simon loves a few things, good weed and good sex. the man’s obsessed with these two. and somehow he always has money to buy a good, high quality weed, and you always ask him where he gets so much money but he never tells you.
because every time you ask a little too much, he distracts you. one second you’re talking and next second he holds your legs up to get deeper inside you. so you are never capable to think straight around this man. he doesn’t let you. simon riley is an interesting man, you always think. there is something mysterious about him, because despite how close you two are, you hardly know anything about him.
but what you do know is that he is really good at multitasking. because even now as your tired eyes looked up at his broad frame, he still left you in awe at how casually he smoked his joint while he rearranged your guts. his big palm was really warm against the skin of your calves that he held with just a single hand. the smoke left his nostrils slowly as he thrusted slowly into you. his gaze was piercing, intense enough to send shiver down your spine. the corner of his lips pulled up in a crooked smile.
“what’re you lookin’ at, want a drag?” he asked, and the mocking in his tone was obvious in the way he tilted his head to the side. he didn’t offer you the joint, however, despite your nod and your expectation. so your only choice was to sit up as carefully as possible as to not have him slip out from you.
you leaned on your hands, taking a deep breath as you felt him deeper with the new angle. “simon,” you managed to mumble “please.” to your surprise, it was enough for him to lean forward and hold the joint to your parted lips. the drag you took was deep, to make sure it was enough to cloud your mind more, and before you could exhale the smoke, his lips were already on yours. white clouds surrounded you both as they escaped from between your lips. it circled you both, as simon held your face with his free hand, pressing you against him more.
— a. n. heyyy, so…tumblr wouldn’t let me post haha……..idk wtf was that. but i can finally do it!!!
✧ sex pollen, poly dynamics, explicit smut, oral (m/f & f/m), raw sex, overstimulation, heavy emotional angst, hurt comfort, disregard for military protocol & field medicine, dubious consent (drug-induced). 18+
a sweet, violet poison leaves you drowning in a feverish high, and in the hands of task force 141. kyle and johnny give everything to keep you alive, devouring every inch of you through the haze. but the real torture isn't really the drug. it's the towering, masked lieutenant sitting in the shadows, steadfastly refusing to lay a single finger on you, and leaving you completely ruined for him.
a tiny reminder: we are operating on fever-dream trope logic here, my sweet friends. reality and real-world medical accuracy were left behind in the desert sand to make room for 141 devotion, angst, and simon riley losing his mind. sip some water, drop the realism at the door, and i hope you will enjoy this one, i wrote it with such love. 🧪✨🩷 xx
The mission was a textbook extraction until it wasn't.
The operation had proceeded with the smooth, practiced efficiency that defined Task Force 141. The target, a defecting scientist with knowledge of biochemical weapons, had been secured without firing a single shot. The intel, a collection of hard drives and vials, was safely stowed in Gaz's pack.
The exfil chopper was a welcome sight on the horizon, its rotors beating a steady rhythm against the oppressive heat of the Kastovian desert.
You were moving through the crumbling ruins of the bombed-out laboratory, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay, when a canister on the floor, half-buried in rubble, hissed. It was a sound like a serpent's warning, and then it released a plume of shimmering, purple mist. It was too late to hold your breath. You felt the fine particles, cool and strangely dry, coat your exposed skin, invade your lungs, a scent like overripe fruit and something metallic. Sharp and unsettling. It clung to the back of your throat, a sweet taste that made your stomach churn.
"Contact!" Ghost had snapped, his voice urgent in your earpiece, so different than his usual low rumble. "MacTavish, get her out!"
But it was too late.
The world tilted on its axis, the dusty walls of the lab wavering like a heat mirage. The concrete under your boots felt too hot, radiating an unnatural warmth through the soles, and the air grew thick with the lingering purple haze.
And then, a fire, low and insistent, ignited in the pit of your stomach. It wasn't pain. It was... need. A raw, clawing, all-consuming hunger that obliterated every other thought in your head, every scrap of training, every shred of self-preservation. Your mission parameters, the scientist, the exfil chopper — it all faded into meaningless background noise. The only thing that mattered was the burning, aching emptiness that demanded to be filled, a thirst that cried out for a quenching you couldn't name but instinctively knew you needed, and needed now.
By the time you stumbled out of the ruins and into the LZ, your hands were already shaking. Soap caught you, his strong arms steadying you as you swayed.
"Easy, bonnie," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "What was in that shite?"
You couldn't answer. You could only look at him, at the pulse point in his neck, at the curve of his lower lip. An overwhelming urge to bite him, to lick him, to feel his skin against yours, flooded your senses. A whimper escaped your lips.
"LT, it's not a nerve agent," Soap said with a dawning realization. "Her pupils are fuckin' huge, but she's not convulsing. She's..."
"Horny," Gaz finished for him, jogging up behind you, his eyes wide with a mix of alarm and something else. He'd seen this before, a briefing on a rogue chemical weapon designed to destabilize a target by turning their own body against them. "It's an aphrodisiac. A potent one."
You heard them talking, but the words were just noise. The fire inside you was raging now, an inferno that demanded fuel. You turned in Soap's arms, pressing your body against his, your hands fisting in his tac vest.
"Please," you gasped, the single word ripped from your throat. It wasn't clear what you were pleading for. Touch. Release. Anything to stop the unbearable, aching emptiness.
Soap's hands hovered over your back, hesitant, caught between his duty as a soldier and his instinct as a man. He looked over your head at Ghost, who stood a few feet away, his posture unnaturally stiff.
"LT?" Soap's voice was a plea for guidance.
Ghost said nothing. He was a statue carved from shadow, his skull-printed mask an impenetrable wall. But behind the mask, his eyes were fixed on you.
He watched as you rubbed yourself against Soap like a cat in heat, a soft, desperate sound escaping your lips.
He watched as Gaz moved closer, his hand coming to rest on your hip, a grounding touch. Every point of contact, Soap's chest against yours, Gaz's fingers on your skin, sent little shocks of pleasure through you, but it was like trying to put out a forest fire with a glass of water. It wasn't enough. You needed more.
Gaz, ever the pragmatist, was the first to break. "We can't leave her like this," he said. "It's torture. The mission's over. We get her back to the chopper, but we have to... manage this."
"Manage this?" Soap echoed, a hint of his usual humour laced with disbelief. "How the fuck do we 'manage' a biochemical horniness bomb, Gaz?"
The journey back to the base was a fever dream. The world outside the chopper's window was a blur of sand and sky, but inside, you were trapped in an overheated prison of your own body.
They had you sandwiched between them on the bench seat, Soap's solid form on one side, Gaz's on the other. Their presence was both a comfort and a torment. You could feel the heat radiating from them, smell the familiar scents of sweat and leather, and it was driving you insane.
"Please," you mumbled again, your head lolling back onto Soap's shoulder. "It hurts. I need... something."
Soap shifted, his thigh pressing against yours. "What do you need, hen? Tell us what to do."
You couldn't. You didn't have the words. Instead, you turned your face into his neck, your lips brushing against the salty skin there. You inhaled deeply, his scent a potent drug.
"You smell so good," you slurred, your tongue darting out for a taste. You heard his sharp intake of breath, felt the muscle in his neck tense under your lips.
"Fuck," he muttered, his hand coming up to tentatively touch your hair. "I don't think I can be a gentleman right now."
Ghost, who had been silent since you left the ground, was suddenly there, crouched in front of you. His masked face was level with yours, his dark stare intense. He reached out and tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.
"Listen to me," he commanded, his voice a gravelly growl that should have been annoying but instead sent a wave of heat pooling in your core. "You need to drink. Can you do that for me, Sergeant?"
You nodded, or tried to. Gaz was already holding a canteen to your lips. You took a sip, the cool water a shock to your system. But the fire inside just hissed and raged on. You pushed the canteen away.
"Not what I need," you whined, your eyes drifting back to Ghost. He was so close. You could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, see the strain in the lines around them.
You wanted to touch him. You wanted to rip the mask off and see his face, feel his mouth on yours.
"Simon," you breathed, using his first name, a breach of protocol you'd never dare make if you weren't burning up from the inside out. "Touch me. Please."
You saw him flinch, a full-body recoil as if he'd been struck. His hand dropped from your chin as if burned, and he retreated back to his seat, putting a deliberate, painful distance between you.
The rejection stung, a sharp, confusing pang amidst the physical haze. Why wouldn't he touch you? The other two would. You could see it in the way Soap's breathing had gone ragged, in the way Gaz's hand kept stroking your thigh, his thumb tracing circles higher and higher.
"He's just... tryin' to be professional," Gaz murmured in your ear, trying to soothe you. But his words didn't make sense. Nothing made sense except the need.
You turned your attention back to Soap, who looked like he was at war with himself. You solved his dilemma for him by throwing a leg over his lap, straddling him. The surprised "oof" he let out was almost comical.
"Christ, Johnny," you purred, grinding down against the hard length you could feel against his zipper. It was a blessed, glorious pressure. "You're so hard for me."
His hands flew to your hips, stilling your movements. "Fuck, you can't — we're in a bloody chopper," he hissed, but his eyes were glazed, his pupils blown wide.
"Don't care," you moaned, rocking against him again. The friction was bliss, a tiny wave of relief in an ocean of need. "Mmm, feels so good."
This was how you arrived back at base. Disheveled, panting, and clinging to Soap, while Ghost sat in stony silence across from you, his gaze an unreadable weight. You were a mess of conflicting signals, a sobbing, whimpering, needy mess, and the professional soldiers tasked with your care were completely out of their depth.
In the medical bay, the situation didn't improve. With Price and Laswell unreachable, the on-site medic was at a loss. The chemical was experimental, with no known antidote. The only advice was to "keep the subject hydrated and comfortable until the compound metabolizes."
"Comfortable," Soap scoffed, running a hand through his mohawk as he looked at you writhing on the examination table. "She's fuckin' climbin' the walls."
Gaz stood by the door, his arms crossed, his expression grim. "We can't just... do nothing."
"We're not doin' nothin'," Soap argued, his eyes on you. "We're... supervisin'."
You were past listening. You'd torn off your own tac vest and shirt, the cool air of the med-bay a brief relief on your feverish skin. Your bra felt too tight, too restrictive. You fumbled with the clasp.
"That's it," Ghost's voice cut through the air, sharp and final. He moved with purpose, scooping you up from the table, a blanket wrapped around your bare shoulders. He carried you out of the med-bay, his gait long and determined, Soap and Gaz following in his wake like chastised puppies.
He didn't take you to the barracks. He took you to his quarters. It was the first time you'd ever been inside. It was spartan, clean, and smelled like him. The door clicked shut behind the three of them.
"Right," Ghost said, his voice strained. He set you down on his bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a second before he let go, as if touching you was painful. He turned to face the others, his back to you. "This is what's happening. We are going to stay here. We are going to help her through this. And whatever the fuck happens in this room tonight, it stays in this room. Are we clear?"
There was a heavy pause. You watched, your head swimming, as Soap and Gaz exchanged a look. It was a look that held a world of unspoken things: loyalty, desire, and a deep, unwavering trust in their Lieutenant.
"Aye, LT," Soap said quietly.
"Crystal," Gaz added.
Ghost nodded, a sharp, jerky movement. He turned back to you, and you saw the torment in his eyes. It was the raw agony that cut through the chemical haze in your brain.
"Listen to me," he said, kneeling in front of you, his hands on his knees, not on you. "You're not well. This is the drug talking. We're going to help you, but you have to try to stay with us. Can you do that?"
You nodded, but it was a lie. You couldn't stay with him. The fire was roaring now, a beast demanding to be fed. You reached for him, your hand tangling in the strap of his vest.
"Simon," you whined, tugging him closer. "Don't be nice. Just... please."
His jaw clenched, the muscle jumping. He looked over his shoulder at the others.
"Hold her."
Soap and Gaz moved in, one on each side of you, their hands on your shoulders, holding you still against the headboard. It was a restraint, but to you it felt like an embrace. You struggled for a second, then went still, panting.
Ghost's hands, those hands you'd been obsessing over, finally moved to your body. He pushed the blanket aside, his eyes on your face. He hesitated, then his gloved hands moved to your chest. His touch was clinical at first, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin above your bra.
"Gloves off," you gasped.
He looked at you, a storm of conflict in his eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pulled the gloves off, finger by finger, and tossed them aside. When his bare hands touched you again, the difference was electric. His skin was rough, warm, real.
A choked sound escaped your lips.
"’s just to... take the edge off," he said, as if trying to convince himself.
His thumbs circled your nipples through the thin lace of your bra, and you arched off the bed, a cry torn from your throat.
"Fuck, that's it," Soap murmured in your ear, his breath hot. "Is that good, bonnie?"
"Yes, yes, fuck," you babbled, your head thrashing against Gaz's shoulder. "More. Harder. Please, Simon, touch me properly."
Your words seemed to wound him. He flinched again, but his hands obeyed your command. He pushed the cups of your bra down, freeing your breasts. His gaze finally dropped, and you heard his sharp, hissed intake of breath. He looked at you like you were a masterpiece and a grenade all at once. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples.
You were lost. The filter between your brain and your mouth was completely gone.
"Your hands are so big," you moaned. "I bet they'd feel so good inside me. Filling me up."
Gaz's hand was stroking your arm, his other arm still holding you steady. "She's just speakin' her mind, Soap. Can't blame a lass for bein' honest."
You turned your head to Gaz, your lips finding the skin of his neck. You bit him, gently, then licked the spot.
"You wanna touch me too, Gaz?" you whispered. "I bet your fingers are just as good. I want all of you. All your hands."
This time, the silence that followed was heavy with decision. Gaz looked at Ghost, a silent question in his eyes. You couldn't see Ghost's face, but you felt the shift in the room.
"Just... help her," Ghost rasped. He didn't move, his hands stilling on your breasts as if frozen.
That was all the permission Gaz needed. He turned your face to his and kissed you. It was deep, demanding, a kiss of lust. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you met him with equal fervor, your hands coming up to clutch at his shirt.
Soap wasn't far behind. You felt him shift on the bed, and then his lips were on your neck, his teeth scraping your skin, his hand coming up to cover one of your breasts, taking over where Simon had left off.
And Simon... Simon just watched. You could feel his eyes on you, a hot, heavy weight. You broke the kiss with Gaz, turning your head to look at him.
"Simon," you gasped, Soap's fingers rolling your nipple. "Don't just watch. Come here. Kiss me. Please."
He looked like a man facing a firing squad. He shook his head, a barely perceptible movement.
"I can't."
"Why not?" you whined, the rejection cutting through the pleasure. "Don't you want me?"
His answer was a choked sound. He surged forward, but not to kiss you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged against your skin. His arms wrapped around you with a bone-crushing force, as if he was trying to anchor himself or shield you from the world.
He said nothing, but the way he held you, the way his body trembled against yours, spoke volumes.
You realized, in a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the chemical haze, that this was perhaps his hell. To see you like this, to have you begging for him, and to believe it wasn't real. Maybe he couldn't distinguish between the drug and your true feelings, and the risk of being wrong was more than he could bear. Or maybe…
You held him back, your arms circling his neck, even as Gaz's lips found your jaw and Soap's hand slid down your stomach, inching towards the waistband of your pants. You clung to the trembling reality of Simon, and let the others chase the chemical phantoms from your body.
It was a strange, heartbreaking, and intensely erotic tableau. Ghost holding you for dear life, while the other men you trusted, your brothers-in-arms, did what was necessary to save you from yourself.
"I can't," Ghost's voice was a raw, agonized whisper against your neck. He repeated it, more to himself than to anyone else. "I can't... fuck, I'm sorry. I jus’... I can't."
He pushed himself away from you, the sudden absence of his body heat a cold shock. You reached for him, a cry of protest on your lips, but he was already on his feet, putting the bed between you. He looked wild, unhinged, his chest heaving, his now gloved hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"LT—" Soap started, his own voice strained, his hand frozen on the waistband of your pants.
"Take care of her," Ghost cut him off, his voice a harsh command. He looked at you one last time, his eyes a maelstrom of pain and desire and something so pure it made your heart ache. "I'll be... outside. Just... make it stop."
And then he was gone, the door of his quarters clicking shut behind him, leaving you with Soap and Gaz and a deafening silence that echoed the emptiness he'd left behind.
