his cock.

Sometimes, when you’re extra painful, basically crying as he holds you down, he pretends all the blood is from him taking your virginity. He’s so nasty it’s unreal.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 6 - How to Infiltrate a Terror Cell

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Violence, sexual remarks/touching, use of weapons, description of injuries, implied torture, blood, death.

AN: This one really got away from me. These mini fics are supposed to be 'short' and easy to write.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

It's the worst idea you’ve ever heard. But here you are nodding at Price while he lays out the plan.

“First things first we need to confirm Konni have Alex. Then we focus on Makarov.” 

“I know one of the guards who works in the prison wing. He’ll be my way in.” You explain.

“Makarov will be harder. He's always surrounded by his best soldiers. I can probably find out what he's doing here but as for getting an audience with him or even getting near him it’s going to be next to impossible.” You explain. Price hums laying back on the sofa.

“Find out why he's here then we get Alex out. Rendezvous with the ULF and make a plan from there.” Price says. 

“As soon as we spring Alex that's it. There's no way I will be getting back in there.” You say raising an eyebrow.

“That's why it's important you get as much Intel before getting him out.” You nod standing up. 

“Here.” Gaz says coming over to you and handing you a USB. You take it raising an eyebrow. 

“Plug it into any computer and it will copy all the files over.” He says, you nod at him, he lingers for longer then he needs to. Maybe he’s warming up to you too. 

“When you find Alex, tell him 141 sent you. He’ll know to trust you.”

“Are you sure?” You ask sceptical. You know if they’ve been trying to get info out of him it’s very unlikely he will trust you, or anyone for that matter of fact. You might have to resort to dragging him out.

“I’m sure.” You sigh looking out the window. The sun is coming up. You should leave sooner rather than later, it’s a few miles back to the border, wait any longer and the story you’ve constructed might not make sense. You go over to pull your jacket on.

“I should get going.” 

“We’ll be waiting at the rendezvous point.” price says. You nod looking round the room. Maybe they won’t wish you luck. Maybe they don’t mind if you die, one less thing for them to worry about.

“Good luck.” Gaz calls. That you didn’t expect. You smile at him. 

...

“You said Farah’s forces where moving north not fucking marines.” You snap at your handler, Ivan. He called for you as soon as you made it into the base. It was early morning, most people had gone to meet Makarov's entourage, apparently, the place was running on a skeleton crew. 

Good, easier for you.

“The packages?” 

“Dead.”

“Shit, they were tech specialists, Al Qatala needed them.” 

“Explains why they were shit lookouts.” You mutter under your breath. The other man in the room catches that and you look over at him. You don’t recognise him, he’s barely said a word since you entered the room. Just looks at you now and then from over his laptop.

“Why did they let you live?” He asks, his accent is thicker, he’s not from round here. Maybe he’s not even Russian at all.

“I patched up one of their injured. They let me live.” 

“Which way did they go?”

“West.” You lie. Both the men look at eachother then back down at the map.

“Sakhra?” Ivan asks.

“Makes sense If they have one injured they’ll want to head to a neutral hospital or a ULF. The Americans have been getting too close to the border for my liking.” The other man says shrugging. 

“How sure are you that they're heading west?” 

“I overheard them talking before they left.” You explain.

“Well, I have to deal with a very angry Al Qatala contact. You better get yourself ready. Makarov will have jobs for you I'm sure.” Ivan says. 

“Wouldn't want to fuck them up.” The other man says.

“What's he doing here? Makarov?” You ask as the Ivan turns away. 

“Not really any of your business but let's just say he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF. And now we have an American who knows all their movements there's no way we miss.” The other man says. 

“Has he talked?” 

“Not yet, but he will. The Butchers on his way. A little gift from Al Qatala.” Ivan says. Shit. You have to move quick if you’re going to get him out here it has to be now. You leave the room, closing the door behind you. Before you head to the prison wing you skip into the handlers office. He never locks it, he's going to regret that. 

You plug the USB into the computer and a loading bar starts. You look round the desk, looking at the papers for anything interesting. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you keep looking up to the door hoping no one will come in.

You look back at the PC, it's only 50% done. You start to look through the drawers for anything, even if it is just to keep you busy. You see plans, plans for some kind of weapon. You take them out, folding them up and shove them into your pocket. 

The transfer is almost done. You hear a door close, you’re holding your breath, your hands run over the papers on the desk. You hear the Ivan's voice 90%. You panic, he’s probably coming to his office, you need to distract him. You go round to the other side of the desk leaning against it. You hear a beep on the computer, the USB must be done, you reach over pulling it out and shoving it in the pocket with the papers. 

