the thought of afab!reader who's never been eaten out and price who just fucking bends them over on his desk in front of simon, johnny, and kyle ??
price who spreads them out on his tongue, your whines and moans filling the room while the lieutenant fishes out his cock to start jerking his fat fuckin' cock--
kyle and johnny who are too dumbfounded but simon breaks their stunned looks
"look alive, our cap's givin us a fuckin' show," simon huffs, stroking his dick to the sounds of your sloppy cunt and needy pleas.
"better fuckin' appreciate it or he won't do it again, lads."
you've never seen two men pull their pants down faster and wrap their hands on each others' cocks.
TF141 x female!reader, implied poly!tf141, dildos, gangbang
Thinking about the 141 finding your dildo. Maybe there was a mix up with the bags coming home from a mission. Maybe it fell out as you kicked a pile of laundry under the bed to make room. Maybe you just fucking forgot to put it away, and someone comes in and sees it laying on the mattress all sticky from your cunt.
You'd have to give a demonstration of course. Show why you'd prefer bouncing on a silicone dick to any of their real life options- is it bigger than theirs? Clearly not, because you still squirm and whine at the stretch when Ghost pulls you off it and sits you on his lap instead, holding your hips as he sinks you down inch by inch until you're taking all of it.
Plus a fake cock can't fuck your mouth properly either- what dildo can smear drool and precome over your cheeks, fill your mouth until your cheeks are bulging with come you're not allowed to swallow, Price's hand around your throat to keep you in place until they're done? A dildo can't make you cry as it spears your pussy open over and over, clit throbbing, that little hole dripping slick and come like a faucet. It definitely can't kiss you, licking into your mouth as you moan, hands squeezing your tits and ass, hips pumping into yours and spreading your body around thick thighs, powerful shoulders, suckling your clit and leaving teeth marks on your thighs.
In the end the dildo is banished to target practice, and you can sate yourself on your teammates instead, while they remind you over and over why the real thing is so much better than a fake.
>-;;;;€ᐷ parings: barbarian tf141 x civilized reader
>-;;;;€ᐷ synopsis: You were raised to fear them—savages cloaked in bone and fur, the brutal warriors who roam the northern wilds. The stories called them monsters. Beasts. Killers. You never imagined you’d be handed over to them like an offering. One morning, without warning or explanation, your parents deliver you into the hands of the very tribe they claimed to hate. No tearful goodbye. No reason why. Just a silent command to obey. They wear skulls on their heads and speak in a tongue you barely understand. Their bodies are marked by scars and blood, towering figures draped in teeth and fur. They don’t offer names. Only stares. Grunts. Strange rituals. You were told they were savages. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this. Dragged into the heart of their territory, you’re forced to adapt to their wild, brutal world—one where silence is a language, and power is worn like a crown. You should be terrified. But fear begins to shift into something else. Curiosity. Anger. Hunger. And though you don’t know why you were sent here… you’re beginning to think they have no intention of ever letting you go.
>-;;;;€ᐷ chapters: The offering (1) |
hiii im so sorry for the longggg wait !! heres the masterlist and added taglist ! ive been super busy with college and work but i am working on chapter 2 so please stay tunned !!! tysm for all the love on chapter 1, it had hit 1k likes!!! yayyy and all the ppl asking to be on the taglist ilysmmm and this is for u !! <3 lmk if u wanna be added to the taglist !!!
This was inspired by @hyperfixiation-station ‘s post about ignored!reader. It’s my first time writing in a long, long time so hopefully it’s not as bad as I think it is. (It probably is). Probably completely inaccurate when it comes to the military.
Not proofread even a bit.
Part 2
You watched them.
That’s it. Just watched.
You wanted to commit this to memory. This lazier day.
Price was sitting on one end of the couch, going through some papers, Gaz next to him on his phone. Soap and Ghost leaning against each other as they sit on the floor.
You leaned against the far wall and just watched, even if it hurt.
You knew you didn’t mean as much to them as they did to you. You hadn’t been included in the bond. That’s why they tend to forget you, ignored you, but you pushed it down so that you could watch this final moment.
Laswell came to you earlier that week with a new mission. A suicide mission. Gave you all the details. A six month mission -if you lasted that long- where you’d be off grid, only able to send out a report every two weeks. She told you to think about it, talk to the team, and get back to her within two weeks.
It took you two days to agree.
You tried to talk to them about it.
“Price, can I-“ “Not now.”
“Hey Soap can we-“ “Sorry lass, kinda busy.”
“Gaz-“ “Can’t talk right now!”
“Ghost?” A grunt and a shake of his head before walking away. Dismissed just like that, just like usual.
You tried again the next day. Caught them all together and up.
“Guys I want to-“ “Go away.” Price snapped, sharp and demanding. You didn’t know what you did to deserve that tone. You did your job extremely well. No problems. Yet, he talked to you like a hindrance, a mere place holder in the team. No one spoke up against him, completely ignoring you after his harsh words, so you dropped it and went to your room. You got ahold of Laswell that night and took the mission.
You went quiet after that. Taking the role you’ve been given against your will of the outsider, and watched when you could. That’s how you got here now. Leaning on the wall and ignoring the ache in your chest of negligence.
Your plane was to ship out at 0300 sharp. You were already packed, your room as bare as the day you joined, and mentally prepared for the outcome of this mission. So you watched and committed every detail of them you could to memory, so when you were most likely bleeding out and dying, you could remember the people you felt so deeply for. The way Prices mustache twitched when he was annoyed, Gaz’s bright smile that make his eyes squint and the small dimple that dipped right next to the corner of his mouth, the way Soaps hands fidgeted with everything, but mainly the small loop of his vest, and Ghosts eyes- how he watched but softened around the team, his walls finally breathing just a little bit.
You were gone that morning. Quickly and quietly, just as you had planned. You watched the base shrink as you the helicopter got higher. The feeling of dread and heartbreak started to dissipate and acceptance washed over you. You were prepared to die. You had made peace with it. In hindsight, you wish you at least wrote a letter so you could say your final goodbye to them. Maybe you’ll be able to say goodbye when you sent your first report to Laswell.
They didnt notice your disappearance for the first week, not until Soap found a pair of your socks and went to give them to you. He knocked just in case, but when there wasn’t an answer he opened the door. The sight of your bare room made something in him go cold. Quickly rushing to the common room where the rest of the team was, he stopped as they all looked at him.
Thinking about hyena!hybrid reader who comes from a family of hyena hybrids, so she grew up in a highly matriarchal family and was taught by her mother, aunts and other female family members to never take any shit from a man, even her own father. And she is mean as hell to men who don't interest her, using her tongue as a weapon and slicing through the egos of alpha holes who think they can tame her wild spirit, venom dripping from her lips with every insult she throws their way as she pinpoints their exact weaknesses. Her mother taught her to fight, more than simple rough housing but to subdue men and make them beg for mercy, but she much prefers using her words, watching as the light and confidence they had just drain from them as these men just try to make themselves smaller in her presence.
The TF!141 boys EAT IT UP, their cocks straining against their combat trousers as they watch her tear into a new recruit who thought they could tug on her tail, or a superior officer who made an off hand combat about female hybrids being slaves to their heats and shouldn't be in the military (Price had to step in for that one and promised to make sure she was properly disciplined). They love it, the fire in her eyes as she goes off, the way her fluffy ears twitch in anger and her tail swats from side to side in frustration. They adore it, and the little masochists that they are they love when that anger is turned towards them
Summary: As the bond between Reader and the pack grows stronger, cracks begin to appear where no one is looking. A single envelope waiting at home is enough to unravel everything Reader has fought to leave behind.
Pairing: Poly!Tf141 x Reader
Words: 6.5k
Warning: simplified version of 5-4-3-2-1 method.
