Just a small idea that i started a bit on @eevee-of-eternity. I may add more to it....
Concept
a stray dragon is looking for a new pack, after constantly running, cursing the gods who made her this way and fearing every person she meets...she soon finds a group of Dragons who unlike most don't mind her unusual quirks and don't plan on getting rid of her anytime soon.
Character Info
Lore Building
It isn't until they're all in the briefing room that they learn that Neera, the visiting Sergent, has a thing for Laswell. Shes all over the hyena hybrid, wings wrapping around her while Laswell ignores her and continues typing on her phone.
"Oh Lassi its so good to see you again! Ive missed you so much!" Neera says while rubbing her cheek on Laswells shoulder.
Laswell continues to ignore her, starting the meeting without so much as a look towards the Harpy girl. The meeting lasts well over an hour, going over information about meetings, escape routes, conformational sightings of the next target. The whole time Neera stays glued to Laswell.
The meeting draws to a close and people begin filling out the door to get some much needed down time. Soap, the last to leave, overhears a bit of Laswell talking to Neera.
"Lassi, youve been ignoring me ever since I got here!" Neera is pouting, that much is obvious as Soap gets to the door.
"Careful birdie, I'll eat you up." Laswell said with a smirk. Soap runs into the doorframe.
---------
Soap and you drag Gaz out of the water, his drenched wings making him weigh even more. The wound on his chest making red run down his body as they lay him on the bank.
"Fuck he isn't breathing!" Soap drops him and puts his ear to his chest. "He needs cpr, probably swallowed water. I'll do compressions while you give him air."
"But I-"
"You arnt strong enough to do the compressions, your human." Soaps ears are pinned back, tail poofed.
You can only nod cause its true. Your human strength wouldnt do much of anything against a hyrid. You kneel by Kyle's head, quickly righting his position. Ignoring the spark you feel when your lips touch his. Forcing breath into his lungs, you work in time with Soap until Kyle stirs under you with a violent jerk.
Quickly Soap pushes him on his side while you steady his leg as he coughs up water. His breaths are ragged, but hes alive. He slowly sits up with the help of Soap, a groan leaving him.
"Ye gave us a fuckin scare." Soap pats Gaz on the back twice. A small chirp is all Gaz gives in return, his gaze locked on your hand that's still on his leg.
"Stay with him, ive got to get to Price." Soap surveys the area, "Get him up and to better cover. We'll come for you when its safe." With a nod from you he's off, back towards the chaos.
---------
"Up you get, gotta get you somewhere safe to start a fire. Your wings need to dry." You grip his arm and pull as hard as you can. He gets to his feet slowly, wings heavy and dripping.
He strangely quiet as you both stumble through the trees and undergrowth. Finally you come across a cave of sorts, after checking the inside for danger you get him settled. Leaving only long enough to get sticks and leaves.
By the time you get the fire started hes shivering, wet wings doing nothing but zapping all his body heat. Hes been focused on you the whole time since Soap left. You wouldnt blame him for being mad at you. Being a human you couldnt outrun the hybrids who attacked your team. Because of you Kyle got hurt, because of you he almost drowned, because of you hes freezing now.
He takes his soaked shirt off slowly and spreads his wings as best he can with them being weighed down. Soggy feathers twitching and dull looking, he cant even preen them here. With a frown you unbuckle your pack, setting it to the side to unzip your jacket. His gaze never wavers, if anything, the second you took your jacket off it intensified.
You shuffle towards him, offering him the dry jacket. "Use this to help dry off, ill get the Med kit so I can patch up your chest." You glance at the gash, "Should get it cleaned quickly-"
Your words die in your throat as he pulls you to him, trapping you against him so your straddling him. The feathers on his head are poofed up, meanwhile his face is shoved into your chest as a deep chitter leaves him. He inhales greedily before rubbing his cheek against your neck.
The water from his pants seeps into yours as his arms lock on your waist, forcing you to sit down. He switches his face to the otherside of your neck, giving a chirp and clicking noise.
"Hey, hey! Kyle what-?" You put your hands on his shoulder and give a push. It does nothing. He holds you like that for a while, actively rubbing his scent on you. Your hands linger on his shoulders, relaxed.
You dont register how much time has passed until footsteps sound to your right, it causes Kyle to hiss and bare his fangs at the person. Even when Ghost reveals himself Kyle doesnt relax. His still damp wings spread out in a threat display.
It doesnt faze Ghost though, he simply raises a hand, "Evac in 5, lets go." He stands still waiting, watching.
Kyle won't look away from him, angry clicks sounding from him. It isn't until you push at his chest does he look back to you. His grip tightens briefly and he trills at you.
"We need to go." You say as you try to move, it causes him to hiss and bring his wings around you. You make eye contact with Ghost and the bastard is silently laughing at you.
"Kyle." Your tone is firm, "We have to go now, back to base." His grip loosens as he stares at you.
"Base?" His voice is rough and he shakes his head like hes dispelling a thought.
Ghosts voice sounds, "Snap outta it Garrick, missions done." Kyle looks at him like he just noticed he was there.
Youre able to shuffle off Kyle's lap while hes distracted. The second youre standing hes quick to follow, standing way to close. One of his wings curling toward you as you quickly cover the remaining fire with dirt.
"Let's go." Ghost takes off into the darkness, Kyle stays close to you like glue as you follow. Close enough for him to continuously brush against you.
Meanwhile Ghost is practically choking on Gaz's marking scent rolling off of you. The helo ride isn't much better, Price doesnt say anything of course.
Soap just had to open his mouth though, "Hes got you all scented up dont he?" You dont get a chance to say anything as Kyle is practically crowding you into the corner.
summary: you can't keep your hands off of him if you tried.
pairing: kyle "gaz" garrick x f!reader.
warnings: +18 smut (MDNI), noncon, dubcon, oral (m!receiving), somnophilia, a pinch of hurt/comfort, a cup of mutual pining, succubus!reader.
word count: 5.1k
notes: y'all have no idea how many panties were changed due to this one singular thot, which spawned from a fever dream. honestly, this was meant to be 1k but y'all know me. things spawn and spiral out of control when this man and a somno kink is involved🥴
you don't know how you got to this point.
tiptoeing around your roommate to conceal whatever new thing popped up. the tail was an easy fix. you just wrapped it around your waist and wore baggy clothes to hide it. the horns... well... you have to come up with a new excuse for always keeping your beanie on every time he's around.
and if you weren't already a hermit before, you kept more to your room even more now. only to avoid having to look Kyle in the eye and not feel your mouth salivate at the sight of him in nothing but sweatpants and socks.
you seem to be like that these days. always hungry, no matter how many plates of food you swallow down. always thirsty, no matter how many glasses of water you gulp down.
nothing seems to sate you. nothing seems to quell the everlasting ache. you don't know what to do. you have all this food all around but no matter how much you eat or drink, you still feel like you're starving.
every day, you feel the hunger reach claw deeper into your guts until it just hurts to just move. until you feel too light headed to keep walking.
you were slowly dying. it scared you to finally acknowledge that.
you couldn't tell your roommate that either. that you were starving to death, despite there being food in the fridge and the pantry. that you don't know how to sate this ache, this endless hunger.
but you still found yourself drifting to his room at night, hoping that he won't mind you cuddling with him again. he usually lets you sleep next to him or he comes to sleep next to you when the demons in his head got too loud. neither you nor him minded a little company.
Kyle was barely startled when you crawled into his bed, his head turning in the dark. “that you, love?”
you bit your lip, letting your head rest on his chest and your arm lazily thrown over him. “yeah.”
he hums, not saying a word after. his breaths slow and he drifts back into a quiet slumber. you sigh deeply, breathing in his scent and for a moment, you don't feel the bone deep hunger that had plagued you for days before. fingertips trace shapes on his bare skin, his chest rising and falling, the beat of his heart ever so present in your skin.
you closed your eyes and for the first time in weeks, you were at peace.
Kyle's warmth seeps into your hand as you slowly caress his pec, your fingers flicking over the nipple. you feel a small twitch in his muscles but no more than that. sensitive, huh? it made you smile a little, hand drifting down a little to his abs, caressing the smooth skin there.
the sound your touch induced from him made you flinch and immediately stop your movements. not because you were frightened of waking him again. no.
it was... something else.
that sound... that shouldn't have made your thighs clench.
you weren't supposed to hear that. you weren't supposed to think of Kyle like that. sure, he flirts and winks at you but that's just him. he flirts. he winks. he smiles at you like he wants to kiss the words right out of your mouth. he holds you like the last thing he wants to do is to let go. he looks at you like... like...
your hand moves before you think, trailing further down. the small hairs on his navel are all you feel in the dark. your fingertips grazing the edge of his pants. the gray sweatpants he constantly wears. the ones that make your mouth drool when he's not looking. it's pure sin.
he's pure sin. just like the sin you commit when your hand slides under.
another sound. your hand tentatively grasping his cock. it's soft. a moan humming through his closed mouth. brows furrowing under the light pouring in from the hallway.
but something in you gulps down the sound he makes anyway. it's... good. something in you purrs at how good he sounds.
you think it's the worst thing you've ever done. he's asleep. eyes shut. mind closed. he trusted you enough to lay next to him and you take advantage of him like this.
still...
the ache in your belly softens, lessens, yet gives way for a slow fire to burn inside. not enough for you to stop caressing his cock, playing with the length of him until he's hard. your fingers going further to circle with the tip. it leaks and you messily smear it all over before pulling your hand away and immediately putting your fingers in your mouth.
you hold your breath, choking back your mewl at the taste of him. and that's all it takes to break your resolve. you slowly move to straddle his thighs and peel down the hem of his pants.
his shaft springs up and you lean down to plant a single kiss on the tip. and another on the side of his length. and another. and another. your tongue darting out to taste him at the source. you hear his soft moan again and god, it makes your pussy clench so tightly, you might be a little dizzy.
the head of his cock gets wrapped between your lips and you suck at him right there, one hand holding him while the other rests on his abs. that's how you feel a stuttered breath break from his lungs. you take more of him, drawing another gasp.
you burn hotly at the taste of his desire. it ebbs and streams into you like molten lava carving a path through earth, like a flowing river. you take your sweet time building a slow rhythm, carefully holding back the urge to suck him dry right then and there and risk alerting him of what you're doing to him.
you bob your head, slowly taking him to the root until you feel him at the back of your throat and pulling back. his breaths come faster now, deeper, brows furrowed like he's struggling in his sleep.
you sit back and watch him while your hand wraps around his thick shaft while the other reaches under your nightgown. your fingers slip past your panties to rub your clit. fuck, you're already soaked. it's no surprise to you.
what is a surprise is that he's still asleep.
you pull the sodden gusset of your underwear to the side and do the unthinkable. a violent shudder trembling through your bones while you rubbed your aching cunt all over the tip of his cock till he became stiff. he sleeps through it, though. doesn’t wake to the feeling, doesn’t awaken to your skin touching his, doesn’t awaken to the molten fire kindling at the apex of your meeting.