You only just manage to compose yourself as he walks in. A smile grows on his face. He walks up to you, his hand resting on your hip.

“You’ve got me in a whole bunch of trouble. Least you could do is make it worth my while.” He says, you can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans in to kiss your neck. You don’t have time for this, one of his hands slips round to grab your ass. It’s like he wants to pick you up and put you on the desk.

“Ivan,” you breath as his hand presses dangerously close to the other back pocket. He pulls his mouth off your neck. “I have stuff to do.” 

“Yeah you do.” He says with that stupid grin on his face before pressing his lips onto you. Normally you wouldn’t mind but you’re about to betray him this feels wrong. You push him off you. He huffs crossing his arms.

“I really have to get ready. Besides, don't you have to prepare for our special VIP?” You say, he tips his head to the side you can tell he’s not happy about this. He steps away walking round to the other side of his desk and you turn with him.

“Fuck Makarov, this whole plan is pointless. The American is not going to talk, he’s rushing into this too quickly.” 

“What does he want?” You ask, maybe now you’re alone he’ll give you some more answers. 

“He wants to take over the northern territories.” 

“Of Urzikstan?” Ivan nods. “He’s crazy, he’ll turn Al Qatala against him.” 

“He wants to use it as a bargaining chip.” he says. 

“Not going to be much bargaining if he’s dead.” You scoff crossing your arms. That explains why he’s so nonchalant about upsetting Al Qatala, when Makarov is done, lost techs will be the least of their worries. 

“On top of that he’s got us chasing some military unit helping Farah.” Your stomach sinks. 

“Military unit?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Yeah 141 or something. Anyway, I’ve had people looking for them for weeks. We don’t even know if they’re still in the country.” He says going to type on his computer. You need to leave. Get Alex and leave.

“Well, if I find them I’ll let you know.” You say heading for the door. He chuckles. 

“Hey.” He calls as you’re about to close the door. “You’ll be back later right? I’ve missed you.” He hasn’t missed you, he’s missed sex. You smile and nod at him. 

…

“You look like shit.” Caleb says offering you the last of his cigarette. You take it sucking a deep breath in and letting it calm you. It didn’t take you long to walk over to the prison building, of course Caleb was already waiting for you, he waved at you when he saw you walk through the front gate.

“Heard you fucked your job.” He chuckles.

“Hear a lot with those massive ears of yours.” You say reaching up to flick him. He bats your hand away. “Thought you would be out with the others going to pick up Makarov?” 

“Fuck that.” He laughs, you smile, throwing the butt on the floor and stamping it out. You follow him back into the prison wing. It’s not really a prison, this whole building used to be a school or something, it’s been abandoned for years. Well until Konni and Makarov took it over. 

“Heard you’ve got an American here?” You ask looking round at the shabby built cells. 

“Yeah.” He says pointing down the hall. There are at least two other guards. Hopefully you can get Caleb to turn a blind eye, then you only need to worry about them. And the guards on the gate, and the extra security that will come after you as soon as they know there’s been a break out. 

“Heard The Butchers coming to question him.” 

“Oof, unlucky guy.” He winces. You walk down a different hall with him. There are only a few people in the makeshift cells, most of them are converted offices. 

“Anyway, how did you manage to mess up your job?”

“Marines came in and caught me off guard. No one warned me there were Americans around.” You say sticking to the made up story. 

“At least you’ve been out doing something. Ivan has the whole place on edge with this Makarov visit. Maybe it’s good you came back early. Calm him down.” He jokes nudging you. You roll your eyes. Nudging him back. It’s just sex, mindless stupid sex. And yeah maybe Ivan looks away when you fuck up from time to time, like today. 

“What did he get bored of the cook house girl?” You tease back, Caleb laughs. You walk on a little further mustering up the confidence to ask him. You have to be careful, out of anyone you want Caleb to get hurt the least. You’re going to miss your chats with him. 

“I need a favor.” You say stopping him and gripping his arm. He frowns at you, he seems to sense the unease in your voice looking around before leaning in closer to you. 

“The American. I need to talk to him. 30 seconds alone.” You say trying your best not to sound nervous. 

“Are you crazy? Ivan’s got that shit locked down. No one is allowed to look in his direction let alone talk to him.” Caleb whispers gripping your arm. 