The fire in you still raged, but now it was laced with a new, sharp pain.
You whimpered, a small, lost sound.
"Hey, it's alright," Gaz soothed, his hand moving to cup your cheek, turning your face away from the door. His touch was gentle. "He just needs a minute. He's not... it's not you, okay? This is just... a lot."
You nodded, blinking back the tears that had suddenly sprung to your eyes. The drug didn't like sadness; it wanted pleasure, it demanded it. The conflict was nauseating.
Soap leaned in, his forehead resting against your temple. "We've got you, bonnie," he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of sympathy and lust. "We're gonna get you through this. Just... trust us."
You did trust them. With your life. Now, you had to trust them with your body, in the most vulnerable way imaginable.
Gaz's thumb stroked your cheekbone. "What do you need, sweet girl? Tell us what to do."
You took a shuddering breath, trying to claw your way through the haze to a coherent thought. The need was still there, a pulsating, insistent beat between your legs.
"Make it stop hurting," you whispered, the words brittle.
Soap's hand, which had been hovering, finally slid beneath the waistband of your pants. His touch was direct, confident. He didn't waste time, his fingers finding the slick, swollen folds of your sex with an unerring accuracy.
"Fuck, she's soaked," he breathed, the wonder in his voice unmistakable. He ran a finger through your wetness, circling your clit with a touch that had your back arching off the bed.
Gaz's lips found yours again, but this kiss was different. It was softer, more comforting, a way to distract you from the raw intensity of what Soap was doing. He kissed you slowly, his tongue coaxing yours, a silent conversation of reassurance.
"You're so beautiful," Gaz murmured against your lips. "So fucking strong, taking this so well."
Soap's fingers slid lower, one thick digit pressing at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, and the feeling of being filled, even slightly, was a profound relief. A moan tore from your throat, muffled by Gaz's mouth.
"That's it," Soap encouraged, his voice husky. "Yer so tight, so hot for it." He began to move his finger, a slow, deep thrust that had you seeing stars. He added a second, the stretch a burning pleasure that pushed you higher. "God, I can’t wait to feel ye cum on my hand."
His words were gasoline on the fire. The combination of his skilled fingers pumping inside you, Gaz's possessive kiss, and the memory of Simon's pained eyes created a vortex of sensation that was overwhelming. You were lost to it, your body moving of its own accord, riding Soap's hand.
Gaz broke the kiss, his mouth moving to your ear. "Let go for us," he whispered, his voice a dark, seductive command. "Be a good girl and cum for Johnny, yeah?"
The permission, the endearment, the sheer filthy intimacy of it all... Your orgasm hit you with the force of a freight train, a silent, violent explosion that started in your core and radiated outwards. Your inner walls clamped down on Soap's fingers, your body shaking uncontrollably between them. You were distantly aware of Soap groaning your name, of Gaz holding you tightly, whispering praise that you couldn't comprehend.
As the waves of pleasure slowly receded, they left behind a profound exhaustion.
The chemical fire wasn't gone, but for the first time in hours, it was banked, reduced to a low, simmering ember instead of an inferno. Your body felt sated, your mind fuzzy and calm.
Soap carefully withdrew his fingers, and the loss made you whimper.
"Shh, I know," he soothed, cleaning his hand with a towel from the bedside table. "Ye did so good, hen. So, so good."
They laid you down, arranging the pillows around you. Gaz pulled a blanket over your trembling form. The room was quiet, save for your ragged breathing and the soft hum of the base's ventilation system.
"It'll come back," you murmured, the dread already creeping in at the edges of your bliss.
"Yeah," Soap sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Gaz, a silent conversation passing between them. "We'll be here. We'll keep doing... this. Until it's over."
Gaz nodded, his expression serious. "We've got you. Just rest now."
You closed your eyes, the darkness welcoming. Relief, shame, lingering pleasure, and a deep, aching hurt for the man who was probably standing guard outside the door. As sleep finally claimed you, your last conscious thought was a prayer that when this was all over, you'd find a way to explain to Simon what this really was.
The reprieve was brief. You woke to the insistent, gnawing ache returning, a low-grade fever under your skin that quickly built back into a raging blaze. The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the desk. Gaz was dozing in the armchair, his head tilted back, while Soap sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a weary but focused expression.
"Hey," he said softly as your eyes opened. "How you feelin'?"
"Like I'm on fire," you rasped, your voice hoarse. You shifted under the blanket, the friction against your sensitive skin enough to make you gasp. "Again. Please, Johnny."
His jaw tightened, a flicker of something stray crossing his face. He nodded, his hand reaching for the blanket. "Okay. We'll... try somethin' different this time."
He pulled the blanket aside, and you saw you were still in your open bra and pants, the fabric of the latter darkened with a large, damp patch. Soap's gaze lingered there for a second before he hooked his fingers into the waistband.
"Can I take these off?"
You nodded frantically, lifting your hips to help him.
Gaz stirred in the chair, stretching as he woke. He was at your side in an instant, his presence a solid comfort. "Alright, beautiful?" he asked, brushing the hair back from your face.
"Need you," you breathed, looking up at him, then at Soap, who was now sliding your pants down your legs. "Both of you."
They exchanged another look over your head, a silent agreement forged in the crucible of the last few hours. This time, they moved with a shared, unspoken purpose.
Soap discarded your pants, leaving you bare from the waist down. He didn't touch you immediately. Instead, he stood, and with a few quick movements, undid his own belt and pants, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. It was thick and hard, straining upwards...
"Can't fuck ye," he said, his voice thick with regret. "Wouldn't be right. But... you can use me. Use us to get what you need, yeah?"
The offer was so raw, so generous, it almost broke you. Before you could answer, Gaz was moving, positioning himself on the bed behind you. He sat back against the headboard, his legs spread, and gently pulled you back to rest your back against his chest. His arms came around you, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other cupping your breast. His clothed erection pressed against your lower back.
"Lean on me," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm. "Just relax."
Soap knelt on the bed in front of you, his fist slowly stroking his impressive length. "C'mere, bonnie," he coaxed. "Put yer legs over mine."
You did, your thighs parting over his, your feet resting on his hips. The position was utterly exposed, wanton, and perfect. It left you completely open, your slick, swollen pussy on display.
"Beautiful," Gaz groaned, his eyes dark as he looked down at your body. "So fucking beautiful."
Soap shuffled closer, the head of his cock now just inches from your core. He took himself in hand, notching the thick head against your entrance, but not pushing in. Instead, he began to rock his hips, sliding his cock through your wetness, the underside of his shaft bumping against your clit with every thrust.
"Oh, God," you whimpered, your head falling back onto Gaz's shoulder. The sensation was incredible — a delicious friction that stimulated your clit without the intensity of penetration. It was exactly what you needed.
"That's it," Soap grunted, his eyes fixed on where his body met yours. "You're so wet, fuck... soakin' me."
Gaz's hands were roaming your body, one pinching your nipple, the other sliding down to join the messy, slick friction at your core. His long fingers found your clit, circling it in time with Soap's thrusts.
"Tell us how it feels, love," Gaz purred in your ear.
"Feels... so good," you babbled, your hips starting to move, chasing the pleasure. "Both of you... so good... I'm so close already."
The pressure of Soap's cock on your clit, the expert circling of Gaz's fingers, the heat of Gaz's body behind you — it all coalesced into a tightening spiral. You were grinding down on Soap's shaft shamelessly, using him, exactly as he'd offered, the slick sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.
"Gonna cum," you gasped, the warning tearing from your throat.
"Do it," Soap growled, his rhythm increasing. "Cum on my cock, sweetheart. Make a mess for me."
Gaz's fingers pressed down harder on your clit, and that was it. Your orgasm crashed over you, less of a shockwave and more of a long, rolling tide of pleasure. You cried out, your body convulsing, your inner muscles clenching around nothing as you soaked Soap's cock and stomach with your release.
Soap cursed, his own climax triggered by yours, his hand pumping furiously as he spilled himself on your stomach in thick, hot ropes. The feeling of his cum on your skin, the smell of sex in the air, the arms holding you safe. It was blissful.
But as the waves of pleasure subsided, the ache returned, a persistent, gnawing hunger that demanded more. You were still burning, and one orgasm, however intense, was not enough to quench the fire.
Your eyes fluttered open, and your gaze found Gaz, who was watching you with a mixture of awe and concern. His own need was evident, the hard line of his cock pressing against your back. A wave of gratitude washed over you, for his gentleness, his restraint, his unwavering support.
"Kyle," you breathed, turning your head to look at him. "You've been so good to me. Let me... let me thank you."
Before he could protest, you were shifting, moving away from Soap's spent form and turning to face Gaz. You pushed him back against the headboard, your hands moving to the button of his pants. His breath hitched, but he didn't stop you. You freed his cock, long and slender and perfect, and wrapped your hand around it. He was heavy in your palm, and the guttural sound he made as you began to stroke him went straight to your throbbing pussy.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his head falling back against the wall. "You don't have to..."
"I want to," you insisted, your voice husky with desire and sincerity. You leaned down, taking him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sinking down until he hit the back of your throat. The taste of him was clean, masculine, and you moaned around his length, the vibrations making his hips buck.
"Jesus, fuck," Gaz swore, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair, his grip tight but not painful. "Your mouth... fuck."
You felt Soap shift behind you, his hands on your hips, encouraging you to move. You adjusted your position, rising onto your hands and knees, your ass in the air as you continued to worship Gaz's cock with your mouth. You took him deep, your tongue swirling around the shaft, your hand stroking what you couldn't take.
Then you felt it. Soap's breath, hot and humid, against your exposed folds. His tongue delved in, a slow exploration that had you gasping around Gaz's dick. He ate you with a focused intensity, his lips and tongue working in tandem, lapping at your clit, fucking into your hole. The sensation was mind-blowing. Gaz's cock in your mouth, Soap's tongue in your pussy, their hands on your body, their voices in your ears.
"Look at her," Soap murmured against your folds, his voice thick with awe. "Tastes like heaven, too."
Gaz was panting, his hips thrusting shallowly into your mouth. "Gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."
You doubled your efforts, sucking harder, faster, your hand pumping his shaft in a firm, steady rhythm. With a hoarse cry, he came, his release hot and thick on your tongue. You swallowed it all, milking him through his orgasm until he was spent, his body going soft against the headboard.
As you sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, Soap's tongue became more insistent, his focus narrowing to your clit. He sucked it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it in a rapid, staccato rhythm. The pleasure was sharp and it built quickly, a pressure cooker about to explode.
"Simon, fuck" you whispered, the name escaping your lips before you could stop it. Your orgasm tore through you, a violent, shuddering release that left you gasping for air. You collapsed forward, your forehead resting on Gaz's thigh, your body trembling uncontrollably.
They held you as you came down, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Soap used the discarded towel to gently clean your stomach, his touch reverent. Gaz pressed soft kisses to your shoulder and neck.
But as the haze of pleasure cleared, a new feeling began to creep in, cold and sharp.
Shame.
You stared at the mess on your stomach, felt the sticky residue between your thighs, and the reality of what had just happened slammed into you. You'd just used your friends, your teammates, to get off. You'd begged and whined and degraded yourself for a chemical-induced high.
A sob caught in your throat. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the tears starting to fall. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I'm so... I'm disgusting."
"Hey, no," Soap said immediately, his face full of concern. He tossed the towel aside and moved to cup your face. "Don't ye dare. This is not your fault. This is the fuckin' chemical, that's all."
But you couldn't stop. The sobs wracked your body, violent and uncontrollable. You felt dirty, used up, and horribly, utterly alone despite being held by two of your closest friends. "I'm sorry," you repeated, over and over.
Gaz held you tighter, his arms a cage of comfort. "Look at me," he said, his voice firm but kind. When you didn't, he gently turned your head to face him. "We wanted to help. We chose this. You didn't force us into anything. We're a team, remember? We look after our own."
You looked from Gaz's earnest, worried eyes to Soap's pained expression.
You knew they were telling the truth, but the guilt was a poison, spreading through your veins. You'd crossed a line, and you didn't know how to come back from it. You curled into yourself, trying to escape their pity, their kindness, which only made you feel worse.
The drug-induced lust was gone, replaced by a crushing wave of self-loathing that was almost as hard to bear.
They didn't try to talk you out of it anymore. They just held you, Soap lying down on your other side, forming a protective, comforting barrier around you as you cried yourself into a fitful, exhausted sleep. But even in your dreams, you were haunted by the image of Simon's stricken face as he walked out the door.
It was quiet when you woke again. The kind of deep, predawn quiet that felt like the world was holding its breath. The fire inside you was reduced to the faintest of embers, a dull ache that was more memory than reality. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, your mind was clear.
You were alone in the bed. The sheets were clean, the mess from before meticulously erased. You sat up slowly, your body aching with a deep, muscular soreness. On the bedside table was a glass of water, a bottle of painkillers, and a note.
The note was in Soap's messy scrawl.
'Gone to get ye some real food. Gaz's on watch outside. LT's... around. Drink the water. Take the pills. We'll talk when you're ready. -J'
Your heart clenched. You swallowed the pills with shaky hands, the water cool and soothing. You needed a shower. You needed to scrub the last twenty-four hours off your skin until you felt like yourself again.
The small, attached bathroom was a sanctuary. You locked the door, peeled off the remnants of your clothes, and stepped under the hot spray. The water stung your overused, sensitive skin, but you didn't care. You stood there for a long time, letting the steam and the water cascade over you, washing away the sweat, the tears, and the lingering scent of sex and regret.
When you finally felt clean enough, you shut off the water and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel. You caught your reflection in the mirror—pale, hollow-eyed, and almost free. The monster was gone.
You took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.
The main room was just as you'd left it, except for the man sitting in the armchair by the window. Simon.
He was in full kit, his mask back in place, his posture rigid and military-straight. He didn't stand when you emerged, just watched you with an unreadable expression.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was devoid of all emotion, a flat, neutral line.
"Clear," you replied, your own voice quiet. "I think the… I think it's gone."
He nodded, a single, sharp jerk of his head. "Good. That's good."
The silence that followed was a chasm. You wanted to run to him, to explain, to apologize for everything, but the icy wall he'd thrown up was impenetrable. You felt more naked in that towel, in front of that mask, than you had when you were writhing naked on his bed.
"Simon—" you started, taking a hesitant step forward.
"Don't," he cut you off, the word a soft but absolute command. He stood, his movements stiff and economical. "What happened... was a medical procedure. A necessary intervention under extreme circumstances. It's classified. It doesn't leave this room. It doesn't... change anything."
The words were precise, clinical, and they cut you deeper than you thought possible. He was erasing it, boxing it up and locking it away.
"Is that what you really think?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
"It's what needs to be thought," he said, turning away from you, his gaze fixed on the closed door. "You're cleared for duty tomorrow. Report to me at 0800. We'll debrief then. Get some rest, Sergeant."
He walked to the door without another glance, his back a wall of rejection. When the door clicked shut behind him, you sank to the floor, the towel pooling around you, and finally let the silent tears fall. The drug was gone, but the damage it had wrought was only just beginning to surface.
The next few days were a special kind of hell. The base was the same, the mission clockwork ticking on as if nothing had happened. But for you, the world had tilted on its axis and refused to right itself.
Soap and Gaz were... they were good. Too good. They treated you with a gentle, protective camaraderie that made your chest ache. They joked with you at mess, included you in conversations, and watched your six during drills with an extra layer of vigilance. They never mentioned what happened, but it hung in the air between you, a shared, unspoken secret.
Ghost had been living up to his name. Before, his presence had been a constant, a dark but steady shadow you could always count on. Now, he was a void. He'd assigned you to a different fireteam during drills, his orders delivered through Gaz or the comms channel. If you entered a room he was in, he found a reason to leave. If your paths crossed in a narrow hallway, he'd press himself against the wall, his masked face turned away, creating a cold, silent bubble of space around him that felt miles wide.
It was a brutal, efficient erasure of every moment of intimacy you'd ever shared, every lingering glance, every quiet conversation. He was Simon Riley, your Lieutenant, and nothing more.
And it was killing you.
You told yourself it was for the best. His "medical procedure" logic, as cold as it was, made a certain kind of military sense. Fraternization was a minefield. What had happened was a catastrophe of protocol. He was protecting you, protecting the team, by building this wall.
But to you it didn't feel like protection. It felt like punishment.