“i'm sorry, Gaz. i'm so sorry for this.” you hoarsely whispered more to yourself, head tipping back as your eyes close.
your hips rock back and forth, now sliding along the length of him. the fat tip peeking between your sticky folds, nudging your clit so hotly that it made your teeth clench in a failed attempt to suppress the noise erupting from your throat.
you're getting carried away. your movements were awkward, shaky. but certain. feverish in your pursuit of getting your fill. hands planted on his chest while you grind your soaked cunt on him, desperate to meet your end and somehow push him to his, whether he knew it or not.
it was going to happen, if the roar in your belly steadily building towards the inevitable crash was anything to go by. and you hurried to it. your teeth clenched tightly, eyes shut as your head tipped back.
you were so close, you were right there–
Kyle shifts underneath you, startling you back to awareness. his low groan echoes, hands grazing the skin of your thighs as he struggles to pull himself out of his slumber.
you barely gasp before the second lapses. then move at an almost inhuman speed, your body lifting and slipping off of him. somehow, you meld into the darkness of the room just as his eyes peel open.
a heavy breath holds in your chest, your beating heart threatening to give you away. he moans and slowly blinks his eyes but ultimately falls back asleep.
you quietly leave his room before deciding on any more risks.
after that, you think it's best to distance yourself from him. you were too reckless last night, too careless in taking what you wanted from him.
you hate that almost nothing gets past Kyle. he notices far too much for his own good.
“isn't it too hot to be wearing that?” he gestures to your beanie.
he's not wrong. summertime has been brutal and your air conditioning has been flaky as of late but you don't dare risk exposing yourself.
so you play dumb.
“not really.” you shrug.
hiding your horns and tail has been a hassle. you've been trying to find ways around it. growing out your hair to cover your horns but taking care of your hair is another challenge on its own besides keeping your tail tucked underneath your clothes.
“did you get your nails done?” Kyle asks.
“uh–” you're startled when he gently takes your hands in his to examine. “y–yeah, thought i'd try something new.”
he's shirtless as he stands close to you. enough that you can smell the shower gel that he used to shower this morning and it's making your mouth water.
your nails slide along his fingers as he quietly studies them. they're short but as sharp as talons with their pointed ends. you've done your best to paint them a nice glittery shade of lilac to make them look less monstrous.
but then you spot the muted scratches on his chest. those must've been carved there the night before. when you were too high on pleasure to take heed of how tightly you hung onto him.
you decide right then and there that the nails have to go. you don't care how cute they look, you can't commit a crime and keep walking around with the weapon leading to the evidence on your person. and you pray he doesn't question why you went for something that looked like something out of a dark fae romance book.
instead, he smiles and your stomach swoops uncontrollably when he kisses your fingers. “looks amazing.”
heat unfurls in your belly when his lips touch your skin. you fight everything in you to not kiss him right then and there.
you were going to fuck him tonight. and (not so) sadly, not even your guilty conscience was going to stop you.
his cock fits snugly inside you.
“you feel so good, Kyle.” you whispered to him, tears damn near blinding you because of the overwhelming pleasure as you pressed your forehead to his. “so fucking good.”
part of you wished he could be awake so he can feel this for himself. but you know that wouldn’t end well.
you slowly ride his cock with your hand over your mouth, suppressing the moans that threaten to escape. but with the forced silence you imposed on yourself, your ears burn when you hear the sounds he makes in his sleep. it makes you so wet hearing his pleasure, damn near boiling your blood even.
you want to make him cum. you're going to. heaven be damned, you’re going to make him cum in your pussy again and it’s going to feel so fucking good. with his balls so full and drawing tight, you work your hips harder until you hear the wet plap! plap! plap! of your cunt in the quiet air while playing with your clit.
you erupt the moment he does, biting your lip to keep quiet when the shock of it hits you like a drug. but you lose control. hissing through your teeth as your hips rock up and down, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. his cock pulsing and spilling his hot cum deep inside you while you clench him tightly as you listen to his blissed out groans and watch his expression melting and softening.
he’s so gorgeous like this. and oh fuck, it's everything you've ever needed and ever wanted in your entire life.
the endless ache subsides in you, now warm and sated. but now your pussy throbs around him not because you need to feed off of him, but because you just want to fuck him.
so you do.
your hips move before you can stop yourself and you start to bounce on his cock with your head tipping back. unaware of his eyes slipping open and rolling back to then shutting, unaware of him slipping in and out of consciousness.
keeping yourself away from him becomes next to impossible after that. days pass before he does something that makes you break your promise to never touch him again. multiple little things, really. brushing up against you while grabbing a cup near the sink. complimenting your newly crocheted beanie with bunny ears (the one that hides the horns protruding from your head). kissing your forehead as he bids you goodnight before heading off to his room. small things that compound to the boiling desire you're barely able to hold back in those moments.
that next night, you couldn't stop yourself from visiting again. and the night after. and the one after.
you take and take and take because he has so much to give. you want him more and more each night, desperate for him, for his cum. most nights when riding him while he's still asleep, you almost wish he was awake so he can enjoy the moment as you do, so he can enjoy watching the creamy white ring gathering at the base of his cock.
it's so hard wanting him. longing for him while having him under you, while molding your cunt around his shaft.
you panic when he starts to stir awake, tired eyes pulling open as he moans and squirms under your frame. he's not quite conscious, not quite there.
“shh…” you lean over him, pouring your will into his mind. “it's just a dream, Gaz. go back to sleep.”
his movements lessen and stop. but his hooded eyes don't quite close yet. it's cute watching him fight your enchanted command but you worry that he might overpower it with how inexperienced you are. you don't have much practice with your persuasion, only having used it a handful of times on other unsuspecting victims during the daytime just to test it.
your hips move slower. the words dripping off your tongue, a honeyed spell bending his will. “just close your eyes, baby. close your eyes and sleep.”
Kyle's soft noise melts your heart. but you're startled when he speaks.
“i don't…”
you stopped your hips from moving altogether, breath held in your lungs. your eyes wide and frightened.
he doesn't want this.
he doesn't– you should stop.
“i d–don't want this to be a dream.” he slurs, his hands sliding up your thighs. softly gripping. softly trying to keep you there when you try to lift up from him. “i want this to be real.”
your heart leaps into your throat.
delirium. he doesn't mean that. don't take heed to the words of a man under the influence.
you grip his chin and whisper, “sleep.”
he doesn't resist.
the entire week, you contemplate his words. you ponder and agonize over them.
i want this to be real.
the warmth in his hooded eyes, the sincerity in them gutted you to the core.
i want this to be real. i want this to be real. i want this to be real.
you've been a figment of his imagination this whole time. you know this. you've played into this as you fed off of his energy just to survive.
you've known this when you fucked him– no.
when you made love to him.
to him, a figment of his imagination. to him a wet dream. the filthiest, most real he's ever had. but to you? those moments, those nights were everything. they were more real to you than he would ever know.
the next time you slip into his room, you find him sleeping on his side. his back was turned to you, steady breaths rising and falling with the loose sheet covering him.
your cunt was already throbbing when you gently pushed him on his back. seeing him like that, relaxed, open, vulnerable– it’s an instant pavlov’s response to your own desire, to his body by the time you start your usual routine.
and it seems the same for him. he’s already hard for you too. you figure with all the nights you’ve spent with him, his body must’ve now expected this. you’ve conditioned him to expect this. the first taste of him draws a sharp gasp from him that startles you so much that you stop to look at him for a long minute. you don’t move, unsure if he’s deep enough in his slumber to last through tonight. the moment passes until you’re sure he’s not waking up before you continue.
sinking him into your pussy was pure bliss waiting for you on the other side of your guilt. although in your haze, you miss the furrow of his brow and the sharp clench of his jaw.
and you don’t get very far with your usual routine this time.
Kyle startles a sharp yelp out of you when he suddenly flips you over on your back. he surges forward until his hips slam between your thighs. sinking his cock so deep, you went cross eyed, a soundless gasp punching out of your throat at the impact.
“knew i wasn't fucking dreaming.”
you tried to scramble away from it, tried to conjure your magic to sway him but your thoughts slipped away faster than you can grasp onto them. there was no use concentrating with how he pumped into your clenching pussy without a hint of clemency, your toes curling at the hot surge bubbling up all too quickly from the depths of your belly.
“fuck, love. would you look at that?”
he pulls back to study the white ring gathered at the base of him, biting his lip at how much his cock glistens. and pushes right back in with a heavy growl. revealing in your squeal as he splits you open.
your weak protests melt into sweet mewls as he thrusts again and again and again, his pace sharp and punishing. your cunt blooming for him, the heat building exponentially and the wetter you become, allowing him to slide in hard and deep while your moans of pleasure are music to his ears.
his hand grips your face, fingers digging near painfully into your cheeks, veering your focus back onto the barely restrained heated fury behind his eyes. "well, well, well. aren't you a little pervert…”
“Gaz– Gaz wait, wait– ah, ah, ah!” your eyes roll to the back of your skull before he shakes your head, forcing you to look at him again through his brutal thrusts. “i ca– ah! explain–”
“explain what exactly?” he spat harshly, getting his teeth when your nails dig into his chest instead of pushing him away. “that you were fucking me while i was asleep? whoring me out without my knowledge?”
“i– i–” you sob, your breaths gasping, knees trying to close against his torso. but it's no use. he's got you right where he wants you and he'll fuck your tight little pussy until the truth spills out along with your mixed cum.
“go on then, you little slut.” he urges, “explain yourself. explain to me why i was the last to know about this little arrangement.”
“please–”
he’s indifferent to your cries for mercy. untouched by the tears spilling from your eyes as he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you like he hates you. he probably does.
“explain yourself or i stop.”
the threat is all that it takes for you to break into a blubbering mess.
“i–i wasn't– i needed–” you wheezed as you attempted to find any rational thought. “i just needed–” your voice chokes. “–you.”