“I’ll deal with Ivan.” You say. “You owe me, remember?” He shakes his head. 

“Not this, they’ll kill me if anything happens to him.” 

“You owe me.” You say again this time gritting your teeth, you don’t exactly have time to negotiate. He sighs looking around. 

“30 seconds. No more.” He says. You smile reaching up and kissing his cheek. 

“Thank you.” He shakes his head and calls the other guards over. You move past them pretending to head for the exit before turning down the hall where Caleb pointed earlier. You take the key off the wall opening the door. There’s a man sitting on the bed. He springs up as soon as you step in.

“I was sent by 141. Are you Alex?” You ask, holding your arms out. He nods, frowning, as well as he can, his head is bruised and one of his eyes is swollen. The few clothes they’ve left him in are drenched through and he’s holding his other arm like it’s broken. “I’m here to get you out. I don’t have time to explain, you just need to trust me.” You say leaving the room. He hesitates a second then follows you. You go over to the guards table and pick up a weapon, loading it and putting another mag in your pocket. 

“Can you walk?” You ask, trying to keep an eye on the door Caleb would have taken the guards through. As soon as they see you they’ll open fire and sound the alarm. You need to leave. You start to head towards the door, clicking the safety off your gun. You quickly look behind you to make sure Alex is following, he is but too slow for your liking. 

Before you can tell him to hurry the door at the end of the room opens. A guard looks at you, his eyes then flick to Alex. You don’t have time to think you bring the weapon up and shoot him. 

Move! Your brain screams. The shot will have alerted people. Alex makes it over you and you practically drag him through the door out into the courtyard. A shot rings out and you pull him round the side of a building. You look back to see Caleb shouting orders as more guards run round. 

You look over at the entrance of the base. It’s close but you have to get over the wall, which means you’re going to have to fight. 

“We’re going to have to hop that wall. Think you can manage that?” You ask as you turn to Alex. He nods and opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything more shots ring out hitting the wall where you’re hiding. 

It’s now or never. You jump out from behind the building and sprint across to the wall. You hear Caleb call your name as you throw yourself over the wall rolling down the embankment. You hear Alex groan out in pain, he’s definitely got something broken. You get to your knees watching him writhe in pain. You don’t have time for this. Alarms ring out. Now you really don’t have time for this. You look over to the entrance. The gates are being locked. Great now you’re going to need to get keys. 

At least that's easy to do if the person is dead. You reach over gripping Alex’s arm pulling him to his feet. He cries out in pain, you don’t have time to worry about it as more shots ring out. You can see Caleb running across towards you, you pull Alex over the drain and up the opposite embankment. You let go of his arm to open fire on the guards in front of you. There’s only two of them, at the gate. 

You take cover behind the inspection booth, Alex kneels down beside you. You hand him your gun.

“I need to get a key, cover me.” You say. You don’t know if you trust him, or if he’ll even be a good shot but he’s better than nothing. He nods, you crawl out over to one of the bodies. Shots ring out behind you. Well he’s not killed you yet. You fumble around the guards belt and pockets. Nothing.

“Shit!” you call crawling over to the other guard out in the open. More shots ring out, from in front and behind you. Alex must have picked up a weapon off the guard. You find the ring of keys clipped on the guards belt. Your hands are shaking from adrenaline as you try to unhook them.

“Watch out!” Alex shouts. You don’t get time to look up before someone kicks you in the back. You look over at Alex fumbling with a mag. A shot rings out and he ducks behind the booth just in time. 

“Fuck.” You say pulling yourself to your feet. You’re surprised the person lets you get up. Before you can turn though a pain radiates in your side.

It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. Have you been shot? When you finish turning you see a guard. Before you have time to react his head explodes into and he lands beside you. You look over at Alex, he’s still fumbling with the clip. 

You turn to see Caleb bringing his weapon down to his side, he looks sad, he’s your friend and you're betraying him. You reach down to touch where the pain is. Your head is swimming, your hands feel blood, then cold metal. There’s a knife, you’ve been stabbed.

“No!” you yell at Alex as he comes back from round the booth, his weapon drawn. Caleb holds up the keys, you smile at him. He pushes past you, opening the gate. You stumble over, each step sending shooting pains through your body.  

“You owe me!” Caleb says as he throws his arm around you. You lean up against him as he half drags you into the tree line.

“On the other side of the tree line. There’s a truck.” You say switching to English. 

“Rescue?” Caleb asks in English, you smile crying out in pain as you step over a fallen tree. 

