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buttdumplin · 16 days

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For my dear sweet 🌙 anon, who asked for a piece in which transmasc reader clarifies his pronouns with the boys.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc!reader, established relationship, complex gender feelings, comfort

word count: 1070

It’s in the kitchen that you gather the courage, “Can we try something?”

Four heads turn to you, sandwich assembly line quickly forgotten. Maybe this wasn’t the best moment to speak up, your tummy is grumbling already. But you’ve started, so you should see it through.

“Good god, keep your pants on. This is serious,” you say, voice growing quiet, “And about me.”

The boys swarm around you, eyes burning and ready. Sitting at the table was supposed to let you watch them as they work on lunch, but their looming turns it almost ominous. The sounds of you cracking your fingers, which you tend to do when you’re nervous, does not go unnoticed.

Johnny chuckles, trying to keep the mood light, “Maybe shoulda phrased it a little differently, love.”

It took you forever to find the right dining table, one big enough to fit all of you and your plates. Days and weeks turned months as you scoured for the perfect one. But as they take their seats, it feels too small. The air is tight.

“Do you guys remember that talk we had? About gender and me maybe not feeling wholly like a woman?”

They lean towards you, further dwarfing the table, waiting for you to continue. Your belly feels like it’s boiling, tumbling with nerves. That conversation went well, so surely this one will too, right? If you take the time to look up at them, you’ll see their soft expressions. Simon hunches, blatantly trying to make himself smaller, as if wanting to create space for you to speak. Kind grins adorn Johnny and Kyle’s faces, remembering the conversation well and trying to be encouraging. John just looks proud. Silence breaks as you take a deep breath.

“I think I’m a guy,” you whisper.

Smiles spread, bodies still, waiting for more.

“I’m a guy,” you say louder, their grins coaxing yours out.

Kyle takes your hand in his, squeezing gently, “Watch out lads, I’ve got a boyfriend.”

What starts as a giggle soon overwhelms you, turning into a deep belly laugh and running tears down your cheeks. You cling hard to Kyle’s hand, wiping your face a little sloppy. It’s your first time saying it out loud, and there’s no way you could have predicted how fucking euphoric it would be. A spark’s been lit inside your chest, and you think that this must be what true happiness is. It feels so right, and Kyle’s immediate claim fuels you. Another deep sigh steadies you. The hard part is not quite over.

“I hope this doesn’t…” the words come out slowly, “Doesn’t change anything.” Your hand moves in a wide circle, gesturing at each of you.

Their bodies stiffen, caught off guard. Of everything you could have said, that was not what they expected. Worry melts their posture and brings their shoulders down to droop. John and Kyle exchange glances, failure written on their faces. If they’ve left room for this concern, they’ve clearly done something wrong. Johnny cocks his head, confused because why would that be a question?

When Simon speaks, he almost sounds exasperated, “We’re all men.”

“Yeah, but-”

“All men,” he cuts you off, eyes locked on yours, challenging you to try again. “Boyfriends, like Kyle said.”

“Boyfriends,” you repeat, grin back in place.

“Get to confuse the cashier at the grocery even more now,” he winks, relieved to see you smiling again.

A calm silence settles the room again and easy breathing can be heard from all of you. The sinking pressure is lifted from you, letting you bask in the moment. Everything is okay. Your world didn’t crumble. Boyfriends, they said. Sweat threatens to slip your hand from Kyles, making his grip tighten. The pride on John’s face is loud, his dimples growing more pronounced. Johnny drops his chin into his hands, elbows on the table, an impishness about him.

“Logistics,” he says, “Pronouns, please?”

“He/him,” your voice shy.

He cups his ear, “What? Didn’t catch that.”

“He/him,” you say, fullbodied.

Under the table, he squeezes your knee with support. If you weren’t sitting, you’d be squeezing the life outta them, cracking their backs with the force of your hugs. They didn’t even fucking take a beat to respond, they were so immediately onboard. Darling boys continue to bring warmth into your life, erasing your doubts. Though truthfully, it was the possibility of losing them that you were most scared about.

“Terms?” John asks.

You hesitate to respond, not having gotten quite this far just yet.

“Sweet boy?” he prompts.

Hearing it makes you gasp, your eyes widening and face burning. It hits sweet in your chest and the pleasure of it is visible. It’s the only confirmation John needs. Easing back into his chair, he crosses his arm with sweet satisfaction. The rest of the boys smirk, taking note, minds filling with more ideas.

Kyle has to clear his throat, and thoughts, before he speaks again, “Who do you want to include in this? How do you want to navigate it?”

“I’ve already told my doctors and it’s in my file,” you say proudly, and Johnny answers with excited whooping.

“He/him pronouns in public?” Kyle continues.

“Yes, please,” you eye your guard dogs. The four of them beam, chests swelling from knowing you have so much faith in their abilities to protect you, to keep you safe.

“Please tell us if there’s ever a situation in which you don’t feel safe doing so. We play by your word,” he swears.

You nod in response, his words spreading a new and lovely warmth through your body. They must have done some homework after that initial conversation, always wanting to be prepared. And it couldn’t be more fucking soothing. Air returns to the room, bringing in levity once more.

“Lovely lads all around,” Johnny looks at each of you, wicked joy painting his face, “What a lucky bastard I am.”

His toothy smile is infectious, catching the rest of you until your faces hurt from mirth. Of course they were amazing with this, they’ve put so much work into maintaining this relationship. All those late nights working through clarifications, the probing answers and check-ins. And they’re doing the same thing now, meeting you head on. And eager to boot. Sweet boys stay sweet.

“Well,” you say, giggles bubbling from your lips, “Your boyfriend is hungry, so yall best get lunch done.”

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wraithdance · 1 month

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CoD | Diverse Reader/OC Fic Directory

Note: Curious to know why a Diverse fic list is necessary for Fandom space? Are you asking yourself ‘This is supposed to be fun, why do we need this?’ Well take a look at the Hall of Shame.

Please don’t send me questions about explaining further without previous due diligence. I'm not a teacher and I will not respond. If you would like to suggest an addition or removal feel free to message me!

