Poly! Tf141 Hybrids X Reader Au 1/?

Alpha price fucking his little omega through his heat? Maybe it’s a poly where reader is the entire team’s omega (if you’re okay with writing that, ik you just did a poly team x reader) and they help their baby boy through his heat together as one big strange dysfunctional pack

Two years late, but...

Poly!141 x M!Reader ↪ 1998 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male dominant alpha Price, cis male switch alpha Ghost, cis male switch alpha Soap, cis male switch alpha Gaz, dual-sex male submissive omega reader, a/b/o dynamic, pack hierarchies, voyeurism, breeding, gangbang/group sex, scenting/scent glands, knotting, natural lubrication, biting, oral sex, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unsafe sex, and established relationship.

While the op had been successful, it had run overtime, head on into a near week long blizzard that had snowed the team into the safe house and made neither extraction by air nor land possible. The few extra heat suppressants you’d brought in case of emergency had only done so much, especially in the face of your circumstances.

While the old building was equipped with an even older heating system, the rusted burner hadn’t been run nor the oil replaced in what you could only assume had been years. Soap had spent a handful of hours running safety checks while the taskforce kept (tactically) huddled for warmth, the Scot finally determining the old hunk of junk wouldn’t blow the place and everyone inside to smithereens the second it was turned on. 

Safe to run, but the oil was so degraded it burned twice as fast and the tank was only three quarters full, which meant rationing.

Then Soap had mentioned to Price that shit oil makes more exhaust, and while it was the middle of a blizzard in fuck-knows, Russia, they did have valuable (and very stolen) data on them that they’d obtained (very much stolen) not even a few days prior.

So thus, more rationing. Just enough heat to keep everyone from freezing to death, which wasn’t much.

You and the lads had taken two of the three sizable mattresses and pushed them together on the floor, gathering all the blankets and spare linens you could dig out of the basement and closets to make a massive nest to help insulate heat. 

The only time any of you got up out of the thing was to shut the heat on or off, piss or shit, or use the little electronic hotplate Ghost always brought with him; heating snow to wash with or make tea with, or cooking the pantry’s stash of canned beans (that’d expired a month prior) once you’d run out of MREs.

Being out of suppressants in a freezing, enclosed space, nesting near non-stop with the four very fertile alphas whos’ cocks you regularly took was already a pretty good concoction for triggering a flash heat. 

You forgot to take into account you skipped your last medically mandated heat, klepping an extra box of the little pills from the MTF in order to skip your placebos.

Your heat hit hard and fast, awakening you in the night with cold chills, an obscene amount of slick tacky between your bare thighs, your cock achingly hard and hole achingly empty.

Price, who’d been pressed up to your back in nothing but ratty sweats and wool thick socks, awoke first. The scent of your heat slick made his nose twitch, his throat thick with saliva as his cock grew so hard so quickly he might’ve been dizzy if he hadn’t been lying down. 

You keened low in your throat at the smell of his arousal blanketing you—wood smoke and something like wet grass—and shivered at his answering growl, his muscle-corded arms squeezing tight around you as he pressed his mouth to your throat, licking wetly over your scent gland. 

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs with a shuddering breath, his beard tickling your oversensitive skin and making you whimper, “Mmh, I’ve got you, lad.”

He sucks bruises around your gland, his free hand wasting no time in shoving his sweats far enough down his thighs to free his throbbing cock. His first few thrusts are sloppy and uncoordinated with the remains of sleep, his prick pushing between your slick wet thighs. 

“Please~!” You whine, the friction of his cock slipping through your folds maddening in your heat drunk state. You push your hips back as he thrusts forward again, the bulbous tip catching on your entrance before popping past the tight ring of muscle. You nearly scream as his fat cock bullies into your sopping cunt, his hand coming up to cover your mouth, muffling your desperate moans as he fucks into you.

“Slutty little omega,” he rumbles, his voice dripping with affection despite the words, “gonna wake the others, hm?”

He snarls against the back of your neck, teeth digging in to scruff you before he shoves the blankets down off your bodies. One hand over your mouth and the other gripping your thigh bruisingly tight, he rolls onto his back with you in his grasp, his cock carefully kept sheathed as he plants his feet and begins to pound up into you, his heavy balls slapping wetly against the base of your shaft and forcing your moans up a pitch.

Price unscruffs you, teeth returning to scrape along your pulsing gland. Your head lulls onto his shoulder, gaze turning to the side to see the glint of the dim oil lamp reflected in Soap’s sky blue eyes, locked onto where Price’s prick thrusts in and out with obscene squelches. 

His blanket shifts with the movement of his arm, and you belatedly realize he’s stroking himself off to the sight of you being bred by your shared pack Alpha, a mere yard away. You whine longingly, a gush of slick squirting from your cunt as you try to beckon the other Alpha over to you, using your wanton scent to draw his instincts. 

The second he tries to move, scrambling onto his hands and knees, the large shadow of Ghost is on him, pinning him down by the scruff of his neck and rumbling so deep in his chest it barely registers in your ears. 

“Get first dibs,” he rumbles, pulling up his mask just enough to nip threateningly at Soap’s ear, a warning, before he releases the Scot, shuffling across the mattress to settle between yours and Price’s legs.

“Oh, c’mon, Lt!” the Sergeant bemoans weakly.

Soap sulks, but knows the order of operations is in place for a reason—remembers how the first time you’d gone into heat, Ghost had nearly torn Soap to shreds when the Scot tried to claim you first, the Lieutenants already trauma-sensitive instincts forced into overdrive in the face of your hormones.

Soap knew Ghost only bent the knee to Price when he was like this, and so he grumbles unhappily, and grabs a pillow to hump as he settles in to watch and wait for his turn.

The movement of Price’s hips slows as Ghost nuzzles against yours and the Captain’s thighs, sucking at the scent glands there as if he could drink down both of your scents. His over-long tongue licks around the wet seam where Price’s cock splits you wide, making the both of your hips twitch, before he trails sucking wet kisses up the shaft of your small cock, rumbling happily, the sharp scent of charcoal mingling with Price’s own musk as he takes the throbbing prick into his mouth and down to the root with ease. 

You cry out, back arching as he suckles, drinking down the copious amounts of precum your tip weeps. Price begins fucking up into you again in slow, heavy thrusts that have the head of his cock poking against your womb every single time. The movement in turn makes Ghost’s head bob up and down your length, wet slurping and gagging resounding through the room as he feasts, Price’s balls tapping the man’s chin with each thrust.