“you could've just asked me while i was awake.” he’s harsh with his counter. “as if i wasn't giving plenty of hints that i like you already.”
“what?” you choked.
your beanie slips over your eyes with his thrusts rocking you back and forth. you hear his tongue click before he tugs at the cloth. that startles you out of your haze because the words “no, don't!” are whimpered out before your beanie is ripped off of your head.
you know he spots the horns. you know it because he stops– freezes even.
neither one of you moved for a very long time. all there was to be was the sound of your breathing and your frightened eyes studying the shock in his expression.
“what’s this?” he tentatively asked.
the silence that follows was more suffocating than having all the oxygen sucked out of the room. what could you’ve said? how could you even begin to explain what you are? what you’ve been turned into?
“i'm sorry…”
it’s a faint whisper in the dark. the quietest plea he’s ever heard in his entire life.
you slowly push him off of you and he allows it, allows the gentle force of your hand to lead him away from the closeness of your bodies. watches as you sit up. watches something moving and poking out from under the blanket.
a tail.
Kyle’s eyes widened even more. horns and a tail.
“i... i wanted to tell you but... i–i didn't want to scare you and make you want to kill me–”
“what are you?” he blurts out, more curious than anything.
“Kyle…” he hates how broken you look, curling in on yourself with glassy eyes. “i'm truly sorry…”
he reaches for you, heart breaking when you shrink in on yourself when he touches your shoulder. “how long has this been going on, dove?”
“i got turned a few weeks ago.” you started. “i didn't– i didn’t even know what happened until... until i went back to get answers and by then... it was too late to turn me back. i tried to stay away from you– i did–”
“but?”
but?
you tell him everything. how you tried to stay away from him. how you were so desperate not to touch him, yet you were so starved for something that only he could give. eating regular food can only do so much to keep you alive but your real sustenance comes from sex. feeding off the pleasure of someone else.
“so the only way you can stay alive... is to…” he trails off.
you looked down in shame and nod solemnly. “i'm sorry…”
he's not as furious as you thought he would be. not as aggrieved. you’re, at least, relieved about that.
“come here…” Kyle pulls you on top of him and you almost start to cry again. “oh, poor thing… you must be starving.”
he wipes away the tears that had fallen before his hand cups the back of your neck. you flinch when he pulls your mouth to his. it’s sweet. reassuring. a balm to the aching wound you’ve been trying to stitch for weeks now. his tongue slowly swiping across your lips, teeth nipping you until you let him in. he’s kissing you and you can’t help but melt into him regardless of how you’ve felt before.
he rolls you under him and pins your legs open, the head of his cock nudging your folds. “i'll give what you need.”
your shudder when he slides right in with zero resistance. a soft mewl fighting its way out of your throat when he settles between your legs again as if he’s meant to be there for all eternity.
“you've been so good to me, haven't you?” he starts to rock his hips again. softly, steadily, gentle waves of pleasure pouring over you like molten flames thawing ice. “taking what you need from me. filling your pussy with my cum whenever you wanted.”
heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder. your desperation, your lust surely must’ve corrupted him because no one in their right mind should be okay with what you did. taking advantage of him like that.
but Kyle doesn’t stop there.
your head tips back when he reaches between the two of you to roll circles around your clit, your legs now curling around him. “i've never felt so refreshed waking up every morning but the dreams… oh fuck, the vivid dreams of you made me so fucking hard when i thought about them. you felt so good, angel. so fucking good riding me.”
your pussy tightens him, small noises slipping from your lips. god, you can’t even look at him. you’re squeezing his cock like you don’t ever want to let go.
“had me all chubbed up while i was doing paperwork because i was hallucinating thinking i smelled like you.” he continues, wrecked. “had to rub one out in bathroom stalls whenever i went out.”
he’s insane. he’s driving you insane. you become even wetter just thinking about it. him stopping in his tracks in the middle of a crowded mall just to find the nearest restroom to jerk off in a stall. him in his home office, peeling down his sweatpants and stroking his cock at the thought of you.
fuck. fuck. fuck.
“bet you wanted that didn't you?” he coos, biting your lobe.
“wasn't–” you shake your head in denial. “wasn't m–my intention…”
“your cunt says otherwise, love.” he chuckles darkly.
it may have not been your intention but you can’t deny that you like the effect you’ve had on him. deep down, you wanted him to crave you as badly as you craved him. you wanted him to seek you out. you wanted him to think of you when he touched himself, when he did his errands, when he just breathed.
“Kyle, i'm– i'm gonna cum!” you cry out, desperate, hopeless to his onslaught. “i'm gonna–”
“go ahead, love.” Kyle plucks your nipples and rolls them under his thumbs. “cum for me. take what you need.”
you shatter violently with a sharp cry, making a sloppy mess of his thighs. and he descends right with you, filling you up with his seed.
“you're insatiable, doll.”
it’s never been this bad. you’ve never craved someone to the point where you felt like you might die if you didn’t have him.
Kyle stares at the ceiling, eyes shining with a bliss you’ve never seen on anyone. breaths heaving in and out of his chest with a sheen of sweat lining his skin. he looks absolutely magnificent. you want him even more. it can’t be helped. he’s the sun and you’re drawn into his pull no matter how much you try to escape it.
you shrink further into the sheets, ashamed by your infinite debauchery. “sorry…”
“don't be.” he says. “whatever this is... it wasn't your fault.”
you wish you could believe that. the ritual had been a dare by one of your group of friends. and at first, none of you thought it worked. that it was just a fake spell written in some old, dusted book from someone’s grandmother’s attic.
and when things started to change for you, telling them was the last thing on your list. you didn’t want to prove them right. and you didn’t want any of them coming after you. both amongst the list of many reasons why you rationalized keeping this secret to yourself.
Kyle must see the worry in your expression because he shifts to cup your cheek. “hey… we'll figure it all out together, i promise.”
his reassurance did make you feel better. you felt relieved that you had someone knows. someone you can trust, at least.
“we can still go again if you want.” he offers with his fingers trailing down between the valley of your breasts.
you squirmed, eyes fluttering as the heat sparks again. “i took too much from you already…”
it’s not a denial. but you can’t deny that you want more of him. that you’ll always want more of him. you’d take bare scraps of what he offers if given the chance.
“if you want to stay well fed without worrying about me then…” he pauses, eyes flickering with something you don’t recognize. “maybe i could introduce you to a few friends.”
your skin prickles with dread at the idea.
you’ve kept this secret to yourself for so long. Kyle finding out was just him playing the long game and outsmarting you. willingly telling other was nothing short of opening pandora’s box.
of course, it would be a practical solution to this problem. you can’t stand the idea of hurting Kyle in any way, especially when he’s trying to help. draining his life is the last thing you’d want to do to him. but…
“won’t they freak out if they see my horns and my tail?” you whispered, your voice brimming with fear. “i don’t want to get doused in holy water, Kyle. that shit hurts.”
you found that out the hard way.
“trusted friends.” he amended, stroking your arm. “one of them is catholic, sure, but i promise he won’t hurt you.”
you shrunk further under the covers.
“baby…” Kyle’s voice sweetens while he pulls down the covers to reveal your face to him. he cups your cheeks and kisses you. “you won’t have to worry about bleeding me dry if you have a whole roster at your disposal. and i wouldn’t bring anyone around you who would hurt you, alright? i’ll protect you from anyone who dares to raise a hand to you.”
if you know anything about Kyle Garrick, it’s that he’s a man of his word.
if he says he’ll do something, then he means it and will do everything in his power to make sure he goes through with it. his sheer force of will had gotten him this far and it will take him even further.
you’d be a fool not to trust him.
“okay.” you exhale a shaky breath. “yeah, that… that sounds good. sounds like a plan.”
for now, he tucked your head under his chin and kept you safe in his arms, where you both allowed sleep to claim you.
A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?
Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3
✽ Part Six - The ping
I can't even begin to tell you how shitty things have been on my end of the screen, but for those of you who don't stalk my tumblr for updates just know that my health has been on an ever downward spiral and it is a challenge for me every day to do the things I love - writing included. I'm so sorry it has taken so long for y'all to get a peep outta me, but I hope you're still out there because this story and you all bring me happiness even in the darkest times.
Trigger Warnings: depression
You’d been staring at your phone for the past thirty minutes.
Unblinking.
Shallowed breaths.
Regarding the thing like an elephant would a mouse.
The item itself was an innocent thing, really; just a complex bit of clever machinery constructed by some of the twentieth century’s most innovative minds. Technology that once struggled to fit inside a vast room at NASA that now came compact for your convenience, fitting snuggly inside jean pockets – just not the kind designed for women – and getting lost between couch cushions at the exact wrong time for the ringer to be left on silent.
And it’s pretty, too, all wrapped up in a sparkly case with chibi pastel dinosaurs, the purple metal beneath showing through the clear acrylic protection. A hairline fracture in the screen protector annoyed you at times, but as it did nothing to hamper the effectiveness of the touchscreen you kept pushing its replacement further down the road.
You had a couple games on it – cozy ones meant to distract, a cheerful bird to lift your spirits, an alpha harem from years past that you couldn’t bring yourself to break up with (or justify deleting the save file after investing so much money in their special cards). Options for mindless scrolling. A music app for all your playlists. Handful of streaming services that you still mooched off from back home. A library of treasured books you kept revisiting and a wishlist a mile long of ones you’d get to eventually.
Harmless.
Helpful.
Fun at times.
Nothing ominous at all about the pale blue notification light flashing ten times slower than your current heart rate.
You’d initially clocked the message waiting in your inbox as you unplugged it from the charger, ignoring your phone per usual to go about your lethargic morning routine, focusing all your lacking brain power on just getting through a meager breakfast first. Honestly you’d almost forgotten about it after that, curled up in bed with your few remaining swigs of tea, whirring laptop open in front of you, pointer finger on the touchpad scrolling aimlessly for something comfortable to watch – but not too comfortable that you’d find yourself painfully bored a mere twenty minutes in and fall predictably back on your mindless phone apps as the ever reliable crutch to hobble through the monotonous day instead.
Of course, as was the case with so many times past, banal routine kicked in partway through the first episode which left your palm itching for the familiar electronic, ignoring the resigned twinge in the back of your mind that muttered defeat in favor of an even shallower distraction than a fourth rerun.
