John Price had a secretary. He would counter he didn't really need some civillian to help him with papers, his sargents would joke they were only there as a distraction for the captain, his lieutenant ignored them. You were just a temporary fix for the piles of paperwork that have been piling up on John Price's desk.
But Price slowly warmed up to you; it was different with you, you weren't a trained soldier like his boys, you respected him, but not in the way his boys did — you didn't hesitate to go against him, and he couldn't get in your head to change your mind. It drew him in, it interested him. You were more than a pretty face, you were smart, dedicated, diligent.
And the worst, you were good. Good in a way the war broke out of him and his boys. You went out of your way to make sure he had always a cup of coffee and some snacks every hour of the day. You listened to Johnny when he walked in your and Price's shared office, you gave careful and detailed feedback to Kyle about his reports, you helped Simon make sure his pain med prescription was aways updated.
Maybe it was the hours discussing paperwork, or the times you'd pipe in during some debrief, the late nights where you'd talk so softly to him, that you'd cup his cheek and convince him in quiet whispers to go to bed, that the work would wait. And god he just couldn't with you, couldn't with the way you were standing between his legs where he satin front of his office desk. His head fell forward to your stomach, hands on yout hips as he grumbled.
"Only if y' come wi' me, swee'eart"
Maybe it was just the time spent working together whenever he wasn't on the field, but whatever it was, John Price was wrapped around your finger. Never had before the captain let anyone — not even his boys — so easily pull him from his work. Shoulders relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips when you'd frown at him, hands on his shoulders as he shamelessly pulled you down on his lap and nuzzled his face on your neck.
John Price had a secretary, and now, he was starting to plan out how fast can he weight your left ring finger and have that smart mouth and soft hands for himself definitely.
Drabble after rereading my A/B/O thought! This is definitely darker than my other works so please read the cw tags! MDNI
CW: noncon, dubcon, bullying, talks of breeding, mean yandere obsessed 141 men, dead dove do not eat
Bully!Poly141 x BunnyHybrid!Reader
Something something Bully!Poly!141 who are yandere level obsessed with poor BunnyHybrid!Reader. They all love messing with your long fluffy ears and pulling on your cotton tail to make your eyes water and bunny nose twitch. :( You can stomp your lil foot and run all away all you want but there’s no stopping them.
Johnny prefers to chase you down like prey while howling for his “sweet Bonnie”. He’ll tackle you down, flip your skirt up and dry-hump you until you’re both cumming.
Prices forces you to sit on his lap and read his paperwork out loud. His large hands wonder leisurely, from pinching your nipples to your thighs. He rubs you over your undies until they’re sheer. He add one spank each time you stop reading aloud because of his actions and spanks your poor bunny ass until it’s bruised for him.
Simon loves to corner you, intimidates you with his size to watch your fluffy ears go flat on your head. He squeezes your cheeks together with his large fingers and kisses you like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs. He loves to pry your mouth open to spit in before he leaves too.
And Kyle. Mean ol’ Kyle, who pretends to be so caring unlike the others at first. Rubs your back and comforts you when you cry on his lap. “Everyone’s so mean to you bunny aren’t they baby? It’s okay Kyles got you” You trust him with your little bunny heart and that’s how he finds out-
Finds out if they scruff the back of your pretty neck, you’ll immediately go nice and pliant for them. Dazed, drooling, and ready for breeding, like the good lil bun your supposed to be. 💗
When the first signs of your heat registered you were frazzled beyond measure.
You had to inform the pack, maybe hopefully your pack, so they could plan acordingly. Thats how you found yourself infront of prices office, trying to have that conversation. At first it went well, as well as it could with you shaking from nerves but when it came to your needs and what help you wanted it all came crumbling down around you.
"I dont.. i cant" a broken sob left you, the thought of anything turning sexual terrified you.
Your past partners left you with trust issues and doubts about yourself, and your family pack wasnt much better.
Were you wrong for not wanting sex? Even deep in heat the thought of letting anyone near you, had you nearly in a panic attack.