And as the days turned into weeks, a horrible, insidious thought began to take root in your mind: he found you disgusting. He'd seen you at your most vulnerable, your most debased, and the sight of you now was just a repulsive reminder of that chemical-fuelled madness. The way he couldn't even look at you seemed to confirm it. He was revolted.
This thought became a splinter under your skin, working its way deeper with every cold shoulder, every averted gaze. It festered, poisoning your own self-worth. You started avoiding mirrors, started pulling away from Soap and Gaz's gentle concern, retreating into a shell of your own making.
The breaking point came during a late-night gear check. You were alone in the armory, the air cool and smelling of oil and steel. You were methodically cleaning your rifle, the familiar motions a comfort, when the door opened.
You didn't need to look up to know who it was. You could feel his presence, the way the air suddenly felt heavier, charged. You kept your eyes on your weapon, your hands moving with practiced precision, hoping he'd just get what he came for and leave.
He didn't. He moved to the workbench opposite you, his movements unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He began cleaning his own sidearm, the slide of metal on metal a grating counterpoint to your own rhythm.
The silence was unbearable. It stretched, thin and taut, until you couldn't stand it anymore. You had to know.
"Are you ever going to talk to me again?" The question came out sharper than you intended, laced with the pain of a week's worth of silence.
His hands stopped. He didn't look up. "I am talking to you, Sergeant. I'm giving you an order: maintain focus on your gear."
The use of your rank was a slap in the face.
"Don't," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Don't hide behind that with me. Not after... everything."
"There is no 'everything'," he bit out, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "There was a mission, a complication, and a resolution. End of story."
"No," you said, finally looking up, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and hurt. "There was you, holding me while I begged for you. There was you, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world, and then looking at me like I was nothing the next day. You can't just... order that away, Simon."
He slammed his pistol down on the bench, the sound echoing in the small room. He still didn't look at you, but his entire body was rigid, thrumming with a tension you recognized all too well.
"I am your superior officer," he ground out, each word precise and clipped. "You are a soldier under my command. What happened was a lapse in judgment, a catastrophic failure of protocol on my part. It cannot and will not be repeated. It will not be discussed. Is that understood, Sergeant?"
His words were a wall of steel, but you heard the crack in his voice, the slight tremor in the last word. He wasn't just angry; he was in agony. And your own pain, your own festering insecurity, gave you the courage to lunge for the crack.
"Is that what this is about? Protocol?" you asked, your voice softer now, losing its anger. "Or is it about me? Do you... do you think I'm... repulsive now? Is that why you can't even look at me?"
He flinched, a full-body recoil that was as good as a confession. He finally turned his head, eyes finding yours.
It was the opening you needed. "Then what is it?" you whispered. "Why are you doing this to us?"
He was across the room in two long strides, his body a coiled spring of violent energy. He caged you in against the workbench, his hands slamming down on the metal on either side of you, his masked face inches from yours. The sudden proximity, the raw power of him so close after days of nothing, was dizzying.
"Want to know why, bird?" he snarled, his voice a guttural thing that bore no resemblance to his usual controlled tone. His eyes were blazing. "Because every time I look at you, I don't see my sergeant. I see you on my bed, with my name on your lips. I see you with Johnny's cock in your mouth and Gaz's hands on your skin. And I want to bloody kill them for touching you."
Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"I walked out that door because if I had stayed," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, tormented growl, "I would have thrown them both out and fucked you myself. I would have shown you what it really feels like to be filled by me. And it wouldn't have been a goddamn medical procedure. It would have been me claiming you, owning you, ruining you for anyone else."
He was so close, the heat of him enveloping you. You could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the tremor in his clenched fists.
"I'm not disgusted by you, sweetheart," he hissed, the endearment a stark contrast to the venom in his voice. "I'm terrified of you. Of what you make me feel. Of how badly I want you, even now, right here. So I stay away. Because ‘s the only way I can keep from breaking every single rule I have left."
His confession left you reeling. But the splinter in your heart didn't dissolve. Instead, it twisted, a fresh wave of doubt washing over you.
You reached up, your hand trembling as it brushed against the hard line of his jaw, the fabric of his mask rough against your fingertips. He flinched like a stray dog expecting a kick. He leaned into your touch for a split second, a pathetic, desperate gesture, before pulling back, as if your touch burned him.
"Don't stay away," you whispered, your voice thick with tears, but also with a hard edge of disbelief. "Please, Simon. Don't punish us both for this." you told him gently, your words a test. "I'd much rather you break all your rules with me than be like this."
A shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that was almost a sob. He leaned his forehead against yours, a gesture of utter defeat. For a moment, he was silent, the mask a barrier you still desperately wanted to tear away.
Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice a broken plea. "Tell me to go, and I'll walk out that door right now. I'll be your LT. I'll pretend none of this ever happened."
You slid your hand around to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft, short hair at his nape. You pulled him down, forcing him to feel the steady, undeniable rhythm of your breathing.
"Stay," you breathed, your lips brushing against the rough fabric over his mouth. "And don't ever pretend again."
With a ragged groan, Simon crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was immediately filthy—a desperate starved friction. But the balaclava was a thin, infuriating barrier keeping you from the man beneath it. You could feel the heat of his lips, taste the moisture seeped into the weave, but you needed more. You needed him.
Your hands scrambled up his chest, fingers hooking into the heavy straps of his vest, dragging him impossibly closer. You bit at his lower lip through the fabric — a sharp, possessive snap that ripped a growl from his throat.
He answered in kind. His massive hands left the bench to seize your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all. He hoisted you up onto the edge of the cold steel, sweeping aside gun parts and tools with a brutal flick of his arm, before stepping flush between your parted thighs. The contrast was dizzying—the freezing metal at your back, the inferno of his body pressing into your core.
"Simon," you gasped into the fabric.
You didn't strip the mask off completely—you couldn't bear to take the Ghost away, yet you wanted every single piece of him. Instead, your hands hooked under the hem of his balaclava, yanked it up over the bridge of his nose, and left the dark fabric bunched above his cheekbones.
The sight was intoxicating. The skull motif still stared down at you, dark and imposing, but beneath it was his bare, scarred mouth—his lips swollen, wet, and panting for air.
You didn't give him a second to think. You dragged him back down, claiming his mouth with a raw, desperate hunger.
This time, there was nothing between you. His lips were rough yet surprisingly soft, faintly tasting of coffee and mint. You licked into his mouth, your tongue sweeping deep, claiming every inch of the territory you’d been denied for an agonizing week.
"I wanted you..." you managed to breathe out between bruising, open-mouthed kisses, your hands cupping his stubbled jaw. You pulled back just enough to look him dead in the eye, your voice trembling with absolute truth. "I needed you back then, Simon. In that room... it wasn't the chemical calling your name. It was me."
Simon froze, a shuddering gasp tearing through him as your words hit him.
"Fuck," he rasped, his bare mouth sliding over your jawline, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Don't... don't do this to me unless you mean it."
"I do," you whimpered, tilting your head back to give him better access, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. You dragged his mouth back to yours, kissing him until you were both breathless. "I need you now more than I ever did when I was on that drug. I'm clear, Simon. I'm completely sober, and I’n fucking begging you."
A primal sound vibrated as he took control of the kiss, turning it into a battle for total dominance. His tongue rolled over yours, possessive, sucking you deep into his mouth. Through your uniform, you could feel him — hard, thick, and straining against your core — and the pressure sent a sharp, delicious shockwave straight down to your pussy, soaking your panties instantly.
You reached down, grabbing the hem of his black t-shirt, tugging it upward with frantic urgency.
"Up," you commanded weakly.
He obeyed instantly, stripping the shirt over his head in one smooth motion and tossing it aside.
Your bare hands were all over him then, mapping the broad, scarred expanse of his chest, your palms delighting in the rough dusting of hair that tickled your skin. You leaned forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck, biting the hard line of his collarbone before laving over the mark with your tongue.
"Jesus, sweetheart—fuck," he hissed, his head falling back, exposing his throat to your mouth.
His hands moved with ruthless speed, yanking at the buttons of your uniform shirt, popping them off one by one until the fabric fell open. He didn't bother with the clasp of your bra; he simply hooked his large, calloused hands over the cups, shoving them down to spill your bare breasts into his palms.
When his bare thumbs rolled over your hardened nipples, you arched off the cold bench, thrusting your chest directly into his touch, a loud, wanton moan echoing off the concrete walls. You were already so close, the build-up of the past week, the sheer, filthy reality of finally having him, pushing you to the edge in record time.
His mouth followed his hands, ducking down to close over one nipple, sucking it hard. The wet heat of his mouth, the sting of his teeth—everything was more intense, more real, than you'd ever imagined.
Your fingers flew to the buckle of his belt, desperate, clumsy in your haste. You got it open, fumbling with the button and zipper of his cargos, freeing the heavy, thick length of his cock into your waiting palm. You groaned at the feel of him, velvet skin over rigid steel, and began to stroke him from root to tip.
He cursed against your breast, the vibration of his voice a new layer of sensation that had your thighs quivering around his hips.
"Keep doing that, and this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast," he warned.
"Good," you panted, your free hand reaching up to fist the back of his head, the other squeezing the base of his cock possessively. "I want you to fuck me on this bench, Simon. Now. No more waiting."
His only response was to grab your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the workbench.
With rough, impatient hands, he yanked your pants and panties down in one go, leaving them tangled around your boots. He froze for a second, his gaze dropping between your spread thighs, and a low, reverent curse escaped him.
"Bloody hell," he breathed, his eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the sight of you — so wet you were practically dripping. "All this... f’ me?"
You nodded, your hands gripping the edge of the bench behind you, your chest heaving. "All for you. Always for you, Simon."
He fell to his knees on the hard, concrete floor, his massive hands gripping the backs of your thighs, pushing them up and out until your legs were over his shoulders.
"Need to taste you," he growled, the words muffled against your inner thigh. "Need to know this is real."
And then his mouth was on you.
The first long, slow lick of his tongue from your entrance to your clit was almost enough to make you come undone right then. He groaned against your folds, the sound vibrating through your most sensitive flesh. It wasn't gentle; it was a man starving, feasting. He licked and sucked with a brutal intensity, his tongue delving deep inside you before circling your clit with devastating precision.
You cried out, one hand flying to the back of his head, holding him to you, your hips grinding shamelessly against his face. He let you, his own hands digging into the flesh of your ass, holding you open for his ravaging mouth.
"Simon... oh God, don't stop," you whimpered, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.
"Never," he growled against your swollen flesh, the words a dark promise. "Gonna make you fall apart on my tongue, sweetheart. Gonna feel you cum all over my face."
His words were filthy, but his hands were filthier. He slid two thick fingers inside you, curling them upward to find that spongy, sensitive spot deep inside. The sudden, intense pressure made you cry out.
"Shhh," he soothed, his voice a velvety rumble. He didn't stop what he was doing, his tongue still lashing relentlessly at your clit. Instead, he brought his free hand up, pressing his palm firmly over your mouth. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the raw, primal way he was devouring you. "Can't have the whole base hearin' what a needy little thing you are for me, can we?"
You whimpered against his hand, the sound muffled, your eyes rolling back in your head. The feeling was overwhelming. The stretch of his fingers inside you, the relentless stimulation of his tongue, the weight of his hand on your mouth, grounding you while simultaneously driving you wild. You could feel the slickness of your own arousal coating his face, see the way drool and your juices mingled at the corners of his mouth, but he didn't seem to give a fuck. He looked utterly lost in you, his movements messy and uncoordinated in their desperation.
He was watching you the entire time, his eyes now dark with lust, fixed on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure as if it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He pulled his mouth back just enough to speak, his thumb still circling your clit.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want to see those eyes when you cum for me. Let me see you fall apart, little bird."
You locked eyes with him, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. He plunged his fingers back inside you, curling them again, while his tongue returned to your clit, flicking it in rapid, staccato movements. The pressure snapped, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that started deep inside and radiated outwards in overwhelming waves.
You screamed against his palm, your body convulsing on the cold steel, your back arching off the bench as you came hard. You could feel your release flooding his hand, soaking his palm as he continued to work you through it, his movements slowing only when your trembling started to subside.
He finally pulled back, his face glistening with your essence.
"Fuckin' beautiful," he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction. He slowly lowered your legs from his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to your inner knee before standing up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as he shoved his own pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It was angry, dark red, jutting out from a thatch of hair. It was, you thought then, more than you could take.
He stepped between your legs, the head of his cock nudging against your oversensitive, soaked entrance. He didn't push in, not yet. He just stood there, his hands on your hips, his chest heaving as he looked down at you.
"'m not wearing a condom," he said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement of intent. "I need to feel you. All of you. Are you okay with that?"
You were still panting, your body thrumming with aftershocks, but your answer was immediate. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his thick length, guiding him to your opening. "Yes," you whispered. "Just... please, Simon. Fuck me, I need you inside me."
He let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sigh of relief, and pushed forward.
The stretch was incredible, a slow, exquisite burn as he filled you inch by thick inch. He was so much bigger than you'd imagined, his girth forcing your body to adjust to him. You were trembling again, the over-sensitivity from your orgasm making every nerve ending feel like it was on fire.
"Si," you gasped, your nails digging into his forearms.
"I know," he soothed, his voice strained. He stopped when he was fully seated, his balls pressed against your ass, giving you a moment to adjust. He bent over you, his body a hot, heavy blanket, and captured your lips in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. It was a stark contrast to the raw power of him inside you. "I've got you. Just... breathe for me, sweetheart."
You did, taking deep, shuddering breaths, your body slowly relaxing around his. He started to move then, with shallow, careful thrusts, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He found your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and pinning it to the bench above your head, a gesture that was both intimate and grounding.
As your body adjusted, the burn morphed into pleasure. Deep, profound pleasure that had your head spinning. "More," you whimpered against his lips. "Harder."
He growled his approval, straightening up and grabbing your other hip. He pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside, before slamming back into you. The new angle was devastating, the head of his cock hitting a spot so deep inside.
"Fuck!" he hissed, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "You're so fucking tight. So fucking perfect."
He set the rhythm, the heavy steel of the workbench creaking and groaning under the force of his thrusts. Each snap of his hips made the sound of skin slapping against wet skin obscenely loud in the quiet room. You were a mess beneath him, trembling and moaning, completely at his mercy.
He leaned down again, kissing you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in time with his cock thrusting into your pussy. It was overwhelming, a complete sensory overload. His hand was still holding yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in a surprisingly sweet gesture amidst the primal fucking.
"Look at me," he commanded again, his breath hot against your lips. You opened your eyes, meeting his intense, burning gaze. "I'm never gonna get enough of this. Of you."
You watched him, watched the way his jaw clenched, the way the muscles in his neck strained. He was holding back, you could tell, his movements controlled despite the raw power behind them.
"Don't hold back," you panted, your free hand moving to his face, your thumb tracing his lower lip. "I want to feel all of you, Simon. Let go."
His eyes flashed with a feral light. He released your hand, only to grip both your hips in a bruising hold. He lifted your ass off the bench slightly, changing the angle, and began to pound into you with a renewed, unrestrained ferocity.
The new angle had him hitting your g-spot with every single thrust, and you were gone. You spiraled back into a blinding orgasm, your body clenching down on his cock like a vise. You cried out his name, your voice echoing off the walls, no longer caring who heard.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" he roared, the feeling of you pulsing around him triggering his own release. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt the hot, powerful jets of his cum filling you up, marking you from the inside out.
He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck.
Slowly, he softened inside you, and you immediately felt the hollow sense of emptiness when he started to slip out. A small, involuntary sob escaped your lips at the loss. He stilled instantly, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes filled with concern.
"Hey, hey," he murmured, pulling out the rest of the way and then quickly gathering you into his arms. He sat back on the bench, pulling you with him so you were straddling his lap, your head tucked under his chin. He held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. " I’ve got you. You're okay."
You nuzzled into his chest, the scratch of his chest hair against your cheek a comfort. "Just... didn't want it to end," you admitted, your voice muffled by his skin.
"It's not over," he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Not by a long shot. We're moving this to my quarters. My bed."
You were quiet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his solid warmth around you. Then a thought struck you, and you pulled back slightly to look at him. "What if... what if someone had walked in?"
A wicked smirk spread across his face. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Someone did."