The pale blue dot thrummed steadily in the upper righthand corner, a small but helpful reminder that someone had been waiting on the other side of the screen – not that you’d been purposefully ignoring them for the better part of an hour. Most everyone who had you in their contacts knew to expect delayed response times depending on how functioning your symptoms allowed you to be on any given day.
(Still didn’t help the guilt that settled in your stomach when you eventually remembered to text back after hours of forgetfulness. Your fathers shouldn’t have to have such patient hearts with you.)
The curve of the ceramic mug pressed against your lips gave your mouth something to nom on as your thumb mindlessly swiped at the notification. There was an eighty five percent chance at this point in the day that it was a picture from Chloe sharing her work-in-progress on the eighteenth century William Blake restoration that had been the focus of her vexation for the better part of a week (watercolor fairies were apparently not as fun to color match as she’d initially believed). That or it was a tiktok from your father asking if a christmas cookie recipe looked edible enough for the picky palate of his discerning other half. God forbid the alpha tasted flavors along with his heaping helping of dark chocolate chips. You loved the man dearly, but he seriously needed to broaden his horizons beyond what he ate as a scraggly teenager.
With those options in mind, you didn’t really register the name as you tapped the text open.
Your brow furrowed a few words in. There was no picture; no link. Only a handful of words that didn’t make sense in the context you were expecting. Not even glancing up to the previous message sent a few days prior gave you any hint at recognition or clarity, just befuddling you further as a small pear emoji stared blankly back at you.
The fuck?
The noise in your throat matched the look on your face. It was one of those annoying moments where blaming your brain fog for the initial confusion felt perfectly justified… right up until the point your eyes finally drifted northward and skimmed over the name of the sender.
There was a pause as your brain processed the combination of letters, short as they were. A name you’d only seen written down once on the side of a coffee cup. A name that invoked memories of crisp air and snowflakes and a shot of rich adrenaline.
The sweet taste of longing. Of purpose.
Of broken promises.
Panicky instinct and a fumbled throw sent the phone flying twenty feet to crash-land on well worn carpet, its resting place in the heart of your home where it could not be ignored no matter how much you wished for its existence to cease, refusing to succumb to the lowest probability of quantum mechanics. Mocking you with its black shiny screen faced towards the sky like an unlucky coin.
You knew you’d have to retrieve it - eventually - as you sat perched in your nest, hugging your knees to your chest to peer over them like a nosy neighbor at an unwanted solicitor. Belongings had been sent flying when you’d scrambled backwards from the perceived snakebite of your phone. The overturned mug pressed against your hip left a darkened stain on your pants, trailing a path from where its contents splashed across your lap and soiled the closest of your blankets like blood splatter. The stickiness soaking through the fabric to your skin would leave the material smelling of honey long after it dried.
Yet another thing you had no energy to deal with. Not that it was at the forefront of your mind at the present moment.
No, that honor belonged to the palpitations. And the full body trembles. And of course the incessant nausea. God was poor zofran you took this morning working overtime to keep your fruit loops down.
How long could you leave it there – realistically? Your fathers would call in a couple days but no one else would. It held your kindle library and a handful of carefully curated music playlists for various mental breakdowns, but who needed those when you could just stare into the void behind your eyelids with disinterest, making a Jackson Pollock out of the microorganisms swimming across your corneas? Maybe you could have Chloe replicate it and make a fortune off the poor taste of rich gullible tightwads. Live off the grid like wealthy eccentric witches who poisoned their husbands and threw masquerade balls. You were sure she'd have no objection to the arrangement.
Alas, as fun as it was to fantasize foolish notions, the longer you sat there in the stillness of your flat with only the faint hum of the heater to keep you company, the more your mind was lugged back to the cause of your discomfort: John.
How dare he do this to you. After pulling your heart strings like a jumbled cat’s cradle and snipping the future you both knew was beyond reach, he still had the gall to try whatever the hell this current approach of his was. You'd spent hours waiting by the phone like a forlorn puppy in hopes of getting adopted, only to curl up in the corner when you realized days later that that time had already passed. And then with what happened yesterday? He may not have been the one to leave a mark on your cheek, but he bore more responsibility for it than the one who struck the blow.
You didn’t blame her. How could you? Even as you felt the phantom sting on your cheek from where her palm made contact for even daring to exist in the same vicinity, you knew in the end that you were at fault. So great was her pain that if you were in her position you honestly couldn’t say if you wouldn’t have done the same exact thing.
Emotions ran high in your designation more so than the others. Yes, there was absolutely an argument to be made about how alphas were seen as the level headed ones when in truth they were driven like snapping sled dogs by barely contained instincts. But just because omegas were the ones fisting the reins didn’t mean that they weren’t as blood thirsty or possessive as their hounds.
‘Precious cinnamon rolls’, indeed. Especially with a bite mark to strengthen the bond.
What must this have been like for her? To find happiness with a pack – to court and trust and mate and make plans for forever – only to watch them react to their one-in-a-billion chance who wasn’t her.
How long had they known each other? Maybe they grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school. Bosom friends? Made promises at sixteen that they would pack together no matter what? It certainly wasn’t uncommon for childhood crushes to grow up into treasured sweethearts once the designations revealed and the pheromones kicked in. Maybe that was too ‘hallmark movie’ though.
Perhaps they were coworkers. Blind date set up by a friend of a friend. Did they go through a scent matching facility? Could have been flatmates even. Or neighbors who moved in across the hall making too much racket one night that garnered a hefty worded noise complaint followed by a guilty tupperware offering of homemade brownies.
Or was it a sweeter handed twist of fate? A brush of fingers reaching for the same item at the grocery store. A few minutes alone trapped in an elevator sharing distracting laughs. A sultry look across a throng of swaying bodies, intentions wrapped in a haze of booming speakers and two shots of cheap tequila.
That last image made you wince as you thought about the connotations afterward. You didn't need to picture your scent matches slipping off somewhere quieter where they could go be loud.
In any case, you were the intruder on a perfectly built up life. The poisonous snake in a garden of eden to tempt them away from a chocolatey paradise. A dangling pear just sweet enough to mask the taste of betrayal once their teeth sink into your ripened flesh.
A smack was the least of what you deserved.
The hit lingered like a brand long after they departed, haunting you the same way as the fresh words on the screen.
‘I know I've been a right cunt to ya, but can we talk?’
Well, at least he was upfront about it. No shitty attempt at gaslighting; not really an apology though either.
You knew not to answer – you knew. In any other situation you’d be pulling your hair out at the thought of harbouring such mistreatment. Certainly if Chloe was trapped in such a precarious arrangement you’d be holding her hand with all the love in your heart as you pleaded with her to listen to reason. This toxic man coming into your life, spinning distortions of pleasant reality, baiting and switching and ghosting your vulnerabilities for… for what?! Some brief stroke of his ego in the same sheets as his mated omega?!
Whatever hope he might have had at your good graces was lost the moment they drove away. You were a worthless, pathetic, shell of a person but surely you had more dignity than to give in to that gullibility.
Surely…
You’d never before felt so bumfuzzled as you slumped onto your back, squeaking out a whine of frustration once your inner omega started making her presence known over the loudness of your sensibilities. Apparently the wayward bitch wasn’t quite so keen on abandoning her foolhardy ways just yet. You'd call her a glutton for punishment but then that would also apply to you and you weren't eager to make that association.
What a fucking joke you were; this pitiful example of the weakness of your kind and the power of bonds to sway them towards madness.
Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid–
You didn’t know who you hated more in that moment: the alpha causing you grief or the voice in your head that wouldn’t fucking comply.
Why?! Why couldn’t you just delete and be done with it?! Why couldn’t you erase all this chaos with a block of a number and go back to a life swallowed in mediocrity and sober expectations? Nothing he could offer you at this point would change the trajectory of that anyways.
‘We’ was impossible. She made that quite clear – and him by extension when he walked away from you.
‘But you forget,’ the incessant voice argued, ‘he hadn't gone to her. You were the one who held his concern.’
Such a simple minded creature your omega was. Even for how badly it bled in the caverns of your chest after you’d finished retching up acid and drove the few blocks back home to anguish in your apartment, the poor thing was much too apt towards forgiveness and hope, giving credit where none was due. Too much of the world shined like sparkles in her eyes, but she was just another example of innocence trapped in a predestined tragedy.
You would not speak it aloud lest a malevolent universe take exception to your musings, but in truth, some fragmented part of you still curtained in warmth was grateful that life still remained near your core; that the source of your debility hadn’t rooted far enough to leech everything pure that deleterious night.
But was that really it? Was that all it took to keep you tethered to this new alpha? That one brief flash of him seeing you – the implication that someone somewhere thought you might’ve mattered?
Your head danced in circles until your heart took the lead, slinking from bed against all prudent judgement and crawling to the phone bereft the dignity that sloughed off in tandem. Whichever way you opted, you still needed to physically interact with the object – that was a nonstarter. Chloe wasn’t around for you to shove your dirty work onto. You needed to put on your big girl pants and make a rational, completely unbiased decision.
Twelve minutes later, you weren’t so sure how that was going.
You hadn’t blocked him. Turns out you were just too weak-kneed to cut the cord entirely when faced with a ball of yarn begging to be batted. Even the devil on your shoulder fucking judged you at the lack of force it took for him to worm past your ‘defenses’. Practically held the door open with concierge and valet parking as he strolled into your psyche – red carpet roll-out and all. Couldn't even look him in the eye as he passed you on his way to your prefrontal cortex.
At that point the only viable option was to talk to John, which unfortunately left you with too many decisions branching off in too many directions.
How in the hell were you even supposed to start things off? He'd asked you the question, but do you now yell at him to ‘leave me alone’? ‘Get rid of my number’? Break down and plead with him ‘why would you do that to me?’ ‘Why are you still thinking about me?’ ‘Are you ok?’ ‘Is she ok?’
Go figure, the man was talking to you and still you were more mindful of how they were feeling.
At least your personality remained consistent.
Eventually you gave up and just spewed something out instead of giving yourself a migraine your first sentence in.
‘I don’t know what there is to talk about’
Your reply was honest at least. For all you knew, it was John who wanted to speak with you about some sense of closure, especially after yesterday’s fiasco in front of the store. You couldn’t imagine a comfortable car ride after that stunt he’d pulled in front of his packmates and you wouldn’t be surprised if she was bedbound herself this morning given the stress that must've been causing across their bond. It would be the right thing to do for the sake of everyone involved.