Last Updated: (08/25/24)

Order arranged as follows:

Title | Author | Length | Genre/Type | Pairings

Icon Legend:

** | Dark fic or Mature; U | Unknown/Unspecified

Dark Fics or Fics with potentially triggering content will be notated with a ‘**’ Please be responsible and mind the author's descriptions! For now this will only contain recommendations for the Call of Duty Fandom. If there is a desire for a multi-fandom directory I will consider facilitating that later on <3

PoC Readers/OC’s

♠ Black/AA Readers/OC

♠ Indigenous Readers/OC

♠ Latine/Latinx Readers/OC

♠ South Asian Readers/OC

♠ South East Asian Readers/Oc

Retirement Party | Sentientcave | Romance**| Price x Filipino!Reader

♠ East Asian Readers/OC

TF141 w/ Japanese Reader | All-Purpose-Dish-Soap | Fluff | Imagine/Drabble | TF 141 x Reader

♠ Polynesian Readers/OC

TBC

♠ Biracial/Unspecified POC Readers/OC

Brown skin, pretty brown eyes | Disgustingtwitches | Oneshot | Smut | Gaz x Reader

LGBTQIA+ Readers/OC’s

♠ Gender non conforming Readers/OC

Can you check Me? | Syoddeye | Imagine/Drabble | TF 141 x Reader

TransMasc Readers/OC

♠ TransFemme Readers/OC

TBC

♠ Bisexual Readers/OC

TBC

♠ Aromantic Readers/OC

Ghost & Kate w/ Aro Reader | Captainjamster | Drabble/Imagine | Ghost or Laswell x Reader

♠ Lesbian Readers/OC

Disabled & Neurodivergent Readers/OC

♠ Characters w/ Physical Disabilities

♠ Characters w/ Mental Health Issues & Disabilities

♠ Neuro-divergent Characters

Size & Height Inclusive Readers/OC’s

♠ Plus Sized/Fat Readers/OC

♠ Tall Readers/OC

I like My Women Tall w/ a Big Ass | Disgustingtwitches | Oneshot | Smut | König x Reader

#yall should have known if i've shut the fuck up for too long I'm up to no good #will update as I go so if anyone wants to add anything hmu #directory

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sentientcave · 4 months

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For Pride Month, I've decided to put a focus on my queer stories, so I'm going to try and post or update the following works:

And They Were Roommates (Fem Soap x fem reader)

Rugby (Ghoap x transman reader)

Take Me To Church (Tradesmen Poly 141 x transmasc nb reader)

Impound (PriceGhost tow truck AU)

Pompeii//Good Grief (Ghoap)

And mayyyybe American Fireworks if I feel inspired (GravesSoap)

#This is mostly just so I can keep myself on track about it #I write a lot of het stuff for some reason but I feel like I should give some love to these projects #I might not get them all posted or updated but I'm going to at least work on each of them this month #Pride Month #Cave Writing #It's been a really long time since I updated Roommates and I have the next chapter half-written already #So that's probably gonna be first up #If you see me writing other stuff crack me over the head with a rolled up newspaper

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gazspookiebear · 4 months

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Hey there! How have you been doing! Just thought I'd check up on you! Hope you've been doing well! I don't really have much to say, except that you're epic and cool! Since I was sharing some of the ideas I've had today, I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to do the same? :> You don't have to, but I'm just curious! Also, out of curiosity, have you ever received requests on this blog? :o Not that you have to write them, of course! Either way, I hope you have a nice day! :>

I'm doing well, I just got home and ate some cucumber slices! (and chugged like 2 full bottles of water lmao)

I have a ton of writing ideas rn. Like- I think there are 100+ vague ideas written in my notes app, and at least 30 active wips. I keep switching back and forth between them, chipping away at each one slowly but surely 🫡 (gonna end up finishing all of them at once or smt, idk)

Some of the ones that I've been working on the most are:

Bartender reader x Gaz after a bad breakup (it's gonna end up being like 5 parts if I ever decide to post it, shit goes crazy in that one)

Firefighter Valeria (I finally got it started instead of letting it rot in my head 🙌 I don't even know how many parts that would end up being)

Transmasc cbf Gaz x transmasc reader (really don't know where I'm going with this one)

I also have a handful of platonic and romantic Ghost x reader ficlets floating around, might finish some of those up at some point.

And I know I mentioned a hybrid poly 141 x reader fic a while ago- that one is technically finished, but I'm not happy with it yet so I might go back and revise it

And nah, I've never received requests on this blog. Probably because I haven't posted a ton of my writing + I don't even have a pinned post so my blog is like. Impossible to navigate 💀✋️

I used to take requests on my other blog tho! I stopped after my hyperfixation on cod took over (plus I got like a shit ton of requests in one night and got intimated by it, never looked at them again)

I haven't even deleted the old requests from my inbox even tho some of them are from as far back as September. I have a couple of drafts for some of those, so I'm just holding on to them in case I randomly get motivated to write for those requests again. Probably won't happen, but who knows?

I've definitely written a lot more since I stopped taking requests tbh. Well, on this blog at least. I haven't posted any writing of my own on my main blog since January 😶

Anyways, thanks for talking to me!!! I love chatting with you lovie 💕

#I don't remember if I mentioned this #But Alejandro and Rudy are in the Firefighter au too #I think I did mention that actually #That they'd be cops #But I think I might do smt other than cops for them #Maybe paramedics? Idk #I also have a disabled reader x poly 141 Beach day fic but I haven't really started on it yet #I really want to tho #Teehee!!#answered asks

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pfhwrittes · 26 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/pfhwrittes/758532111086043136

"yeah? you makin' my sergeant feel good, recruit?"