Soap shuffles over to you slowly, keeping his posture low to the mattress so as to not pose a threat to either of the primary Alphas. Price gives a warning rumble, but settles when Soap merely leans down to lick at the hand covering your mouth, asking wordlessly for permission to kiss you. Price’s hand moves instead to your throat, and Soap wastes no time sloppily licking into your mouth and huffing happily with the uncoordination of your own lips, too fucked out and overwhelmed to kiss back properly. 

A growl like a dying engine has you jolting, the vibrations around your prick having you crying out against Soap’s lips. You turn your gaze down to Ghost to see Gaz sidling up behind the Lieutenant, a gentle hand rubbing up and down the larger man’s bicep. Gaz only lets out a placating purr in response, a sound more befitting of an Omega.

“Easy, sir,” Gaz murmurs softly, soothing.

Ghost has pulled off of your cock, lapping absentmindedly at the pulsing flesh as he watches Gaz like a hawk, a wild dog guarding its meal. Over the heady, aroused musk of the three alphas, you can make out the calming honey and chamomile of Gaz’s unnaturally sweet scent as he intentionally pushes it outward, leaning down below Ghost’s head to mouth at Price’s sac, tongue lathering over the course hairs before sucking one then the other into his mouth. Both Ghost and Price rumble their satisfaction, their hindbrains basking in the supplication of one of their pack’s secondary Alphas.

While Price’s thrusts are significantly slower to accommodate the two men forcing your legs apart around their shared bulk, the sensation is no less satisfying, your cunt milking Price’s cock, stimulating his knot in hopes of making it swell.

Price grips your hair with one hand, turning you back toward Soap who’s now knelt beside your head, his cock purplish red and dripping with neglect.

“Go on, Sunshine,” Price rumbles, “been good n’ patient. Be gentle, now.”

Soap rubs his tip across your lips, smearing the pre like gloss before you part your kiss swollen lips, moaning wantonly around the length as he shallowly fucks your mouth.

You can feel Price’s knot slowly swelling, catching on your sore and abused rim with each thrust. Soap has gone from quick, shallow thrusts to slow and deep, the ocean scent of him filling your nostrils each time his pubes tickle your nose. You can feel how stilted his movements are, careful to keep from losing control and simply mounting the hot wet hole of your mouth in fear of setting off the other Alphas. 

Ghost’s hand has taken to stroking you, him and Gaz mouthing at either of Price’s balls, taking turns lapping where his knot swells or tongue fucking each other’s mouths with heady little growls and grunts permeating the wet sounds of their lips. 

You whine pathetically at the barrage of sensations, your cunt tightening up as you grow impossibly close to orgasm. Price bites down hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder, just below your gland as he slams his hips up, his knot finally popping into you with a wet squelch and a deafening growl muffled and buried into your flesh.

You cum hard around his knot, milking the thick bulb of it as rope after rope of his seed fills you. Your cum, more like squirt, is met with eager whines from Ghost who struggles to lap all of it up before it drips down from your tummy to the bedsheet, earning a soft, amused huff from Gaz as he presses gentling kisses to the Lieutenant’s throat and shoulder. 

Soap’s prick twitches in your mouth, your eyes wet with tears looking up at him as he fists his own knot, cumming with just the tip past your plush lips, not wanting you to choke. He bites his lip to muffle his groan, his spend contradictorily bitter and sweet as you swallow it down with a pleased purr.

Price’s knot has barely deflated, slipping out from under you before Ghost is already knelt between your thighs, hefting your bottom half into his lap, pressing his fat cock into you, the warm cum of Price’s load making the Lieutenant moan brokenly.

Soap sidles up behind Ghost, and you can tell from the movements of his arm and the sutter of Ghost’s hips that Soap’s playing with the larger Alpha’s ass, the way you know Ghost likes. Price lifts your head to make you gulp down water before Gaz is straddling your chest, pressing his own cock past your lips. 

You realize, fucked out and pleased, that you’re in for a long, strenuous night.

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (Part 1)

Let's get this out of the way, the restaurant fucking sucks. Don't even know how it's still open. The food is terrible. The owner is an incompetent drunk who's never there. You got referred to the job from a friend of a friend. You did an interview with the head chef/manager, John. He hired you because you were hot.

"The fuckin ass on that one, huh?"

Just like any man that works in a restaurant, they're all horny fucks who love to tease you. You'd run back to the kitchen and ask to tweak an order. Price would wink and say:

"Next time it's gonna cost ya."

When it gets slow (which was all the time), you'd sit in the back and chat about how they met and what they did with their lives. They all get paid under the table for various reasons. Johnny takes smoke breaks with you, sometimes Price joins. Gaz pours shots for everyone after "busy" nights (busy meaning there was an hour where there were two tables to serve instead of one). Ghost... well he's strictly work. Sometimes he engages in banter with the guys, but he only acknowledges you when needed.

Your first month flies by, you basically get paid to sit around and talk with the most charming men on the planet, and Simon.

"He'll warm up eventually. Just gotta loosen 'em up, just like any tight ass."

Soap smirked as he leaned against a counter while everyone was wrapping up for the night.

"Don't you have dishes to put away?"

Ghost snapped while wiping down his station. At least he was nice to look at.

You and Gaz would roll up the forks and knives talking about bullshit, knees touching. Soap and you would light each others smokes by touching one lit end to the unlit one, all while still holding the cigarettes in your mouths (he called it a cigarette kiss). Price would constantly make food for you:

"Gotta plump you up 'fore it starts getting cold, yeah?"

He'd look you up and down while sliding you a basket of fries. And Simon? Cold as ever. Even when he started driving you to and from work because your car broke down. He drove like a madman, but it was totally silent. You made the mistake of reaching for the radio once, he gave a admonitory grunt and you snatched your hand away.

As time went on, you got comfortable with everyone and they got comfortable with you. It started with suggestive jokes.

"Simon's just straightforward, doesn't beat around the bush."

Price said one day while prepping vegetables with Ghost.

"What are you talking about? He beats around the bush all the time Price, you know that."

Soap walked by with a shit eating grin while he was carrying a bucket of dishes to the back. Uproar from the guys. Ghost storms off following Johnny, knife in hand. You want to stop him, but Gaz places a hand on your shoulder.

"Best not to do that, just let 'em settle that amongst themselves."

Johnny comes back disheveled, wearing a different shirt. Simon is stone faced as usual as he goes back to prep. It only got worse after that.