“That's where 141 are waiting.” You say, it’s getting harder to focus, at least the sound of the alarm from the base isn’t ringing in your ears. 

“How do you know 141?” Alex asks as he watches round you, his weapon still drawn.

“It’s a long story.” You say breathless. You want to pull the knife out, it hurts so much. You know you shouldn't though. Not until you have something to pack the wound with. 

“Just keep going.” Caleb says, hitching you up tighter to him as you start to stumble. You can barely see what’s happening, the forest becoming a mix of blurry greens and browns. It feels like you’ve been walking for miles when you hear the engine of a truck. It makes your adrenaline spike, giving you a brief moment of clarity as you make it to the edge of the tree line.

“It’s them!” You hear the familiar Scottish accent. The sun blinds you as you make it through the trees. 

“Shit, what happened?” You hear someone ask, there are more hands on you now. You’re picked up.

“Who are you?” A gun clicks.

“Caleb, friend.” Is all you manage to say. You hear whoever is holding you curse under his breath. You’re pulled into the back of the truck on the floor. It makes you cry out again, your hand going to your wound. There’s banging and clattering. You don't have time to question how they got their hands on an military truck.

“Hey, lass, c’mon stay with us we’ll get you sorted.” It’s Soap. You look out through the back of the truck, you can see Price with his hand on Alex’s shoulder, Gaz taking the weapon out Caleb's hand. Then you see it in the distance, a truck. 

Price notices it too. He helps Alex get in the truck next to you, closing the back.

“Ghost, let's move!” He shouts. Gaz has vanished, you hear a door slam. Price pulls himself in the truck holding his arm out for Caleb. It doesn’t matter though.

Shots ring out, they hit the truck, you see Price duck, then the flash of blood. Caleb's hit, his body goes limp and falls to the floor as the truck pulls away. 

You’re not sure what happens next. Your scream fills the air as you watch Caleb's body get smaller covered in the dirt kicked up by the truck. Someone is pressing your body down. Suddenly Price is leaning over you, more shots ring out hitting the truck. You feel tears stream down your face. You got him killed, the only person you didn’t want to get hurt. 

“Alex! Cover fire!” You watch as Price hands him an AR, they both move down to the end of the truck returning fire. Your body is being flung from side to side as the truck drives out the forest and onto a road. 

You don’t care what happens now, you don’t care if you die. You did your job, you got Alex out. You close your eyes letting out a breath. 

“No, no, no! Eyes open c’mon!” It’s Soap again. Your eyes snap open as he shakes you. The gunfire dies down, maybe you’ve lost them. Maybe they won’t follow you out on a main road.

“Caleb.” You say. “His name was Caleb.” Soap frowns for a second then lets out a sigh. 

“Johnny.” He says. 

“Nice to meet you Johnny.” You smile. He smiles back. You can’t stay awake anymore. Your head is spinning, black spots fade into your vision. He calls out to you, shaking you but you just can’t stay awake. Your last thought is of Caleb as everything goes black. 

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Banners by plum98

[pfhwrittes]

Dark fics Masterlist

banner by @/cafekitsune

noncon somnophilia with john mactavish emotionally manipulative/abusive kyle garrick noncon touching with john mactavish and kyle garrick twisted firefighter soapgaz thoughts (soapgaz, implied gaz x reader)

forcemasc!recruit 1 (pricegaz x transmasc!reader) forcemasc!recruit 2 (poly141 x transmasc!reader) forcemasc!recruit 3 (soap x transmasc!reader)

pfh dark fics tag for all dark and twisty thoughts, asks, headcannons and inspiration.

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 20 Succubus

Warning: Reader is female due to the lore of Succubi specifically (not incubi, which are the male version), weirdly fluffy for a sex demon, allusion to sex

You’re starving, but no one in this bar smells remotely good. All of the men smell rancid or filthy, while the women are equally rancid or overly sweetened. You sigh and pout into your drink, mourning the days when you could slip into multiple men’s rooms in the far flung past. You had been young and stupidly believed that technology would never go past the medieval era, thinking you’d have basically a buffet for however long you wanted. You were an idiot.

Suddenly, you’re slammed by four scents that make your mouth water and you pussy clench in interest. Looking up, you easily spot them, a group of handsome men walking into this shit hole of a bar. They’re obviously military, likely special forces with one man’s mohawk and another man’s beard. The man with the mohawk and another man who can only be described as beautiful are the younger two of the group, bumping into each other with snickers, as the older men walk behind them. The bearded man shakes his head while the man wearing a mask seems to roll his eyes.