YOU'RE GONNA SEND ME TO AN EARLY GRAVE P /pos

-🤡

p.s. I'm obsessed with the idea of Price being in control and sharing reader with his team 🤯

(also now that I'm Mr Blobanon my brain keeps trying to sing it like this song https://youtu.be/qFqov8a9iL4?si=zTOMaootLIdS7uH0 🎶Mista Blobalina Mista Blob-Blobalina🎶)

completely obsessed with trying to figure out how to sing mr blobanon like the song too! ooooh such a good ear worm. thanks friend!

i am VERY proud that this post made you go "!!!!!!". tbh it shocked me that i would ever write forcemasc stuff especially when i said previously "eh, not really my thing" on this ask here.

i wonder if i can get the werms (like brain worms, just a smidge more horny) to wriggle over a poly 141 x transmasc recruit/forcemasc situation 🤔 i mean i did reference soap teaching the transmasc recruit how to use his mouth....

#pfh answers #mr blobanon 🤡#things to ponder on!#if i do i think it'll go a dubcon direction so idk how many people would be into that

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buttdumplin · 1 month

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One week post hysterectomy and you're ready to pull out your hair and theirs. Ale and Rudy can help.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc latine!reader, established relationship, mexican slang, spanish-speaking reader word count: 1620

You don’t often have to remind yourself how much you love your partners, how you cherish them, because it comes so naturally. But with the hovering and the near constant check-ins and the way they won’t let you even walk on your own, you have to recite a mantra about it so you don’t pull out your own hair.

“Yall realize that 6-8 weeks of recovery does not mean 6-8 weeks of being bed bound, right?”

John is almost too quick to answer, “Hasn’t even been a full week yet. You need to take it slow.”

“None of you ever take it this slow when you’re injured.”

“None of us have to deal with that major of a surgery usually.”

There’s plenty of pillows around you, you can chuck one at his head without it affecting your posture. You spend a second looking for the right one to throw, but the pillows John bought you are slightly bigger than what you can currently lift. Motherfucker has the gall to grin at you, proud of himself.

Needing to at least exit the room, you wiggle around in the nest of pillows as much as you can without hurting yourself. A too hard lunge makes you gasp and Simon appears at your side, reaching in with strong arms to pull you free from the tender trap. You sit him down once you’re on your feet, motioning for him to stay there. You can make the walk to the bathroom. You should make the walk to the bathroom. You need to make the walk to the bathroom.

“Remember not to strain yourself,” he calls from the bed, edge in his voice making it clear that he’s only barely able to stay where you left him.

Any other time, any other one of them, you’d be turning and mocking them with an “okay mom.” In fact, you still want to with all the careful tiptoeing, but when you turn and find those big brown eyes full of soft concern, the anger dissipates. Simon is in uncharted waters, feeling helpless and clinging to what he can do for you. His hands clutch the bedding under him, knuckles turned white.

You answer him softly, “I will Moncho, thank you.”

As silent as he is, you know he’s standing outside the door the moment you close it, waiting for your call should you need him. It’s usually not a problem, but having to swear to no locked doors for the foreseeable future makes you move carefully in the bathroom. The last thing you need right now is to grunt a little too loudly and scare Simon.

“You know you don’t all have to stay housebound, right?” you try to keep your tone friendly as you open the door. “Yall can take turns stepping out for groceries or snacks.”

“Everything delivers now, love,” Kyle sounds a little too smiley for your liking right now.

“I just don’t want yall to get bored, cooped up.”

Johnny’s laughter drifts in from the kitchen, “Please, we’d stay home every day if we could. Delighted we can now.”

There has to be fucking something. They’re sweet, they’re lovely. The surgery and recovery would be impossible without them. But there has the be some fucking way to not have all eyes on you every minute of every day. You ease back into the plush nest made for you, trying to drum something up. Thankfully, the sound of the doorbell saves you from spiraling deeper into your frustration.

“Damn, yall really did order everything for delivery.”

Johnny sprints for the door, excitement in his eyes, “This might be one of the things we ordered for you specifically.”

Swear to god, if they ordered more of those impossible compression socks, they’re never gonna hear the end of it. At least it’s been a good day. You’ve got clean sheets and bedding, you showered with little to no pain (Simon insisted on joining you to help), and the incision sites are healing well. The bladder pain you could do without, though.

“Special delivery,” a new voice sings. Two?

“Ale! Fito!” you surge forward to stand, but too many men shouting in protest sits you back down. “What are yall doing here?”

They make their way through the pillows to greet you properly, facial hair rasping against your cheek. Thank fuck for that shower earlier. Can’t be too mad about this being orchestrated now.

Ale smiles bright, plopping down next to you, “Un pajarito medio nalgón-”

“Cuatro,” Rudy interrupts, taking a seat much more gently, “Cuatro pajaritos bastante nalgones.”

“Simón, Simón. Cuatro nos pidieron un favor.”

“We did say ‘special delivery’.”

They each place a white box in front of you. No labels or tape, just folded closed gently. The folded pieces bloom open in their hands, revealing a giant ziploc bag full of lots of little somethings in each. You can make out little star and flower shapes, all coated in a clumping white powder.

“Are these my tía’s cookies?”

Ale sucks his teeth, wrapping an arm around you, “Clarín cornetas, mi niño.”

“Which of you did she flirt with?”

“Both,” Rudy chuckles, “We got that bordertown charm.”

It’s then that you remember your tía’s bordertown and their bordertown are on opposite sides of Texas. Not only did they have to deal with her shameless flirting for who knows how long, sweet fools must have gone so far out of their way to get these. And the sheer care they must have put into the transportation. These cookies are frail and yet so few of them are broken. They even accounted for the lard used in them, little ice packs peek out from underneath the large ziploc bags. Tears blur your vision, their voices going out of focus as they give you updates on your family.

“There is one condition though,” Rudy hands you a tissue. “One bag is for you, and the other is for them to share.”

Johnny comes running in from the kitchen again, “Wait, just one for all four of us?”

“That’s what Tití said.”

“Fuck, I really thought she liked us,” Johnny stands completely still for a minute, clearly reviewing the interactions they’ve had with your tía in his mind, cookies forgotten.

Kyle takes their bag, diving into it immediately and coating his chin in the powdered sugar falling from the cookie. It doesn’t take long for the other 3 to converge around the bag after that. They’ve only had these cookies once before, at your youngest cousin’s quince, which was full of too many “so exactly how are you related?” questions. Your tía says she saves them for special occasions, but you know that the labor that goes into making them is too much for the cookies to be in regular rotation. Either way, they’re a true gift. Your cousins must have helped her this time, the start and flower shapes are just off enough to not fit into your tía’s perfectionism. It won’t take a whole lot of convincing to get Simon to use his fancy calligraphy to write them a thank-you note.