Previous chapter - Next Chapter // Masterlist
Authors note: I was on vacation and couldn’t upload a chapter this big. Anyway, my darling Gaz will appear more and more from now on!
Disclamer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)
Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!
The truth was, that afternoon was colder than usual. The last warm days of September had long since passed, giving way to the crisp, chilly evenings that marked the beginning of autumn.
Two weeks had passed since the night Ghost stayed over, and ever since then, your entire routine had changed.
You had spent years teaching yourself not to get attached to places, routines, or people. Everything in your life had been carefully designed to be temporary, easy to erase, easy to leave behind if the moment ever came. Everything was temporary, and at any moment you could receive relocation orders and be forced to pack up all your belongings in a hurry. That was why it was easier—more efficient—to own as little as possible. The fewer things you had, the easier it was to gather them and leave.
Your apartment had always reflected that. It was clean, organized, and comfortable enough, but it had never truly felt lived in. Nothing was ever out of place. There were no pointless little trinkets or sentimental decorations. No cheap souvenir magnet bought during a beach holiday. No wedding photograph or picture of a niece or nephew. No small hand-carved wooden figurine picked up from a local market in some distant country. Not even a forgotten hair tie abandoned on a random shelf. Nothing stayed long enough to matter because you had learned a long time ago that the more pieces of yourself you left behind, the harder it was when you had to disappear again.
The problem was that Ghost and Soap were apparently very good at making themselves impossible to remove from your life.
It happened slowly enough that you didn’t notice it at first. There was never a conversation about it. No moment where anyone admitted that something between you and the two soldiers was shifting into something much more complicated than friendship. Everything happened quietly, hidden behind simple excuses that sounded reasonable enough if nobody questioned them too deeply.
Soap started walking you home after your shifts because, according to him, he was already heading that way. It was a terrible lie considering the packhouse was on the opposite side of the base, but he said it with such confidence and such a bright smile that you never had the heart to challenge him. Ghost did the same on the nights Johnny couldn’t, appearing outside the medical office after training and claiming that your building was on his route, even though both of you knew perfectly well that Simon Riley never took unnecessary routes anywhere.
Soap was the first one to make a move.
A jacket he forgot on your couch after staying too late gradually became something that simply never left, as if it had always been another decorative object in your living room. There was a pair of Soap’s shoes by your front door because he complained about walking around your apartment in military boots, a box of tea in your kitchen that definitely wasn’t yours, and an extra mug that you had bought without even thinking because you were tired of the two of them arguing over who got the bigger one.
Ghost’s presence appeared more slowly.
Ghost’s black hoodie, the one you had accidentally stolen that first morning, somehow found a permanent place folded neatly over the back of your chair. Neither of the two men had the heart to tell you the truth, that the hoodie belonged to Ghost, because they both knew that if you found out, you would never wear it again. There was a spare pair of gloves by the entrance. A book left on your coffee table because he was "still reading it," even though you had never once seen him pick it up. And two extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet that had appeared one morning, neither of you ever acknowledging where they had come from.
Neither Ghost nor Soap wanted to admit it out loud, and they probably never would, but somewhere deep down, almost unconsciously, they had already begun preparing for the day your husband came back.
If someone had told you two weeks ago that two members of Task Force 141 would slowly invade your apartment, you would have laughed.
And yet, there you were.
Standing barefoot in your kitchen, wearing red-and-green tartan pajama bottoms, stirring a new recipe you were experimenting with in a saucepan while two mugs that didn't belong to you sat drying beside the sink.
It should have bothered you. It should have made that old survival instinct buried in the back of your mind scream that you were getting careless, that you were letting people leave traces behind, that you were making it harder for yourself when the day inevitably came when you had to disappear again.
But for once, the apartment didn't feel like somewhere you were hiding.
It just felt like home.
Ghost and Soap spent most afternoons and evenings with you now. They would pick you up after your shift ended and spend the rest of the day at your apartment. They never stayed the night. It had become a sort of unspoken agreement between the three of you, one that nobody had ever voiced aloud and that you had accepted without ever questioning it.
They always waited until you had fallen asleep before quietly leaving for home in the early hours of the morning. Going to bed late and waking up early, they spent only the bare minimum number of hours sleeping at the packhouse.
And that was exactly what they had done that night. Once the dinner dishes had been washed, the pajamas and blankets folded away, and you were fast asleep in your bed, they could finally leave.
The packhouse was quiet when they arrived.
Too quiet.
That should have been their first warning.
The second warning was the light still on in the kitchen.
Their captain was sitting at the table, one hand wrapped around a mug of steaming tea, looking far too awake for someone who should have been asleep hours ago. A frown creased his forehead as he rubbed at his brows and tired eyes with one hand. A half-smoked cigar rested in the glass ashtray on the table, right beside a half-finished glass of whisky.
Soap stopped in the doorway.
Ghost stopped behind him.
Because somehow, they both immediately felt like recruits who had just been caught doing something they shouldn't have.
Price didn't look angry. He looked tired instead, slouched back in his chair, wearing a T-shirt he should have changed out of hours ago, his hair thoroughly disheveled. A familiar look lingered in his eyes, glinting with quiet acknowledgement, as though he had already figured everything out before they had even walked through the door.
"Good night?"
Soap cleared his throat.
"Aye."
Price hummed, absentmindedly toying with the cigar still resting in the ashtray, his fingers gently brushing over it.
His eyes remained fixed on the alpha and the beta standing in front of him, moving slowly from one to the other again and again.
"How long are we going to pretend this isn't happening?" he murmured, almost smugly, in a single quiet breath.
That simple sentence, like a punch to the gut, seemed to knock the air from the other two members of the pack. Neither of them answered, because they knew exactly what he meant.
Soap tried to deflect anyway.
"What?"
Price gave him a look. His tired eyes traveled across Johnny's face, and a faint, almost sorrowful smile touched his lips.
"Don't."
One word. That was all it took.
Price ran a hand through his hair and straightened up in his chair.
"How many nights have you slept here this week?"
The room fell completely silent.
"Johnny?"
Silence.
"Simon?"
Ghost's jaw tightened.
"Thought so."
Ghost remained silent, which was answer enough.
Price sighed, scratching at his overgrown beard. He wasn't necessarily angry, nor disappointed. It was concern more than anything else.
Because he was their captain.
And because he was their alpha.
That meant noticing things before they became a problem and, usually, eliminating them.
Price took another sip of his tea. He had abandoned the whisky hours ago, its taste growing more bitter with every minute he spent waiting. The golden liquid burned his lips each time he looked toward the oppressive darkness embracing the hallway and the ominous closed door that had haunted him both in life and in his dreams.
It had been closed since eight in the evening, and its owner had refused to come out or even crack it open. What reason would he have to do either? Who was waiting for him on the other side? For the past couple of weeks, two empty bedrooms had haunted both the house and those who lived in it. Their occupants had left behind everything that wasn't essential, taking only what truly mattered with them to a better place, beginning a new life without ever letting go of the old one.
Price tried to remind himself that they still shared the mark that bound them together, a bite of eternity and loyalty decorating each of their bodies. More often than not, he found himself reaching up to touch it, trying to chase away the fears and doubts that tormented him in the middle of the night.
He knew Gaz did the same.
A couple of nights ago, Price had climbed into bed beside him. Gaz had spent days moping around like a sad pup. But his pup nonetheless. How long had it been since they had been together? Since they had shared a bed? God, he couldn't even remember. Soap had always been the one who gave Gaz the most attention. It wasn't unusual to stumble across the two of them in some compromising corner with their trousers halfway down.
Between kisses and gentle touches, Price had noticed just how red Gaz's mark had become. It had taken nothing more than the slightest brush of his fingertips for the young sergeant to break down, crying like a child. Between desperate sobs and broken breaths, Gaz confessed the grief of losing not only his alpha, but his soulmate, his other half.