You froze, your eyes going wide. He chuckled, a low, deep sound.
"Right about the time I had my tongue in you, I heard the door. They left pretty quickly after that first scream, though."
You felt heat creep up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and excitement . "Oh my God," you whispered.
"You have a very impressive set of lungs, Sergeant," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little breathless. You leaned in and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss.
"Good," you whispered against his lips. "I'd hate for anyone to think the chemical was better than the real thing." You pulled back with a sly grin. "Because it wasn't even close."
He laughed, a real, genuine, happy sound that you knew you would do anything to hear again. He stood up with you still in his arms, holding you securely against his chest.
"We’re in a lot of trouble," he mumbled against your forehead.
You sighed, contentedly, as he carried you towards the door, ready to start round two.
Honey and Hemlock. part 1. Sacred Secrets. cult leader john price x psychology student reader tw: dead dove do not eat. weird asf price, dubcon, slow horror, extremely manipulative price. no mentions of y/n. female anatomy. drugging. non-consensual photographs. smut.
Your return to John's sacred ground, was it a surprising name? The words had risen in your mind unbidden and you hadn't pushed them away. Because, to be fair it made sense, although they sounded a bit unhinged but you still remembered that he was a cult leader. An odd culty name for an odd cult leader.
The next morning arrived with a sky the colour of old pearls. The air was soft yellow and it made everything feel almost dreamy, but you still remembered where and what for you were going to. You had driven the familiar road with a new kind of restlessness humming beneath your skin, you could definitely tell that it was different from what you were feeling yesterday. It was something brighter, you were more comfortable now that you were aware of the place and its people. So you were a little excited now, maybe you shouldn’t be? I mean, it was obvious, what kind of adequate person would feel excited to visit a cult?
Genuinely, unexpectedly, almost embarrassingly excited to film this place and its inhabitants. You had spent the night charging batteries and cleaning lenses and telling yourself it was just good research practice. But the mirror had caught you smiling as you packed your bag, and you had looked away quickly, as if caught at something shameful.
Now, as the gate came into view, that excitement curdled slightly. Because it was a crystal clear fact that were waiting for you and you would be lying if you said that it didn’t make you at least a little bit happy.
All of them, the residents, were lined both sides of the gravel path, standing still as statues, their faces turned toward your car like flowers toward the sun. Dozens of them. Men and women, young and not so, dressed in simple clothes in muted colours. You have noticed before that their style was early 70s, their entire personalities and places were. You couldn’t really understand why, how could they be in the past when the world kept going ahead of them? But anyway, every single one of them was smiling. Despite the slight creepiness of the moment, you could tell that they meant the smile. They were completely genuine and for some reason it was both comforting and completely unsettling at the same time. Knowing where they were, who they were with and how they lived, they were absolutely happy.
A thought occurred in your head, you couldn’t help but think that at least one person would sell them with their behaviour. Maybe they’d be acting happy and you could capture it. But so far, not a soul, interesting, you thought. Just a line of people who looked genuinely, bewilderingly happy to see you.
A young woman broke from the formation and approached. She was effortlessly pretty, freckled face, hair pulled back in a simple braid, hands beautiful but they sold how much she worked the earth. And it was evident that she was most likely your age. In fact, they were people of different ages but what was interesting is that there was definitely a pattern there. No one past 30 when it came to women, but even then you could tell that those were the fewest.
“Dear sister” she said as she took your hand, you didn’t notice an involuntary smile that appeared on your face at the thought of how much she resembled the sun with her warmth. “thank you for returning to us.” As you would later learn, her name was Jill. And the moment you looked a little closer into her face, the thought that you’d seen her face before didn’t leave you.
"We are so glad," she continued, her eyes bright and steady on yours, "that Brother John was able to attract such an interesting person to our home. Well, attract was one way to put it, honestly the word landed strangely. As if your presence here had nothing to do with your own choices and everything to do with a force you couldn't name, you did not like the implication but you decided to leave it and only smiled in return.
"I'm just here to film," you heard yourself say, and the words sounded thin even to your own ears.
"Of course you are," she said, and her agreement was so warm, so immediate, so utterly without irony that you almost believed her. She looked very much excited to film as if there was absolutely nothing to hide in here and it wasn’t a cult but just a simple farm where everyone lived happily. That thought made you sigh.
"We'll show you everything," she added, finally releasing your hand. "Brother John said we should answer all your questions." She turned and gestured toward the path that led deeper into the compound."Shall we, dear sister?" You were a little dumbfounded when she called you that. To say the least because ‘dear sister?” As if you were a part of their..whatever they thought this was. But no, you weren’t, so her little name for you sent the shivers down your spine. You were not her sister. You were not anyone's sister here. You were a researcher with a camera and a deadline, and a car that still had a full tank of gas, parked outside a gate that remained open behind you.
"Yes," you said, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "Of course, if you want to. I’d appreciate that.” And so you followed her down the path. Behind you, the residents walked in different directions, getting back to their business. A soft rustle of footsteps on gravel, a low murmur of voices, the occasional laugh that sounded genuine enough to break your heart. You knew how the cult psychology worked but nevertheless, whenever doing research or actually visiting cults, you always wished that deep in their hearts they understood that all of this was wrong. That they weren’t there willingly.
The path curved, the cabin disappeared behind a stand of trees. And somewhere ahead, though you couldn't see him, you felt John watching. So there he is. Your hand closed in a fist at your subconscious excitement of seeing him again. No, no excitement, remember who this is and remember where you are. You can’t consume the hemlock, it is deadly and poisonous.
Jill, did in fact show you around, barns first, there were around five of them, which impressed you, especially because they were sturdy and well-maintained, their wooden walls weathered to a soft silver grey color. Cows, goats, two chestnut colored horses. Their cattle was quite impressive knowing that all of this was made from scratch and on an open field that had only flowers and soil. Jill explained the feeding schedule, the milking rotation, the way the community shared every task equally while you held your camera, filming everything around you. Surprisingly, Jill and other passing members of the community felt very comfortable around the camera. Very active, calm and friendly. It was something that you paid attention to, it wasn’t your first time interviewing the cult members, usually those people were quite shy and almost uncomfortable in front of the camera, giving how private their lives were. And how much isolated they were from the rest of the world. However, in this case, these factors did not affect the behaviour of these people. Why, you thought. And something was nagging you to try and find out.
"No one works alone," she said, “Brother John always encourages us to share the chores and work together. He says the Lord appreciates our unity.” You wanted to snort because you could bet your on the fact that ‘Brother’ John didn’t do anything at all here while they worked their butts off here. Classic. It felt strange to hear her explanation, because it made perfect sense to you, nevertheless. So far, there was nothing dark or unusual that you could point out and that made you thoughtful.
Then she showed you the gardens. they were vast and green and meticulously tended, rows of vegetables stretching toward a horizon you hadn't expected to find here, there were potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and many more things. A group of residents knelt in the soil, their hands dark with earth, and they looked up as you passed - smiling, always smiling - before returning to their work.
"We grow almost everything we eat," Jill said "Brother John says there's dignity in feeding yourself. He says it's the first freedom." You didn’t understand the implication behind the ‘first freedom.’ You were unsure and debated whether you should ask her.
“First freedom?” you asked. After all, you had a right to ask questions, that’s why you were here. Jill stopped walking and turned towards the camera. You noticed how she was smiling again as she was thinking of a better way to explain the meaning. And you’d be lying if you said that the fact that she was always smiling didn’t make you slightly uncomfortable.
“Brother John says that there are different freedoms. There are only a few most important ones, so you can count them.” she said crossing her arms on her chest “The first freedom is labour. We work and we contribute. The second freedom is giving the messenger of God the power to decide for ourselves. Because the outside world always demanded that we make choices, decide fast. It is tiring and it chains us to the cruel rules of this world.” The urge to roll your eyes was strong but you stopped yourself in time. You couldn’t even count how many times you have heard this ‘preaching.’
“And the messenger of God is John?” you asked looking at Jill through the camera lens. She simply nodded smiling yet again. “And what are the other freedoms?”
“Love, of course,” she said and laughed. Her laughter was so airy and bubbly that for a second you agreed with her. “We reach the peak of love through Brother John, he brings us closer to God when he makes love with us.” You were shocked and absolutely not surprised at all at the same time. This was also classic when it came to cults. However, for some reason you believed that John didn’t really let anyone near him in that way. And it almost disappointed you that it turned otherwise.
The field beyond the gardens was small but fertile, golden with late summer wheat that swayed in a breeze you hadn't noticed until you saw it move. An artificial lake, carefully dug and cleverly placed, glittered at the edge of the property. Its surface was still as glass, and a wooden dock extended a few feet into the water.
Several wooden rotundas dotted the landscape, open structures with curved benches and flowering vines climbing their supports. They looked like something from a storybook. You wondered if it all was for the show. But it also looked so natural that eventually the question disappeared on its own from your head.
The small wooden houses were clustered together, each one slightly different from its neighbour, each with a chair on the porch. “How many people live here?" you asked. "Forty seven," Jill replied with a small smile “One man lives with one woman, it’s our rule.” interesting rule, you thought. But you didn’t comment on it, moving forward. Interesting but not unusual. There were so many questions but so little answers. As it always was with cults.
And then you saw it, the church. It stood apart from the other buildings, at the end of a path lined with stones. It was quite simple, wooden, like everything else, but slightly taller. Its steeple rose toward the sky like a finger pointing somewhere you couldn't follow. Glass windows and a chapel beside it, smaller but no less beautiful, with a door that stood slightly ajar.
You stopped walking and so did Jill once she noticed. She didn't speak nor did she try to explain anything. She simply stood beside you, patient as the earth, and let your eyes and the lens of your camera explore the building. She knew that since you were a researcher, this particular piece was probably one of the most interesting ones for you, so she let you have your moment.
"Can I see inside?" you asked, and your voice came out quieter than you intended. She smiled and you could swear that her smile became even softer if that was possible. "Of course," she said "Brother John said you could go anywhere here." She didn't follow when you walked toward the chapel door. You were thankful for that because you could walk around and film in peace as much as you wanted. You pushed the door open. It swung on silent hinges, and the light inside was dim and golden and smelled of old wood and older incense. Your footsteps echoed on the floorboards. You noticed that the candles were almost completely burnt. But the place was strangely dusty and the wooden floors were sandy, dry leaves moved with the wind.
You flinched when you noticed that at the altar, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him as if in supplication stood John. He didn't turn when you entered but you immediately wanted to leave, feeling as if you were distracting and interrupting. An unwilling intruder. It was such a sacred moment, you thought.
"Don’t worry," he said, still not turning. His accent curled around the words like smoke. He stood up, dusting his knees “Satisfied?” he asked waving at your camera.
“Oh..um..” you hesitated, smiling weakly “Yeah, sure, thank you, I have a lot of material. But as you remember, I have an interview as well, with your members.” he gave a short nod, telling you that he remembered. You were thankful that your plans were not ruined. The interview was the most important part of your research.
“So, Jill,” you said as you adjusted yourself on the chair, “How long have you been living here?” John said that you could interview his residents outside, a rotunda was a great choice. You could capture the view as well, he said. And it was almost amusing how he was contributing to the situation, helpful and encouraging as always.
Jill tucked her hair behind her ears as she smiled. Again. “I have been living here for about three years. Brother John and I have met in a church. The members did not really understand his ideas, but I did. I saw true freedom and love in his teachings. He is a very intelligent and kind man. He is a true messenger of God. Like Joseph Smith, you know.” Joseph Smith, what a great comparison, you thought. A controversial person who’s teachings you find odd compared to another controversial person who’s teachings you find odd.
“In what way?” you asked her. It surprised you how hesitant she looked for a moment. Didn’t she just say that? She had to know what she meant then. It was odd how long it took for her to continue. “I mean..John is..um…” she didn’t have the time to finish because John called Jill. What a timing, you thought, as if he heard everything but how could he? He wasn’t even close enough to hear anything. Nevertheless, you nodded, letting her go.
With a sigh, you leaned back against the wood, waiting for someone else to replace Jill.
So after a few hours of interviewing you were finally done. John was the last person who asked to be interviewed. Your previous conversation left a strange, bitter taste in your mouth, however, you still were eager to talk to him again. So, you adjusted the tripod, taking a few notes in your notebook. John came just in time, sitting on the wooden bench like he owned it. Which, technically he did.
The men spreading was his habit, that’s what you noticed. He always does this, manipulative move to show his authority. He looked at you with this strange gaze that made you feel like he sees through you.
“What’ve ya got f’me this time, love?” he asked draping one arm over the wooden fence. His other hand rested on his thigh. Involuntary your eyes followed the movement which you knew he saw.
Your legs crossed as you fidgeted with your hands. “Um…so, Johnathan, I had a chance to have a conversation with your residents. They seem very happy. You have quite a discipline here.” He laughed like you said something absolutely stupid. But his response was only a simple nod.
So after a short conversation with Johnathan you didn’t really learn anything new. But it was late already so John was kind enough to give you some privacy to stay the night. You stayed in one of the small houses, which was very simple inside but nonetheless cozy. You used this opportunity to check out the material. The bed was soft and warm as you sat on it, with your camera plugged to your laptop. Luckily for you, everyone was already asleep so you had all the time in the world to look through your material.
The pictures and videos were mostly the same ones, nothing too unusual. But one video caught your attention. Jill. Your eyes squinted as you looked more intently. You noticed that when Jill was replaced with another member she went straight to John since he was the one to call her. At first it looked like they were simply talking, but something caught your eye, his grip on her arm, he jolted her, making her grimace in pain. Her entire demeanour changed as she almost shrunk into herself.
A sudden sound outside made you flinch. Your head spun towards the door. Someone was outside? At this hour? Your curiosity got the best of you, so what you did next was not something unexpected, you stood up and grabbed your phone. With all the carefulness in the world, you opened the door, pursing your lips at the sound it made. Stepping outside you turned the camera on your phone on - an instinct at this point. The sound was coming from somewhere near the field.
Slowly, you walked towards the sound, it sounded like someone was digging through the soil. As you walked, your head involuntarily moved around to make sure that nobody was around to witness you eavesdropping and spying. Your steps were slow, careful, they led you behind one of the houses, so you hid, pointing the camera towards the field.
At first you didn’t really see what exactly was happening, just someone digging. But your eyes slowly began to widen as they made out the whole picture. It was a pit, long and deep, for what? The answer to your question came almost immediately. With a quiet gasp, you covered your mouth with your hand. Oh.
The body came into view moments later, dragged from the shadows by the same man. She was limp between his arms, her bare feet scraping against the grass, her head lolling at an angle that told you everything you needed to know. You recognised her face. Jill. The realisation made your blood turn cold in an instant. She didn’t look like herself, really. It wasn’t the sunny girl you met anymore.
Strange feeling it is to see someone you were just talking this morning being thrown in a pit as if they were a sack of potatoes. Cold, blue, completely lifeless. Her eyes were open, staring somewhere in your direction, it was disturbing how you still anticipated for her to blink, or so your brain did, subconsciously. The man swung her and then she was falling, slowly, a terrible arc through the moonlight, and she landed at the bottom of the pit with a sound that would hunt you for a very long time. A wet thud, it was loud in a rather silent night, almost echoing, or maybe it was an echo in your own ears. The final punctuation of a sentence that should never have been written. But why? Why was she killed? Knowing the logic of cult leaders you also knew that she probably did something that she shouldn’t have. The digger didn't hesitate, his shovel rose and fell, rose and fell, scattering soil across her still form. Dirt covered her face, her hands. The white of her nightdress turning brown and heavy. He worked with the efficiency of someone who had done this before, someone who knew exactly how much earth it took to bury a secret.
Your camera of your phone was still recording, you felt its warmth against your fingers, its tiny red light blinking like a heartbeat, as quickly as your own heart did, but you weren't watching through the lens anymore. You were watching with your own eyes, raw and unblinking, as the woman who had called you dear sister disappeared beneath the earth.
To your very luck your foot found a twig. The snap was quite barely a sound at all, but in this silence, in this dark, it cracked like a gunshot. The man stopped in his tracks, his shovel hung in the air, suspended over the half filled grave. His head turned, slow and deliberate, toward the house you were hiding behind because the sound was coming from that place. You couldn't see his face, only the dark shape of him, the broad shoulders, the way his body had gone still as a predator catching a scent.