You'd watch as the boys messed with each other more; pats on the back, that turns to squeezes on the shoulders, that turned to slaps on the ass.

"They're just handsy," you think to yourself.

Eye contact that lingers for a second too long.

"They're just close friends," you think to yourself.

Compliments that boarder on harassment.

"They're just joking around," you think to yourself.

Then you entered the walk-in freezer, only to make direct eye contact with Johnny as he has Kyle's dick down his throat.

"Oh, uh-huh..." you think to yourself.

You didn't look at their faces for a week, they acted as if nothing happened. Then, the flirting only got worse.

"Behind!"

Price would yell while grinding up against Simon's ass when passing behind him.

"Yes, Chef."

He'd respond while he continued cooking, unfazed. They seemingly shared clothes: the younger guys preferred to don John and Simon's apparel all the time. You stopped going into the walk-in for a while, you figured you'd give Gaz and Soap some privacy (although they didn't seem to mind an audience). Christ, was everyone fucking everyone here?

You were taking a smoke break with Price when he leaned back on the railing and adjusted himself, it wasn't really adjusting himself as it was more him gripping his thick dick and looking directly into your eyes. You nearly choked as he smiled.

Ghost threw you a hoodie when he dropped you off one night. It started raining before you got home and you were complaining about just getting your hair done. You tried to give it back but he refused to take it.

"Keep it. I don't care about that one anyways."

He shrugged. You'd wear the oversized hoodie to bed, the smell was comforting. Smoky, dusty, boozy, like Javanese vetiver. It smelled like a grown man. Delicious. Accidentally wore it to work one day when you were in a rush getting ready. That started a trend for the rest of them to get you to wear their clothes. It less of a trend and more of a competition honestly. They'd "accidentally" spill drinks or food on you.

"No worries, I've got an extra shirt in my car!"

They'd have a wide, cheeky smile plastered on their faces while giving you their shirt. Of course, they wouldn't take them back either; so you had a growing collection of huge shirts that you'd wear around your apartment. Eventually, you had to go back to the walk-in. Thankfully, there were no exhibitionists present. You were reaching to grab some ketchup when the door opened. You and Johnny stared at each other for a long moment.

"Need help getting that, bonnie?"

Before you could respond he was reaching over you, pressing his chest on your back. He handed you the bottle while his dick grew hard on your ass. He was breathing hard in your ear, waiting for your reaction. You pushed back on him and that's all he needed, he gripped your hips and grinded into you. Even through your jeans you could feel his dick twitch when you moaned. It was a hot minute of panting while he pulled you back onto him desperately, like he was trying to fuck you right through the denim. The door handle clicked. You both froze, staring at the entryway.

"Johnny?"

Gaz's head popped in. Your face got hot while he stared back and forth at the two of you. One thing led to another, and your pants are around your ankles while Johnny is face first in your wet folds. Kyle is standing behind you, fucking your thighs and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck.

"Pretty doll, how long have ye bin waiting fur this, huh?"

Soap looked up at you with so much adoration, like he was servicing a goddess.

"Gonna cum Johnn-"

Gaz whimpered and bit your shoulder to muffle his groans as he came right between your thighs and cunt. Soap cleaned up the mess greedily, savouring the taste of both your juices. He didn't stop eating you out until you finished. Gaz held you up while your knees buckled when you came undone. Gentlemen they are, pulled up your pants for you and wiped the smeared lipgloss from your face. You stumbled out of the freezer, walking past the kitchen. Price's eyes crinkled as he saw you head out onto the floor.

~

"You shouldn't do that in there. It's unsanitary. And a health code violation."

Simon looked straight ahead as he weaved between cars. You opened your mouth, but no words came to mind, so you just nodded. Your leg bounced nervously. He grabbed your thigh, stopping the movement. His hand stayed there until you were in front of your place. You stared at him, his brown eyes boring into you.

"G'night."

He pulled his hand away, placing both of them on the steering wheel. You walked into your apartment, dizzy with confusion. "What the fuck is going on?"

cw: f slur (i blame @rodolfoparras)

thinking about a homophobic misogynist man who just can’t get off like how he used to before he met you. no matter how times he fists his cock, is balls deep into some random women; none of it mattered. it was never enough, he was never satisfied. but when he thinks about his last “session” with you… he’s throbbing and rock hard within seconds (aww is that pre cum on the tip?) he tries to brush it off as nothing more than a little meeting between guys, he’s not a fag and he’ll never will be. his actions speak other wise but he’s way too narcissistic and delusional to see his contradiction.

he’s in too deep in his fantasy to hear himself whining and moaning like a bitch as he fucks into the tight hole of his hand. his eyes brimmed with tears as he recalled you holding his legs against his chest as your fat cock drilled into his sore hole, your pelvis slapping lewdly against his ass. he called you every insult in the book, but you didn’t care. in fact, his bitching made you pound into him harder.

he spat on his pointer and middle finger and slid a shaky hand down to his hole. it twitched and clenched around nothing, he felt so empty. he forces his two fingers inside him to the knuckle, if there was a heaven, he just saw it. as the fantasy continued, he only got more desperate. he bucked into his fist like a mutt in heat as his fingers thrust in and out of his tight heat. his pillows are drowning in drool at this point.

you call him your pretty princess, whose pussy was made to take your dick. your digits wrapped themselves around his throat, his adam’s apple bopping under your palm. taking in as much air as he could before you took it with the thunderous pace of your hips.

he never wished for a third arm more in his life. before long, he let out a pathetic, little, tiny sigh of “daddy” as he came all over his hand and belly. he lays on his soaked sheets absolutely exhausted. his first good nut in ages. he thinks about you again, and remembers he has a huge cucumber in his fridge he was about to blend into his work out smoothie.

his cock is leaking pre instantly.

sleeping with simon riley includes...

a bunch of coughing and groaning in the middle of the night (yeah... he needs to stop smoking)

random muttering and mumbling from him/you

nightmares. he will literally jump out of the bed which causes you to be startled sometimes (he offered to sleep on the couch due to his nightmares....)

his hands roaming around your body as if he wants to memorize every part of you (he does)

cuddles of course !!! it doesnt matter if hes the big or small spoon he just needs to be with you.

either of you falling off of the bed, at least once in a while

the blankets being left aside because simon says its gonna be 'too hot' (no, he just wants to be your personal heater lmao)

laying on top of each other. yeah, you might end up sleeping with your head resting against his chest.