And now the thought of disappointing price, your head omega, had you flooding the room with your frightened pheromones. A bitter stench trying to settle over the room.
"Shhh pup. Nothing's happening that you dont want. I can guide you without making it about sex" he let out a soothing rumble and hopefully calming scent. "I won't let the others do something you didn't explicitly consented to"
The way your stood before him, trembling, strung tight and holding your arms against your chest, as if to shield your most vulnerable places, made him want to herd to into his nest. Bundling you up, tucking your head against his chest and purring soothingly, with Simon guarding the door.
Taking a step forward, he slowly lifted his hand to your neck, not scruffing, but a reminder that you're not alone. You pushed into his hand with a desperate sob and nearly collapsed had he not caught you.
"Your not alone anymore, pup. You got a pack now", he growled softly, pulling you tighter against him and lightly scenting the top of your head.
Rewatching M*A*S*H* (the episode about Peggy getting a job and BJ having a crash out b/c of it) and the thought hit me. What if Price's wife, who's nearly as tall as him, quit her job when she married him, is actually competent.
You had the entire team's phone numbers, could call any of them if you needed something while John was on mission. But now they're all away, all four of them fighting on the other side of the world, and you're left at home.
The sink is leaking.
Sure, you could call a plumber, but the guy on the phone is throwing out words you don't understand and that price seems a little high. So you do what any other person would do. Youtube.
It goes decently well. The fix lasts for about two days, and then you're running over to your neighbour's house and asking them why the hell your hot water pressure is fucked.
Again, it's a simple fix, and Anise shows you exactly how to fix what went wrong, lets you take notes on it and everything. It's the beginning of your growth.
The boys are gone for nearly two months, a no-contact mission, so you can't even call them. It's like everything wants to go wrong because they're gone, the house throwing a hissy-fit about their absence.
The washer, the telly, the hot water heater, the sink (again?!), even the sliding back door gets jammed. Each time, you look up a video, fix the issue, and if something goes wrong, you run to Anise for help. But after the sink breaks for the third time (seriously, the house missus John) Anise finally convinces you to get a new one.
She drags you out to local Homebase and teaching you what to look for in all of the appliances. You take extensive notes on your phone, taking pictures of the washer/dryer set you really like (just in case) and leaving with a sink.
By the third month, fixing things in the house has become a new adventure for you. A loose cabinet? Easy as pie. The washer broke? This is why you took those pictures, already on the phone with Homebase.
When they boys do finally come home, John's expecting his soft wife to be waiting for him. He texted her when he left base, figured that she would have dinner cooking like always, ready to feed four hungry men. What he walked in on, his boys following like a line of ducklings, is you, sitting in front of the dishwasher, toolbox next to you. Dressed in one of his old work shirts, hands a bit wet, a bandana keeping the hair out of your face, you tighten a bolt with a wrench John swears he's never seen before.
And when you finally notice them? You drop the tools, running into John's arms with a smile, and he can feel every single new muscle you've managed to build up.
"Love, what are you doing?"
"You were gone, and things started breaking. Learnt how to fix them."
His soft wife has gotten a little tougher, and while there's an underlying guilt about not being here to help you, John feels proud.
Of course you want to show off the food of your hometown to the boys, but this really should have been a solo date with Kyle. Still, you manage to sneak some time together.
cw: Gaz x reader, fat latine reader, gn!reader, implied poly 141, established relationship, mexican slang
word count: 1845
You throw the car into park and glance up at your rearview mirror. The three white boys smushed into the backseat push at each other to try to take a look through the window, grunts and mumbles escaping them. Kyle chuckles from the passenger seat, watching the commotion unfold.
“Are we sure this was a good idea?” you turn to Kyle, “We could have brought it back to the house for them.”
“No saben igual después de tanto tiempo, y tu bien lo sabes, tesoro,” Kyle responds, an impish smile on his face.