“We were also promised grilled goods upon arrival?” Ale speaks loudly over the cookie commotion.

John perks up at that, faint surprise on his face.

Kyle makes an excited noise around a mouthful of cookie, speaking from the corner of his mouth, “Right, and we’ve got everything set for the chef.” He wrangles John towards the backyard.

Simon looks worried as Johnny approaches him, clearly meaning to take him to the backyard as well. He’s been firmly by your side since they brought you home from the hospital. He looks over at you, tracing your figure slowly, double-checking every inch of you. Taking a deep breath, he stiffens.

“We’ll look after your boy,” Rudy says softly.

“Aquí te espero, amor.”

He nods, your words enough to ease him through the door.

With all the prep before the surgery, a couple of really intense weeks where you all worked to prime the house for recovery, this is the first chance you’ve gotten to exist without them being in the same room. And it’s so fucking nice. You couldn’t ask for better partners, but it’s almost relieving to not have to worry about accidentally setting one of them off and launching them into motherhenning. Rudy and Ale have clearly been given the task of looking after you, but even just having new faces to talk to is refreshing.

“Which one of them set this up?” you ask them.

“It was less a request and more a suggestion from us,” Rudy says.

“Bien los conocemos,” Ale adds. “Te quejas, pero bien chiple que te tienen.”

You grin, not even trying to deny it.

It’s muted, but the sounds of the boys chatting drifts into the room. Some back and forth about marinating and time, some laughing about sneaking around. You can’t quite see them from your window, but it’s reassuring to know that this time is helping them relax as well.

Ale and Rudy tell you more about their trip to visit your tía, passing along the greetings and well wishes your family sent you. It’s an easy rhythm: one talks, the other corrects, and you get to giggle as you listen. Then you swap: you talk, Ale listens, Rudy shushes him. It’s soothing in a way that reminds you so much of home, the ruckus everywhere and laughter echoing. When the tension in your shoulders has finally slipped away, Ale turns to you, curious and serious.

“So about this recovery period,” he says.

“And a grueling schedule before the surgery?” mischief lights Rudy’s eyes.

You groan, their cackling drowning out the sound of you swatting at their chests.

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buttdumplin · 2 months

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The white boys don't know how to deal with the sun.

cw: poly 141 x latine transmasc!reader, established relationship, mexican slang, suggestive, mention of reader's "titties" but not op specific word count: 1593

You did warn them. And they did seem to listen. But maybe because of their jobs they’ve come to underestimate the little things every now and then.

It’s their first time visiting your hometown and you very clearly warn them as yall step out to lounge in the patio, “Aguas con el sol.”

Kyle smiles, already knowing what’s to unfold, as the others huff a chorus of it’s not that hot and a little sun can’t hurt and I’ll be alright. The heat has the white boys in less clothes than you’ve ever seen them leave the house in. The shorts are short, just enough to loosely cover the important parts. Shirts are so stained with sweat that they’ve just been tossed off, sweat left to glisten untouched, all their freckles on proud display. It’s fucking delicious, you can’t argue that. Even Kyle can’t help but drool a little, helping you wipe your own mouth with a chuckle.

“Boys, you need sunscreen,” you tell them before they get too far. They look back, the three of them pointing at themselves in surprise. Reluctantly, they each thoroughly cover their legs.

Kyle speaks up, helping you lure them back, “Will you put it on for us?”

At your nod, Johnny is jumping to your side, his smile so wide his tail would wag if he had one. You try to be gentle, wanting to make this cute, but he’s so wiggly that you end up roughly slathering him up.

“Done?”

“Are you in that much of a hurry to lay in the kiddie pool?” You already know the answer. In fact, he’s out of your hands before you can even rub the sunscreen into his skin, wide swaths of lotion bright against his skin.

Simon steps into your space before you can try to catch Johnny, looking down at you with a sweet smile, “Me next?”

You wave Kyle over to help you cover this gentle giant, making sure to cover the tattoos on his arms well. Simon melts into your arms, all but purring as he closes his eyes to focus on the feel of your hands roaming his body. Kyle’s hands come around to Simon’s front, fingers kneading his hefty tits, lingering to pinch and rub at his nipples. You kiss the back of Kyle’s hand and the big man lets out a soft grunt. Pulling the front of Simon’s body to yours, you reach down his back, hand sliding slightly into his shorts to grab at his ass. You can feel his heartbeat kick up against you. Gently, both you and Kyle pull away a little, back to taking your job seriously.

“You’ll have to reapply a little sooner than the rest.”

Eyes hazy, you know Simon is a little too far gone to fully hear you. He just nods and finds his way to one of the lounging chairs. You and Kyle share a look, knowing you’ll have to keep an eye on him.

When John steps up to you and Kyle, he already has white streaks of sunscreen on his body, “Thought you two could help me rub it in properly.”

The two of you easily slot into place. You take his back, using the slick of the lotion to help you give his wide shoulders a massage, staying there until it’s all worked into his skin. Kyle goes directly for his tits too, but a raised eyebrow from John keeps him from any teasing. Instead, Kyle uses the chance to grab at his arms, squeezing along the way, making John lift his arms and pose. You grab at his belly as you cover it in sunscreen, hands greedy for the feel of his body, your smiling mouth pressed against his back. When you try to follow the trail of hair, he stops your hand.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

You and Kyle both let out a quick disappointed sigh as he saunters away to join the other two. What could have been. You find some solace in each other, helping one another with hard to reach spots and traveling hands. He helps you with your legs, smooth circles inching higher and higher up your inner thigh, loving the way his fingers dig into the soft fat. The grin on his face sharp as your breaths quicken. You shove your hands into his shorts, following the waistline of them from one hip, around his back, and to the other. He arches into your hand, trying to move his body towards it so you’ll touch him, cock straining against the fabric.

Kyle pauses for a moment, hands holding the hem of the crop top you’re wearing, “It’s just us and it’s a closed space. Do you want to?”