You pressed yourself flat against the wooden wall. “Shit.” you whispered, squeezing your eyes. Your heart was a fist pounding against your ribs, breath came shallow, too fast, too loud in your own ears. For some reason he didn’t come to check, he only waited. And you waited, too scared to immediately walk away because now, at this very moment, staying still and as quiet as possible was the only option. The seconds stretched like wire pulled too thin. Then he turned back to the pit, he was still digging, finishing what he had started, but you knew, with a cold certainty that settled in your bones like frost, that he had heard you. But it could be anyone, right? You knew that it was impossible for him to know for sure that it was you specifically, well that was something. Slowly you began to walk away, one step at a time, your back scraping against the rough wood of the house, your feet finding the ground with impossible care. You slid sideways, toward the gap between buildings, toward the cluster of small houses where your room waited. You didn't breathe until you had rounded the corner and the digging sound had faded behind you.
You walked faster, looking over your shoulder to make sure he hadn’t followed you. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you didn't stop. But you probably should have because the next thing you knew was that you bumped into something soft and solid at the same time. John stood in the path ahead of you. He was wearing a simple grey shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, his hands hung loose at his sides, face was soft, unreadable, which was nothing new, lit faintly by the moon.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked. His voice was low, gentle, wrapped in that thick British accent. You opened your mouth but closed it almost immediately. You had to make something up, make something up or get removed as an unnecessary witness.
"Y'alright?" He took a step closer. His eyes searched your face. He looked rather concerned, utterly convincing. Was he truly worried about you?
"I..uh…" Your voice cracked, so you had to clear your throat. "I’m so sorry, I thought that I didn’t even get to fully enjoy the view, I couldn’t sleep and so..” He smiled, the same way he did when you first arrived. "Come inside," he said, gesturing toward the cabin. "I'll make y'thea. Settle your nerves." You wanted (had to) to say no. You wanted to run to your car, drive away, never look back, but- Your feet followed him, they always did somehow, almost without asking you at all. And as you walked toward the cabin, you caught a glimpse of the field behind you, empty now, the digger gone, the pit smooth and still as if nothing had ever disturbed it. Your frown had gone unnoticed by John, thankfully.
His cabin was warm just like the first time. That was the first thing you noticed as you stepped inside, the way the already familiar heat wrapped around you like a blanket, like an embrace, it seems like his space was always in that state. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting amber shadows across the wooden walls. You saw a kettle sat on the stove, already steaming, as if he had known you would come.
"Sit," he said, gesturing toward the worn armchair by the fire. "Y'look like y've seen a ghost." You sat, your legs gave out beneath you. The chair swallowed you, soft and deep, and you stared at the flames without really seeing them. “No, I just…you startled me a little, didn’t expect you to be outside at such an hour.” He moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency. The kettle whistled softly, and he poured water over the small teabag with the care of someone performing a ritual. Symbolic, you thought.
"I like to walk at night. Here," he said, pressing the warm cup into your hands. His fingers brushed yours, and lingered, just a moment. "Drink, s'good for shock." You drank, the tea was herbal, sweet, honeyed in a way that coated your throat and settled in your chest like a balm. How comforting was it, truly, like that’s exactly what you needed after what you had just witnessed, so eventually your hands stopped shaking.
John sat across from you, not in the other armchair, but on the low wooden stool at your feet, too close for your liking, but at the same time, somehow, you didn’t mind.
"Y're shaking, love," he observed, you hadn't even noticed, looking down at your hands, you still held the warm cup of tea. They were shaking, just slightly. "First night's always the hardest," he said softly. "New place, you know, new sounds. gets into y'r bones." You nodded, grateful for the excuse, he didn't ask more.
He took your hand, his thumb traced slow circles on your knuckles. "You can stay," he said quietly. "Just for tonight, let me hold y', nothin' else. I can make y'feel safe, yeah?" He rose, gently pulling you to your feet, his hand stayed wrapped around yours as he led you down the hall, past the closed doors, and into his bedroom. He decided not to close the door, leaving it open instead, just a crack. You knew that it was his nonverbal way to tell you that you could always leave any time.
"Lie down," he murmured. "I'll just hold ya." You laid on his bed, and he stretched out beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you, arm slid around your waist, drawing you close. His breath was warm against the back of your neck. You closed your eyes, letting out a tired sigh. He turned to face you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He was like a living heater which also felt a little comforting after what you had seen. Your breathing was slightly shaky, all you could see, as your eyes were closed, was Jill’s body being thrown into the pit. You jolted, opening your eyes with a small gasp.
"Y're scared," he observed. "S'alright, s'natural. But I need y'to know somethin'." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "I've watched y'for very closely, the way y'hold y'rself, the way y'look at me when y'think I'm not payin' attention." You opened your mouth to deny it. He pressed his thumb gently against your lips, silencing you. "Don't," he murmured. "I know how scary these remote places can be. These communities.”
You couldn’t deny the fact that he was telling the truth, despite yourself, he was fascinating you. His mind games, his demeanor, everything about him was interesting. Although he was a very typical cult leader, there was still something about him that made you want to dig deeper.
“Ain’t ya a smart girl? Came t’do ya research.” he said, rubbing your head. “Saw somethin’ haven’t ya? Curious girl.” at his words, your mouth opened as you shook your head. Did he know? “No, I..I couldn’t sleep and I..” he shushed you quietly, giving you another few comforting nods. “My people would also see a lot at the beginnin’, love. S’a forest and a field.” Oh. So he thought that you probably heard or saw an animal or something in the woods that were nearby that shook you so much. How odd. You squeezed your eyes for a moment, feeling sudden dizziness.
“Did ya like the tea?” he asked so quietly. His hand moved to your waist, dragging his hand under your shirt. “Relaxing, aye?” You felt that it was way too relaxing. Did he put something in it? You couldn’t tell but your body was very relaxed and almost tired, for a moment you forgot everything that you saw and all you could feel were his hands on your body. He carefully pushed you onto your back, hovering over. John’s arms dragged up and down over your own, as he straddled your hips. “Gonna help m’little film girl.” he said, moving his hand to the front of your shirt. A small gasp left you as he tore your shirt into half.
You didn’t protest because you felt too tired to do it and because his hands were very warm and distracting. Now the visions of Jill disappeared altogether. “Right, relax, love, m’gonna take care of ya.” His words were so soft, as soft as his hands that moved under the cups of your bra. He kneaded your breasts like plushies, grumbling something under his breath. Your eyes closed at the feeling, not registering a soft, whining sound that escaped your mouth. Your mind did not acknowledge the fact that all of this was wrong, that you shouldn’t be laying here in his bed. But the shock lingered, all of your plans disappeared by the horrific image of a body being buried right under everyone’s noses.
Your back arched lazily as your weak arms sprayed above your head, while John continued. His hands then moved to your jeans, pulling them down with that ease that it felt like pulling the clothes off of a barbie doll. With each touch of his hands, your mind turned off even more. John spread your legs carefully with his knee, pushing it right into your core, his action elicited another moan from your mouth. He did it a few times before he felt the wetness through your panties. You opened your eyes, looking at his hands that were dragging them down your legs. Next thing you knew were his finger on your cunt that were spreading that wetness. They felt soft, gentle, he didn’t want to rush things.
“M’girl feels uncomfortable ‘ere. A cult, she says.” he said, laughing quietly. His voice was raspy as always, low and warm, he wasn’t mocking. Or maybe he was, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t care because all you cared about were his long, thick fingers that were slowly intruding into your cunt and mind. They moved slowly, savoring the feeling of wetness and warmth. He hissed at the thick juices that were coating his fingers more and more. For some unknown to you reason they felt too perfect inside, replacing every anxious thoughts, questions, deadlines, murders. Only John was left in your head and cunt.
“We’re not a cult, dovie,” he mumbled “We’re a home.” he unbuttoned his shirt with a free hand, tossing it aside. He didn’t have the patience to pull his jeans off, taking his half hard cock out instead. “And ya skin’ such a good job. Makin’ ya little movie ‘bout us.” John’s hand moved over your stomach, rubbing it slowly. He moved it to your legs, lifting the limbs easily with one hand. He held them at the ankles. Your eyes lifted, squinting at the light as they gazed at your legs, your vision was foggy but you didn’t care.
“Mmmm” you hummed lazily, frowning at the heaviness in your limbs. John kissed the back of your thigh, moving lower until he reached the place he wanted. Placing a few sloppy kisses to your core, he licked his wet lips, humming in satisfaction. “Delightful.” he mumbled, as he positioned the thick head of his cock against your entrance. He was thick, a little too big but he didn’t care, neither did you, the wetness only made it easier for him to slip inside. Another hiss left John’s lips at the tightness.
“M’girls ain’t that tight anymore.” he sighed, moving slowly, in and out of you. He draped your legs over his shoulder, hugging them with one arm. And in that moment, in your eyes, John Price looked huge. Illuminated by the fire behind him, it outlined him, making his form almost glow. He rubbed your legs, fastening his rhythmic thrusts only slightly.
His gaze was almost curious, the way he squinted his eyes to get a better look at you. What was he thinking about?
You found out shortly when he reached for the bedside table. Soon, his face was replaced by an old-looking polaroid camera that was pointing at you. It was wrong, disgusting even, but could your mind register anything at this point? Aside from Kohn and the immense pleasure he was giving you - nothing. The room then filled up with the sound of a shutter as John took a picture, it was almost amusing to you how he didn’t even stutter in his thrusts for once while doing all of that. Too practiced, your foggy mind thought. But you didn’t have time to think about that deeply because John’s strong hands pushed your legs above your head, filling you up even deeper from that angle. With that your tired hands found his arms, draping over them lazily. With that he fastened his pace even more, fucking you deep into the mattress. The sleepiness was taking over you more and more each second, and something was telling you that you wouldn’t remember anything soon.
The morning was quiet, calm when your eyes opened slowly as you began to finally waking up. The tiredness lingered still, making your body feel like it weighed a ton. John’s bedroom felt as warm as ever, but you acknowledged the fact that you were there, after all the memories of Jill and John leading you to his cabin were clear. You couldn’t remember anything past the tea, maybe you fell asleep? The question lingered in your mind as you sat up, you were alone in the room, that’s what you’d noticed first, your hand touched your forehead as the annoying pulsation of headache began nagging. Slowly, you managed to get up and look around, the room was spacious and simple, exactly what you’d expect John to have. It was a great chance for you to get nosy and see what he could be hiding behind closed doors of his bedroom.
You knew that you could find something that would be useful for your movie and research, so the first thing that you decided to look at was his table. It was a mess, covered in papers, documents, folders. There was nothing interesting about it, but the drawers. Oh, there you would definitely find something interesting. To your disappointment the first drawer was empty. The second had a few unopened letters and nothing else. But the third drawer caught your attention. It was empty and you wanted to close it but you heard a strange sound, as if something was inside but how if it was empty? You moved it once again, forward just slightly and it hit you, double bottom. Something was moving inside and created a sound.
You slid the wooden board forward, snapping your fingers as you nodded. Bingo. There you a few folded papers and a small, yellow envelope, it looked quite puffy, money? Probably, you wouldn’t know unless you looked. So that’s what you did. Standing up on your slightly wobbly legs, you opened the envelope, finding a pile of polaroids. They weren’t anything special, just pictures of each of the members. Karen, a girl who volunteered for an interview, Ben, that helped you set your tripod, a few other faces and- Jill. It was painful to see her face and the memories of yesterday’s events still lingered like vines around your heart. Piercing the vulnerable organ making it bleed at the thought that the young, beautiful woman was buried in somewhere in the field.
The more you looked at the picture and Jill’s face, the more the feeling that you’d seen her face before was nagging. Again. You knew her. You decided to keep the picture, sliding it into your back pocket. Something told you to keep looking, you followed your intuition, looking through the papers that were in the drawer. Those weren’t just any papers, you found, those were a mission persons reports, mostly women, approximately the same age, but nothing else was in common. One report was more interesting, a woman named Jane Devine, twenty years old, short hair, blue eyes and a freckled face. Ironically, she also looked familiar, too familiar, maybe..You pulled Jill’s polaroid from your pocket, holding it beside the report and finally every puzzle fell into place. Maybe, after all, you should stay here longer?
- a.n. finally it’s here! very long, so i hope you like it! side note, i decided to add a few more tags due to the change in the plot. plot twists are coming in the next chapter, hehe. if anyone else wishes to be on the taglist just tell me 🦢
Summary: After weeks of distance, old bonds begin to mend, but the deeper Task Force 141 digs into your life, the more impossible it becomes to separate truth from secrets.
Pairings: Poly!Tf141 x Reader
Words: 6.5k
Previous / Next / Masterlist
Warnings: mentions of home invasion, slight mention of smut btw Gaz and Johnny
Author’s note: I’m going on vacation so next chapter will be up the 31th!! Ps finally showing Gaz love!!
Disclaimer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating,- imitating this work )
Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!!
Footsteps.
Yes.
Footsteps.
Your fingers tightened around the pistol until your knuckles turned white.
Footsteps.
The sound was unmistakable.
Not the old pipes groaning beneath the floorboards. Not your cat padding lazily across the apartment. Not the settling creaks every building made after sunset.
Footsteps, slow and measured.
Somewhere beyond your bedroom door.
Every instinct screamed at you to move, yet your body refused. You remained rooted to the spot, every muscle drawn painfully tight as your breathing caught somewhere behind your ribs. The ringing inside your ears was so loud that, for one terrifying second, you wondered whether you had imagined them.
Then they came again.
One.
Two.
Three.
The sound drifted down the narrow hallway before stopping altogether.
Silence. The apartment fell deathly still. You stayed where you were.
Five seconds, ten, twenty…
Nothing.
Your pulse continued hammering against your throat, but your breathing gradually steadied, each inhale a fraction deeper than the last as years of training slowly forced their way through the panic clouding your thoughts.
You adjusted your grip around the pistol and raised it properly, your support hand sliding into place beneath the frame with mechanical familiarity. The weapon no longer trembled.
Keeping your shoulders square, you edged towards the bedroom door.
The hallway beyond lay empty beneath the warm amber glow of the wall lamps. Their soft light stretched long shadows across the wooden floor, turning familiar corners into strange shapes that seemed to shift every time your eyes lingered on them for too long.
You waited and listened.
Nothing.
One careful step carried you into the corridor. And then another one. You had memorized that the boards made less noise, so you could make as little noise as possible.
The gun’s muzzle followed your gaze as you checked every doorway exactly the way countless hours of training had taught you to. Bathroom. Empty. The dresser. Empty.
You reached the staircase and descended one step at a time, your back brushing lightly against the wall to minimize your silhouette and you stepped carefully close to the wall where, due to the pressure, your steps made less noise.
The living room greeted you exactly as you had left it.
The lamp you had knocked over during your sprint upstairs still rested on its side, its warm light spilling across the rug in a crooked pool of gold. Your cat’s favourite toy mouse lay abandoned beneath the coffee table, and the untouched mug of tea you'd made some hours earlier sat cooling on the kitchen counter, a thin skin forming across its surface.
Everything looked normal.
You continued clearing the apartment. The kitchen, the utility room, the small bathroom for guests. You checked every corner, every blind spot.
Nothing.
Finally, you approached the front door. The deadbolt remained locked and the chain was still fastened.
Your fingers hovered over the handle before checking it anyway.
It didn't move. You sign, trying to rationalised it. No broken lock, no forced entry and no sign that anyone had ever been there.
You stood motionless in the centre of the apartment, the pistol still raised as your eyes travelled slowly from one familiar object to the next.
The kitchen remained untouched and the living room was exactly as you had left it. Nothing was missing, nor had anything been disturbed.
Your breathing finally slowed.
Perhaps the footsteps were just a squirrel running on your rooftop, or maybe a sparrow, maybe? Perhaps your nerves had woven every creak of the building into something far more sinister after everything that had happened that evening.
That had to be it. No one was here.
Keeping the pistol in your right hand, now lowered, you reached up with your left and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to ease the ache that had settled there from holding yourself so rigidly for so long. Every muscle in your body protested as the adrenaline slowly began to ebb away, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to buckle your knees.
You turned towards the staircase. One step. Then another.
The silence inside the apartment no longer felt threatening.