HAIR STROKING. will stroke your hair until you fall asleep soundly

sigh... drooling. he drools a bit sorry to break it to you guys

a lot of admiring. he'll admire you as you sleep, its the only view that helps him doze off

FOREHEAD KISSES. either you or him. if he stirs awake he'll just give you a small forehead kiss before holding you closer to him (if thats even possible) and dozing off once more

nuzzling. he loves to nuzzle into the crook of your neck :(

tangled legs. his legs are gonna be intertwined with yours oooor one of his leg is going to be on top of yours.

kruegerspillow © 2024 — reblogs are greatly appreciated!

18+ MDNI 18+

Thinking about having a good ol dick measuring contest with your very much straight friend, having him claim “it’s not a big deal every guy does it “ while having his ears burn, and fingers shake as he whips out his dick for you, hearing him uttering a choked fuck as your dicks stand side by side, and you can’t help but mindlessly comment on how much smaller he is while you’re shamelessly gauging his dick, not even noticing how weak he gets at the knees with each word that escapes your lips, even more so when you daringly cup his small cock, even going as far as to teasingly flick his tip

“what do you plan on doing with that eh?” You say with a small laugh, sounding as if you couldn’t ever imagine him using his dick. “Bet the girls don’t even cum when you fuck them,”

Instead of feeling hurt he can’t help but be turned on by your words and for a brief moment he thinks he’s gone insane because what straight man gets turned on by another man scrutinizing his dick “don’t - ah don’t say that, man, you don’t know shit ”

Between the exchange of words your hand finds its way to his balls and gently fondles them “no I’m being serious, can’t imagine a girl finishing like this, are you even hard hm?” you say sounding oblivious as ever as if he’s not standing there with his eyes squeezed shut, weeping at the tip, cock throbbing and ready to burst from just a little caressing.

Before he can utter a response you slap your dick over his, causing the other man to jerk in place as a loud gasps escapes his lips. “Hah fuck!”

“Christ look at this, can’t even see it no more,” You say, through a breathy laugh, gaze locked on the space between your bodies.

Upon looking down he’s met with the sight of your cock completely engulfing his, can feel the warmth of your skin seeping into him, even feels you weighting him down and if he wasn’t about to pass about from that alone he sure will when you start stroking your dicks”Hey, hey - what ah - what are you doing?”

“Come on it’s not a big deal, all guys do it,” you drawl out as you set a steady pace with your hand “I’ll even make you cum I promise,besides I don’t think it’ll be much of a challenge”

Expanding on this.

warnings: perv!König, noncon groping, somno, titfucking

-

Best Friend!König who’s obsessed with your tits.

You’ve known each other since childhood, and while he shot up in height, you shot up in bra size. And König noticed. Mien Gott, did he notice.

He was around fifteen when he realized for the first time just how nice your breasts felt against his big body when he hugged you, so soft and warm. He started taking any excuse to give you long, drawn out hugs—though of course he told himself it was just because he loved you so much. You were the only person who didn't bully him, after all.

He rationalized how his gaze started to end up on your cleavage more often than your face, too. He was just so tall, that even if he tried to look into your eyes—and he did, Schatz, he really did! You have to believe him, he tried so hard—he could see straight down your top, anyway.

And, well, he was no saint—just a man. And your tits were so pretty.

Could you really blame him for looking? He just wanted to admire you…

He always insisted on driving you places once he got his license—he was a good friend, after all, and he liked being useful. That he got to throw his arm out across your soft chest every time the car in front of him stopped too suddenly was just a bonus.

As the years passed by, his obsession grew—especially after he found porn. Most nights, he fisted his long, fat cock to videos of women who looked like you having their breasts played with, abused, worshipped. He preferred the latter, but he couldn’t deny there was something thrilling about the idea of slapping your soft tits and watching them jiggle. He would be sure to kiss them better after, though.

Once, after a particularly rough mission, König showed up at your place beaten to hell, eyes scarily hollow. You immediately let him inside, pulled him down onto your couch, and held him as he cried. He laid his head on your chest, seeking the comfort only your breasts could give him, and you shushed him softly as you petted his hair. He wished desperately in that moment that he could pull your top down, latch onto one of your cute little nipples, and suckle to his heart’s content, but he settled for leaning more and more of his weight on you until you had to lay back on the couch, him on top of you with his face buried in between your tits as he feigned sleep.

He was far too heavy for you to move yourself, and clearly, you felt bad for him, because you let him stay like that the whole night rather than wake him up.

On your twentieth birthday, König made sure he would have two whole weeks of leave, so he could spend time with you and your perfect breasts. He didn’t have the best relationship with his family, and you didn't have a roommate at Uni, so you let him stay in your dorm. You weren’t going to make your best friend sleep on the floor, of course, so the two of you shared a bed. Nothing untoward happened until the fourth night, when you both got outrageously drunk. You curled up in the tiny bed together when you got back from the pub, and promptly knocked out.

When you woke up the next morning, though, it was to one of König’s massive paws slipped under the neck of your dress, cupping your left tit.

To say you freaked out was an understatement.

You jumped up like you arse was on fire, hollering at him, demanding to know what the fuck he thought he was doing. König, who had been dead asleep, actually fell out of the bed, looking up at you for once, his big, perpetually sad eyes wide with complete confusion and a little bit of fear. When he realized what you were accusing him of, he started stuttering apologies, mortified with himself. You thought it was because he had unintentionally groped you in his sleep, which was partially true. But the main reason he was so upset was because he hadn’t even gotten to enjoy it. He’d held your beautiful breasts for the very first time and he hadn’t even known! The thought made him tear up, and you quickly forgave him, telling him that you believed him—"Accidents happen."

Every time it happened after that, König let you believe it was still an accident.

The more time he spent in the military earning his fearsome reputation and seeing terrible horrors, the bolder he grew. Now, when he visited you in your flat and gave you those sad puppy eyes until you let him sleep in bed with you rather than on the couch, he did not merely cup your breast at night. He played with your nipples, rolling the sensitive little buds between his fingers, tugging and pinching and delighting in the sleepy sounds of pleasure you let out. You tended to wake up if he got his mouth on them though, so he restrained himself—at least until he was able to get you drunk. You slept like dead when you were wasted, and he had free reign over your amazing tits. He squeezed and sucked, kissed and licked, even fucked them, once. He’d been a little drunk too, that night, or he wouldn't have risked it—but seeing his massive cock nestled between your breasts was like a revelation. He found God in the warm embrace of your tits, and he made an offering in the form of his seed, spilling it all over your chest, neck, and lips.