“Hey, pretty la’y,” a drunkard slurs, stumbling to your table and leaning over to touch you. You turn your eyes to him and flash them, smirking when he immediately succumbs to your hypnosis.

“You’re going to leave me alone,” you order softly, “And you’re going to tell your friends to leave me alone too.” The drunkard nods deeply before stumbling back to the table he and his little friends are drinking at. You take a sip of your drink, turning to watch the handsome group find their own table. They’ve already ordered as a waitstaff scurries from their table, the masked one keeping his back against the wall as he slowly turns his head around the room. You catch his eye, smirking as you raise your drink to him. You can practically see him narrowing his eyes on you, but you continue on, sipping your drink and making looks at the table.

Eventually, the one with the mohawk rises from the table, the whiskey he’d been brought in his hand as he saunters to your table.

“Fit’s a bonnie lass daein’ on yer oon lek ‘is,” he says, accent extremely thick. You blink and arch an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry?” you reply, giving him a smile that couldn’t melt butter. The man blusters before giving you a sheepish smile.

“Ah asked, what’s a bonnie lass doin’ on yer own like this,” he enunciates, “Wanted t’ know ‘f yeh’d be interested in comin’ tae our table.” You pause, licking your lips thoughtfully before giving him a smile.

“I’d love to,” you agree, watching in amusement as the man perks up and leads you back to his three friends. You swing your hips a little bit, taking note on who is more obviously interested. The mohawked man is openly staring while the beautiful man nearly spills his beer down his shirt with how distracted he is. The older man with the beard is calmly sipping his whiskey, but his eyes are on you, while the masked man watches you warily. If nothing else, you suppose, you can try for the younger men as snacks, leave them a little tired as you see if you can’t find more.

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

Price wakes up the next day, still cock deep in your soft walls. Pushing himself up, he drags his soft prick out of you and carefully climbs over Gaz. He can’t help but pause and take in your true form, which had been revealed the night before, during Soap’s second round. A cute little spaded tail wrapping around his thigh as a pair of small horns sprouted from your forehead, your skin changing into an inhuman color.

“What a cute little succubus,” Price mumbles to himself, picking up his cigar for his morning smoke. Ghost snorts from your other side, his cock still in your ass.

“More a pain in th’ arse,” Ghost argues, “Lil’ tart wan’ed t’ be filled t’ th’ brim.” Despite his gruff words, he pats your stomach gently, emphasizing the little pudge that appeared as they fucked you. Soap grumbles behind Ghost, cuddling closer to the Lieutenant’s back while his hand finds your hip to rest on. Price tries not to snort at the situation, but the deadpan look on Ghost’s face is hilarious.

“Yeah, laugh it up, y’ ol’ bastard,” Ghost grumbles as Gaz finally wakes up enough to sit up.

“Is th’ pretty bird still ‘ere?” Gaz slurs out, blinking blearily around the room.

“I fuckin’ hope so, since I’m holdin’ someone,” Ghost snarks, which seems to wake both Soap and you up. Soap yawns and squeezes your hips before rolling right off the bloody bed while you just blink, obviously trying to figure things out.

“Y’ alive down there, MacTavish?” Gaz calls out as Price finally starts pulling on clothes.

“Away an’ bile yer heid,” Soap rasps out in irritation, clawing his way back onto the bed as Ghost uses the instance to escape. You roll on your back and arch, releasing a moan worthy of the best porn as your inhuman features return to your body.

“Well, that was a lovely night, gentlemen,” you say, “But I should go.”

“Oh no, yer nae,” Soap insists, making it on top of the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

“He’s right, pretty bird,” Gaz agrees, “Can’t just let a sweet thing like you leave.”

“Stay here, we’ll get y’ some food an’ sort some thin’s out,” Ghost instructs you as he quickly redresses as Price finishes getting his clothes on.

“You should have been more careful last night, sweetheart,” Price finally speaks up, “You should have seen that there were predators more dangerous than you at that bar.” The look on your face is confused surprise, before you yelp when the two Sergeants drag you down on the bed, more than willing to distract you with even more sex. Price and Ghost leave them to it, heading out to get breakfast for everyone.

“Y’ think she’d wan’ a muffin?” Ghost asks as they head to the car.

“Might be a safe bet,” Price agrees, pulling out the keys to the car. The only time he’s riding with Simon is during a mission or everyone else is blackout drunk.