"My Johnny," he had cried.
Price had held him for the entire night, Gaz's body completely flushed against his. He could still feel him trembling with quiet sobs he desperately tried to hide, even hours later when he thought Price had finally fallen asleep. He hadn't. He hadn't slept that night. Nor the next. Nor the one after that.
Instead, he had waited at the kitchen table like a loyal guard dog waiting for his owners to come home, even though they never did.
Price glanced once more toward Gaz's bedroom door. It remained closed, and who knew how much longer it would stay that way if he didn't put an end to this.
"You two even realize how obvious you're being?" Price clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to release some of the tension building inside him. When neither of them answered, he barked, "That's what I thought."
Soap shifted slightly, already looking like he wanted to defend himself, but Price pointed at him before he even had the chance to open his mouth.
"Don't start, MacTavish." Soap shut his mouth again. "I don't want to hear a single comment. Not one."
An oppressive silence settled over the kitchen.
"You walk her home after every shift. You spend more nights at her flat than here. Half your things are already there, for God's sake."
His furious eyes shifted to Ghost.
"And you're not any better," he said, his voice carrying a trace of contempt.
Ghost didn't react, at least not visibly. Price knew him well enough to understand that didn't mean anything. Out of all of them, Ghost had always been the hardest to read, trained to reveal nothing, even under the worst kinds of torture. Sometimes Ghost remained a mystery even to him, and, painful as it was to admit, there were moments when Price wondered if he truly knew him at all.
"You're leaving your scent all over her place."
That made Soap look away.
Not out of guilt because he knew Price was right, they were doing it on purpose.
"You're not pups. You know what that means."
The kitchen remained silent because they did.
In their world, scent mattered. Presence mattered. Leaving pieces of yourself behind in someone else's space wasn't something casual, especially not with an omega.
Price tapped his fingers once against the table.
"You know exactly what it means," he said, pausing just long enough for the silence to become suffocating, "and you're still doing it anyway."
That was the part neither of them could argue with. Price picked up what remained of the whisky and emptied the glass in one swallow. Maybe, by the end of this conversation, he really was going to need the courage it offered.
"You already have a pack."
Price's voice remained calm, but there was a firmness beneath it that reminded both of them exactly why he was their captain.
"Me. Gaz. You two." His gaze moved slowly between them. "We built this. We chose this." Price's eyes were as cold as ice, his expression so severe it would have unsettled the Devil himself.
Soap swallowed.
"We're not replacing anyone."
The answer came so quickly that it stole whatever argument had been forming in Price's throat.
Price sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his beard before leaning back in his chair once more. He looked exhausted in a way neither of them had seen in a very long time. Dark circles shadowed his tired blue eyes, his hair was still damp from the shower he had probably taken hours earlier, and the tea sitting on the table had long since gone cold.
The weary disappointment of a man who had spent years holding four people together and could suddenly feel the seams beginning to stretch settled like a crushing pressure beneath his ribs, almost making it difficult to breathe.
Price held Soap's gaze for a long moment before finally answering.
"The problem," Price muttered, clenching his jaw, "is that neither of you has stopped to think about what happens after." He tried to relax, but he had no doubt that, with the adrenaline coursing through him, his pheromones were already flooding the kitchen with the sharp, acrid scent of something burning.
"You're not two unattached soldiers courting a woman." He deliberately tried to project a calmer, steadier scent into the room, noticing that both Soap and Ghost had begun pushing out unpleasant, increasingly putrid pheromones of their own. "You're members of an established pack."
Another silence settled over the kitchen.
“A pack doesn't change because just two people decide it does.”
The words hung heavily between them.
Ghost finally spoke.
“What are you saying?”
Price didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked down the dark hallway. Both men followed his gaze instinctively. Only one bedroom door stood closed. Gaz's room. It hadn't opened all evening.
“How long has it been,” Price asked quietly, “since either of you actually spent an evening with Kyle?”
Neither of them answered.
Price nodded once. “Thought so.” He looked back at them, exhaustion replacing whatever frustration had briefly crossed his features. “He's struggling.”
Soap shifted uncomfortably, clenched his jaw, and crossed his arms, trying to look away. “He'll be fine.”
“No.”
Price's reply came immediately.
“He won't.” His fingers absentmindedly tapped against the table before he spoke again.
“The television's been on every night this week.”
“What?” Johnny frowned.
“He doesn't watch it.” Price's eyes drifted toward the hallway again, giving a small nod in the direction of the living room. “He just leaves it running.” Another pause. “He sits on that sofa until he hears the front door.”
Soap's stomach tightened.
“He hears the two of you come home,” Price said, swallowing hard. “He pretends he's already asleep until you close your bedroom doors. Then he goes back to bed.”
Neither Ghost nor Soap moved. The image settled over the room like lead.
Price continued quietly. “I know he wasn't asleep.” His voice had dropped so low they almost had to lean forward to hear him. “Because I've been sitting right here.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Price had watched it happen.
“Because I sit at this fucking table, night after night.”
He had watched Kyle glance at the clock every fifteen minutes. Watched him make another cup of tea that always went cold. Watched him curl up in the corner of the sofa, the television providing nothing more than meaningless background noise while he waited for footsteps that came later and later every evening.
“You think he doesn't notice?” Price looked directly at Soap. “He notices every time you walk past him because you're in a hurry to get to her.”
Then his eyes shifted to Ghost. “He notices every night you come home smelling like her fucking antiseptic-smelling flat instead of this one.”
Neither of them had anything to say.
Because every word was true.
“He's trying very hard not to resent her.” Price tried to sound reasonable. He tried not to let any more frustration show. He knew he needed them to understand, because getting angry at Soap and Ghost would accomplish nothing. “And every evening you spend somewhere else...” Price sighed wearily. “...you're making that harder.”
“What's that supposed tae mean?”
Price sighed.
“Johnny.”
“No, go on.”
Soap crossed his arms.
“What exactly do you mean?”
Ghost remained silent beside him, but his attention shifted carefully between the two of them.
“So what the fuck am I supposed tae do, huh? Just stop fuckin' seein' her?”
“You barely know her.”
Soap's jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“Johnny, it’s been weeks.”
“And?”
Price stared at him. “And you're acting like she's already part of your pack.” Price let the silence linger for several long seconds before speaking again.
“You've spent years in a pack made only of alphas,” he began slowly. “No omegas. No women. Nobody outside the four of us. Just deployments, missions... and each other.”
He wasn't accusing them. He was stating a fact.
“And now there's an omega who trusts you. One who lets you get close.” His eyes settled briefly on Ghost before moving back to Soap. “And now you have someone to take care of, someone with a status below yours.” He paused, carefully choosing his next words.
“Careful.” Soap's jaw clenched.
“I'm not insulting you, Johnny.”
“Sounds like ye are.”
“No.” Price shook his head slowly. “I'm saying I understand.” That made both of them look at him. “I understand you're men, after all.” His voice had softened when he spoke those words. “I understand you've spent years pushing parts of yourselves aside because the job and the pack always came first. I understand what it does to a wolf when, after years of nothing but muscle, someone suddenly opens the door to warmth and... softness.”
Only a brief moment passed before Price spoke again.
“And you don't even know what she smells like.”
The kitchen fell completely silent, even Ghost looked at him then.
But Price didn't back down.
“She’s on blockers constantly. Suppressants. You said it yourselves. You can't read her properly. It's impossible for you to feel a bond with her. You can't even tell what's instinct and what isn't.”
Soap looked genuinely offended.
“You think this is about wantin' tae sleep with her?”
“I think you're soldiers who have been isolated for years, and suddenly there's a woman in your life who makes things feel normal.” Price's expression hardened slightly.