You didn't have to wait long for an answer, almost dropping the phone again at the unexpected vibration so soon after sending, pulse fluttering in your chest as you read with anxiety.
‘Think there’s a lot to talk about. And a lot of apologies I should be making if you’ll hear me out’
There was no universe where indulging his plea wasn’t a stupid idea. And yet…
‘Then talk’
…you acquiesced.
His response came a bit slower, the text bubble longer than it had been so far. All the while you remained in your spot on the floor, questioning every second you chose to engage and paying the price with an uncomfortable butt. At least you were on carpet instead of the tile. Could be having this conversation in the bathroom instead.
Your phone pinging pulled you back to the present.
‘Yesterday was a mistake that never should’ve happened. She crossed a line with her actions and yet nothing was done to make it right. I’ve given ya the worst impression and I won’t blame ya for however you feel about her or us or me or any of it. You deserve better than that and I’m sorry for my part in it’
It was a start at least. His acknowledgement of the fact dulled the brunt of the blade enough to act as makeshift chainmail, but just because he wasn’t making excuses didn’t mean the jab hadn’t hurt. It wasn’t even really that you were angry about all this – you were, but that part was only secondary and stemmed more from your own mistakes than his. And even then, so much of that emotion was the result of wasteful follies that you never should have brokered in the first place. So enchanted you were by the proffered temptations that you forsook every warning for a glimpse over the rainbow.
You let Icarus carve your wings even as he knew they would fail.
‘You lied to me’, you replied, feeling the words in your soul as the tang of disappointment mixed with the bitterness of betrayal.
‘I know. I’m a certified asshole and I’ll own up to that. But I swear it wasn’t meant to be at the time. I’d never make you a promise I didn’t intend to keep’
‘Then why tell me that things with your pack were ok when clearly they weren’t?’
‘They should’ve been. It's complicated.’
Understatement of the century, but then that also begged the question:
‘Do they even know you’re texting me?’
No hesitation. ‘They do.’
It should’ve been a good sign that John wasn’t hiding you from them at least, but that also didn’t answer if that knowledge came attached with their blessing.
‘And they’re ok with it?’
This time there was a pause.
‘They agreed it was necessary’
You almost wish he’d have lied to you. If it wasn’t painfully clear that you were an unwanted pestilence before, that text certainly cemented their abhorrence for you now. It was bolded in the gaps between the neutrality of his tone. Lemon and heat weren't necessary to reveal the hidden message.
You didn't belong.
Frowning at the screen, you absentmindedly rubbed the spot on your chest that throbbed like a phantom bruise. Pain had been more than a fair weather friend these past few years. It visited more than your artistic neighbor and came to call more than the spammers you ignored. It spent holidays and birthdays and shared in your milestones. Had its own placemat at the dining table, a dirty toothbrush near the sink. You planned your days around its drop-ins and sacrificed much for its selfish entertainment. Kept a fully stocked first aid kit in the bathroom for when it needed more from you than salty tears. Yet the implication that these strangers wanted no part of you was the wound that wouldn’t cauterize no matter how much force you used.
It hadn’t been your intention to leave him sweating over your inaction, but you must’ve taken too long ruminating as John’s next message appeared for lack of your own.
You weren’t ready for it.
‘I know this isn’t the kind of talk you were probably hoping for and I can only imagine all the creative insults you’ve been shouting at the screen to me… which totally justified btw. Hell you can fully tell me to shove my head up my arse and I’ll gladly lift my kilt in front of god himself as witness. But on the off chance you don’t, we wanted to ask if you would be willing to sit down somewhere to have a proper conversation’
Oh fuck.
The ache in your chest all but forgotten as you scrambled for the porcelain throne.
Your reply would have to wait. He just sent you the straw that broke the zofran’s back.
The cool water felt refreshing as you splashed it against your face, breathing through your mouth as you grasped blindly for a towel. The churning had lessened now that you were painfully empty, but the sensation remained as your mind rewound his words over and over again like a broken cd player. Wiping the water from your eyes provided you no more clarity on the matter as the person in your reflection stared back at you with worry.
This was not how you anticipated things would go at all. You’d made peace in bed last night that you were destined to be fucked as Lady Luck’s unwilling mistress. If fate was kinder and your immune system stronger, you would have never stepped foot in that grocery store last week and discovered just how close to salvation you’d always been. Twisting paths never crossing. Star-crossed bullshit staying in plays. You’d been a fool and had been made as such all for the crime of merely being a victim. It should have ended there and life moved on and order satisfied as you learned a valuable lesson about the dangers of errant wishes. After all, a rice ball could never belong in a fruit basket no matter what shape it molded itself as.
It should be so simple to ignore the pull to them – fated mates be damned. For years now you’d fought back against the rabid beast chained to your soul, his distemperature of your vital organs. The distance made things easier, but you’d still proven you possessed the will to live a life entirely of your own creation. Not everyone in your scenario could be so fortunate. Some days the urge to claw out your entrails to harvest out the rot was so dire and all consuming that you understood why so many like you chose to stay with their abusers.
The crucible of freedom was a heavy cross to bear. Yet here you remained of your own volition. Even at your weakest you were stronger than your suffering.
So why was the concept of turning down John the one thing that made you want to curl up and die?
The question weighed on your mind as you flicked off the bathroom light on your way back out to the main area, passing by your nest to collect your capsized mug on the way to your tiny ass kitchen. It joined your cereal bowl on the drying rack after a quick rinse in the sink, wiping your hands on your blessedly clean shirt before collecting your discarded phone off the floor to deal with again once you were good and settled.
The fatigue in your muscles were grateful as you took pity on your already struggling body and plopped your ass back down in your nest instead, changing into cleaner sweatpants and kicking the soiled blankets out of the way. You’d have to do something about the accumulative pile at the foot of your bed eventually, but that would be a problem for another day. At least you didn’t have to run the worry of dealing with an ant infestation from all the honeyed sweetness given the winter season. Maybe after Christmas you’d make the long trudge up and down three flights of stairs to give your bedding a proper cleaning. Lord knows you couldn’t recall the last time you'd bothered to.
Without any further distractions, you took a deep breath as you swiped your thumb across the sleeping screen, mindful to the return of that pale blue light signalling yet another missed message in your absence. You’d kept him waiting for nearly twenty minutes while you’d gotten things settled and now you braced yourself for whatever words he had to say in follow up.
Only, they weren’t from him this time.
‘This painting has been a lesson in nuance >< next project I’m picking something with more shade variation’
The accompanying image gave you an unexpected but welcomed laugh – a beautiful example of watercolor mastery held snuggly displayed on a paint splattered easel, full of celebration and mischief with the occasional flecks of blank canvas interrupting an otherwise whimsical scene. The gathered fairies paid no mind to their incomplete parts as they danced and gossiped just as they always had for the past two hundred years, totally ignorant to the grief they gave their refurbisher currently hidden behind the camera. The middle finger in the bottom right corner gave away their presence and was what drew your attention in the first place.
You allowed yourself to sit with that for a minute, taking in the reprieve from heavier emotions to exhale the bunched up stress in your gut. Chloe didn’t know how much you needed that break when she sent you it in aggravation, but you were grateful for her impeccable timing nonetheless. You quickly shot off a text back with a laughing emoji followed by a gif of two dogs hugging. She'd been working so hard on that finicky project and deserved a little commiseration.
The interruption sparked a quick debate in your head on if it wouldn’t be smarter to consult her before any further discussion with the alpha; the whole outsider perspective against your partisan blinders thing. And maybe you would've had she shared your designation, but without being able to feel the cosmic lure dragging you like riptides towards your fated mates firsthand you weren’t sure anything she had to say would be that different from the war you’d already been raging between the two mythical entities on your shoulders.
She couldn’t make that decision for you. Only you had the power to do that.
The question was: should you follow your own advice that you’d be handing out to others, or do you throw all that aside at risk of further humiliation?
Flipping back over to the conversation in question, your thumbs drove in the stake before your heart could change its mind.
Shes never knitted a thing in her life and it shows. Frustrated she looks at the tutorial on her laptop again only to huff angrily when she notices shes missed a step and has to undo what she has done. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, pajamas with ducks cover her body.
"Why does this have to be so hard!" She starts over, following along with the video again. "I want it to be perfect."
----------
It isn't perfect, she ran out of yarn halfway through and thought she bought more in the right color. Its only when she holds it under the bright light of the rec room does she realize its half a shade off. One green darker than the other. She holds it close to her chest and her eyes water. She tried so hard on the scarf and it looks bad, what if he won't accept it? She freezes at the thought, her face going pale. What if he laughs at it? At her? What if he hates it!?
---------------
"Yer blocking the way." Soaps voice cuts through her panic. She turns towards him and his smile falters. "What's wrong?"
His eyes go from her face to the green thing in her hands. Oh? He sniffs the air, anxiety and panic. Then his brain clicks, she made a courting gift for Gaz!
"Did ye make that? It looks soft, can I give it a look?"
He doesnt give her time to say no as he takes it from her hands. He holds it up for inspection, silently pleased it reeks of her.
"Looks nice! Can tell you worked hard on it."
"You...you think so?" She stutters out and he nods with a smile.
His ears twitch as he picks up the sound of Gaz and Prices footsteps, his nose catching Kyle's scent getting closer. He hands it back and sidesteps her, going further into the rec room. She doesn't get the chance to further conversation as the others come through the doorway.
Kyle clocks her the instant he walks in, eyes going from Price to hers then glances to Soap standing behind the counter with a grin on his face. Price pauses his conversation, a knowing smile on his face as he gives Gaz a little nudge with his tail. Kyle's wings puff up a little as he gets shoved a few steps closer.
She all but thrusts her hands into his face, her scent invading his nose. His eyes catching fabric before his hands automatically take whatever she shoves his way. Her face is red and shes fiddling with her hands no looking at him. He focuses on the softness hes holding.
An obviously handmade knitted scarf that's saturated in her scent. Its two shades of green and has a few loose strings. He can hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears as his eyes meet hers. He can feel the heat grazing the tips of his ears as his feathers give a small shudder.
"I made this for you! You dont have to take it if you dont like it, I was just trying to make something for you, I know it doesnt look very good but I did my best and--"
"I love it." He cuts off her speed rambling, his smile leaving her silent. She blushes a lovely shade of pink and give his a small unsure smile. "Love the colors, think it'll make me look handsome." He gives a little chuckle, loving the way her body relaxes from its still state.
"How bout we all get some lunch, hmmm?" Price's voice breaks the moment.