It felt blasphemous to clean his come from your skin, like he was desecrating a sacred altar, but he knew you would hate him if you discovered what he’d done. And he couldn’t have that—he loved you, he always had and always would. You and your heavenly breasts.

Fuck it, we ball, I hope that disrespectful anon gets hemorrhoids and they can't get them removed until next year, AND that their insurance doesn't cover it. I'm here thinking about your Omega idea where omegas normally do the pursuing, but with a slight twist; the boys being the omegas. An alpha who is for sure down bad for the boys, but thinks "ah, theyre out of my league, I should be aiming lower, manage my expectations". Only 141 is just as down bad for them, and they're doing everything just short of screaming "PICK UP ON THE HINTS, COME INTO OUR HOUSE AND BEDS AND LIVES AND STAY FOREVER PLEASE"

Johnny is about to say fuck decorum and just show up in reader's house wearing nothing but a ribbon and a tag that says 'free to a good home' (your home is the good one, please keep him, there is no receipt so you can't return him).

Price has the brain cell normally in terms of trying to gently coax you into getting you to say you're into them, he has a 15 step plan that may or may not involve using his various contacts to get you spending more time in close proximity to them. Also he for some reason is always baking, he always comes over asking you for sugar? (He'll take any kind of 'sugar' you're willing to offer, he loves making a variety of cream pies)

Gaz is always gently inviting them to attend 'friend' things, things that could be a date but that he can excuse as 'well we're coworkers/friends/neighbors, we should get along :)'. It's just a coincidence that various other people seem to bail except for any of the other boys, now why don't you sit beside him so you guys can share popcorn at the movies (you both always seem to be reaching for it at the same time, if your fingers touched anymore you might as well be holding hands)

Simon is chasing off any omegas he thinks are a threat to them getting reader, that is THEIR alpha, paws OFF (rip to anyone reader was halfheartedly going on dates with, this man is gonna become those people's sleep paralysis demon)

Hope you enjoy!! :3 💕💕 i lovedddd writing this sm omg

See, the thing is, you’d always thought of yourself as a decent Alpha. Not overbearing, not egotistical, not a demanding freak- just capable and steady. But you weren’t extraordinary. Not the kind of Alpha Omegas like them would look at twice. And so, while you worked alongside the men of Task Force 141 you convinced yourself to be content with just admiring them from a distance.

You couldn’t help it. They were perfect, as far as you were concerned. Perfect, and fully out of your league.

Surely, Omegas like them would want someone better. Someone stronger. You’d told yourself that so many times it was practically your mantra, the only way you’d be able to stop yourself from pursuing them. They deserved someone more charismatic, more confident- an Alpha who could match their brilliance. Not someone like you, fumbling through conversations with them, struggling to keep your feelings in check.

But they’d already decided. They didn’t need a flashy Alpha or someone who tried too hard. What they wanted was you. The only problem? You didn’t seem to realize it, no matter how obvious they made it.

John took the lead, naturally. He knew you were cautious and perhaps a little insecure when it came to relationships (it was fucking visible in you, silly Alpha. He scoffs each time you draw back, frustrated), so he made it his mission to draw you in- slowly and subtly. His plan was meticulous: get you comfortable, build trust, and create opportunities for you to spend more time with them so you’d see that they only want you.

Maybe then you’d break out of that stupid shell you’ve put yourself in.

He’d started baking regularly, a habit you hadn’t even known he had. At least once a week, he’d show up at your place with a tin of cookies, a loaf of fresh bread, or a perfectly golden pie. “Thought I’d share,” he’d say casually, though the slight smirk tugging at his lips told a different story. He peers at you, letting his scent coil just a bit more. “I hope you don’t mind the amount of cream. I happen to like cream pies a lot.”

The way to an Alpha’s heart is through their stomach, and all that.

If he wasn’t offering you baked goods, he was asking for your help to make said baked goods. “Ran out of sugar again,” he’d sigh, handing you an empty container. “Mind sparing a bit?”

It was ridiculous, downright unbelievable how often he supposedly ran out of baking supplies. But his visits became a highlight of your week, and the lingering looks he gave you left your heart pounding long after he was gone.

The one time he’d handfed you, watching you lick the syrup from his fingers with half-lidded eyes, still lives in your mind rent-free.

Kyle took a softer, more personal approach. He wasn’t above using the pretense of friendship to spend time with you, often inviting you to casual dates- grabbing coffee, going to the movies, or just walking through town and shopping. Every invitation was framed innocently, but there was always a little extra effort behind it. He’d pick a movie he knew you’d like, suggest places he knew you’d find interesting, and ensure that others you unfortunately knew joined just enough to make it seem less like a date.

Somehow, though, those other people always mysteriously canceled. It was never anything dramatic- just a sudden cold, a scheduling conflict, or a “something came up, sorry.” Eventually, it would be just you and a very smug Kyle, sitting close enough that your knees brushed or reaching for popcorn at the same time. Once, right as the bowl emptied and you both reached for it, Kyle simply thought fuck it and held your hand.

On one occasion, you both shared a bowl of spaghetti and ended up with the scene from the Lady and the Tramp.

It was so painfully obvious to everyone.

Except you.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kyle muttered to Johnny one evening after you left, both of them sitting in the spot you were in, bathing in the leftover warmth and scent. “How can they not notice?”

Speaking of Johnny; he’s barely keeping himself together. Subtlety in missions are a must sometimes, but he doesn’t want to that with you anymore. He was just so, so, so frustrated with your obliviousness. What more does he need to do to show you that he- that they- want you?

He’s been dropping so many hints; half-jokes about Omegas waiting begging to be swept off their feet, suggestive winks when you compliment him in that lovely, adoring tone of yours. Once, while watching a romantic tv show, he’d sighed loudly and very pointedly said: “If only someone would claim me.”

“If ye don’t figure it out soon,” he growled at the others one night, pacing back and forth like a wild beast and probably on his way to leave a dent in the carpet, “I’m showin’ up at their doorstep with nothin’ but a red bow, like some bloody Christmas prezzie, I swear to god.”

John sighs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, and I’m leaving you on their porch.”

“That’s exactly what I’m askin’ for!”

Simon took the quietest but most direct approach. Just not exactly direct towards you. While the others worked to get closer to you, Simon focused on eliminating what he saw as obstacles: other Omegas who thought you were free for the taking. It didn’t matter if they were serious or just someone you’d gone on a casual date with- Simon saw them all as threats.