“I don’t think I want my titties out directly in the sun. But thank you for asking.”

“Alright, sweet boy,” he kisses your forehead, “pero dime si cambias de opinión. I can help you with your sunscreen again.”

Giggling and swatting at each other, you join the other boys, ready to spend your evening doing nothing for once.

The next morning is quiet. You meet Kyle in the kitchen, helping set up the table for the chilaquiles he went out early for. But the rest of the house is unusually silent. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, you call out for them. Slowly, they shuffle down the stairs in tiny shorts, bodies stiff and limbs barely bending.

“Did you guys slee-” there’s no point in finishing once you see them.

Simon’s pink all over. It’s not too deep of a hue, but it is absolutely all over, a stark contrast against the freckles and moles covering his body. He winces as he bends his arm to wave, the crease of his elbow tight. He doesn’t say a word as he sits at the table, worried about the sounds he’ll make if he opens his mouth. The least he can do is wait until the food is served, then maybe everyone else will be too busy to notice the sad whimpers coming from him. You and Kyle exchange worried glances, trying to remember how often Simon reapplied his sunscreen. He must have brushed aside the heat gathering on his tattoos.

“Trajimos bastante sábila, yeah?” you ask Kyle, and you know he’s worried even as he nods.

John doesn’t look so bad when he comes down. Everything seems to be fine with him, skin glowing with a golden touch that wasn’t there before. Honestly, it makes him look that much more delectable. He moves without hurting, taking the plates from your hands to help finish setting up the table. Ultimately, it’s his silence that gives him away, calling your attention from his body back up to his face. His nose is peeling, the freckles around his eyes sharply outlined in red, the apples of his cheeks rosier than you’ve ever seen them.

“Are you that happy to see us, cariño?” Kyle immediately teases him. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered.”

John’s face goes darker as he truly blushes and you both blow him kisses. Then Johnny comes down and it knocks the wind from the room.

This has to be one of the worst consequences of his impatience. In his rush to settle and have some fun, he didn’t rub the sunscreen into his skin. At all. He has patches of golden skin, matching where you remember the white of the lotion adorning his body, and in between them, large streaks of angry red. You can clearly see the outline of your fingers where you started to apply the lotion before he ran off. The curve of his shoulders is glossy from how tight the skin is from the burn, the freckles adorning his skin darkened by the almost purple tone. The center of his chest, the middle of his back, and almost his entire stomach are practically radiating heat. He doesn’t speak, standing in front of you and Kyle in absolute misery.

“I kinda wanna smack it,” you whisper to Kyle.

He chuckles, matching your volume, “Think we can leave handprints on it?”

Johnny’s eyes widen and he drops into the chair furthest from you, clearly hearing you both. He keeps readjusting, unable to find a comfortable position in which the vinyl cover of the seat won’t pull at his skin. The room is silent save for the crinkling coming from the chilaquiles, the brown paper package adjusting to the heat of the food.

“What is the first rule of taking care of tortilla boys?” you ask them, words coated in disappointment.

“Don’t die.”

“Come home.”

“Drink water.”

Kyle is already bubbling with a laugh, “Those are good rules, but you all know better.”

They look down, mumbling under their breaths, pushing at the tableware in front of them.

“Louder,” you sound a little too much like a parent with that word.

“Don’t let the tortillas burn,” they say at once.

“And what did you do?”

“Let the tortillas burn.”

With that, you dish out the food and pull Kyle further into the kitchen with you, “Do you think they know why we call them that?”

He throws his head back and laughs, loud and from deep in his belly, and it sets off your own laughter. A minute full of cackling passes, both of you clenching at your bellies and backs, mirth so forceful you feel it in your bodies. You each wipe away tears and find the three white boys staring at you, confused.

“They’re about halfway there.”

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine!reader #poly 141 x latine reader #poly 141 x transmasc!reader #poly 141 x transmasc reader #cod x reader #cod x latine!reader #cod x latine reader #cod x transmasc!reader #cod x transmasc reader #honestly i just wanted to make fun of these white boys #and this hit the fucking spot #we need to have reader of color and kyle team up against them more often #trust that i'm working on it #sweet beautiful kyle #he deserves the world #this is a psa: keep an eye on your tortilla friends this summer #the self indulgent is hitting good

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buttdumplin · 2 months

Text

The boys ask you about your feelings on packers.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc!reader, established relationship, complex gender feelings, comfort word count: 1036

A/N: An immense thank you to @mikichko for having my back and encouraging me with this. Some shit got worked out and it couldn't have happened without her love and support <3

“It’s the potential for disappointment that scares me.”

You lay spread out on the couch in the living room and four sets of eyes turn to you. Simon and Kyle, already sitting nearby, inch closer and you welcome it. They’ve got your head propped up by the softness of Kyle’s thigh, your feet and lower legs resting on Simon’s lap, by the time Johnny and Price come in from the kitchen, lunch prep abandoned. Avoiding their unspoken pleas for eye contact, you turn your head and half bury your face in the warmth of Kyle’s belly.

“What are we talking about here?” Johnny’s worry evident.

“Packers,” Kyle explains softly, tracing your features with his fingers.

A little out of it, Johnny turns to Price for further explanation who simply grabs at his own crotch instead of speaking. Johnny nods, quickly back in the loop. He takes a seat on the couch arm, pressing close against Kyle. John settles on the floor, kneeling at your side. You all want to say something, move and offer your seat to him, to spare his knees, but the huff he gives warns that this is not the time.

“And what would the disappointment be?” he gets straight to it.

“I wouldn’t feel it.”

“You’d feel the heft of it, the pressure of your clothes,” Kyle offers.

Johnny follows up quickly, “Change the way you walk and sit too, feel the motions.”

“But I wouldn’t feel it. On me, sure. Against my body, yeah. It would change how I maneuver, but I wouldn’t be able to feel through it. I’m scared it will be a painful reminder of what isn’t.”

John gently cuts through, “Do you want what isn’t?”

You don’t have to deliberate over your response, “No, I’m happy with my growth.”