With a groan, you close your eyes and throw your head against the headrest. It’s the first time yall are back in your hometown for more than a week, and with all the extra time to yourselves, the plan was to eat as much good food as possible. One of your tías told you about this place, where they serve al pastor straight from the trompo, each slice almost caramelized to a delicious crunch. They’ve got the pineapple sitting on top, too. She said it was the best quality she’s seen in town to date. Even her husband won’t stop talking about it. And now here you all are, parked against the curb with the air on full blast.
Every time you’ve gone to a mom and pop shop like this, it’s been you and Kyle stepping in first. You go in with kindness and chatter, and the older ladies always helplessly swoon over Kyle. Laughter bubbles and you both eat happily, and sometimes the ladies sneak extras onto your plates. It’s a sacred time full of loud smooches, the staff going “UUUUU’ all around you, a deep blush on Kyle’s face as you wipe at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his radiant smile set to make your heart burst. It’s perfect. It’s home.
Once you’ve scoped out a place with your own private date, then you bring your white boys over. At that point, you’ve already tried the place, showered Kyle in kisses, and built rapport with the staff. So by the time they step in, the sun drawing eyes to their paleness, the staff won’t try to upcharge you. It’s a genius pull, honestly, one you’ve done yourself with tremendous success. The white folks always have more than enough money to spare, and since they usually don’t know the prices, well that’s on them. But as you sit here in the car, listening to them point out all the little details of the shop to each other, you can’t help but wish you’d left them at home.
Kyle notices the disappointment on your face as you pick at your fingers. Try as you might to keep your face neutral, your expressions are always so easy for him to read. This is the first time your private outings have been interrupted, all because the shop is just a bit too far from the house for the tacos to travel well and your cousin had to fucking say so. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss, waiting for you to make eye contact with him. There’s a distinct sadness in his eyes, a bittersweetness that’s never appeared on these outings before.
“Next time?” a little bit of hope cracks through his voice.
“Next time,” you swear, noticeably glum.
A thought freezes you before you can undo your belt. You reach for Kyle’s hand again, silly grin on your face, and turn around towards the other boys.
“How do you ask for the price of something?’ you ask them.
Kyle holds back his laughter at the question, squeezing your fingers with excitement. There’s joy on his face again and that’s all it takes for you to know you made the right call.
¿Cuánto cuesta?” they all say as one.
“No,” you say, your splitting with a grin, and Kyle can’t hold in his laugh. “Sorry boys, you’re staying here. Kyle and I will be right back.”
They don’t have the chance to protest or question before you’re bolting out of the car, coming around to open Kyle’s door and pull him from his seat. He lets out another loud laugh, the crinkles around his eyes sending warmth blooming in your chest. You’re both still giggling, if a little out of breath from sprinting inside, when one of the staff steps up to greet you, an older woman who's clearly enjoying the life you’re bringing into the place.
“Hola, mis niños. ¿Es su primera vez aquí? No me acuerdo haberlos visto antes, y a esas caritas las recordaría.”
“Primera vez. Un primo nos dijo de este lugar. Y nomas al verlo, se ve rebueno,” Kyle says, bringing you in closer as you wrap your arm around his waist.
“Una cita con el novio,” you tell her. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face with your sudden success, and it seems to catch in the staff member as well.
As she goes off to put in your order, Kyle helps you pack up some salsa, holding the small containers for you to scoop the goods into. You’re trying to figure out just how many containers you can fit into your hands, Kyle reminding you that you’ll need more guacamole than any salsa, when she returns with a big bag full of much smaller plastic bags of guacamole for you. Before you can even thank her, she’s handing each of you a plate with two smaller tacos, winking at you.
“Si quieren, pueden esperar ahí,” she points towards the door with her eyebrows, where there’s a couple of swings.
Walking over, you eye them a little nervously, worried about the structural integrity. The last thing you need is for it to give out on you, regardless of how nice it might be to reminisce in the seat.
“They’re welded,” Kyle whispers in your ear, “They’re solid.”