He didn’t have to say much to scare them off. A single cold glare from across the room, sharp bursts of his scent, or a low, menacing comment was usually enough to send them packing. He didn’t care if it was excessive.

You were his Alpha. You were their Alpha, and no one else had a right to you.

But even Simon softened when it came to you. He couldn’t put all his thoughts, all his feelings into words, so he did them with his actions. Quiet protectiveness, gentle, careful touches. Moments of fleeting vulnerabilities shared between you and him.

He was always there for you. Even if you didn’t know you need him with you.

Still, despite all their efforts, you remained convinced that they weren’t interested.

In the end, to no one’s surprise, it’s Johnny who snaps. Johnny, so close to his heat, so absolutely done with your obliviousness and the Omegas that aren’t them talking with you when you should be only focused on them.

He doesn’t care; leaves the carefully made nest with your stolen shirts and none of the others stop him when he just. Drags your surprised self to the nest.

“Johnny! You-“

“I want you.” He hisses, bares his teeth all sharp and desperate. “We want you. And damn it, we will have you.”

And well, who are you to even say no when this is all you have wanted?

The Benefits of Being a Marine Biologist (Part 3)

Part 1 - Part 2 Merman x transmasc reader Contains: first kiss with your monster boy crush and then you make out. Extreme communication and consent because that's very sexy Warnings: mentions of arousal Length: 1.7k words

You've lost count of how many days you have visited Abalone. The weeks had turned into a blur of begrudgingly working at the laboratory and wringing out any spare time you could to go to the beach to see him.

Today you were coming to visit with a gift. It was silly, really, but you felt compelled to give him something tangible from the human world. He tries his best not to show it, but you suspect he gets lonely when you don't come to visit.

As you walk down the now well-traveled sand path through the grass, you realize you're feeling nervous. But why? You're just going to give him a gift. That's a completely normal thing to do. And Abalone won't be mean to you if he doesn't like it - his grasp of human socialization is loose at best, so he would just tell you what he thinks of it. You take a deep breath as you exit out of the brush onto the beach.

There he was, as always, in the water framed by the sinking orange sun. You've told him he should be more careful in case someone else saw him, but he always dismisses your worries and says he knows how to hide. For his sake you hope that's true.

You run down to the shore, and Abalone comes to the edge of the water to meet you. As you pause to drop your bag in the sand and kick off your shoes, he pulls himself out onto the sand in the very edge of the waves, propping up his head with his hands to watch you. You walk over to sit next to him in the sand.

"You should be careful, if you get beached I don't think I can haul you back into the water."

Without missing a beat he asks, "What is beached?"

"It's when an animal gets too close to the shoreline and gets stuck in the sand. Like you right now," you tease.

"Oh. I have seen that before. Very bad."

You look around at the tiny beach in disbelief. "What on earth managed to beach itself here?"

"Not here," he answered. "Somewhere else. A long time ago."

"Oh? Where else did you live?"

He didn't reply to you, his mood clearly dampened by thinking about the past.

"Nevermind about that. I brought you something! A human trinket for you to keep."

Abalone perked up and looked at you eagerly. "Ooo! Show me!"

Taking a small pouch from your pocket, you explained to him, "Now, this is supposed to be waterproof, so it won't rust. I went into town thinking of something to get for you, and I thought this was pretty perfect."

You take the silver necklace out of its silky bag. Holding it out for him to see, you say, "It's an abalone shell pendant! Because that's your name." You laugh nervously. "It's okay if you don't actually like jewelry, I just thought it would be nice to give you something."

Abalone stared at the necklace silently, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Did he really hate it? Had you somehow offended him?

Something changed in his expression. You couldn't quite place it at first, but you quickly realized it was that his cheeks were darkening. He was blushing.

"I… um…" He tried to say something to you, but his voice caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry!" you exclaim, instinctively shifting away from him and clutching the necklace to your chest. "I didn't mean to upset you or anything, I just wanted to do something nice-"

"No, not that," he cut you off. He hid his face in his hands as he said, "For us something like that is asking for courtship."

Oh no. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't mean to do anything like that! I'm sorry Abalone, I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I?"

He looked at you with one eye peeking out from between his fingers. "No, it's fine. It is just that… no one would do that for me. Not for real."

He looked so sad, and something came over you. Without thinking you leaned toward him and put a hand over his own on his face. "Why would you think that? You're perfectly lovely."

He didn't move, but he didn't resist your touch either. "There are reasons."

"You don't have to talk about it. It's okay." Your mouth moving faster than your mind, you continued, "Maybe it doesn't mean as much coming from a human, but I do like you a lot. You're funny and sweet and you would never let me get anywhere close to drowning on your watch."

He moved his hands down from his eyes to look at you. "You mean it?"

"Yes." You took his hands into yours and looked into his dark eyes. "What if I do mean it?"

He looked at you blankly as you realized what you had just said. Feeling your own face flushing, you turned and picked up the necklace from where you had dropped it in the sand.

One hand in his, the other holding out your gift, you ask again quietly, "What if I do mean it?"

"… You do?" He whispered, as if afraid to break the quiet tension.

Moving slowly with hesitation, Abalone sat upright in the sand, his tail trailing off into the water. You leaned closer to him, and he gently pulled you toward himself with your hand that he still held. Tentatively leaning in toward each other, your lips meet his. You tasted salt as he slowly pulls away from you.

You look at each other silently, frozen with nervousness. With his sleek body so close to yours, you couldn't deny it any more. Abalone wasn't only an object of your curiosity.

He breaks the silence. "Was that all right?"

You smile at his slight misuse of the word. "Yes," you reply breathlessly. "Definitely."

You lean forward and kiss him again. This time he doesn't move away. He gently puts his arms around you as your lips meet again. And again. Despite his large size, he touches you so softly. His sharp teeth graze your lips.

Without breaking your embrace, you pull yourself onto his lap. You put your arms around his neck and your hands in his hair, and he hugs you to himself a bit tighter. "So pretty," he mumbles when his mouth parts from yours. "Pretty human boy."

Abalone kisses you deeper, his hands on your waist now. You wonder how long he has been waiting for this. How long you have wanted this.

You feel his tongue on your bottom lip, and you can't help but pull away from him giggling. Seeing him frown and his big sad eyes, you quickly say, "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, I promise. Do you have a forked tongue?"

"What?"

"Like is it split down the middle?"

"Maybe?" He stuck out his tongue a bit to show you. It was a darker gray like his hands and tail, and it was indeed forked.