“So are we,” Kyle winks down at you, Johnny nodding along with a wicked grin.

You chuckle, easing open from the full-body curl you hid in, Simon’s hand squeezing your calf with encouragement. As much as concern might be pinching their faces, all the boys’ bodies are soft in that moment. They all lean towards you, engulfing you with their support, attentive gazes watching every move and response. It’s startling to think they can see so much of you, see through you, but it just envelops you in a nest of safety.

“Then it’s sensation,” John tries again. He eases back a bit when you nod, can’t help but feel a little successful as you open up.

Johnny’s eyebrows scrunch, “But you love the strap.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“It just is.”

“But you can’t feel that either.”

“I know that.”

The back and forth isn’t very long, but your rising frustration is evident. Just as you’re about to get up to take a break from the conversation, Simon speaks, big, brown eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability of his own.

“Is it because the packer would be specifically for you and not something to be directly used for someone else or their pleasure? Because it would be for you and how you feel and you’re worried how that might detract from any perception of the ‘usefulness’ of it, and that makes you feel selfish?”

Your tears answer him, your throat too choking full of emotion to do anything other than let them fall silently. Your fingers scramble across your body to take his hand, and he meets you with an almost terrifying force, his grip locking you into place as he bends closer to you.

His eyes remain fixed to yours as he speaks, voice rumbling from his tears, “You deserve to have your needs met. All of them. They do not have to be convenient or in any way beneficial to others. They are your needs, and that makes them important. Doesn’t matter what they are, we will meet them.”

You pull him down against you as your breath finally breaks into a sob, drowning yourself in the warm weight of his body. You can hear him sniffle by your ear, his tears wet your temple. Wrapping your arms around him, comforting him with every little touch, you repeat thank you’s into his skin.

Kyle stirs and you look up to see the other three boys. John’s face is serious as his speaks, wide shoulders set straight, eyes sharp. Kyle and Johnny take in every word, their posture rigid and familiar as they listen to their instructions. You can’t quite hear what they say over the roaring in your ears, but when John looks down at you with a smile, you know to trust their actions.

After a couple of minutes of what must be questions and suggestions floating between the three, your breathing eases, as does Simon’s. He slowly peels himself from you, still staying within your reach, and you sit to properly clean yourself up with the tissues Kyle hands you.

John turns to you, his tone firm, “You want to try.” You nod again and he smiles, shoulders dropping into a more relaxed pose, his voice softer this time, “Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try.”

“Good. That’s all we need to know. Johnny will look into the packers and Kyle will find the appropriate wear for them. I know you’ve been wanting a jock strap for a while now,” there’s a hungry spark in his eyes and your face burns at his words. Trust him to remember that detail. Still, the fact that they’re willing to take on that work, to alleviate the stress and frustration and potential overwhelm of looking through options, makes your heart glow.

“They’ll bring you what they find so you can take your pick, at least this first time.”

You turn towards them and they meet you with smiles, eyebrow waggling in an excessive show of giddiness, but you can see a sincere eagerness to help clear on their faces.

“Simon stays here, you two cozy up while I finish dinner. After we eat, we’ll come back here so the boys can show us their findings on the big screen.”

You startle a bit, “Oh, this is happening tonight?”

John shrugs, smile bright and wide, “Think of it as dessert.”

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buttdumplin · 2 months

Text

There is one detail you haven't discussed yet in preparation for your hysterectomy yet.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc!reader, established relationship, comfort word count: 767

“We need to talk,” you say, ambushing them as they dig into their dinner.

Immediately, they all look up. Johnny freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, face pale and you’re willing to bet he’s stopped breathing too. Simon goes completely still, eyes wide with fear, his body stiff and bracing for whatever is about to come. Kyle looks down at his hands, thumb tapping each of his fingers, and you know he’s trying to backtrack to look for any mistakes they could have made, or any sign of you being unhappy. John’s mouth is tight, his eyes hard and clearly ready with an argument against what he’s worried you’re about to say. It’s when they all look at your hand, searching for the ring on your finger, the one with the four bands that represent each of them, that you realize what you said.

“No! No, god no. No. I just want to talk to yall about the recovery after the surgery,” you explain and they all visibly relax, though only Johnny is able to go back to his food.

Kyle is the first to speak, his voice wavering a little, “With all the prep we’ve been doing, I’m sure we’ve got everything covered, love.” It’s true, most of the last two weeks had been spent getting the house in order and buying all the things you thought you might need. It was a whole lot of moving around and fixing and replacing things.

“We’ve been keeping up really well with the laundry,” Johnny adds. He’s right. There’s only half a basket of dirty laundry currently waiting. The boys were doing a great job at keeping that pile small. “No, I mean we haven’t talked about sex.”

Their plates are for the most part abandoned, their eyes on you as they try to sort through their confusion. Quick exchanged glances between them provide no answers.

“I’ll be out of commission, but that doesn’t mean yall have to hold back,” you tell them.

Brows burrow further and Simon is plain frowning.

“You guys have each other, and those relationships are yours,” you clarify. Their relationships between each other are their own, and you’ll always stand by that.

“And you’re still a part of that,” Simon’s voice is almost angry, but you know him well enough to know that it’s concern that you hear.

“Yes, but I don’t want you to feel like yall have to hold out because of me.”

You look down at your hands, twisting the ring around your finger and picking a little too hard at the skin of your knuckle. You’d been nervous to bring it up, only gathering the courage once they were all sat together. It was one thing for you to not be able to have sex because of the recovery, and it was another to make them also deal with it. You don’t want to be that kind of burden. You don’t want to somehow outlive your usefulness.

John reaches out to cover your hand with his, stilling your movements, “It’s not a sacrifice. We’re not giving anything up by not having sex while you recover.”

Johnny’s voice is soft as he speaks, having pieced things together, “Sex is not a need. Hell, we’ve gone even longer than that because of work.” He chuckles lightly, trying to ease the tension around you.

“I could use my mouth and hands at least, even if I don’t get anything out of it. I could help,” your voice is small even to your own ears.