Soap let out a short laugh, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. “Unbelievable.”
“You were the one who brought Gaz in.” Price's expression remained firm.
Soap had been the first one to accept Kyle completely. The first one to pull him into their routines. The first one to make room for him until Gaz stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like family.
“You fought harder than anyone to make sure he knew he belonged here.”
Soap's expression tightened as he looked back at him.
“So that's the problem.”
“Johnny,” Ghost warned.
Soap let out another humorless laugh and nodded slowly, looking away as though he needed a second to stop himself from saying something he couldn't take back.
“Right.”
“Johnny,” Ghost tried again.
“No, I get it now.”
Price frowned immediately, noticing the shift.
“You don't.”
“Aye, I do.” Soap took a step back, shaking his head slightly as the frustration he usually buried beneath jokes and easy smiles finally cracked through. “So what? That's what ye want from me?”
Price's expression tightened. “What?”
Soap gestured between them, then around the walls of the packhouse, toward everything they had built together. “You want me tae just do what ye want.”
“That's not true.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
Soap laughed again, sharp and bitter. “Because it bloody feels like it.”
Price's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay quiet. He knew Johnny wasn't finished.
“Ye want me when ye need somebody who listens. Somebody who follows orders. Somebody who keeps everybody smilin' after a bad mission, 'cause God forbid anybody else has tae deal wi' the fuckin' silence.”
“Johnny—”
“No, let me finish.”
Price stopped himself completely, Soap rarely interrupted him. That alone was enough to tell him how serious this was.
“I'm good when I'm useful, aye? Good when I'm the one makin' jokes, keepin' morale up, followin' behind ye 'cause ye ken I'll always be there, followin' every order ye gie.” He laughed bitterly. “Like a good pup, aye? Like ye always say when good ol' Johnny's suckin' yer cock—”
“MacTavish.” Ghost's warning echoed through the walls, and he was certain that if Gaz hadn't already been awake, he certainly would be now.
However, Johnny was far too gone to care about warnings. He kept going, his fists clenched so tightly with rage that his knuckles had gone white. “But the second I choose somethin' fer myself, suddenly everybody needs tae remind me tae think. The moment I find my person, ye've aw got somethin' tae say. I never once said anythin' about whit you an' Simon have.”
“We are your people, Johnny.”
“Doesn't seem like it.” Soap shook his head. “Doesn't seem like it.” Soap shook his head. “Whit? Am I just supposed tae sit here like some well-trained dog?”
Price's expression changed immediately. “Don't.”
But Soap continued anyway. “Is that it? Keep me close, pat me on the head, throw me a bone every now and then so I stay happy?”
“Johnny, enough.”
“Why?”
“Because you know that's not true.”
“Do I?”
After a few long seconds, Johnny's expression changed completely. His eyelids narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his eyes became glassy. Ghost could have sworn he even saw his lower lip tremble ever so slightly. He looked genuinely hurt.
“Ye all trust me with your lives.” Soap pointed toward the door, toward the base outside. “Ye trust me with explosives. With missions. With decisions that decide whether people come home or not.” His hand slowly dropped to his side. “So why cannae ye trust me with this?”
“Johnny...”
But Soap was already moving toward the door.
“Good talk, Captain.”
Not Alpha, not Price, not even John. For Soap, the conversation was already over. And before Price could say another word, Soap reached the doorway, turned, and walked out.
Ghost stayed for only another second, just long enough to look directly at Price, long enough for Price to realize that Simon wasn't angry.
“I'll talk to Kyle tomorrow,” he said simply. “I'm still his Alpha, and I've failed in my responsibilities as his Alpha.”
Ghost gave a single nod before turning to head toward his room.
“Ghost.” Price spoke before Ghost could leave. “I'm just trying to protect the pack.”
Ghost remained quiet for a moment.
Then he answered.
“I know.”
And then Ghost followed Johnny into the dark hallway.
Price remained alone in the kitchen. For several minutes, he reflected on everything that had just happened. He believed what he had said. He truly did. He had to think about the pack. About Gaz. About the family they had already built long before you ever appeared. But the look on Johnny's face...
Eventually, Price turned off the kitchen light and walked down the hallway. He stopped outside Gaz's bedroom. For a moment, he considered going to his own room before deciding against it.
He quietly opened the door. Darkness filled the room. The half-unmade bed, its headboard pressed against the left wall, occupied the center of the room.
Kyle was asleep. Or at least, Price thought he was.
The atmosphere was peaceful, and Price moved carefully, quietly taking off his clothes until he was wearing nothing but his boxers.
Then he carefully climbed into bed behind him and wrapped an arm around Gaz's waist, pulling him close and allowing himself to breathe properly for the first time all night. Absentmindedly, he buried his face deeper into Gaz's neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine while his fingers idly played with the fine hair of Gaz's happy trail that decorated his abdomen.
He tried pushing out happy pheromones, trying to blend his own scent with Gaz's. This was his pack, his responsibility. And he was terrified of losing it.
A few minutes passed in silence before Gaz spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
“Talked to them?”
Price closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Of course he was awake.
“You were supposed to be sleeping.”
Gaz hummed. “You're terrible at sneaking in when you're upset. You smell like burnt rubber.”
Price sighed again. Neither of them spoke for a while. Price simply continued stroking Gaz's happy trail and holding him a little tighter. He thought that maybe, if he stayed quiet, the subject would simply disappear. He didn't want to worry Gaz any more than he already had.
Suddenly, Gaz's hand came to rest over Price's arm before he turned around to look into Price's eyes.
“How bad was it?”
Price didn't answer immediately. “Johnny left.”
Gaz was quiet, too quiet. His gaze drifted somewhere beyond Price, fixed on a distant point in the darkness of the room.
“Kyle?”
Gaz took a slow breath, blinking as he gave a faint shake of his head, pulling himself out of whatever distant thought he'd fallen into. Then he said something Price wasn't prepared for.
“It's okay.”
Price tried to meet his eyes.
“What is, love?”
Gaz rolled onto his back, moving only a few inches away from Price, and stared into the darkness for several seconds in thoughtful silence before finally turning over and presenting his back to his Alpha.
“I already knew they'd choose her.”
The words settled heavily between them, hebay and painfully.
Price didn't know what to say, because he wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell Gaz he was wrong. That everything was still the same as before, that nothing was changing, that no one was being replaced.
But after everything he had just said in the kitchen, after everything he had watched unfold over the past few weeks...
For the first time in a very long time, John Price didn't have an answer.
So he simply held Gaz a little tighter and let the shadows of the night envelop them completely.
By the time you left the medical building, the last traces of daylight had already begun bleeding into a deep indigo autumn sky. The base felt different at that hour. Quieter. The morning rush of soldiers marching between briefings had long disappeared, replaced by the occasional patrol crossing the streets or the distant rumble of military vehicles returning to their garages. The cold evening air bit pleasantly against your cheeks as you tucked your hands into the pockets of your jacket and started the familiar walk back to your apartment.
It had been forty-eight hours since you'd last seen either Johnny or Ghost. For the first time in weeks, neither Ghost nor Soap had appeared outside the medical office waiting to walk you home. They had left before dawn with the rest of Task Force 141 for a training exercise several hours away, and although you kept telling yourself that you appreciated finally having your routine back, the silence beside you during the walk home felt unnaturally loud.
You caught yourself glancing over your shoulder more than once, almost expecting to find Johnny jogging to catch up with you, or Simon already waiting farther down the road with his arms crossed over his chest.
Neither of them appeared. The realization settled somewhere uncomfortable beneath your ribs. You didn't like how quickly you had grown accustomed to them. That thought annoyed you enough to force your attention elsewhere.