-------------
That night Kyle holds the scarf to his nose, fucking up into his fist with a groan. Her scent like a drug making his whole body hot and needy. Wings spread across his nest.
"Want you so fucking bad, oh fuck that's it! Thats it!" He teeters on the edge for a few seconds before he cums. Teeth biting into the scarf like he would her neck.
---------------
There's a visitor coming today, they're bringing an important message with them. The team waits on the tarmac for them to arrive, its mid-afternoon with a warm breeze rolling through. Ghost and Soap are bickering, something about making a mess? Meanwhile Price is talking to the hyena hybrid Laswell about the visior.
Kyle had wrapped a wing around her and held out his hand. "This is for you, hope you like it." He grins when she holds her hands out. He places the necklace he had custon made, with one of the small feathers by his heart secured in epoxy, into her hands.
He feels giddy as her eyes light up with excitement, his eyes catching the light blush on her cheeks and he can pick up her racing heartbeat. It makes him want to puff out his chest.
"Thank you so much! Its beautiful!" She holds it up towards the sun with a sweet smile. "Can you help me put it on?"
He opens his mouth to agree when he hears it, a sharp chirp coming from the clouds. The feathers on his head pop up as he jerks his head up, eyes searching the clouds. Another shrill chirp sounds and his instincts drive him to shift quickly and take to the sky with a chirp of his own. Leaving the team and her baffled.
---------
The team watches as another Harpy decends towards Gaz. Their chirps and clicks echoing in the wind. They greet each other with an aerial display.
"Didn't tell me it was another Harpy." Price sideeyes Laswell. "Should've said something...."
"Why does it matter?" Laswells ears twitching while she types on her phone. Price glances towards Ghost, who's already looking at him. They nod at each other and Ghost moves.
------
Ghost stops beside her as she watches the two of them practically dance in the sky.
"Look at them....I wish I had wings." she wraps her arms around herself with a frown. "I wish I could fly with him."
Ghost had clocked her feelings the second they saw the visiting Sergent. He's not one to intervene in personal affairs. Hes not like his pup, however he wasnt going to let Gaz's delight at seeing another Harpy Hybrid ruin his chances with his potential mate.
"Its just a Harpy thing." He starts, pulling her attention from the sky. "Social creatures and that. Not like he fancies her."
She looks at the necklace in her hand and Ghost gives a sigh, "Want me to help you with that?" It makes her give a small smile and she hands it to him. He carefully fastens it together, and gives her shoulder a pat. "There ya go."
"kyle, change it!" you gasp, almost sobbing with mortification when you see your fuckbuddy's new lockscreen.
you try your hardest to grab the phone, but kyle is stronger, taller, able to hold the phone out of your reach. and, despite him knowing your password from being an eagle eyed bastard, you don't know his.
jumping wildly, you try your best to grab it anyway, but achieve little else other than bouncing your tits and rubbing your body against kyle's muscular chest.
he just fucking smirks, smug and satisfied, not even needing to put in effort to keep the phone away from you. "no way, sweetheart, i'm proud of my photography. s'very artistic."
said art stares you right back from where the glowing screen is held aloft in the air.
it's a picture of you, wrapped in kyle's sheets, body slicked with a glowing sheen of sweat. the most sensitive parts of you are covered, only just, and the only thing you're wearing is kyle's signature cap, perched proudly on your head. your sultry stare connects with the camera, doe eyes looking past the rim.
"artistic, really?" you huff, sending the man your best glare.
he only chuckles in your face. "mhmm, conveys a real message."
The 141 noticing Gaz wearing a hoodie every time they're able to relax. They ask him about it.
"My girl like em to smell like me when I send them to her." He explains with a lovestruck look on his face. Soaps head pops off the couch like he just heard the most amazing thing.
"Price does 5 like that, aye? She sends him er perfume, and he sprays it on his bed." His eyes cut to Ghost, who gives a nod.
Gaz laughs, "Its a nice pick me up when you're far away from your loved one." He pulls the hoodie sleeves up and fans himself, "Even if it makes you roast."
The 141 as a pack- not in the found family kind of way, but in the hunting kind of way.
They spot you by accident.
Price is the first to clock you, mostly because he’s the sort who notices exits, shadows, people sitting alone. You’re on a stool near the end of the bar, tucked under a blown out neon sign that flickers uselessly overhead. The rest of the place is a mess of dim bulbs and TV glow, but somehow the shadows around you are softer, edged in a kind of warm sheen.
It’s probably just the jewelry.
Tiny pieces, nothing flashy on their own: delicate chain at your throat, a charm on a bracelet, thin hoops catching the light when you tuck your hair behind your ear. But every time you move, something glints. Not bright. Not gaudy. Just enough to pull the eye.
Soap follows the first flash of gold the way a cat chases a laser pointer.
“Ach, look at that,” he mutters around the lip of his beer bottle, elbow nudging Gaz’s. “Sittin’ all by herself. Cute as a button. Like a wee rabbit waitin’ for a fox.”
Gaz leans just enough to see past him. You’re nursing a drink, straw between your fingers, eyes on the shelves of cheap liquor like you’re reading the labels to avoid looking at anyone else.
“Been here a while,” he says. “Came in just after we did. No one’s come up to her twice.” His brow creases. “Keeps looking at the door, though.”
Ghost says nothing, but he’s watching too, tracking the pattern: every time the door opens, your head lifts and your bracelet catches the dark, giving a quick, soft flash. When you realize whoever walked in isn’t who you were hoping for, your shoulders fall. You go back to tracing the rim of your glass.
Nobody comes to sit with you. Nobody stays near you for long.
Too alone. Too pretty. Too jumpy.
Easy.
Price takes it in, slow and steady.
Pack instinct kicks in before any of them say the word. They don’t need to say anything to align on the same thought. It’s in the way their focus narrows, the way their chairs angle subconsciously toward you. A hunting posture, dressed in civilian clothes and half finished drinks.
They’re not the soft, found family kind of pack people romanticize. They’re the other kind; the kind that closes around a target without thinking.
“Could just be waitin’ on her boyfriend,” Gaz offers, because he’s the one who says that sort of thing, even if he doesn’t quite believe it.
“She wouldn’t still be here if he was worth a damn,” Soap replies. “Look at her. Fella’s either stupid or blind.”
Ghost watches your fingers. You’re not fidgeting like a practiced flirt; you’re rolling the straw wrapper tight, tight, tight until the paper is an over wound thread. The kind of nervous habit you don’t perform for attention; it just happens.
“Doesn’t matter,” Price says, deciding for them. “Place like this, someone’ll try their luck eventually. Might as well be us.”
Us, not me.
Price drains his glass and stands. “C’mon,” he says. “Before some drunk fucker with worse intentions gets there first.”
Soap grins. Gaz pushes off the bar. Ghost follows.
The four of them rise together, scatter of chairs on sticky floor, their approach casual enough not to spook you, coordinated enough to close off any direction that isn’t toward them.
You feel them before you see them. The bar is loud- music, clinking glass, too many overlapping conversations- but when they move, the noise tilts. You feel a shadow fall across your little island of dim light.
You look up- and up- and up.
“Evenin’, love,” Price says, taking the middle, anchoring your attention. His voice is warm, edged with something rough. “This seat taken?”
You look at him, eyes wide, and for a heartbeat he can see the thought stutter through your head: I should say yes. I should lie.
Then your gaze skips over his shoulder, across Ghost, over Soap’s grin, to Gaz’s more cautious face. Four of them. All big. All dangerous, in the way that sets off every alarm bell you’ve ever had.
Your fingers tighten around your glass. Up close, they’re even more intimidating. Big men, all of them. Broad shoulders. Scarred knuckles. The casual alertness that says they’re dangerous even when they’re pretending not to be.
Your throat works around a swallow.
“N-No,” you say, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Um. No, it’s not.”
You don’t move away when he takes the stool beside you, though. That’s the first little surrender.
Up close, he can see the jewelry looks even smaller. A fine chain resting in the dip of your collarbone, charm nestled where his eyes keep dropping. A tiny stud in your ear that catches the bar’s dim light and winks at him whenever you turn your head.
“Good,” Soap says, dropping onto your other side like you’re the natural center of their group. “Be a shame to leave such a lovely lass sittin’ on her own.”
Ghost leans against the bar behind you, silent. Gaz drifts just off your shoulder, close enough that if you tried to slip down from the stool, you’d have to brush past him.
You don’t realize you’re boxed in. Not yet.
“Quiet night for a girl like you,” Soap says lightly, accent softening the words. “You waitin’ on someone?”
You pick at the napkin under your glass. “I was. My friend bailed, though, so…” You give a little shrug, embarrassed. “Just…finishing this before I head home.”
“That right?” Price nudges your drink with a knuckle. “Let us get your last one, then. Call it a good deed.”
Your instinct is to refuse. You start to shake your head. “Oh, no, that’s okay, I don’t wanna- ”
“We insist,” Soap cuts in, already nodding at the bartender. “Same again for the lady.”
You fluster. You’re not used to this kind of attention. Your necklace glints when you duck your head, catching the dim light in a quick flash at your throat.
“Thank you,” you murmur when the fresh drink appears. “You…you don’t have to.”
“What if we want to?” Price asks, lips tipping. “Bit rough, a girl like you alone in a place like this.”
You huff a nervous laugh and twist the straw wrapper tighter. “C-could say the same thing.”
Gaz huffs a small breath. “We’ve got each other.”
“Pack of us,” Soap adds, grin widening.
“Oh.” You glance at all of them again, as if that just made them more intimidating. “That’s…nice.”
Price watches the way your shoulders hunch, the way you angle your knees toward the bar, as if you’re half expecting someone to bump you. “Thank you again.”
“S’okay lass,” Soap grins, leaning in. “We’re not that scary once you get to know us.”
You look at the mask, the beard, the scars at Soap’s throat, the quiet calculation in Gaz’s eyes.
“You’re a little scary,” you admit, voice trembling around the edge of a nervous laugh.
Something pleased curls through Ghost’s chest at that, dark and satisfied. Good. You should be.
“Good instincts,” he says. “Most people don’t have ‘em.”
You fluster, ducking your head, and when the bartender sets down the fresh glass, the cube of ice inside catches just enough of the overhead light to bounce it up, up, directly into the small crystal at your wrist. It flashes once, sharp, a pinpoint of brightness in all the gloom.
You talk.