“Sweet boy,” Kyle grabs you by the chin to turn to look at him, his big brown eyes warm with reassurance, “Anytime we’re together, it’s for the intimacy, for the affection and reciprocation. We can still have that in other ways as you heal.”

“And we’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves if absolutely need be,” Simon adds, the rest of the boys nodding along. Then much more quietly, you might have missed it if you were not so attuned to them, “You are much more to us than a means for sex, you know that.”

You can’t help the way you tear up, their words almost overwhelming. Kyle wipes away a few of the tears that do manage to escape. Chairs scrape loudly against the floor as the boys come around to crowd you, easing between each other to swallow you up in a group hug. The heat radiating from them cocoons you until they can feel your breathing even out.

“Yall know they’re going to shave me for the procedure though, right?”

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syoddeye · 7 months

Text

spoils

poly 141....sort of x reader 1.2k words lightly edited cw: kidnapping, non-consensual touching not my most creative title, apologies 2024/04/01 Update: This series is now Poly141! x transmasc!Reader.

"You'll be joining us tonight."

A decree, not an invitation. Not something to be refused or challenged, like the man who proclaimed it.

When you emerge from the forced bath, freshly washed and groomed by the hands of insistent strangers, your clothes are gone. The ones they left are ridiculous. Nothing you would ever wear. The material, the fastenings, the embellishments - impractical, flimsy, made to be torn away. You note the many warnings that comprise the ensemble.

Unwieldy, draping fabric. It skims the floor, requiring you to hitch it up to walk steady.

No footwear. Difficult to run on gravel and dirt on bare feet, should you make it that far.

Layers of noisy, dangling necklaces and bracelets. Might as well wear a bell with a collar.

Mute, placid faces escort you to the dining hall. A silence falls over the crowded table, stretching from one end of the grand space to the other. Your reception is mixed. Uncertainty, hatred, disinterest - unbridled want, being the most disturbing.

A man near the head of the table, hair cut into a mohawk, menaces you with a grin you feel scraping against your ribs. Across from him, another man, the one who found you, is more surreptitious with his interest, smirking, hiding teeth no doubt as sharp as his companion's.

A hand at your back nudges. You take measured steps toward him, helming the table with a pleased, smug smile. Your skin still sings from earlier, your first escape attempt, radiating with each inch you cross.

As you draw nearer, you falter. There is no chair left for you. Your eyes flick up, finally meeting his, and your stomach churns with realization. His eyes crease in amusement, and he leans back to pat a thigh.

The expectation is unmistakable, and it is nearly enough to send you screaming and shrieking from the room despite the futility.

A silent order, degrading and humiliating.

Swallowing hard, you lift your chin to continue your slow march, but the sudden movement of the mohawked man makes you jerk to the side, giving an even wider berth to the row of men. He turns in his seat to rake his eyes up your figure, licking his lip when he makes it to your face. The masked man beside him reaches over, grabs the lech by the neck, and corrects him, muttering some scolding.

You hesitate in front of your intended seat. The blue eyes of your captor are too blithesome for the circumstances. Though, he has reason to celebrate. You turn and reluctantly sit, barely putting weight on his limb, only for a broad hand to pull you further onto the meat of his thigh, settling you by snaking an arm to belt you in place.

Dozens of witnesses watch you wince and hiss as he adjusts you again, closer to the table. The hand of the arm bracing you slips into an open slit of the clothes you wear, one you hadn't known existed, and digs into your plush thigh. His hand is cold and makes you shiver.

You know he feels your trembling and twitching with your back to his chest as you register every one of his subtle movements. His excitement.

With a gesture, dinner and conversation resume. For most of the table, it was as if you weren't even there.

"Pour for us," John purrs into your ear, nosing your temple as he grabbed a short glass, indicating a decanter within reach.

It takes effort to calm your shaking hand. Leaning forward slightly, unable to avoid pushing your bottom against John's leg firmly, you lift the decanter and ignore the quiet groan behind you. The man who scruffed his associate watches like a hawk.

The meal proceeds. John's focus returns to some discussion with the man who found you – Kyle, you learn – regarding some operation or directive. When you shift, seeking comfort for your abused skin, John's grip pulses meanly.

"Eat," He whispers when you don't touch the food. There's only one plate in front of you, and you assumed it was for John. But at his command, you take a fork and eat. Each bite is a mechanical function, each swallow from fear instead of hunger.

Eventually, John plucks a piece of food off the shared plate and offers it directly to your lips. He tests you with a bit of bread first, pushing it firmly to your closed mouth when it refuses to open, then presses it to your tongue. It's awkward and uncomfortable, his fingers lingering, hooking over your bottom lip. You set the fork down after he feeds you three times. It sickens you, the relief you feel when you squeeze his arm when you hit your limit, full and finished, and he stops.

"So well behaved now," John muses aloud. "Just needed a little care and a meal." Quiet laughter rumbles in crude agreement among the men closest to him. "To think we almost ransomed you. Too pretty a thing to give back, I think."

You lift your face, chest tightening, and find three sets of eyes staring back. One at a time, they slip past you to John. His head ducks, mouth pressing to your cheek. "S'pose I ought to share the spoils…What about Kyle? He usually keeps his hands to himself."

Kyle's eyes narrow and his fingers curl tight around his glass.

"Could give MacTavish a turn. He leaves teeth marks though."

The man with the mohawk simpers, nose flaring. He sets a thick arm on the table and leans toward you, fork in hand.

A frightened whimper crawls up your throat, and without thinking, you press back into John, whose hand squeezes your thigh. You feel his chuckle before you hear it.

"No? Too scary? Simon's not much better…"

The last man, a beast in black, sits as still as a statue. However, his eyes, two black pits, bore into you, and the fabric of his mask shifts when you don't immediately look away.

John's hand slides out of your clothes to your waist, seemingly preparing you to transfer to Simon, and you scramble, grabbing at his arm, protest caught in your mouth.

"No?" John rumbles with feigned surprise, the return of his rapacious grip underscoring it. His hand glides down to the curve of your ass. "Want to stay with me, pet?"

You are not about to give him the satisfaction of an answer, even if it's obvious. You fix your eyes to the plate of scraps, afraid to look at the rest of the table that, like you, has gone silent.