Instead, you mentally reviewed tomorrow's patient list, trying to remember whether Sergeant Mills needed his stitches removed or whether that appointment was scheduled for Friday. It was easier to think about paperwork than to admit that, after only two weeks, your apartment somehow felt emptier simply because two infuriating soldiers weren't waiting inside it.
By the time your building came into view, the evening had fully settled over the base. Warm yellow lights glowed behind curtained windows while televisions murmured faintly through the thin apartment walls. It looked peaceful, ordinary, safe.
Exactly the kind of normality you had spent years trying to build.
You unlocked your front door with practiced movements, balancing your work bag against your hip while fishing your keys from your pocket. The familiar click of the lock echoed softly through the small hallway before you nudged the door open with your shoulder.
Warmth greeted you first. The central heating must have been running for several hours already, and the air inside felt much heavier compared to the cold, windy evening outside.
You kicked the door shut behind you, dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl beside the entrance, left your work bag on the floor at the foot of the wooden dresser beside the door, and shrugged your jacket off your shoulders, hanging it on the coat rack mounted on the opposite wall.
For a brief moment, you simply stood there.
The silence was overwhelming.
It filled every space, every corner of your home.
After several weeks of pretending to be one happy little family with Johnny and Ghost, the desolate silence had settled between your walls once again, and there wasn't even a trace left of the cheerful chaos Johnny always brought with him.
For a moment, you thought about how much your life had changed over the past few weeks, and a feeling of dread settled deep in your stomach. You'd let your guard down.
And that always came with disastrous consequences.
Over the years, you had learned how to disappear into the background, how to avoid drawing attention to yourself. The quieter your life was and the fewer people who knew you, the safer you were. Keep your head down. Don't speak too loudly. Don't attract attention.
It seemed those three simple rules had been completely forgotten the moment a certain Scotsman smiled at you.
Once again, it was just you.
Exactly as it had always been meant to be.
Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside and started walking toward the kitchen, your sock-covered feet padding softly across the warm wooden floor as you wondered what you could make for a quick dinner.
That was when you noticed it, as you walked past the living room on your way to the kitchen, a white envelope caught your eye.
It rested perfectly in the center of your dining table. Not tossed there carelessly, but placed exactly in the middle.
Deliberately.
Your footsteps stopped, and every muscle in your body tensed at once.
The apartment hadn't looked disturbed when you'd walked in. Nothing appeared broken. Nothing seemed to be missing. Even now, the room around you remained exactly as you had left it that morning.
Except for the envelope.
You stared at it for several long seconds without moving. A slow, familiar unease crept beneath your skin. Again. The same thing all over again. That same familiar pressure settled over your chest, your mouth suddenly dry as your hands and knees began trembling, threatening to give out beneath you.
That crippling anxiety slowly crept through your body every time it appeared: Fear.
You tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't the first time you'd thought you'd seen things that weren't there. Your constant nerves and paranoia often made you see shadows of the past where there were none.
It wasn't the first time you'd thought someone had entered your apartment, nor was it the first time you'd found something out of place. You had read somewhere that prolonged stress damaged memory. That had to be the explanation. That was why you couldn't remember moving things around yourself. Your memory was failing you. Surely that was it. Things didn't move unless someone moved them.
Maybe it was something Johnny or Soap had left on the table, you tried to convince yourself as you slowly approached the envelope.
Without consciously realizing it, your breathing slowed, and your eyes stopped focusing on the envelope itself. Instead, they swept methodically around the room, cataloguing exits, windows, reflections in the dark television screen—anything that looked even slightly out of place.
Nothing.
Calm down, no one's here. No one could have gotten inside. Slowly, you stepped closer. Think. Reason.
Breathe.
Your fingers carefully lifted the envelope, almost expecting something to happen the moment you touched it. Instead, it felt as though your apartment had sunk even deeper into the overwhelming silence of the very depths of Hades.
You held the envelope in your trembling hands and turned it over to look for a sender. Once again, you were met by that devastating white emptiness.
No address, no stamp, no name, only a blank white envelope sealed with meticulous precision. Whoever had left it there knew you lived here. They knew you would be the one to find it, whether or not it was a coincidence that the soldiers had been sent away on a training exercise.
You slipped a finger beneath the flap and opened it and a single photograph slid into your hand.
Your stomach dropped.
It was grainy, black and white, taken from a security camera. The date in the corner showed three days earlier.
There you were.
Walking alone through the eastern gate of the base, your medical bag hanging from one shoulder, completely unaware that someone had been watching you.
Your throat tightened as you slowly turned the photograph over. Only four words had been scrawled across the back in thick, uneven, familiar red handwriting.
We'll meet again.
Without wasting another second, you hurried toward your bedroom. You didn't care about bumping into the corner of the couch or knocking over the small table lamp resting on a side table near the stairs. You rushed upstairs and shoved your bedroom door open without caring whether it stayed open behind you or not. Only one thing mattered.
You dropped to your knees in front of your wardrobe and pulled open the third drawer. You reached behind the lowest shelf until your fingers found the concealed latch hidden inside the wood. A soft metallic click answered your pull before a narrow false panel slid sideways, revealing a compact electronic safe concealed within the wall.
You entered the code from memory with trembling fingers.
Breathe, remember to breathe.
Inside rested a small black storage case, its contents arranged with almost obsessive precision. Several passports lay stacked one atop another, each bearing a different name, a different nationality, a different face that had once belonged to you. Beside them sat bundles of neatly banded cash in four different currencies, old military identification cards, police badges from countries you hadn't set foot in for years, encrypted USB drives, folded maps covered in handwritten coordinates, burner phones with their batteries removed, and sealed envelopes marked only with dates that meant nothing to anyone but you.
Everything necessary to disappear.
Your eyes swept over the familiar contents, searching instinctively, until they stopped on the small square of black velvet nestled between the passports and the bundles of cash.
It was empty.
With shaking hands, you slipped the photograph and the white envelope into the case before snapping it shut harder than necessary. The safe disappeared behind the false panel once more, every secret sealed back into the wall as though none of it had ever existed.
It wasn't enough.
The feeling refused to leave.
Instead, it settled somewhere between your shoulder blades, prickling across your skin with the unmistakable certainty that someone had been inside your home again.
You lunged toward the drawer beside your bed, yanking open the top drawer and digging through several pairs of thick winter socks until your fingers wrapped around the familiar grip of the pistol hidden beneath a folded blanket.
Cold steel, solid. Real.
Your thumb checked the safety out of pure habit.
The apartment suddenly felt much smaller. It was as though the walls were drawing in and stretching back out again, like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story. The floor seemed to rise and tilt beneath your feet in a slow, relentless sway that made your knees rock forward and back as if you were standing on the deck of a ship.
The colors around you blurred together, bleeding into the outlines of every piece of furniture in the bedroom, while hazy white clouds began to gather around you, wrapping everything in a pale fog.
A dull ringing filled your ears, and the silence that had consumed the apartment only moments before was drowned out by the thunder of war drums pounding from your heart all the way to your teeth.
A terrible feeling settled inside your increasingly disoriented mind. You were forgetting something.
Breathe, you need to breathe.
How did it go again? Right.
Three things you can see: The nightstand, The wardrobe, The closed safe.
Two things you can touch: The wooden floor beneath your bare feet, The gun.
► Established Poly!141 x Female!Reader, Nikolai x Female!Reader, implied Past!141 x Nikolai
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
synopsis— You find yourself infatuated with a Russian man you saw in your partner's office. Admitting the truth leads to outcomes you didn't expect.
warnings— Reader is an overthinker, slight manipulative John, implied past relationships between 141 and Nikolai, sub!reader, slight orgasm denial, fingering, Nikolai uses gender implied nicknames?, Sub? Dom? Price (i have no idea), Nikolai is nasty, spitting, overstimulation, slight body worship, p in v sex, creampie, John is there for moral support, praise kink, Nikolai runs his mouth, probably poorly translated Russian (i'm sorry, I only have the internet)
wc— 4.5k words
NOTES— Finally finished this. HALLELUJAH. I am nervous. Have never written Nikolai, nor have i written multiple people in a sex scene. Please be kind, y'all. This already took me a whole ass two months to finish. Skskskskek. My lovely 🐾 anon, i hope you like.