They ask easy questions- about your job, about living near the river, about why you stayed when your friend left. You answer in fits and starts, words tripping, always circling back to sorry and I don’t usually and this is weird, right?
Every time you move your hands, the charm at your wrist gives a soft, quick gleam. Every time you turn your head, the little studs in your ears catch the bar’s failing lights.
They like how nervous you are. How your voice trembles when Soap leans in to tease you. How you can’t quite hold Ghost’s gaze for long. How you keep saying you should go home but never quite stand up.
You’re not sure how to extricate yourself now that four strangers with war in their posture have decided you’re interesting.
“You got far to walk?” Price asks, casually, after a while. “We’re headed out soon.”
You hesitate. Lie on the tip of your tongue: I drove or I’m just around the corner or My boyfriend’s coming.
You don’t say any of it.
“I live a few blocks away,” you admit. “Down by the river.”
At that, four pairs of eyes sharpen. Enough distance to get you alone. Enough darkness. Not so far that you’ll get suspicious if they offer to walk you.
“Not safe on your own at this hour,” Soap says immediately.
Gaz gives a low, almost gentle snort. “You seen the lot that hangs around near the bridge at night? Nah. We’ll walk you.”
You start to protest, shoulders curling, fingers twisting in the strap of your bag, but he cuts you off with a small, easy smile.
“Let us be gallant, yeah? Last good deed of the night. Then we’re gone.”
You don’t have a good reason to argue with that, and they can see the moment your resistance folds.
“O-Okay,” you say. “If…if you want to.”
Price drops some notes on the bar, more than enough to cover their tab and yours. You slide off the stool, nearly bumping into his chest as you steady yourself. His hands go to your hips without thinking, big palms warm and firm, catching you before you can stumble.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “Got you.”
You look up at him from under your lashes, throat working around a small, flustered sound. He feels you tremble, just a little, like a skittish animal not used to being held.
He squeezes, once, possessive.
Then they take you out into the night
The city is wet from some half hearted rain earlier, pavement slick, puddles glimmering in the bruise colored light of far off streetlamps. You walk in the middle of them without being told to, instinct or training or simple common sense putting you where you’re most boxed in.
Price on one side, Ghost on the other, Soap just ahead, Gaz at your back.
You keep your bag strap clutched tight, thumbs stroking the worn fabric. Every now and then your knuckles bump Price’s hand, and every time, he has to stop himself from catching your fingers and not letting go.
“We do this for everyone, you know,” Soap jokes lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s a community service. ‘Walks For Strays.’”
You huff a startled laugh. “Is that what I am? A stray?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes raking down your body in a way that’s anything but subtle. “Aye. You wandered right into our path, didn’t you?”
“Could’ve been anyone,” you say.
Price knows that’s not true.
He remembers the way his gaze kept snagging on you all night, how hard it was to keep his eyes from drifting back whenever you lifted your drink and the light slipped over your rings. How Ghost, normally content to sit with his back to the room and watch every corner, kept glancing in your direction.
“Wasn’t,” Ghost says quietly. “Was you.”
You don’t seem to know what to do with that. Silence falls for a few steps, your shoes splashing through a shallow puddle that sends a little fan of water up your calves. The reflection shivers there, ripples of light from the lamp above breaking apart and reforming, broken stars at your feet.
When you step up onto the drier pavement again, one of those broken stars lingers, caught on the thin chain at your ankle until it fades.
“Here,” you say softly after a while, nodding toward a side street. “This way.”
The road narrows, buildings rising up on either side. Fewer lights. Fewer people. The river’s smell rides the air, damp and metallic.
Price feels that familiar shift in his chest: the one that comes at the end of a hunt, when the world narrows down to the target and the terrain and what comes next.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy watching your footing, stepping around a cracked bit of pavement, apologizing when you bump Soap with your shoulder.
You stop in front of an old brick building with a cracked stoop and a single tired bulb over the door.
“This is me,” you say, turning to them with that same small, uncertain smile. “Um. Really. Thank you. For walking me.”
“Be rude to leave it here,” Soap says, tongue in his cheek. “You could at least offer us a cuppa, hen.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh! I, um. I mean, my place is a mess, I wasn’t- ”
“We don’t mind mess,” Gaz says.
Price takes a half step closer, not touching you, but close enough that you have to tip your head back to look at him.
You don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I’ve never…”
You bite your lip. Nervous. Thinking. You look at each of them, one by one, like you’re weighing something heavy.
You trail off, skin heating, shame and something else crawling up your neck.
Price files that away like it’s intel. Never. Never taken strangers home. Never done something like this.
But she’s out here, with four men twice her size, letting them walk her into the dark.
You could fumble the lock and slip inside alone, door closing in their faces. You could make up a boyfriend, a roommate, a brother.
You don’t do any of those things.
You nod. Tiny, decisive.
“…Okay,” you whisper. “For a little while.”
The satisfaction that rolls through them is dark and mutual.
“Good girl,” Price murmurs before he can stop himself.
You flush all the way to your ears and fumble the key in the lock. When the door finally gives, you laugh, flustered. “Sorry. My hands are…”
She’s shaking, he thinks, pleased.
They follow you inside.
The hallway is dim and narrow, the overhead light bare and buzzing.
“Sorry,” you say, starting up the stairs. “The landlord keeps saying he’s going to fix the lights on the second floor and then never does.”
“Typical,” Gaz mutters.
On the landing, the bulbs are all dead. The only light seeps up from the stained glass window in the stairwell, painting everything in a murky, underwater wash. It brushes your face when you glance back at them.
For a second, your eyes seem to catch it and hold it, pupils blown wide, irises gleaming oddly in the blue green.
Then you blink, and it’s gone.
“This is me,” you say again, stopping at the first door on the left. You unlock it and push it open into darkness. “I’ll get the- oh. Right. Sorry. The hall light doesn’t reach in here. One second, the lamp is…”
You reach inside, patting the wall, fingers feeling for a switch that isn’t there. The four of them stack behind you, big silhouettes in the narrow hall.
“Here,” Price says, hand settling at the small of your back, guiding you in. “We’re not afraid of the dark.”
You give a breathy little laugh. “I kinda am,” you admit. “Just…don’t leave me standing in it, okay?”
The words make something low in Ghost’s chest twist in a way he doesn’t examine.
“That’s not on the agenda,” he says.
You step fully into the apartment. The dim hall light dies as the door swings almost shut behind them. Shadows swallow everything; the noise of the city outside muffles.
“Lamp’s by the sofa,” you mumble. “Just- hang on…”
They hear you move. The soft thump of your bag dropped on some surface. The scrape of your shoes toed off. Your voice, closer to the center of the room now.
Something inside them unwinds. This is familiar: dark rooms, unknown layouts, a target’s breathing somewhere just ahead. They relax into the predatory rhythm without even meaning to.
Soap’s hand finds the back of the sofa in the dark. Gaz’s foot bumps into the edge of a low table. Ghost’s fingers twitch once, reminding themselves there’s no weapon in them tonight.
“You sure you paid your electric bill?” Soap asks, laughing under his breath when the first lamp you try doesn’t click on.
You huff. “Funny. It worked this morning. I think the bulb just-”
The sentence cuts off.
The silence that follows is sudden and heavy.
“Love?” Price says. “You all right there?”
You don’t answer immediately.
Then, from deeper in the room: “Yeah. Yeah, I’m…here. Just- don’t move for a second, okay? It’ll be easier if you let your eyes adjust.”
There’s a new note in your voice. Not exactly different- still soft, still gentle- but smoother. Calmer. Like something let go.
They stand still, obedient without thinking about it.
The dark presses in.
Slowly, shapes begin to tease themselves out- the paler rectangle of a window, the looming outline of a bookshelf, the shadowed bulk of the sofa.
And you.
You’re standing a few feet away, turned toward them. The faint light from the street outside brushes your outline but doesn’t quite touch your face. For a breath, you look exactly like you did at the bar- small, bare armed, hair falling around your shoulders, the delicate chain at your throat a dim line in the gloom.
The glint of your jewelry answers the glow- your necklace, your bracelet, your rings all picking up that strange, pale color and tossing it back in miniature. It slides over your features, revealing them in slices: the curve of your mouth, the bridge of your nose, the line of your cheek.
Your smile is small.
And wrong.
It’s too wide. Not grotesque, not cartoonish; just a fraction beyond human, the corners of your lips pulled back enough to show teeth that look a shade too long, too thin. Not blunt little herbivore teeth, but fine, needled things that catch the strange light the way deep water catches moonshine.
Price’s hand, half lifted, stills.
“Turn the lamp on,” Ghost says, voice low. A command, not a request.
You tip your head.
“No,” you say, almost apologetically. “I don’t need it.”
The room seems to shift around that answer. The air grows heavier, cooler. The smell of the river outside seeps in under the window frame, only it’s stronger now, richer, like true seawater. Salt and depth and something briny underneath.
The moonlight bleeds in through the window slightly and the faint glow it throws off reveals more details now: the way your pupils have narrowed to vertical slits in eyes that gleam with their own internal shine; the faint, opalescent pattern under your skin along your throat and collarbones, like scales lying just beneath the surface; the way the chain at your ankle has gone almost luminescent, the bones of your bare feet pale as the bellies of deep fish.
Price’s mouth goes dry.
“What are you?” he asks, very softly.
You tilt your head again, studying him.
“You know those fish,” you say, “with the little lanterns? Way down where it’s too dark for anything else to shine?” You give the necklace a small, idle flick, and it swings, hypnotic. “They sit there for hours, just…waiting. Letting the hungry things come to them.”
Soap’s pulse roars in his ears. Gaz swallows. Ghost takes a single, measured step forward like he’s testing how real this is, how dangerous.
You watch him do it. The glow stretched over your face makes your smile seem sharper.
“I didn’t want you to think I was anything but innocent,” you go on conversationally, as if explaining something simple. “That’s important. If the prey knows the hook is there, it won’t bite.” Your gaze roams over them, four big men in a stranger’s dark living room, shoulders tense, instincts finally whispering wrong, wrong, wrong far too late. “Do you know how many things in the deep are drawn to light that won’t harm them? To something that looks small, harmless, soft? They can’t help it. Their brains aren’t built to resist.”
The last word curls like smoke, amused.
“You made yourself pretty,” Ghost rasps, fingers digging into his palms as he fights the instinct to step closer. “So we’d…come to you.”
You tilt your head, pleased. Brilliant boy. You’ve always liked the wary ones. They make the best meals. The most satisfying captures.