Your shoulders loosened for the first time since you heard the footsteps when you reached the upper floor. What you wanted most at that moment was to take a hot shower that would finally relax your back muscles.
You stood in the doorway of your room and exhaled deeply as you closed your eyes.
That was your mistake.
The impact came without warning.
Something struck the back of your head with crushing force.
White-hot pain exploded through your skull, so sudden and violent that your vision fractured into flashes of light. Your fingers convulsed instinctively around the pistol before it slipped from your grasp, clattering loudly across the wooden floor.
You stumbled forward, one hand shooting out to catch yourself against the wardrobe, but your arm refused to obey. The bedroom twisted unnaturally around you, the floor pitching beneath your feet as though the entire apartment had begun to tilt.
You forced yourself to breathe, you tried to get up again, you tried to identify the threat, to recover your weapon, to fight. You tried to turn but your body barely moved, the blinding pain echoed behind your eyes and even your gums hurt.
The world had already begun dissolving into a blur of amber light and indistinct shadows. A shape shifted somewhere at the very edge of your vision, impossible to focus on before darkness swallowed it again.
And finally, you lost consciousness.
The last thing you heard was the drumming of your pulse of your head against the wooden floor.
Then...
Nothing.
The Pack House was unusually quiet.
The low murmur of the television drifted lazily through the living room, accompanied only by the rhythmic ticking of the old clock mounted above the fireplace. The evening’s light filtered through the windows overlooking, painting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor. His boots rested neatly beside the entrance, and his weapons had already been cleaned and locked away after the training exercise they had been sent to, and somewhere on the other end of the hallway Ghost was taking the world's longest shower, judging by the constant rush of water echoing through the pipes.
Kyle sat alone on the sofa.
A mug of tea had gone cold on the table beside him, untouched except for the faint ring it had left on the wood. Every few minutes he would scroll absentmindedly through another report before stopping again, staring at nothing in particular while pretending to read.
He hadn't slept much either.
The front door opened with the familiar scrape of old hinges.
Johnny stepped inside, quietly enough that he hoped nobody would notice him. He shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the rack beside the entrance and paused for a second when he spotted Kyle in the living room. For a moment he considered walking towards his room without saying anything.
However, we decided otherwise.
He sighed almost imperceptibly and his boots crossed the wooden floor with slow, measured steps until he stopped beside the sofa.
Kyle didn't look up "You back already?" His voice was calm.
"Aye."
Another silence settled between them.
Johnny shifted awkwardly on his feet before lowering himself onto the opposite end of the sofa. The familiar cushions dipped beneath his weight, but neither of them spoke. The television continued playing to an audience that wasn't watching, filling the room with meaningless background noise while the distance between them felt infinitely larger than the few feet separating their shoulders.
"I've missed ye." Johnny rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
"That's funny." Kyle gave a humourless smile.
Johnny frowned "It is?"
Johnny lowered his gaze to his hands. Calloused knuckles with healing cuts and fresh bruises earned somewhere halfway across the world only days before. He knew how to dismantle explosives in complete darkness, how to clear buildings room by room and how to keep calm while bullets flew inches from his head but none of it had ever taught him how to fix this.
"I've been an arse." Began Johnny slowly.
Kyle let out a quiet breath through his nose. "You have."
"I know." Johnny nodded slowly and silence settled over them once again before he finally found the courage to continue. "I dinnae know what's happening tae me, Kyle."
Gaz didn't answer.
Johnny wasn't even sure he expected him to.
"Every time I'm around her, it's like something in me keeps pulling me closer. I cannae explain it. I dinnae know why. I dinnae even know if it's me or if it's just..." He let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. "Hell, I dinnae know what it is."
Kyle's eyes remained fixed on the dark television screen and Johnny shifted slightly on the sofa, his forearms resting loosely against his knees as he stared down at his hands for a moment, as if trying to piece together something that refused to settle into words.
"It's no' like I just... forget everything else when I'm around her," he continued more quietly, his voice lacking the certainty it had carried before. "It's just... loud, I guess. Hard tae ignore."
He let out a small breath, almost a laugh, though there was no humour in it.
"And then I come back here and it's..." He trailed off, glancing briefly around the room before his eyes flickered back tae Kyle. "Different."
Kyle finally looked at him.
Johnny didn't hold his gaze this time. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders tightening slightly as if bracing himself.
"I've been trying tae make sense o' it," he admitted, softer now. "Havenae managed yet."
There was a pause, not quite silence, but close enough that the ticking clock seemed louder than before.
"But none o' that changes..." He hesitated, choosing his words more carefully this time. "What this is. What we've got."
Kyle's expression shifted, subtle but noticeable and Johnny gave a small, uncertain smile.
"I'm no’ going anywhere." Johnny reached up, rubbing a tired hand across his face before letting out a long breath."I dinnae want her instead o' ye." His voice was quiet now. "I want... all o' this."
He gestured vaguely around the room, though it was obvious he wasn't talking about the furniture.
"Our pack. You. Simon. The Captain." Another pause. "And... somehow... her too."
Kyle studied him for a long moment, watching every tiny movement in Johnny's face. There was no guilt hidden there. No deception, only confusion, exhaustion, and the desperate hope that the man sitting beside him would still believe him.
"I've never doubted that you love me," Kyle admitted quietly as his fingers curled together in his lap. "I just started wondering whether you still saw me."
The words landed like a knife and Johnny's shoulders dropped.
"I've always seen ye." He murmured.
"No." Kyle shook his head. "You looked through me."
The honesty hurt far more than shouting ever could. Johnny turned towards him completely and without thinking too much about it, he reached across the sofa and carefully intertwined their fingers.
Kyle's hand tensed instinctively and, for a heartbeat, Johnny thought he was going to pull away. But he didn't.
His fingers remained exactly where they were, warm against Johnny's palm despite the stiffness still lingering in his wrist.
Johnny smiled faintly. "There ye are."
Kyle finally looked at him.
The silence stretched again, though it no longer felt quite as hostile as before. It carried something softer now, something familiar. Like a bridge that had begun to rebuild itself plank by plank.
Johnny leaned forward until only a breath separated them, giving Kyle every opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. He didn't.
Their lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that carried weeks of distance between them. It was gentle at first, almost cautious, as though both of them were afraid that moving too quickly might shatter the fragile peace they had only just begun to rebuild.
Johnny's hand rose instinctively to cup Kyle's cheek. His thumb brushed softly across the warm skin beneath his eye, and he felt Kyle lean into the touch before he even realised he was doing it.
"There ye are..." Johnny whispered and Kyle smiled faintly, a light red blushing his cheeks.
The next kiss lasted longer. There was still nothing hurried about it, but the uncertainty that had lingered between them began to melt away with every passing second. Johnny smiled against Kyle's lips, earning a quiet laugh that he could feel more than hear.
The familiar scent that always surrounded Kyle, sweet raspberries, fresh linen and a hint of cinnamon began to intensify as the tension drained from his shoulders. Betas rarely released enough pheromones for anyone outside their pack to notice, but Johnny had spent years learning every subtle shift. Relief had its own scent.
Without meaning to, Johnny answered. Warm cedar, black tea and baked apples settled quietly around them, replacing the sharper edge of guilt that had clung to him ever since they had returned from deployment.
Kyle breathed him in with a contented sigh. "I've missed that."
"Ma smell?"
"You."
Johnny laughed softly. "That's better."
Kyle reached up, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Johnny's neck before drawing him into another kiss. This one lingered, slower and deeper than the last, until they were both smiling for no reason other than the simple comfort of having found one another again.
Johnny rested his forehead against Kyle's and for a moment neither of them spoke.
Their breathing gradually settled into the same rhythm, and Johnny could hear the steady beat of Kyle's heart from where they sat, close enough that every quiet breath seemed shared between them.
Some instinct buried deep beneath conscious thought finally relaxed.
Home.
Kyle's fingers drifted lazily down from Johnny's neck, smoothing the collar of his shirt before coming to rest against his chest. Johnny caught his hand before it could fall away and pressed a brief kiss into his palm.
Kyle's smile grew warmer without taking his eyes off Johnny, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He lifted his arms with an exaggerated sigh, letting Kyle pull the shirt free before it landed somewhere forgotten on the floor beside the sofa.
"Better?"
Kyle's gaze lingered on the bruises scattered across Johnny's shoulders and ribs. His fingertips traced carefully around one already turning yellow at the edges, taking care not to press against the healing skin. Kyle answered by leaning in to press a lingering kiss against his shoulder before finding his lips again.
Johnny's arm slipped naturally around Kyle's waist, drawing him closer until there was hardly any space left between them. Kyle shifted without a word, one knee settling comfortably on the cushion beside Johnny before he slowly curled against him, his forehead brushing Johnny's once more.
Neither of them seemed interested in counting how many kisses followed after that.
They simply happened. Slowly. Naturally.
Each one carrying away another little piece of the distance that had separated them.
At some point Johnny leaned back against the arm of the sofa, laughing quietly as Kyle followed without protest, settling comfortably against him. The blanket draped across the backrest slipped loose as Johnny pulled it absent-mindedly over them both.
The television continued murmuring to an audience that wasn't listening.
The sunset stretched a little further across the wooden floor.
Down the hallway, the shower still hadn't stopped running.
Hidden beneath the blanket, Kyle's hand found Johnny's once more, their bodies intertwining as another quiet kiss stole the words and gasps from between them.
Whatever remained of the conversation could wait until later. For now, the rest of the house was content to leave them in peace.
Steam still clung faintly to the upstairs landing by the time Simon finally emerged from the bathroom, a dark towel hanging loosely around the back of his neck as he rubbed absentmindedly at his damp hair.
He hadn't spent nearly that long beneath the hot water because he needed the shower.
He'd needed the distance.
The moment Johnny had sat down beside Kyle downstairs, Simon had caught the subtle shift in the air. Betas never filled a room with pheromones the way an Alpha could, yet to someone with senses as keen as his, the changes were unmistakable. Weeks of frustration had slowly dissolved into something warmer, softer. The familiar scents that had always defined the two men, Johnny's cedar and Kyle's rain-soaked linen touched with cinnamon had begun to settle together once more.
From upstairs, Simon hadn't heard a single sentence they exchanged. He hadn't needed to, his mind and his senses were occupied by other things.
Occasionally the quiet murmurs and gasps of their voices drifted through the floorboards, followed by long stretches of comfortable moans that somehow spoke louder than conversation ever could. Once or twice he'd heard a muffled laugh, so unfamiliar after the past few weeks that it had almost made him smile despite himself.
Later, there had been no voices at all, only the occasional creak of the old sofa downstairs, the faint rustle of a blanket, the quiet rhythm of two heartbeats settling into the same peaceful cadence and the quiet moans that escaped between their lips.
His instincts had stirred almost immediately.
Every Alpha possessed an innate drive to gather the members of their pack close, especially after conflict had been resolved. Some irrational part of him had wanted to walk downstairs, make sure they were both alright, settle beside them and let the familiar comfort of shared scents wash through the house.
He hadn't, this wasn't his moment. Johnny and Kyle needed one another far more than they needed him.
So Simon had stayed exactly where he was, letting the hot water drum steadily against his shoulders until the restless pain beneath his legs gradually eased into something quieter. By the time he finally switched off the shower, the house itself seemed calmer.
The scents drifting up from the living room carried none of the uncertainty that had haunted the Pack House since returning from deployment.
Home, their home.
The familiar scent of cedar lingered in the air behind him as he made his way down the staircase, disappearing into the warmth of the living room.
He had expected to find the television abandoned; instead, he stopped halfway down the stairs.
Johnny lay stretched comfortably along one end of the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head while the other rested securely around Kyle's waist. His T-shirt had long since disappeared somewhere onto the living-room floor, leaving the fading bruises scattered across his shoulders plainly visible beneath the morning light.
Kyle had surrendered completely to exhaustion.
He lay curled against Johnny's bare chest, one hand resting loosely over his ribs while his cheek rose and fell with every slow, steady breath. A blanket had slipped carelessly over the pair of them sometime during the evening, doing little to hide just how naturally they had settled together.
Johnny looked up as Simon appeared from the hallway. Their eyes met but neither of them spoke immediately.
There was no embarrassment in Johnny's expression, only the quiet, contented look of someone whose world had finally clicked back into place.
Simon's gaze drifted briefly towards the sleeping beta nestled against Johnny before returning to him again.
"Everything alright?"
"Aye." Johnny's smile was small and tired.
His fingers absentmindedly brushed a few curls away from Kyle's forehead before lingering there, tracing lightly along his temple. After another moment he bent just enough to press a featherlight kiss into Kyle's hair, careful not to wake him.
"I think we both needed it."
Something softened almost imperceptibly in Simon's expression. He gave a single nod before continuing towards the kitchen. The room smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread from earlier thatday. Simon filled the kettle, waited in silence as the water began to boil and prepared himself another mug before returning to the living room. He settled into the armchair opposite the sofa, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic as the rising steam briefly fogged his vision.
Johnny hadn't moved and Kyle was still asleep against him.
The only sounds filling the room were the quiet murmur of the television and the occasional whistle of the kettle cooling on the kitchen counter.
Simon took a slow sip before speaking. "I asked around."
Johnny looked over and Simon shrugged lightly.
"Thought maybe there was a Sebastian transferred into the building while we were deployed." Johnny straightened ever so slightly as Simon continued speaking "There isn't."
"The other accommodation blocks?"
"Checked those too."
"Nothing?" Johnny frowned.
Simon shook his head. "Nobody called Sebastian assigned to this sector. Not here. Not Building B. Not the adjacent barracks."
Silence settled between them.
"Maybe he's deployed." Johnny glanced down unconsciously at Kyle sleeping against his chest before lifting his eyes back towards Simon.
"I thought that." Simon rested his mug on one knee. "But if he's stationed somewhere else, why isn't there any trace of him?"
Johnny didn't answer immediately. His thumb continued absentmindedly tracing slow circles against Kyle's shoulder, more focused on comforting the sleeping beta than on the movement itself.
Simon watched him for another moment before quietly adding, "I keep thinking about what I told you."
Johnny already knew what he meant. "The pistol." He nodded.
Simon nodded once. "I've seen people sleep armed before." His voice remained as calm and matter-of-fact as ever. "Usually because they expect to need it."
"I know." Johnny let out a slow breath.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Outside, a pair of recruits jogged past the front windows, their muffled voices disappearing almost as quickly as they'd arrived. Somewhere deeper inside the house, an old pipe creaked softly before falling silent again.
Johnny lowered his eyes. "I can't shake the feeling we're missing something."
Simon stared quietly into his coffee. "So can't I."
Another silence stretched comfortably between them before Simon finally looked back towards Johnny.
"I think it's time we stopped asking questions around the barracks." Johnny's brow lifted but Simon held his gaze. "And started asking questions somewhere people can actually tell us no."
Johnny understood immediately. Military records, personnel files, official databases…
For the first time since Reader had walked into their lives, the uneasy feeling in both their stomachs began to settle into something far more dangerous.
Suspicion.
Price's office was exactly what anyone would expect from a man who had spent more of his life on deployment than behind a desk.
Maps covered one wall from floor to ceiling, each one crowded with coloured pins, handwritten notes and circles drawn in permanent marker from operations long since completed. A kettle steamed quietly on a cabinet beneath the window, filling the room with the comforting scent of black tea, while stacks of neatly organised mission reports occupied almost every spare inch of the battered wooden desk at the centre of the room.
John Price sat behind it, reading through the latest debrief from their deployment with a pencil tucked behind one ear.
Three sharp knocks interrupted his concentration.
"Come in." He answered and the door opened almost immediately.
Soap stepped inside first, Ghost following a pace behind before quietly closing the door.
Price looked up over the top of the report and he didn't miss the brief glance they exchanged, nor the fact that neither of them had come in making jokes. That alone was enough to tell him this wasn't a social visit.
He placed the paperwork aside. "What's happened?"
Neither of them answered straight away. Soap rubbed the back of his neck and Ghost remained standing with his arms folded, watching the room in the same silent way he watched everything else.
Finally, Johnny spoke:
"We need a favour."
"Depends what kind." Price leaned back slightly in his chair.
"We've been trying to find someone."
Price's brow lifted. "Who?"
"Sebastian."
The name meant nothing to him.
"The husband?" Price frowned.