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YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT WORDS ALWAYS BITE YOU IN THE ASS.
And now you're left to stew in the mess of your own guilt. It burns at you, white hot shame filling your body every time you think of what you said. You can't claim ignorance. That the words were innocent and meant nothing. Because they meant a hell of a lot to you.
You had wonderful partners. Doted on, worshipped-you were never lacking intimately. Hell would bubble up to the surface and melt away at the world if you were without attention. You never processed just how lucky you were. Where most people struggled to even get an inch from one person, you had four men willing to do everything to make sure you were happy in life.
Which was why the guilt ate you alive.
You didn't mean to look at the man. But he stood tall and spoke with a thick Russian accent that made you clench your thighs together. He was charming but mysterious in a way that made you want to pluck morsels of information from his calloused hands.
You knew nothing about him or who he even was. That doesn’t stop you from talking with Maria one day while on the phone with her.
Maria was fun. Met her wife Kate at work and fell in love quickly. They were married within a year and had been together for nearly twenty years now. You looked up to them, needing strong feminine energy in your life all the time.
Maria and Kate were blunt, no bullshit allowed. They weren’t mean, but they’d call you out if they decided it was necessary. You thrived in that, never having to second guess anything.
Which was maybe why you talked to Maria. Indulging her with the admittance of your wandering eyes. She’d set you straight, knock your perverse thoughts out of you so that you could crawl into your bed and not think about the man you saw.
Your relationship was already unconventional, with several partners, but there had never been an agreement to open it up to more. There was no need to. Not when all your needs were met on a daily basis. When one partner slacked, another one took his place.
It worked for you.
Maria was quiet for a moment when you admitted your crimes. She hummed, your throat dried with worry. Long pauses always made your bones ache just a bit more. Your heart was erratic. Your stomach was nauseated. You suddenly decided you didn’t want to be reprimanded, but it was already too late. You couldn’t take the words back.
“You should talk to the guys, sweets,” Maria finally said. “You’d be surprised by how forgiving they can be.”
You huffed indignantly, a dry laugh revealing your anxiety about this situation. “Not about me wanting another man between my legs.”
Maria let out a soft noise. You couldn’t discern what it meant right now. Not while blood pounded in your ears. Your head was aching. Were you making too big of a deal about this? You hated that this was wrecking your brain so much. But after a few weeks of thinking about that man, you realized you needed some outside guiding. Not your own thoughts that tricked you on a daily basis.
“Just talk to them. That’s all I will say.”
Maybe you should’ve talked to Kate instead.
●●●
You herded John into a private space, forgoing the mass interaction of having everyone there. It was less intimidating—you hoped—to talk alone to the eldest of your relationship. He was smart and would know what the others believed in without talking. You just hoped he didn’t scold you too hard.
The man was tired. For that reason, you were even more guilty with bestowing him with this knowledge. You never actually cheated, but the thoughts you had were bad enough in your eyes. Worthy of public shame.
John sat down on the edge of his desk in his home office, crossing his arms over his chest and bulging out his bicep muscles. You wished you were here to jump his bones, but he had already seen your distressed face, and so he would know you were trying to deflect.
Your heart was in your stomach, and bile was rising up your esophagus.
“Darlin’.” John said firmly, blue eyes blinking at you. His crows feet were prominent as he knitted his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes at you expectantly. “I don’t have all day.”
“We can talk later! It’s fine if you have to do something,” you dismissed. Take the bait, John. You silently begged him to let you get you out of this situation, to hopefully get far too busy that he forgot this conversation was even going to happen.
You were fooling yourself. John never forgot anything when it came to you. He was fully devoted to making sure he communicated and expressed to you after a massive fight you had at the beginning of your relationship. Before the others were even introduced.
Which was good. You both worked on shit. Or else none of this dynamic would’ve ever worked.
“Go on.” John demanded gruffly. His lips were pulled into a frown, and you swallowed the lump impeding your throat.
“I…”
How did you even start this? ‘Hey, John, I want to fuck a man I saw in passing when I visited all of you on base.’ That would earn you a ticket straight down to hell and out the door of the neat house John bought when it was just you two.
The more you thought about what was about to spill out of your mouth, the worse you felt.
“A man. A few weeks ago was at your office,” you finally started, and John leaned back as he listened. His stare was intense as he tried to figure out where you could be going with this. You continued despite how much you didn’t want to. “I…I think I’m attracted to him.”
John was silent for a beat, sweat gathered at your hairline. “You think? Or you are, darlin’?” He asked directly.
“I…I am,” you corrected. “I didn’t mean to. I mean… I don’t even know his name. But these past few weeks… I don’t know. I’m fucking attracted to him. I’m sorry. It’s nothing with you guys. I just… my brain won’t stop.”
You explained yourself horribly in trying to be concise. You knew it. Your body warmed with embarrassment, suddenly feeling silly for even bringing this up. You had planned on this going smoother than it had.
You knew John valued honesty. So you felt indebted to let him in on your wandering eyes. Did that make the issue worse? Would it make John suspicious of you now? The thoughts started attacking your mind before John could even formulate words on his tongue.
John's footsteps were precise and intentional as he crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of your form. He was imposing, with his unreadable expression tucked behind thick facial hair, confident posture with straightened shoulders. You shifted on your feet, sweat collecting on your hairline subtly.
"Darling," he started. "What's the fuss for?"
You bit your lip, "Well… I just… I told you I'm attracted to a man I have never spoken to or isn't a part of our dynamic already."
You pointed out the obvious, a normal thing to be torn up about. It was a betrayal, as far as you were concerned. Yet, you watched John's eyebrow quirk the slightest bit and a faint twitch of his lips.
"You did nothing wrong," he spoke. "I was hoping for that outcome."
"What?" Your questioning word was full of confusion. You blinked at him, trying to put puzzle pieces in spots you didn't know yet.
John chuckled lightly. "Didn't expect you to be smitten right off the bat. Was going to ease you into it," his hand came to squeeze at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His hand was warm, assuring, and you instinctively relaxed. "Been talking to the lads. Nik's been curious about you. Thought he'd like to meet you proper."
Your eyes widened. Another player in your already less convential dynamic? John had to be insane. Worry also filled you. It was hard enough managing four different emotional and physical needs of your men. But to add another one to the mix? You were doubtful.
John must have anticipated the types of gears that would be sifting through your brain. He trailed a hand down your arm and clutched at your hand. He squeezed once and then twice for the prolonged silence.
"He's not looking for a relationship, darling," he continued. "Just wants to play with the lass we always yapping about."
You took a deep breath, "You're asking me to have sex with him."
John smiled coyly, "Yes. Nothing to fret. He'll take good care of you. Knows his place. Knows not to mess with you. A bit rough, but you'll like him."
You had a deepfelt moment of thinking. Would this be a regular occurrence? The Russian floating into your orbit to obtain his release before slinking away back to whatever corner he emerged from. You thought of every outcome when yours and John's relationship invited three more men as well. You didn't like being caught off guard without at least thinking through all that you could.
"Ask the lads how much they enjoyed him," John leaned close to your ear, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. "Don't you want the same, darling? You were attracted to him just moments ago."
You swallowed. Him throwing your words back at you like that made you look down at the ground. He wasn‘t berrating you for your prying eyes and lustful thoughts, yet somehow it was just as staggering.