"It is! Like a lizard," you laugh. "See, this is what I'm used to." Your demonstration of a human tongue seemed to amused him.

Abalone pressed his forehead against yours as you mindlessly played with his hair. "Is this bad? For you and me to…" he trailed off.

"I don't think so," you answer quietly. "And maybe, even if it is, I don't care."

Seemingly satisfied with that thought, he gently began kissing you again. Slowly he kissed harder, and you leaned into the pressure. Your hands gripped the hair at the nape of his neck, and his claws poked into your back.

When you were pressed into him nearly as hard as you could be, Abalone carefully flipped you over and laid you down on the sand. Your mind went blank at the sight of him above you, his damp skin glowing in the dying light.

He bent down and continued to kiss you, his mouth trailing down your neck. You felt his teeth on your skin and you gasped quietly. He was giving you gentle love bites, careful not to break the skin but the pinpricks still made you dizzy. His tail was between your legs and you felt his hips pressing into yours. You held his neck and shoulders tighter as your back arched to meet his touch. It didn't take long for you to become hard and wet.

His frantic pace of kisses and bites gradually slowed until he gave you one final kiss on your lips and laid down on top of you, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"Was that too much?" He shyly mumbled into your shoulder.

You struggle to find your voice again. "… No, not at all."

He flopped over to lie in the sand next to you, hugging his arms to himself and avoiding your gaze. But he does turn to look at you when you quietly say his name.

"That was wonderful." You reach over to take his hand. "Maybe we can do it again?"

He blushed furiously at that, but didn't look away from you. "Yes, maybe." He held up the necklace from wherever the fuck it had ended up in the sand. "Can you help with this?"

You laugh and pull him to sit up with you. You undo the clasp and instruct him how to hold his hair out of the way. Reaching around his neck, you lock your gift in place.

Smiling sweetly, Abalone touched the pendant on his chest. "Thank you."

Wishing you could stay for the rest of the night, you sighed dramatically. "The sun is almost fully down. I really should go now."

He nodded and tilted his head, silently posing the regular question.

"I can come back tomorrow night! And since tomorrow is Friday, I don't have to worry so much about going home."

He grinned at you brightly. "Tomorrow. I have things to do, then." And with that, he slipped back into the shallows to swim away. A flick of his tail splashed you with seawater, and with that he was gone.

You didn't know whether to be excited or worried by his final words. Gathering your things and beginning the trek home, you figured you'd have to wait and see.

AN: thank you all for your patience while I took like two months to finish writing this! I plan for part 4 to be the final part, and it will probably be very long and very explicit :3 Thank you for reading as always xoxo Tip Jar on Ko-Fi (requests/commissions coming soon??)

thinkin abt: classic “traitor” sergeant you and tf 141, except you have a different trauma response

cw: angst no comfort (yet), mentions of torture and physical harm, derealization, reader believes they deserve their torture (honestly selfship coded sorry) shout out to hedgehog’s dilemma one of my favorite dilemmas, very VERY canon divergent, no use of (y/n)

pt 2 with kortac maybe? as they slowly rehabilitate you and you learn to open up again

for as long as you can remember you’ve been an outsider. never quite fitting in with your classmates or even your “friends”. your two acquaintances (more like) in elementary school would drag you along, like a glorified pet, wherever they went. only to turn around and ignore you, chatting happily with each other as if you weren’t there.

and when you were older, you didn’t have any friends in class. always electing to sit by yourself and disturbing nothing and no one. fading into the background, like a shadow.

eventually you wind up joining the military, efficiently climbing the ranks until you land sergeant in task force 141. for the first few years of you joining, it’s much the same. that feeling of being other always lingering in the back of your mind, only amplified when observing the others in the team.

how soap easily makes gaz and price laugh, and even coaxing a chuckle out of ghost. how effortlessly they talk to each other, to the way tackling one another in a bear hug in the base halls was no big deal. almost envious at how openly they interacted with each other.

witnessing it makes you feel like you’re in school again. forcibly reverts you to the younger you that endured your so-called friends ignoring you.

but you don’t bring it up. ever. being here and fighting alongside them is already treading thin ice in your mind. already impeding upon their well established relationships. an intruder. an outsider. a stranger. a nuisance.

you linger behind them in hallways, erring from their side and sight around base. sitting far from the others during briefings, eating alone during mealtime. absent from post mission celebrations.

you keep them at arms length despite them being your teammates. it’s not their fault, it’s yours.

if i let them in, it’ll only hurt again.

but they break down your walls slowly, oh so painfully slowly. johnny now jokes besides you in the break room and during meal times, conversation is always pleasant with kyle, whilst simon looks out for you, very, very quietly. and john isn’t afraid to tell you of the good work you do on field, ruffling your hair like a proud dad.

things seem to be looking bright for you.

until they aren’t.

you fall asleep peacefully in your bed only to wake up strapped to an uncomfortable metal chair in the base’s interrogation room. a mole, unbeknownst to the rest of the team had planted evidence framing you and accusing you of betraying them. taking advantage of the thin fault line in your relationships, vulnerable and unsteady, compared to the stalwart trust they already had in each other. then, subsequently tearing that fault wide open, in order to break the team from the inside out.

your tenuous and fragile relationships finally blooming, only to be crushed under heel in a single night.

the light strains your eyes and the tight ropes dig painfully into your flesh, back aching and head throbbing as you await your fate.

three sets of eyes that only started to gaze warmly at you are now long gone. replaced with a plethora of emotions, betrayal, ire, resentment, bitterness, distrust.

you try to plead your case, that you have no idea what’s going on or what they’re talking about. you’ve never heard of any of these people in your life, nor have you ever heard of that operation at all.

but all of it is futile. you can see it clear as day in their eyes. they glare at you with such distain, it’s akin to what they gave their enemies on the field; except much much worse. this time it’s personal, someone they thought they knew.

they don’t believe you.

you realize that quickly. and after that you become borderline unresponsive. shutting down, physically, mentally, retreating into your mind, a desperate attempt to keep yourself safe from your allies-turned-tormentors.

you no longer scream your protests, all cries of agony quieted down until there wasn’t a single peep from you. although your tears never cease.

it angers them. they yell in your face, demanding answers to questions you haven’t the ability to answer. why were you being so difficult? if you’d just answer it’d be easier on you and them.

they subject you to a whole torrent of horrors. the restraints tightening and digging into your flesh, blood seeping into the rope. ghost slashes a knife up the side of your face, from your jaw to above your eyebrow bone. your eye just barely making it out unscathed because you shut it in time. then they start to rip your nails out, painfully, one by one. each time you don’t answer them, another one is torn out.