Johnny nodded once. "We've asked around."
"No one knows him." Ghost answered.
"We've checked the accommodation blocks." Johnny continued.
"Nothing."
"The deployment lists."
"Nothing."
Price's expression remained unreadable. "So… let it go."
Ghost shook his head. "We can't."
Price's eyes shifted towards him. "And why's that?" He said, leaning back and resting his elbows on the table.
Ghost hesitated. For perhaps the first time since Price had met him, Simon Riley looked as though he were carefully weighing how much he could say.
"There are things that don't add up."
Price waited and Ghost continued.
"She's scared."
The word lingered between them.
Soap looked down briefly before meeting Price's gaze again.
"I know how this sounds."
"Do you?"
"Aye." He sighed. "But something's wrong."
Price remained silent.
Johnny took another step closer to the desk.
"We're not asking you to investigate her. We're just asking you to help us make sure we're wrong."
That sentence finally caught Price's attention. He studied both men for several long seconds. They looked worried, genuinely worried.
Price let out a slow breath through his nose before reaching for the cap resting on the corner of his desk.
"If we're doing this..." He stood. "...we're doing it properly."
He pulled the cap onto his head, straightened the brim almost absentmindedly and reached for the identification wallet tucked inside one of the desk drawers.
Ghost uncrossed his arms and Soap's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Price locked the office door behind him before looking briefly at both of them.
"Let's go see Personnel."
"The administrative wing occupied one of the oldest buildings on the base.
Unlike the training grounds, where shouted orders and the sharp crack of rifle fire never truly ceased, these corridors lived beneath a different kind of discipline. Fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead, reflecting against polished linoleum floors that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper. Metal filing cabinets lined the walls outside several offices, their drawers labelled with decades of military bureaucracy, while officers moved quietly between departments carrying folders thick enough to disappear beneath their arms.
John Price hated this building.
He would rather spend three days crawling through freezing mud than spend ten minutes arguing with administration.
Yet here he was.
His boots echoed steadily down the corridor as Ghost and Soap followed half a pace behind, neither of them speaking. Task Force 141 rarely wandered into the administrative offices unless something had gone spectacularly wrong, and more than one clerk looked up from their paperwork as the three men passed.
Price stopped at the reception desk.
A young woman sat behind it, her dark hair pinned neatly into a bun while she typed steadily away at a keyboard, barely glancing up from the monitor.
"Morning, love."
She looked up briefly.
"Captain." She greeted him politely.
Price smiled beneath his moustache, resting one forearm casually against the counter.
“I need a favor, love.”
A sarcastic smile escaped her lips.
“Right, tell me about it.”
“Come on, love. Just a small little favor.” Price said, smiling as he leaned across the desk just enough to lower his voice. His easy smile had talked more than one stubborn officer into signing paperwork they had sworn they never would.
“I can’t help you with any more favours, Captain.” An annoyed smile escaped her lips.
“You got your nails done. Gorgeous, this is definitely your color." He said, gently taking her hand and turning it slightly to admire the fresh burgundy polish.
She looked down at the fresh coat of deep burgundy polish before slowly raising an eyebrow.
"...What’s my name again?"
Price's smile widened, the faintest wink accompanying it.
"Margaret."
There was a pause, then the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Bastard."
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have." She sighed before turning back towards her keyboard. "What are you looking for?"
Behind Price, Soap slowly raised an eyebrow.
Ghost's eyes flickered briefly towards him before meeting Soap's.
The two exchanged a quick glance that landed somewhere between amused and mildly impressed.
Neither of them looked particularly worried. They trusted Price completely. If the Captain was laying the charm on thick, it wasn't because he had any interest in the woman behind the desk.
It was because he wanted information.
Even so, Soap couldn't help wondering exactly how many administrative favours the Captain had managed to sweet-talk out of her over the years.
"A service record."
"Name?"
"Sebastian."
Her fingers paused over the keys.
"Surname?"
"Don't have one."
She looked up again.
"Rank?"
"No."
"Unit?"
"No."
Margaret stared at him for several silent seconds.
"You've given me absolutely nothing."
"I've given you a first name."
"You've given me one of the most common first names in England."
Soap quietly cleared his throat behind him.
Price simply smiled again.
"Work your magic, love."
As Margaret rolled her eyes and finally began typing, Price caught Ghost and Soap watching him from the corner of his eye.
Without saying a word, he gave the smallest shake of his head and silently mouthed, Behave.
Soap bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
Ghost merely looked away, though the faintest twitch beneath his mask suggested he wasn't entirely unimpressed by the performance either.
The computer responded almost instantly as databases opened one after another across the screen. Personnel records. Current deployments. Reserve forces. NATO assignments.
Nothing.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Hm."
Another search.
Different spelling.
Nothing.
Another.
Still nothing.
"This is odd..."
She reached for the mouse and clicked a different database. The loading symbol spun for a few seconds before a small notification window appeared across the centre of the monitor.
ACCESS RESTRICTED
Her fingers stopped moving and Price noticed immediately.
"What was that?" He asked.
Margaret frowned.
"Nothing."
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you've just found something."
She hesitated.
"I've found... something."
While Soap leaned forward instinctively, Ghost remained perfectly still.
Price rested both hands against the edge of the reception desk.
"And?" He murmured.
Margaret looked back towards the screen.
"I can't open it."
"Why not?"
"It requires clearance above mine."
Price reached calmly into the inside pocket of his jacket before producing his identification wallet and placing it on the desk.
"Use mine."
She looked from the credentials to Price and then back to the screen.
But before she could answer, a calm voice echoed from somewhere deeper inside the office.
"That won't be necessary."
All four of them turned.
An older man wearing the insignia of a full colonel stepped through the doorway leading into the secure records office. His uniform was immaculate, silver hair combed neatly back, every movement carrying the effortless confidence of someone who had spent decades expecting to be obeyed.
His eyes settled first on Price, then Ghost, and then Soap. Finally, he looked towards Margaret.
"Leave us."
She didn't hesitate before answering "Yes, sir."
She stood, offered the three members of the Task Force an apologetic glance and quietly disappeared through the adjoining office, closing the door behind her.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
The colonel approached the reception desk with slow, measured steps before resting one hand lightly against its polished wooden surface.
"Captain Price."
“Colonel." Price inclined his head politely.
"I understand you're making enquiries regarding a classified individual."
"I'm trying to identify a serviceman." Price neither confirmed nor denied it.
"You are trying to access information beyond your level of authorisation."
The statement was delivered without hostility, without accusation, merely as a fact.
Price held the colonel's gaze.
"My clearance is sufficient for most things."
"It is." The colonel nodded once. "This isn't most things."
A long silence settled between them and Soap shifted his weight from one side to another.
"So there is a file." Johnny said in an accusatory tone.
"I didn't say that." The colonel's expression didn't change.
Ghost folded his arms. "But you didn't deny it either."
For the first time, the colonel looked directly at him. "No." He paused. "I denied your access."
Price's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I don't like being told to walk away from something that could concern one of my people." He murmured between his teeths.
The colonel regarded him for several long seconds before answering.
"If it concerns one of your people..." His voice remained perfectly even. "...then someone above both of us is already dealing with it."
Neither Ghost nor Soap liked that answer. Neither did Price.
"This conversation is over." The colonel stepped back from the desk, his eyes moved briefly between the three men.
No one spoke.
After another moment, Price picked up his identification wallet and slipped it back inside his jacket.
"Understood."
"Good day, Captain." The colonel inclined his head.
The three men left the office without another word. Only once the heavy door clicked shut behind them did Soap finally exhale.
"What the hell was that?"
Price stared down the length of the empty hallway, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
"That..." he said quietly, "...was someone telling us to stop asking questions."
Ghost exchanged a brief glance with Soap.
For some reason neither of them could yet explain, that answer worried them far more than any personnel file ever could have.
The Pack House had settled into its usual night rhythm by the time the three men returned.
The evening sun had given way to a sky of heavy grey clouds that cast a muted light through the living room windows, leaving the house wrapped in a comfortable half-shadow. Somewhere near the kitchen, the washing machine hummed steadily through another cycle while the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee still lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of gun oil and old wood that seemed permanently woven into the walls.
Kyle sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, several cables snaking between two open laptops while lines of code streamed endlessly across both screens. A portable hard drive rested beside him, connected to one machine by an assortment of adapters that looked incomprehensible to anyone who hadn't spent years working in signals intelligence.
He barely acknowledged the front door opening or the three pairs of heavy footsteps told him exactly who had arrived.
He continued typing. "So," he said without looking up, "either someone declared war..." His fingers never stopped moving. "...or you've all come to ruin my night."
Nobody answered immediately.
Kyle smiled faintly to himself. "I'll take that as the second one."
Johnny exchanged a quick glance with Ghost before stepping further into the room. "Kyle..."
That alone was enough, Gaz stopped typing. Slowly, he lifted his head as his eyes moved from Johnny to Ghost.
Then to Price. The Captain stood with both hands tucked comfortably into the pockets of his jacket, saying nothing, allowing Johnny to lead the conversation.
Kyle sighed. "What is it?"
Johnny scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "We need a favour."
Kyle stared at him for several long seconds. Then, he let out a quiet laugh. Not because anything was funny, but because he'd seen it coming.
"I knew it." Gaz scoffed.
"Knew what?" Johnny frowned.
Kyle closed the lid of one laptop with a soft click before leaning back on one hand. "I spent two weeks wondering whether I'd imagined having a mate." His tone remained calm. "You ignored me." Another silence. "But then you finally kissed me this morning."
Another pause before Gaz spoke again "And now all three of you turn up asking for a favour."
His gaze settled squarely on Johnny. "I've got to admit..." A humourless smile crossed his face. "...the timing's spectacular."
"It isn't like that." Johnny's shoulders visibly dropped.
"No?" Kyle tilted his head slightly. "Convince me."
Johnny opened his mouth, but nothing came out, because there wasn't a convincing answer. Not one that didn't sound exactly like what Kyle had just accused him of. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Price finally stepped forward.
"Gaz." Kyle looked towards him. The Captain's voice remained as steady as ever. "This is bigger than us."
Kyle's expression didn't change so Price continued. "We've exhausted every avenue available to us."
Ghost spoke for the first time since they'd entered the room. "We need someone better than Personnel."
"Better?" Kyle's eyes narrowed slightly.
Ghost gave the smallest nod. "You."
The compliment landed awkwardly enough to draw the faintest twitch at the corner of Kyle's mouth. He looked between the three men, studying each of their faces in turn. Soap looked worried, Ghost looked unconvinced, and Price looked deadly serious.
Kyle let out a slow breath before pushing himself up from the floor. "You owe me."
Johnny smiled faintly. "I know."
"No." Kyle pointed a finger towards him. "You owe me properly."
Johnny nodded without hesitation. "I do."
Only then did Kyle sit back down in front of the laptops.
His fingers flew across the keyboard almost immediately, opening terminals Johnny had never seen before. Windows filled with encrypted command lines appeared one after another, followed by strings of authentication requests, network maps and military databases that seemed to connect systems from half a dozen different agencies.
Price watched quietly over his shoulder, Ghost folded his arms leaning against the nearest wall, and Johnny paced slowly behind the sofa, too restless to stand still.
Kyle barely blinked. "Personnel database." His fingers continued moving. "Nothing." Another terminal. "Joint Operations."
Gaz continued typing.
"Nothing." Another. "NATO." He frowned. "Hm."
Ghost leaned slightly closer. "What?"
Kyle didn't answer. Instead, he entered a longer command. Several authentication windows flashed across the screen before disappearing almost instantly.
His brow furrowed. "...That's odd."
"What is?" Johnny asked, pacing from one side to another.
Kyle leaned closer to the monitor. "I've just been redirected."
"Redirected where?"
"I don't know." he murmured as he typed faster.
The command prompt returned an error almost immediately.
ACCESS DENIED
Kyle tried a different route. Then another. Every path ended exactly the same way.
Price watched the monitor in silence and Soap was now standing right behind Kyle.
Kyle's expression slowly shifted from concentration to genuine confusion. "This isn't military."
Ghost looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Kyle tapped the side of the monitor with one finger. "Military databases tell you you've hit a clearance wall." Another command and another rejection. "This isn't doing that."
He opened a network trace. For the first time since they'd entered the room, genuine surprise crossed his face.
"It's kicking the request somewhere else."
"Where?"
"I can't tell." Kyle stared at the routing table scrolling rapidly across the screen.
More commands and more failed connections.
Then—
Every window on both monitors disappeared simultaneously.
The screens flashed black.
A single white notification appeared in the centre.
SESSION TERMINATED
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Kyle reached instinctively for the keyboard.
Nothing.
The terminal had closed itself.
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair.
"I've never seen that before." He murmured very slowly.
Silence settled over the room.
Price was the first to speak. "So?"
Kyle looked at the blank monitor for another few seconds before turning towards the others. "If someone wanted to hide a file..." He swallowed quietly. "...they wouldn't build a system like this."
Johnny frowned "Then who would?"
Kyle met his eyes:
"Someone who expected people like us to come looking."
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish - I imagine Johnny's body temperature resembles a heater. Perfect for long ops in the winter and cuddling around Christmas time. Perfect for when you accidentally stay out playing in the snow to long and develop a cold and need someone to warm you up.
Unfortunately, summer isn't the same story. Due to Johnnys warm temperature and lack of knowledge on personal space, you find yourself waking up trapped in Johnny's arms. You squirm around trying to relieve yourself of the stickiness that has formed on your skin due to the heat, only to find his arms only lock tighter around you as he mumbles in protest.
Simon "Ghost" Riley - Simon would be the opposite of Johnny. His skin is cool to the touch, hands always sending shivers down your spine when they find their place on your body. He's capable at providing temporary relief from the miserable heat of the summer. Simon seems to find pleasure in planting his hands on your bare skin unexpectedly causing you to shriek.
While he's an amazing icepack for the summer, that chilliness stays around all year long. One winter morning, you find yourself awoken with a startled shriek when Simon decides he just needs to have his hands on you. His arms curl around you, his hands finding the warm skin of your chest. Your jolted awake by the sudden frigid touch. He shushes you softly as his hands begin to warm up and you finally begin to settle once more.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - Kyle is the definition of perfection. From his skin to his personality, and even his body temperature. He's warm enough to keep you nice and content during cold nights but also cool enough you won't wake up in the middle of the night to find a puddle of sweat dripping off you.
You find yourself curled up tucked under Kyle's arm, some comedy movie playing the background. Your soft laughs echo the room quietly as Kyle's hand plays with your hair. It doesn't take long until you start dozing off as Kyle quietly coos, petting your hair. Absolutely perfect.
Jonathan "John" Price - Much like Johnny, this man runs warm. John resembles a bear, hairy and warm and the perfect candidate for cuddling. Somehow, you never find yourself awoken by excessive heat radiating from him. You do find his warmth is required for when he drags you along on early morning fishing trips.
The cool morning air nips at your skin as John loads the boat. You shiver slightly despite having multiple layers of clothing on. Your shivering only worsens as the boat begins to move and a breeze whips through your hair. You soon find yourself planted beside John, hiding inside his jacket as he gently rubs your back cooing and mumbling apologies. Despite his verbal guilt, the smirk on his face tells a whole different story. Of course, that jerk had planned this, he knew you would run to him the moment you got too cold. Luckily you needed his warmth at the moment, but he better watch his back later as you most certainly plan to retaliate.
John wasn't stupid, it wasn't hard to tell your strange schedule had been caused by your sleep patterns or rather a lack thereof. Plus, if the bags under your eyes were enough to go off of and the constant yawns hidden between conversations.. you desperately needed some sleep.
He didn't know when it started exactly, or when he even started trying to help you. All he remembers is that one day he brewed an extra cup, delivered in to you before bed and by morning he had to come and wake you up personally from your deep slumber. And that worked for a while, enough that he gave you a box of the tea he used since you were convinced you had been bothering him this entire time.
Until it wasnt enough and he found you wandering around base past midnight, welding mask still on, and a heavy weight on your shoulders. He steered you back to your room, made sure you changed into some comfortable clothes, and ordered you to go to bed… just to find you sleepy by the next morning.