John picked your chin up, blue eyes analyzing every miniscule movement. At that moment, he pried you apart without even speaking. He leaned forward and kissed you forehead.
"Your call, darling," he assured, reminding you that you could back out whenever you wanted.
It was the same thing when each 141 member joined your relationship. If you had trouble connecting with any of them, John would've booted them at the flutter of your eyelashes. He was always keen on making sure he was comfortable.
So, mayhe you could trust him with this as well.
"I suppose I could try," you decided.
John's smile, the one where his cheeks grew rosy and full with his eyes squinted, made you feel like it was all worth it.
●●●
Your partners made you feel special.
Kyle drew you a bath, rubbing out the tight muscles in your neck as you soaked. You sank into the warmth, the touch grounding you. Admittedly, you probably could've fallen asleep, but you knew you couldn't. The night was just getting started.
When you finally peeled yourself from the tub, Johnny entered, holding a towel. He always loved wrapping you in a little burrito, drying your hair as you sat there with half-lidded eyes.
When that was done, Johnny left. He and Simon were tasked with collecting some grub for you afterward. John always liked it when your belly was full after a long night. And tonight, you were obviously going to be treated right.
Kyle guided you onto the bed, situating the pillows and the blanket so you were comfortable. He was doting, one of your most attentive partners. You wondered if it was partly due to how he wanted to live up to John's expectations. You already knew he did.
Kyle crawled up the length of your body, long fingers trailing along your flesh as he went. His lips landed on your stomach, brown eyes looking up at you with fondness as he did so. He smiled when your eyes caught his, purposefully and slowly trailing those delicate kisses up your sternum, your chest. He kissed at your collarbone with a low hum before he moved to your neck.
"I hope you have fun with Nik, dove," he whispered against your pulsing vein. He inhaled your scent before sucking a delicate mark. You squirmed from the sensation, and he let out a raspy chuckle. "You never get used to that, do ya?"
You arched your hips towards him, and he pushed them back down. Blocking your growing frown with a deep kiss. You were getting mixed signals and worked up, and Kyle just simply pulled away. That demon.
"Not tonight," he cooed. "You're Nik's, yeah? Be good."
"How long do I have to wait?" You asked, frown forming completely as his lips pulled away.
"Not long. He's downstairs with the others," he said, and you sat up instantly.
Nerves twisted in your stomach. Your head was still reeling. The fact this was all happening because you admitted to finding the man attractive after one indirect meeting was still boggling your mind. Nikolai was still a stranger. One your partners apparently had trusted and approved of.
"Easy, dove. He's a lot like Cap," Kyle, of course, took in your state and immediately tried to placate you. "Just a bit more forward. He'll love you."
To ease your anxiety, Kyle reached down between your legs, fingers finding the sensitive bundle of your clit. He rolled his thumb over the surface, making you arch your back slightly. Kyle groaned as he leaned down again to kiss along your neck, listening to the way your breath stuttered against his lips.
"There you go," he purred. "Relax for me."
A finger traced along the rim of your hole before he pushed it in. His finger was immediately glistening with your arousal as he curled it a few times, trying to find that sweet spot. When you let out a soft noise, he continued in that pattern.
Only the sounds of your quiet moans and the wet 'shlick' of your cunt could be heard for a few minutes. Right before you could fall over the edge, however, Kyle pulled his finger and left you reeling.
"Ky…" you complained, trying to find that delicious friction again.
Kyle just grinned and kept his eyes on you as he popped his finger into his mouth. That scene made you bite your lip as you sat up on your elbows.
"Be a good girl now," he reminded you as he picked himself off of the bed. His arousal was evident as his bulge pushed out the fabric of his pants. "Can I go get him now?"
A slight twist in your belly accompanied your nod. "I suppose so," you agreed.
Kyle kissed your forehead before heading to the door. You watched him go, heart-pounding and desperate for release. Your core was still pinched with desire as you let out a sigh.
Unsure of how you present yourself, you kept yourself in the position of being on your elbows. You closed your legs, deciding to let Nikolai unveil that part of you. Your chest rose and fell as your eyes remained fixated on the door, waiting for footsteps and a noise different from what you were used to.
Sure enough, those heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. The body obviously one to announce their presence.
To your surprise, when the door opened, John was the first to enter. He gave you a gentle, closed-lipped smile while you gave him a confused look.
"Change of plan, darling," he spoke, the low timbre of his voice calming you. "Gonna stay here with you and Nik. That sound good?"
You nodded, muscles losing some of their tension. John was always a safe space for you, commanding the environment easily. You needed that, especially when your eyes flickered behind him to spotting the Russian you had seen weeks ago.
He stood tall, an imposing figure even next to John. His features were strong. Where John was more leaner muscle, he was softer, but no less powerful. You found yourself enjoying the way he'd dwarf you completely. A lot like Simon.
Nikolai was a prowling bear in every sense of the word.
"Красивая кукла," he spoke in a heavy Russian accent as his eyes were centered on you. Something close to delight stirred in your belly after hearing it, even if you didn't understand it necessarily. His eyes looked appreciative, so you took it as a good thing.
"Isn't she?" John agreed as he climbed onto the bed with you. You went lax as he maneuvered behind you, supporting his back against the headboard while you leaned into him. "Go on, darling. Open those legs for us, eh?"
His large hands enclosed around both knees. He pulled them out but wasn't demanding, letting you follow suit on your own. You felt his kiss upon the back of your neck, just as you revealed your glistening cunt—still wet from Kyle working you up just moments before.
"Блядь," Nikolai cursed under his breath. "Garrick was sweet, no?"
Your belly curled at that. Of course, they knew about your little interaction with Kyle. That was probably why John decided to join the session. You were fond of how easily they communicated, long established military bonding had translated well into your relationships.
"Did he make you come, Кукла?" Nikolai asked.
You couldn’t answer for a moment, too hung up on how he started to undress. His shirt was peeled off his body, revealing his soft, muscled stomach. His arms were thick, and you swallowed with the desire to feel them wrapped around your neck.
His pants and boxers came off easily, and you felt John buck slightly into your back. His heart was pounding against your back, and yours was probably the same. You clenched around nothing—the mix of Nikolai and John's obvious interest, making your head spin.
His cock was fully hard as he let it free. It wasn't as long as some of your partner's. But it made up for it in thickness. He had long veins running along the sides and heavy balls were shadowed thick, dark hair. Your lips parted, more arousal collecting between your legs.
Nikolai clicked his tongue and moved so that he could pinch your jaw between his fingers. His thumb pushed down on your tongue, and you instinctively closed your mouth and sucked.
He growled, "I asked question, Кукла." You felt John grabbing at your hips, rolling over your natural shape. It was such a contrast between both men.
"No," you answered. "He didn't."
Nikolai seemed satisfied with that answer. "No? He knew that was for me. I take care of you, да?"
You nodded and he pinched harder.
"Words when you answer," Nikolai ordered, though after a moment, he released your jaw, grabbing your hand and kissing at your knuckles.
John's chest rumbled at that as he reached down to paw at your stomach, another kiss landing on the side of your throat. You assumed he made eye contact with Nikolai, as the Russian's eyes trailed to him.
"What was the question?" You asked in a haze of your thoughts.
"Who takes care of you?" Nikolai repeated.
"You. You do," you breathed out. He was already commanding the field without even touching you where you were leaking now.
"Mhm. Хорошая девочка," Nikolai cooed.
Finally, he peppered your body with kisses. Moving in the opposite direction than Kyle had. You sank further into John as you realized where his head was going. John rubbed idle circles on your belly as you felt Nikolai's warm breath on your mound and then your cunt. You twitched and Nikolai's hands clasped around your thighs.
"Keep open," he ordered before his mouth enclosed around your clit.