John kisses the crown of your head. "Quiet thing. We'll go upstairs soon, and I'll make up for earlier." He taps the side of your thigh hard enough to agitate the sore flesh.

You bite back your dissent. No point.

The meal resumes with dessert, and you lick the cream from his finger, suffering his whispered praises. His subordinates openly stare. You can't say for certain if any of them are more palatable than another, but you can't bring yourself to regret your 'choice'.

After all, the devil you know is better than the ones you don't.

#poly 141 #kind of #if you squint #x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x you #x gn reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #price x reader #how was reader kidnapped? found? taken? rescued?#where are they??#how well does reader know price??#i simply want to write unsettling things

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syoddeye · 6 months

Text

pursuit

poly 141 x reader ~1k words, lightly edited cw: chase/pursuit, human furniture continuation of spoils 2024/04/01 Update: This series is now Poly141! x transmasc!Reader.

The fireplace crackles, logs groaning in its flames. A mute servant slides narrow slats of kindling into the gaps and collects the ash. Reading in the privacy of his study after an indulgence is a languid ritual, and John leans in the seat of the tufted armchair like a lion sated. The servant continues their work in silence, with only the sound of turning pages cutting the quiet.

His eyes lift to the door seconds before the first knock falls, ending his peace abruptly. The grim face of a subordinate pokes through.

“Sir? You need to see this.”

John stares a moment before lifting his feet from the ottoman. The curled, nude man beneath his boots grunts quietly when he nudges him aside.

He allows the subordinate to bring up the security feed at his desk, one brow arched in intrigue rather than concern. He smirks as he watches a figure force themselves through a hedge. He summons his hounds with the press of a button, and one by one, they slink into his office, tails wagging at their own pace.

“Our little bird has flown the nest. Find ‘em, but do not engage lest they stray too close to the garden’s edge,” Reaching for his jacket, he pulls it on a sleeve at a time. “‘S preferable we allow them to believe they’ve slipped our grasp for now.”

With John’s instructions given, the three men race from the room. The Captain turns to the windows. If their plunder sought a game, he would indulge them.

Over comms, John monitors the chase’s progress, tone detached as he saunters down the shallow steps leading from the manse to an exit of the maze. “Drive them towards the northwest corner.”

With precision timing and manipulation, John orchestrates the movements like a conductor guiding an orchestra, ensuring that every step their quarry takes is one he guides. The hollering and whooping voices of his men echo across the garden’s expanse, loud then soft—all to keep them uncertain and on edge. They’re far from being the first rabbit loose on the grounds, on the run from his dogs.

“Give them a little room,” He lopes along the outer path, then hooks into the exit, scratching at his beard. “Only tighten the lead on my command.”

He stops at a stone bench nestled within an alcove of tall brush and hedge and eases into it. A soft groan escapes him. Perhaps he overextended himself when welcoming their guest in his excitement. Clearly, next time, he’ll need to wear them out more. The fact they had the energy and strength to climb out of the window of their chambers was a miscalculation on his part. A distant shriek makes his lip curl.

He checks his watch. Any minute now.

The ache of your knee and the warm track of blood are negligible, given current circumstances. The fabric is heavy, clutched in your fists, hoisted, and hitting against your calves with every step. You believe the head start will be enough. You must. You abandoned the bracelets and necklaces at the base of the wall beneath your window and tied shredded pillowcases around your bare feet.

Your heart hammers in your chest, lungs burning. After a few minutes, you skid to a halt and gulp down air. From the window, you estimated the maze was an acre and saw that it butted up against an iron fence, but it feels longer as if new paths spring up around each corner. Just as you catch your breath to continue, you hear it. Hear them.

Shouts.

Muttering a curse, you scramble onward. Although you try, it is impossible to keep quiet; whimpers and squeaks slip out as your poor makeshift feet coverings gradually rip away. The soles of your feet find every twig and pebble, and your scraped knee slows you further. Then there are the bruises that little your backside and thighs, thighs unhelpfully chafing and raw from John’s ministrations.

Your movements become more frantic as you weave through the garden, the voices—at once murmurs in your ear and distant howls beyond the shrubs—play tricks with your mind. Shadows await within the deadends and dark corners you find, morphing into figures, only to dissipate when you reel away.

A loud crunch of wood shocks you off your feet, and you hurtle into a wet patch of earth, biting your lip through. A burst of copper blooms in your mouth, but you gather your limbs up in a ball, tucking into recess on one of the living walls. Just as you retreat, the monstrous form of one of John’s men—Simon, the beast in black—stalks out from the gap you emerged from seconds before, sniffing the air like a dog. Heart in your throat, you watch him turn with a chuff, and disappear down a different passage.

You wait until his steps disappear. Cries erupt from a far corner of the grounds, and you shakily stand, trying to count the tones. One…two…

“Boo.”

A shriek rips out of you, and you stumble out of your hiding spot to take off. A deep laugh echoes behind you, and terror licks at your heels. It’s the mohawked one. The man with the teeth. MacTavish.

You must find a way out. No part of you can afford a second or third surrender. Your sides are in stitches, fisting the unwieldy drapes covering your body. Desperate, flawed math maps your footfalls, your panic-stricken mind trying to calculate not only your rough location within the maze but the routes least likely to land you in the clutches of one of John’s men.

Rounding a corner, every part of you aching, you glide clumsily to a halt. The cool mud on your feet and legs meets the warmth of your blood.

Seated upon a bench as if it is a throne, is John.

He smiles. Teeth tombstones in the dark.

“Did you have a nice run?”

You wheel around to disappear into the garden and meet a wall of solid mass. You bounce back a step and look up. The third man grins and encloses your wrist in an ironclad fist.

What about Kyle? He usually keeps his hands to himself.

Kyle's companions loom over his shoulders. He gently turns you to face John, who’s still seated.

Steps to your left and right crunch. Surrounded on three sides.

“Let’s see if they can’t work that insolence out of your system, eh?”

#poly 141 #kind of #x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x you #x gn reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #price x reader #cannot stress enough that this is lightly edited #i was possessed once more and blacked out lol

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