Sweet tears brim your lashes as you pull him down to cover his cheek in quick kisses. You can feel his shoulders shake with quiet mirth as he stays in place, accepting as much love as you’re willing to give him. If it were up to him, he’d never move from the spot, not even if his back starts aching or if hunger pangs strike. He’d stay pressed to you until something or someone forced him away. So for now he takes what he can.
“We should eat these before they get cold,” the false concern in your voice clear as you gently rock in the swing.
“Definitely. Wasting them would be disrespectful,” his voice low, pulling at the chain of your swing to bring you close together.
The first bite has you turning to look at each other with wide eyes, a pleasant shock bouncing between you. Words can’t do it justice. Your tía’s husband hyped these tacos up so much that you were a little worried about being disappointed. Turns out he didn’t talk about them enough. All either of you can do is let out groans as you chow down silently, Kyle’s strong arm keeping your swings connected.
“Hijo de su pinche putisima madre,” you say, gulping for breath around the sheer ecstasy of the food.
“Que chingandos fue eso?” he says, soft eyes searching yours as if you have the answer. They say food is sex, but the closest he’s ever come to feeling like this has been with you. What the fuck did they put in this. He leans back to face the woman behind the counter, “Seño, nos puede dar otras dos órdenes más porfa?”
“Ya te las puse, precioso,” she says, stepping towards him with a bulging bag in her hand, “Sabía que iban a necesitar más. El amor hace que te dé más hambre.” Before either of you can get up, she’s shoving another two little tacos into your hands, pressing a finger to her smiling lips.
You take slower bites this time, smiling at each other with cheeks bulging full of food. Now that you know what you’re in for, you’re going to savor every piece. Swings still connected, you nudge Kyle’s foot with the toe of your shoe, pressing your knee more firmly against his. He looks so at peace, his shoulders slightly scrunched as he carefully brings the food to his mouth, his nose crinkled up with delight at each bite he takes. You have the brief thought that maybe you should take a picture of this moment, but you can’t bear to tear your eyes from him. And when he turns, those big brown eyes locked on you, you’re sure you’ll never blink again.
“¿Que piensas, mi vida?” he caught your stare.
“Que te adoro,” you speak the words into his skin, kissing the arm holding your swings together.
“En aceite?”
“Clarín.”
Kyle quickly scans the room, just enough to make sure no one is looking your way, before bending and planting a tender kiss on your lips. His lips taste faintly of salt and fat, just as yours surely do, and you wish you could deepen the kiss, wanting more of the delectable combination. But he pulls away before you can, hunger for you burning in his eyes.
His voice is rough when he speaks again, tongue peeking out in search of the lingering taste of you, “We should get back to them.”
“When we get home?” your voice so breathless you barely recognize it as your own.
Kyle nods and stands, holding the bag of food in front of him, trying to discreetly adjust his pants. You’re both giggling again as he reaches for you, gently helping you up from the swing. Smiles are still stuck in place when you reach the car, slipping into your seats without saying another word.
You pause for a moment, waiting for some kind of commentary from the backseat. Now that you’re back in the car, you can look over and see that the swings are in clear sight of the car. A glance up at the rearview mirror shows you three grinning faces, each one more knowing than the next. They could dog you, tease you, joke about the scene they surely saw. But they don’t. Instead, Simon’s tummy breaks the silence, a loud rumble echoing through the car.
The entire car bursts into peals of laughter, the racket interrupted only long enough to deal out plates and servings. Kyle was right about the guacamole, as the boys pour entire little baggies of it on their tacos. Can’t blame them, honestly. That shit is creamy. And then a corus of moans breaks out in the backseat, first bites hitting hard enough to make the most stoic of them break into delight. You look over at Klye, find him already looking at you, and you both nod enthusiastically, biting into your food.
“We’re coming back,” he says, and then lower, “Just us next time.”
“Fuck yeah we are, that was set in stone the moment the woman greeted us. Gotta show off my boyfriend again,” you wink at him.
Thinking about Gaz who gives the rest of the team a whole ass striptease routine with the Charli XCX feat Billie Eilish Guess version in the background