You got your work done to be fair, worked extra hard despite your constant yawns to get each and every new prototype out. But.. it didn't help that your sleep problems were caused by that too. He couldnt even count anymore how many times he found you up working on some new idea, muttering to yourself up until you fall asleep head flat on your desk. Not to mention the energy drinks you keep managing to hide between your tools. He had to draw his line when you walked into the rec room looking for your gloves.. hands covered in plasters and bandages.
“I know you’re tired because you’ve never slipped up this much.” He says, voice a little too firm for your liking but when you look at Kyle for help he quickly looks away, suddenly interested in the remote control.
“I accidentally brushed against a tool, it’s just some light burns I promise.” You try to argue, tucking your injured hands into the gloves you thankfully spotted on the back of the couch.
“You think i believe that?” He scoffs, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, as he narrows his eyes at you. “If you don't sleep properly in the next few days, i’m locking the door to your lab.”
You blink, and then smile a little, sure he must be joking. “I mean, i’ll try but you know i need to work.”
He doesnt even twitch, and you turn your head again, making eye contact with Soap whose also been no help until now when he grimaces. He’s not joking then.
“Alright- okay! I promise i’ll get some good sleep.”
You get banned not even after two days when he finds you sluggishly trying to weld at four am. A lock is soon secured on the doors to your lab and even your poor snack stash is left inside with it. Even when you plead with him, he just shrugs his shoulders. “Just fix your schedule and you can go back in.”
It didn't help that you were still a little terrified of him, and the team in general. You were close to Gaz, that much was obvious, but you seemed lost in your head a lot of the time compared to the soldiers. So you hadn't complained more than that, and he heard from Kyle that you had been making a conscious effort to try and get proper sleep, even visiting the infirmary. Still, it’d been a week since and if anything you look even more tired than before.
“What are you doing?” Kyle stops you on your third lap around base, the sun set and soon the clock will strike closer to midnight. John had sent him after you since you seemed far more comfortable around him than the rest of them. You swallow nervously, looking around but no one is here to save you now.
“I- i’m trying! I swear i am, i just..” You fiddle with the edge of your gloves, shoulders jumping at a closed door a corridor down. “I cant do it.. please I dont want to be kicked me from the team.” The look on your face is of pure misery and you step closer to let your head hang low,
“Kick you from the team? Who told you that?”
“Um.. Lieutenant Ghost did.”
Kyle mentally makes a note to tell off Ghost for scaring you of all people, even if he suppose it probably was a good way to make you take your health seriously. Until.. it got to the point you stressed too much over it
“No one’s getting kicked from the team for a lack of sleep.” He sighs before he pats your back, forcing you to start walking alongside him all the way towards the rec room. You’ve been avoiding it recently, mainly because you probably think John will catch you not sleeping. He just wants to see you taking care of yourself, that's all. “Stay here until you feel tired, okay? I’ll help you tomorrow.”
—
Contrary to his reassurance, the anxiety only eats at you more. There was nothing to fill your hands in the lab nor anything to distract you from the possibility of disappointing him. You were still beating yourself up about it when he stops by your room, knocking on the door.
Both Price and Kyle stand on the other side, to your horror and you immediately freeze up.
“You got some time to spare? We need to go pick up some things, could use the extra hands.” Of course you nod immediately, letting them lead you to his car. It’s cold out but he’s got heated seats which make you let out a soft sigh, staring out the window at how the moon shines above the city.
You’re in the backseat on your own whilst Kyle sits upfront, chatting with the Captain about one thing or the other.
“Oh— Captain, they said the drive might be longer because of a diversion.”
“How long?”
“An hour or two. Then actually packing it in will take a while aswell.”
For some reason that stuck out to you more than usual, even though it really shouldn't. It was kind of boring sitting at the back with nothing to do, even the music was slow and quiet, perfect for the late evening. There wasn't much else to do but stare out that window, and knowing you’d be here for at leadt an hour more. Well…
“I think they’re out.” John nudges Kyle, who is getting tired himself, to look back and check. Surely enough, you had fallen asleep easily against the door, cheek pressing into the seatbelt and body snuggled up.
John takes a turn or two more before finally stopping outside base again, having gone in a circle that only lasted half an hour really.
“Like a light.” Kyle chuckles, sliding out his seat and carefully towards your door. “Easy, i’ve got ya.” He hums, scooping you into his arms as you melt into them, too tired to care.
They had noticed it a month or so ago, when they took you out to analyse some weapons found and you fell asleep in the traffic on the wayback. Not to mention the countless other times over the years, silently dozing off without many knowing.
They take you back to your room, the soft scent of essential oils filling the air that Soap and Ghost had done while you were gone. You settle into the clean pillows, aswell as the hot water bottle tucked beneath the duvets too.
“Not even nine pm.” Johnny mutters, taking his phone out to get a picture else you try and argue against it tomorrow.
“Needs it, poor thing been working themself to the bone.” John hums, pulling the duvet up to your neck, the lamp still dim on your side table. There seemed to be a lot of things keeping you up, namely the dark and the nightmares which breed in it. This way, you’d be safe from all of that.
Your eyes twitch, and he holds his breath, but you just roll over, pulling the hot water bottle flush against your chest.
He ushers the two sergeants out, clicking the door shut behind him. Hopefully you’d get a much better sleep tonight, and dreams that would leave you smiling tomorrow at the mess. That is his favourite look on you after all.
————-/
idk i think this is a nothing burger but i was fighting to stay awake in the car the other day
Summary: a lonely and rejected witch catches the eyes of the four vampires that just moved into town. Their deep desire for the witch has only just begun.
<- Part one Series Masterlist -> regular Masterlist ->
The room is quiet when you awaken. Your body is warm with blankets draped over you with care. You shift, feeling your familiar sheets under you as a rush of nausea hits you from moving to much. You groan, trying your best to keep the nausea down. Opening your eyes, you find yourself back in your room. Confusion clouds your mind, weren't you just in town? Suddenly, all the memories from last night come crashing down on you at once.
You sit up quickly, making you wince at how stiff your body felt. Those two villagers attacked you. And a strange shadowy presence saved you. You think back to the man that healed your stab wound, how he comforted you. You lift your shirt up, only to find no evidence of the stab wound. Was it all a dream? No, theres no way. A glass of water on your night stand catches your attention. Filled to the brim with cold water, the ice cubes floating around in it have yet to melt.
You remember how the man's eyes were locked on yours, how he comforted you while the shadow behind him was beating the two men senseless. They were both obviously not human, but you've never encountered them before. Your mind goes back to Eleanor's gossip about the new vampires in town. The headache pounding in your skull hurts to much to proccess all this information now. You flop back down with a huff, thinking about what could've possibly went down last night.
After 10 minutes of laying there, you finally found the strength to get out of bed. Unfortunately theres things that needed to be done today, even after the traumatic and confusing night you had. You can still feel the anxiety simmering under the surface, but you force yourself to ignore it for now. The kettle on the stove howling a loud whistle breaks you from your thoughts, you quickly stand up from your seat at the dining room table and pick up the kettles handle with a mitten.
You pour it slowly over a bag of tea you made a few days prior from the herbs in your garden. Setting the kettle down, you now open the lid to a small jar, picking out one unpolished rose quarts crystal from inside, and popping it right into your tea like it was sugar. After drinking your tea, you clean up your mess and decide its time to stop stalling and go outside to tend to your garden.
You slightly sway as you attempt to walk to your room to start getting ready, catching yourself on the wall before your knees gave out. You feel a wave of dizzy hit you. Shaking your head to snap yourself out of it, you think back to the nausea you felt when that man was healing your wound. Opening your bedroom door, you take a seat on your bed in hopes of calming down.
The dizzying feeling dispears after a moment, making you thankful. Theres chores that need to be done today, you wouldn't want yourself to feel sick throughout the day, especially now the season is getting hotter. You stand up carefully, before making your way to your closet. hopefully keeping yourself busy will distract you from all these unanswered questions.
~♡~
The sun is hot as it beams down on you. You wipe your face with the garden gloves you have on, finally putting down the basket you were using for harvesting. Theres been a creeping feeling of eyes on you all day. Its been hours since you've started working outside, but the strange feeling of being watched hasn't gone away once. Lurking in the shadows inbetween the trees, simply watching you work.
It doesn't feel necessary threatening, but its definitely there, and it makes you slightly nervous. Throughout the day you tried multiple times to spot who or what was watching you so intensely, but you have yet to find a single thing between the thick trees. You are very sensitive to these things, so its easy to point out what and where the feelings were coming from, but you still come up with nothing during the hours of being outside. So you ignore it until you have full evidence of something truly being there.
You sigh out in exhaustion, you begin to feel slightly light headed from the heat. So you sit on the floor in hopes that would help the familiar nauseating feeling. But it doesn't do much. You lay back on the grass, letting yourself relax to attempt to relieve the sick feeling you've had since you woke up. After a few minutes of laying down against the warm grass, you start to drift off. The exhaustion from both yesterday and today's events finally getting to you.
While drifting off, you could hear faint talking, slowly getting louder as they approach. Their voices are low as multiple of them speak. But your to far gone to be alert. You manage to catch a few words as you finally drift to sleep.
"-i expected this"
"Over working themselves-"
But the voices are to far away to catch anything else. Being drowned in your mind as you fully succumbed to the much needed sleep your body has been craving since you got out of bed this morning.
The sun beams down on your skin as you feel a slightly cold pressure against your arm. Your body doesn't react. But another soft cold touch nudges your cheek, making your head move ever so slightly. You open your eyes, finally coming back to proper consciousness. You must of startled whatever was nudging you, because it hurriedly scurried away from you in a dark blur of movement.
You sit up on your elbows while looking in the direction the inky blur of movement disappeared too. Your head pounded at the sudden movement, making you groan and reach up to cradle your head. You sit up properly. Looking at all the unfinished work you still had to do in your garden. Your body disagrees with the idea of continuing to working. You sigh in defeat, finally raising the white flag while you take off your gloves and stand up. You sway as you stand, but manage to successfully make it to the front door. Unaware of the four pares of red eyes watching you from the shadows in concern and guilt.
While taking a shower, you think back to the night before. The magic that man used had to be the cause of the sudden sickness that followed you all day. You lather the body wash over you while you think. Large amounts of magic towards the body can make one feel extremely sick in the healing process. Chills cover your skin at the thought of being stabbed, the feeling will never leave your mind. You continue to shower and try to think of something else to distract your mind from the traumatic memories.
~♡~
Over the next three days it seems the feeling of a lingering presence doesn't leave the air. Whether you're outside, or inside, the feeling of being watched doesn't leave. You've grown use to it at this point. Even though you are curious, and slightly unnerved. The strange energy is hard to decipher, it feels steady and focused, but soft around the edges, and Sometimes it changes completely, but it still holds the same level of intensity. Its energy is hidden well by whatever is watching, Under the leaves and branches of the forest like its trained to do so. Hidden so well it would be easy to not even notice it at all, but you know better then that.
The sun shines through the kitchen window while you make your morning tea. You open your jar of crystals to pop one into your tea, but you find you have used all of the small healing stones. They sit in a dish next to the tea pot, begging to be recharged and used again. You huff out a frustrated breath. You weren't planning to go back to the water fall for more river water for quite some time. But it seems fate has other plans for you.
You recharge all of your crystals in a pot of river water, setting it under the moonlight for a full night. And now it was time to trek back to the river for more. Grabbing your clay pot with a lid, you set it in your bag carefully. Before making your way out the door. The walk to the falls was roughly a 20 minute walk, you think about which spell you could use to lighten your bag as you near the river. You could hear the flowing water when you suddenly feel a drop in the air, making you stop in your tracks.
The air is heavy and full of authority, like you just stepped into a enclosed room with a lion. Its guarded and protected on a deeper level then meets the eye. Looking around, you once again find nothing. You begin to feel anxious at the quietness of the forest. No birds chirp, no bug hum. Just silence. You quicken your pace to the falls, in hopes of leaving the area as soon as possible. But little did you know, you had crossed into freshly marked vampire territory.
The water fall comes into view, its loud water crashing into the rocks as it shines in the sunlight, the water flowing quickly at the bottom. You set your bag down on the grass, opening it to take out your clay pot to catch the water. You sit down on your knees at the edge of the water, pot in hand while you lean forward to dip it into the rusing river. Unaware of the presence behind you, watching you with a slightly fond look on his face.
His voice almost makes you lose your grip on your pot "Hello there" his gruff voice cuts through the sound of the rushing water. You turn around, deer caught in headlights at his undetected appearance. He stands a couple feet away from you, his mutton chops adoring his face, along with a bucket hat to shade his face from the sun. His presence takes you off guard entirely. "Oh!" You stand, arms clutching your pot full of water to your chest "I didn't notice you there!" You say, it meaning more then just words.
Your witch senses didn't notice him approach at all. Usually humans bring the loudest energy with them no matter where they go, but you didn't notice this man at all. He takes you in for a moment, glancing down to the clay pot of water in your hands, before flickering back up to your face. He smiles, taking a dew steps closer to you. "You're alrigh'" he says, before continuing "i just moved in around here, with three others" he adjusts his hat, before fully making eye contact with you now that hes closer.
You feel your heart stop, seeing his red eyes watching you, knowing you can finally see he's not human like you originally thought. These were the vampires Eleanor was talking about. You've never met a vampire before, nor did you think you ever would. They aren't super common, they stay hidden in dark castles and away from civilization. Smart, humans hate anything that isn't human. He lets you feel the emotions tumbling through your chest without trying to change them. He feels the fear brew your heart, the surprise and awe, and the curiosity blooming beneath all of it.
He tilts his head at you with a small smile, waiting your reaction at his unspoken confession. He's aware you are a witch, they could all smell it from a mile away. He wouldn't of revealed himself so quickly if you weren't. You recover quickly after "o-oh I see" you nod at his words, sensing him trying to be friendly. But his eyes hold a intensity as they linger on you. "I live in the forest too" you say almost innocently, not knowing what else to offer as you try not to bring attention to your surprise at him being a vampire.
He nods his head like he didn't already know that. "Do you come to the falls often?" He questions, making you nod "yes. I come here to get river water" you glance down at your pot, your reflection staring back at you in the rippling water. You hesitate to ask the next question "is this your...territory?" He chuckles softly "yes. It is" you deflate slightly, thinking that means you won't be able to come back to get river water anymore. You'll have to find new alternatives to recharge your crystals.
He feels the disappointment pang in your chest and the way your shoulders droop slightly. How cute. "You're still allowed to come here" you look up at him surprised "really?" He nods "really" you think about how there's other vampires who own the land as well, you wouldn't want to step on anyones toes "but wouldn't that irritate the others?" He laughs at your words, if only you knew how obsessed they were with you already. Or how they are currently listening this conversation from the shadows "I don't think they would mind"
You look back towards the water, looking at how the water flows. You think back to the night you were stabbed, how those two could potentially be vampires as well. You hear shuffling behind you, making you turn back towards the man "price" he offers his hand, which you let one hand go of the pot to take his. His hand is cold as he wraps it around yours, giving you a firm shake as you offer your own name. After letting go, he looks up at the sky, before glancing behind him at the woods like something was there.
"Its best you start heading home. Its gonna be gettin dark soon" he says, his red eyes lingering on you as you grab the lid from your bag and lock it tightly on the pot full of water. "You're right. Ill be off now" you say, making him smile "have a good night sweetheart" and with that he dispears, a blur of quick movement following him. taking you off guard with how quickly he vanished into the woods. You forget vampires can move extremely quick if they wanted too.
You let out of breath of relief you didn't know you were holding. The whole experience had a rush of adrenaline coursing through you. You can't help but feel slightly excited at the thought of not being the only one who wasn't a human anymore. You put the pot into your bag securely and pick it up carefully. The walk back to your house will be slightly annoying with the extra weight on you. Walking back, you realise why you felt the energy shift when you arrived at the water fall. You were stepping into vampire territory without even knowing.
You sigh, having new neighbors is nerve wracking, but exciting. Especially now that you've officially met one of them. He seemed nice, maybe slightly intense under the surface, but nice nonetheless. You think about the others, would you ever get the chance the meet them properly? You secretly hope so. The feeling of intensity from the falls doesn't go away until you've reached your front doorstep, but you don't seem to mind it that much anymore.
To be continued...
<- Part one Series Masterlist -> regular Masterlist ->
Note: AAH THEY FINALLY MEET. Thank you for all the love from the first chapter! <3