You choked on your breath, hands searching for John. He followed your silent yearning, hand grabbing yours so that they rested with his against your belly. This also made you vulnerable to Nikolai's ministrations.
Nikolai teased your clit, rolling his tongue over the throbbing bundle of nerves, a single finger tracing your fluttering hole. He grunted against your skin when you rewarded him with a moan, head falling into the groove of John's shoulder.
"Easy," he said. "Can't be losing your head yet, darling."
Nikolai sunk his finger into your welcoming cunt and you groaned. Even that was thick and you clenched around it.
"So responsive, doll," Nikolai purred. "Gonna have fun."
He curled his finger, stroking until he found that gummy spot. It didn't take him long, confident in his movements. It made you relax more as he worked at the festering coil that had been building in your core.
Your hands tensed in John's hold, and he ran his thumbs along your knuckles. Placating, consistent nips were placed along your shoulder and neck. Your body was thrumming from the dual sensation of full indulgent pleasure to barely their touches.
Nikolai slowly introduced a second finger, monitoring your body with rapt attention. He coaxed your body to soften more before he completely sunk it in, but the moment he curled, your breath stopped.
"Come on, doll," he said, voice husky. "Let go for us, да?"
It wasn't long before you felt the tether breaking. You arched your body, unable to sit so still anymore. Nikolai followed where you went, not suppressing the buildup. He just aided the ride.
When you broke, your head went foggy. A wave of bliss washed over you, satisfaction creeping up your spine and into the synapses of your brain. You couldn’t hear what John said, but he said something before he turned your head and captured your lips.
It was sloppy, desire expressed deeply as John cupped your cheeks. His beard burned against your face in a way that made you moan. All your nerves from earlier were floating away as you basked in that first orgasm.
Nikolai sat back. His face was wet from your release, and he didn't wipe it off or anything. As he pulled his fingers out of your sensitive body, he waited until John had his fill before demanding attention.
He held up his fingers, and you half expected him to push them into your mouth, making you taste your own release. Instead, he directed them to John's lips. Your partner sucked on the fingers obediently, eyes dilating as he groaned into it.
You were used to John being the vision of stability. He was eerily collected while chasing your pleasure most days, and when the others joined, he commanded them like he would in the battlefield. An easy dynamic to naturally fall into for all of them.
But there was an air of inferiority in John's role with Nikolai. Maybe that was because he was letting Nikolai have the full barrage of pleasure this time around. Or it was always like that. Not knowing made it more attractive to you.
You whimpered at their exchange, and both of them grinned.
"Feeling left out?" Nikolai cooed as he crawled over you. His body blanketed yours, thighs slotting in between your still open legs. You sucked in a breath as his eyes bore into yours. "Жадный."
You could feel him now. His cock slid across your thigh as he moved into position, smearing precum on your skin. His thick length was imposing as the head pressed through your folds.
He rolled his hips, slicking his cock with your arousal, and it brought you a delicious friction as well. Your core was burning again.
You wanted to palm at John's rigid cock as it dug into your naked back. It twitched when you moaned and you could tell he wanted nothing more than to be the one sinking into you. Maybe he'd get to afterwards because you missed the feeling of him.
John lifted your legs up, bending them in a way that was still comfortable for you but gave Nikolai more access. Nikolai looked down where he was about to enter you and spat directly down onto your hole. Your muscles twitched as he reached down and rubbed it into your skin.
"Deep breath, doll," he growled as he leaned over you and started to guide himself into you.
He stretched your hole, making you let out a strangled noise. John shushed you gently, kissing behind your ear. Nikolai went slowly, which allowed you to feel the way he dragged through your walls even more. Both were hyperfocused on any discomfort.
"There you go, darling," John praised. "Deep breaths. You know what to do."
"Чувствуй себя хорошо, куколка," Nikolai's voice was hoarse as he completely diverted to Russian. "Ревную, что мне потребовалось так много времени, чтобы обрести тебя."
He got halfway in before he started with little thrusts. Anything to help you adjust. John had given him a stern warning not to break you. He pulled all the way out until his tip remained inside and then pushed back in.
You clenched, body trying to hold onto him as he moved just like that. Nikolai didn't moan, but he let out low grunts that told you he felt good. The veins you saw earlier were pulsing, and it was driving you crazy.
"Faster. Please, Nik," you begged. The slow movements were nice, but not enough for you to reach the high you wanted.
Nikolai pressed into you, chest scrapping along yours as his lips finally met yours. It was desperate, dominating, and you whined against him as he sped up, granting you what you wanted.
Your body rocked into John, and you felt his hand in your hair now. Such a contrast to the rough pounding you were receiving. The wet gush of your cunt filled the room as well aa various pleasured sounds.
Nikolai angled his thrusts up and managed to hit just right. Your hands, now free, gripped at his shoulders as your nails dug into his flesh. Nikolai was taking exactly what he wanted from you, and it was bringing you to the edge.
"Squeezing me, да?" Nikolai rasped. "Can't have just one?"
Nikolai moved his hand between you both and rolled his thumb over your clit again. That got your head spinning and your senses alerted as you tried to squirm away from the sensation. You were already overwhelmed, pleasure wracking your body like a beast.
"Take it," Nikolai pinned you down with just the mass of his body. "Be good."
He worked you up just to break you apart at the seams. This was his first time having you, and yet he acted as if he always knew just how to play you. And the more he did, the more you broke skin with your nails.
Nikolai seemed to crave that feeling as you were pretty sure he pushed harder the moment nails made cresents on his roughed up flesh. His soft, muscled belly rolled against yours, sweat-matted hair burning your skin.
It didn't take long before all that caused your second orgasm. Nikolai grunted and lasted for a few more deep-punching thrusts before you felt warmth bloom inside of you. His mouth became occupied with sucking a mark into your neck. A claiming.
You came down slowly, didn't even realize you closed your eyes at some point, until John was pushing back your damp hair. He kissed your forehead and rubbed your side as Nikolai softened inside of you.
"I have again. Soon," he told John, more of a statement than a request.
John comforted you for a moment before responding. "If that's what the missus wants."
Who were you to deny that experience again?
TRANSLATIONS:
Красивая кукла - Beautiful doll
Блядь - Fuck
Кукла - Doll
да- Yes
Хорошая девочка - Good girl
Жадный - Greedy
Чувствуй себя хорошо, куколка - Feel good, doll
Ревную, что мне потребовалось так много времени, чтобы обрести тебя - I'm jealous that it took me so long to find you.
So, Artist!Reader who unfortunately is going through creative block. But no worries! You know how to get the juices going.
The secret is that you just need a good orgasm or two so the system pumps up some happy chemical and you’re good to go.
Lucky for you, Neighbor!Soap is always happy (eager) to help. Can’t let a sweet thing like you needy and desperate, right lovie?
No string attached. Just sent him a quick text and he’s at your door the next second.
But thennnn. When you text this time, and open the door this time. There’s this huge grumpy masked man instead.
Cue awkward stare until your phone chime, sneak a quick glance at the screen, you saw Johnny texted you.
Saying that he can’t be here this time but knows who can help.
Oh well, that works too.
No string attached, right? They’re just helping you get back on your track.
Thennn, the next time you open your door to a beautiful smile.
Thennn, a DILF who looks like he climb out of your dashboard to be here between your legs.
So whenever Johnny is deployed but the others aren’t, they’ll make sure their little birdie is satiated.
A side mission for the 141 if one might said.
They’re happy that you’re happy. All satisfied to be able to go back to be creative. .
Until they are all on leave at the same time.
They mightttt have gone overboard, so now you can't even think, much less getting out of bed to do anything.
"Sorry lovie," Johnny chuckles, kissing your neck lazily as his hand works its way down between your legs again. "Let we fix it for ya? Huh? Just one more."