(they remember what you said offhandedly. that you didn’t like others being pushy, that you valued your autonomy highly. and what better way to break you than to rid you of it? stripping you of your nails, slashing at your muscles, tightening the ropes until you bled. anything, everything to ruin what little sovereignty you had left.)

despite being swathed deep in the recesses of your mind, you can still hear them. their voices muddied and muffled, as if underwater and you’re left unable to discern who’s words are who’s. not that it mattered anyway. the venom in their tone remained the same no matter who spoke.

“disgusting fucking traitor.”

“you’re such a pathetic piece of shit.”

“aww, cry some more.”

“should’ve never trusted you.”

“what an utterly worthless burden. only served to drag down the team.”

their words seep into your mind like poison through blood. it leaves you doubting, frantically questioning all moments you’ve shared with them. leaves you spiraling deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of your mind. your safe haven, and your cold prison.

did they always think this?

did they always hate me?

what did i do wrong?

i must’ve done something wrong to deserve this.

i deserve this.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

you still remain motionless, and they scoff, looking down at you as they ash their cigarettes on your bruised skin. you don’t react. soap, frenzied, aggravated and wound up, lands a hard punch straight in your jaw. your head flying back with a sickening crunch before hanging low over your lap, face obscured.

gaz violently yanks your hair back, revealing your battered face. the lighting of the room casting long, tired shadows across it as he forces you to look at them. and you do, but not quite at them.

you don’t stare at them. you stare through them. like they aren’t there, like YOU aren’t there. they see nothing behind your eyes. it was like you were already dead. and maybe, at this point, it would’ve been better if you were.

hours blend into days and days possibly into weeks. your life has been nothing but torment and agony for who knows how long. never allowed a moment of rest or respite, being violently slapped awake if you’ve ever got lucky enough to grasp at increasingly ephemeral shut eye. time slips away into nothingness when your whole life has turned to pain.

they’re starting to grow more desperate for answers; despite everything they’ve thrown at you, you still haven’t “cracked”. and so they turn to more.. permanent methods of harm.

by the time price barges through the door, alarming everyone that you were innocent and you were falsely framed by a mole, your pinky is already severed and falling to the floor.

as if it were only a cruel nightmare, everything ceases immediately. and you pass out as you’re rushed to the base medics.

you’re awake once again, but you’re not quite all there. still safely tucked away in the depths of your mind. everyday is still a blur as your battered and beaten body tries to heal, ignoring the pity in passersby eyes’ and forced to rely on the kindness of base medics for hygiene. as if it wasn’t humiliating enough to end up in such a state.

even in your semi lucid state you still recognize them, the weight of their gait and their footfalls against the floor. always bracing for further injury whenever they draw nearer, clenched eyes, hunched posture, and a deep grimace. turned away out of fear for an impact you can’t ever guarantee is truly gone.

you silently reject their help, withdraw in on yourself to a state they’ve never seen before. you stop talking to them entirely, stop talking to everyone for that matter. whenever they try to sit next to you, you always flinch before scooting away from them, or most times you hobble away from them entirely. they never stop you. and you never look back.

(they wish you would yell at them. slap them, lash out at them, anything would be better than your numb indifference towards them now. with your anger they know for sure that you’re still in there, but, now. now it’s like a wraith is haunting the halls, more of a ghost than the man fool himself could ever hope to be.)

you return to the field as soon as you can. and everyone is surprised that your performance hasn’t suffered as much as they thought it would, considering… everything.

you’re already burdening everyone enough. if your performance were to decline then they would surely toss you aside, and everything would be for naught.

but the higher ups can see the mental toll it takes on you. to be besides them, as if this never happened. everyone can see the way they inadvertently hurt you more, can see the writing on the wall if you continue to work with them.

and so, they set up a transfer. to kortac.

you certainly have no complaints, but your ex-tormentors undoubtedly do. up in arms about the whole thing until they’re told to stand down. to follow orders.

just like they did before.

things were the same in the days leading up to the transfer. you avoid them, taking different hallways around base. never interacting more than the bare minimum, efficiently finishing missions without small talk or celebration. and always rejecting their offers of help with a faraway look and shake of your head.

and on the day of the transfer, they still try to plead for you to stay. to apologize for what cannot, and can never be undone.

you’re fed up with all of it.

clearing your throat and murmuring just loud enough for them to hear,

“forgive me if i’m speaking out of line, but who was the one to call me quote, “an utterly worthless burden?” was it lieutenant riley or sergeant mactavish? perhaps it was sergeant garrick? well… it doesn’t matter anyway. you’ll be better off without a detriment dragging down your team.”

they look heartbroken, stammering out apologies after apologies, but it all sounds so empty to you. until johnny whimpers out “god, we’re so sorry. you didn’t deserve what we did to you, not at all. we’d— we’d do anything to take it back!” he’d go on and on until you cut him off.

“didn’t deserve it? of course i deserved it, i must have done something worth punishing. otherwise… otherwise…” you were trembling, your hands painfully clutching your arms. your head bent over and face obscured from your hair, eerily similar to when you were being tortured. the sight of you so battered and broken burned into their mind.

foolishly, someone reaches out a hand towards you and you jerk back violently, as if burned. hyperventilating and quivering as you dig your painfully throbbing fingers into your arms, eyes wide like a frightened animal. the sight of them, looking at you so concerned, the sight of your missing pinky and your bloodied fingertips, it’s all too much. the room in spinning, the floor is collapsing underneath you and your head feels like it’s underwater, “don’t— don’t touch me!”

your voice feels like it doesn’t belong to you, and you can’t take it anymore. blindly rushing out the door as fast as your feet can carry you. running away from the room— away from them, they don’t move to stop you, rooted firmly in place.

they knew they fucked up immensely, but it was only then that they understood the magnitude in which they ruined you. unintentionally led you to believe that you deserved the hell they put you through, only confirming and fortifying your feelings of being an outsider.

unworthy, burdening, all of those hurtful notions you held about yourself that they had once tried to erase, back a thousand fold.

and they had no one but themselves to blame for it.

(they nearly buckled under the weight of their actions. realizing that they’d never get the chance to even attempt to atone for what they’ve done. that you’d leave forever believing that they had hated you the whole time. and that you hate them now, too.)