“Of course I did,” you say. “The abyss doesn’t chase. It waits. It shines.” You tap your chest lightly with the tips of your fingers. “I just had to sit in the right bar long enough. Predators always think they’re the only ones hunting.”
Your own teeth catch the glow when you smile wider.
“Anglerfish don’t chase,” you say, almost gently. “We wait. We shine.”
The little necklace hangs there, bright and terrible in the pitch black of your living room, and Task Force 141 realizes far, far too late that they never chose you at all.
Mer!price who stays in the sanctuary because he's too old to swim properly after a boat strike, being absolutely obsessed with mer!reader??
You're a small thing, previously held captive in a tank that stunted your growth, and as a result you don't have many mer skills that pups usually learn in a pod. But that's okay! The sanctuary had set you up with a new pod, and price is more than happy to teach you.
He guides you through the waters slowly, pointing out the hunting techniques other mers use and encouraging you to try them too. He shows you how to use your claws to break open oysters. How to mimic certain calls that pods use.
You spend so much time with him, it's only natural you try to court the old mer. Putting all the tricks you've seen johnny and kyle do to good use, flaring your fins and swimming belly-up invitingly.
Despite how much price clicks correctively, or gently pushes you towards the younger mers, you always come right back. Well...Who is he to deny you what you want?
Then you get to teach price a thing or two that you learned from johnny. Wearing price out and then some that night, only to wake him up when you nose at his slit in the morning, his little thing so fucking eager for his honestly big cock.
Price ends up having to wrap you in his arm and float on the surface to get a break, sighing tiredly. Ghost laughs and splashes water at price, which promptly earns him a swat to the tail. Can't risk waking you up.
oh fuckkk, im loving ur tf141 + reader gear fics where reader gets manhandled by the men using the straps 🤕 i fear i need more of 'em pulling and throwin reader around using it.....
The guys think you're just naturally easy to manhandle, what with the way you go pliant for them.
You're happy to let ghost drag you by the shoulder strap of your plate carrier, sometimes for tactical reasons but more often than not because he likes to control where people are around him.
With soap and kyle, it's much more playful. You couldn't count the number of times soap has grabbed your bitch strap so he could pull you away from taking his favourite seat. Or how often kyle used the loop of your rappelling harness to drag you along with him somewhere.
Even price can't help himself, grabbing your tac-vest and gently shoving you in the direction he wants, knowing you'll follow.
Of course, they do it in front of others, why wouldn't they? Alejandro smiles at it because he does the same thing to Rudy, and you're pretty sure you saw the shadows trying out ghosts method behind base one night. All that is to say, everyone knows you're easy to manhandle. Just grab a strap and go.
So when you're standing at the briefing table, no other spaces available with wide shoulders packed together, graves doesn't think before grabbing your bitch strap with an "'scuse me, sweetheart–"
He's on the floor before he can finish the sentence. A loud crack still echoing in the room and graves holding his nose, blood pouring out like a fountain. You at least look shocked and a bit sorry, though that might be fake considering your next words. "oh my god. Sorry. You scared me, don't touch me next time, aye?"
Which is how the team learns maybe you aren't easy to manhandle, maybe you just let them.
I just know Gaz gets so condescending when he fucks you stupid
He´d already made you cum with his mouth, fucked you for over an hour until he came inside you. And when you thought you were getting a break, he flipped your trembling body around and thrust into you again before pulling you against him.
Now you´re sitting on top of him with your back against his chest, your legs straddling his. His cock is deep inside you, just grinding while some of his load leaks out of you. One of his hands toys with your clit, the other wrapped around your waist while your head lays against his shoulder.
You whine while shaking around him, and with his kindest voice he says ´´What is it, sweetheart? Does it not feel good?´´ pushing his cock even further into you. You lift your head and buck away from him, it´s too much, too good, but you can´t formulate sentences right now. ´´No, no, no, love -´´ he says, using the hand between his legs to pull you back into him ´´- you´re supposed to stay right here´´, the hand around your waist lifting to hold you by your neck.
´´Kyle...´´ you whine, eyes rolling back ´´I know, baby, I know´´, it´s almost mocking, his hand lifting even further until his fingers press against your mouth and you start sucking them ´´You get confused sometimes, but don´t worry´´ he kisses your temple ´´I´m right here´´
UGAHHGHHH I'm in love. I need more boyfailure mer reader. I had two thoughts, maybe one where reader is a really small mer [something like a shrimp mer] who literally CAN'T lock with anyone because they're just, unable to position themselves right. They're too small so its less a lock, more a flop on top :(
OR shark 141 with remora reader who just :( keeps trying to suction [i imagine the suction cups are on their hands and one on the belly] onto them but they just won't let them :(. reader tries to attach to their tummy and gets locked instead :( just let them do their job!!!
Remora reader!!! Remora!!!
You joined the sanctuary after a boat strike damaged the sucker on your belly, making your suction weak and vulnerable to getting left behind. The sanctuary thought it'd be a good idea to place you in the 141 pod tank, seeing as they were all sharks, and hopefully they would help you out.
The only problem? They found it much more amusing to bully you.
"Soap! You're being mean!" You whine, flaring your fins in irritation. He would slow down just enough for you to latch, only to then shake his tail and laugh when you get thrown off.
"Awww, little minnow, you feeling overwhelmed?" He teases, guiding you with a large palm to swim under him. He was always the worst when it came to letting you latch, but the others were busy with training, and your instincts were yelling at you.
"C'mon! Just let me latch, please? Don't you like me? Please?" You hate begging, but it always works. Your pod is weird, and they like it when you ask for things.
You yelp when soap grabs you, flipping you over so you're belly-to-belly. You can feel the purr that rumbles from his chest, hemipenes already slipping out of their sheath. "You wanted to be connected, didn't you, minnow?"
You feel your back press into the sand at the bottom of the pool, and hiss in embarrassment when you realize how easily soap locked you. "soap...not now..."
He just rumbles, amused by your whining. You can take him, he knows you can, but getting stuffed for hours always leaves you feeling bloated and sluggish, and then the workers have to come fix you. It's humiliating, especially because your instincts don't really care so long as you're close to the sharks.
"Nows the perfect time, minnow" soap cradles you in his arms, hemipene lining up with your slit "price isn't here, and he won't be back for hours. I thought you missed our locks? How about i keep you until tonight? Hm?"
Komodo Dragon Price has never used the "Instincts" card to get out of trouble in his life. But seeing as how hes got his little secretary bent over his desk, he'll use it to clean up any disagreements people have. "Couldn't help it, Instincts'n all that." He'd say.
Hes been scenting you all month, making sure no other males even so much as thought about trying to get with you. No you were his from the first time he saw you. So soft and docile, polite to everyone but with a bit of sass mixed into you. Don't even get him started on your natural scent. He had gotten rid of your perfume when he found it in your desk with a "Hurts the nose."
It all came to a head when you arrived this morning. You smelled so good and yet so wrong. Another man's scent was on you. He clenched his teeth so hard it hurt. His logic side said you were just ovulating and happened to touch a man briefly. His instincts roared that you were in heat and didn't smell like him. He'd fix that.
"Lock the door and come over here." His irritation made clear by the slap of his tail. You scurried into motion, confusion crossing your face.
And now?
He's got you pressed into the desk, one of his cocks pounding into you. You're helpless against the massive hybrids strength, your human body able to be manhandled by him. Hes fucking you so good. To good. Regular humans have been ruined for you by your boss.
You dont know exactly how you've come to be in this situation and dont know how to get out of it either. All you know if your body feels so hot. Its when you cum for the second time and he pulls out only to push in his mating cock do you realize his intention.
You try to protest as he pushes on your cervix. You try to wiggle away from him only for him to pin you with a growl, his weight almost suffocating. You cant move, can hardly breathe as he works himself deep inside you. "Be still. Take it. I know you can."
"Noo! Please stop- ah! Too much, too big, please!" Your body shakes as you cry out.
He rumbles back with, "Shhhh, there were gooo~" he pushes past the barrier and stills. Your hiccupd cries drowned out by the rumbling coming from him, his tail wrapping around one of your legs. Then you feel it. A swell, a soft pressure. It has you squirming against him, nails digging into the wood of the desk.
"Easy Love, fuuuck. Ohh fuuck....They...They won't take yet but its good practice yeah?" He grinds against you as you feel the first egg come. Your body doesnt know whether to protest the intrusion or want more. It has you twitching against the solid body above you.
"Ah- P..Price it....it-" you cut yourself off as the second one joins the first. Mouth staying open as you pant. He wraps one arm around your middle, big hand pressing where he know his eggs now lay. It pulls a whine from you, brain turning to mush as you grind back against him as a third one comes.
"John.....John...." You're babbling now.
"There we go..." he purrs. His tongue licking the side of your neck. "Perfect, so perfect." He gives a few more grinds.
You feel so full, even as he slowly pulls out of you. Even as he licks you clean, his big hands keeping you where he wanted. When he decided he was done he had carefully helped you stand up. Hands constantly on you. You of course were dazed, eyes glossed over, mind shut off. He picked you up with a glee in his eye.
"Let's get you to the nest Love. You're so damn cute.....Need to fill you up again."
Soap doesn't know what to say, and he doesn't think there's much to be said. Or can be said, in the first place.
It's quiet in the heli, though there's the rhythmic sound of Gaz's claws clacking against the ground while he shifts and moves to clean all the blood (not his own) and debris off his wings. Ghost is beside him, silent and still, and in that stillness tendrils of muddy, barely-solid shadows flickering and fluttering.
It's quiet, except for the sound of you panting against Price's shoulder. With the way those giant wings are wrapped around you, all Soap can see is your head tucked into the juncture of Price's shoulder and neck and your combat boots, spread open from the way you are straddling Price. You are panting- drooling over Price's shoulder, and Soap knows well (from experience) that your eyes are glossy and unfocused, fucked too deep and stretched well on Price's cocks to even know where you are and that the mission is over, and Soap has to breathe in slowly to calm himself because-
The smell of you was just far too tempting for your own good. He knows he wouldn't have been able to hold himself back at all if he could actually see all you- see the way Price had simply torn the crotch of your pants and pulled aside the drenched gusset of your panties to push into your holes, slick and cum trickling down your thighs and into the seat.
The mere thought alone had Soap biting a whine back, huffing through his nose and pretending your little choked moan and Price's growl didn't go straight to his dick.
When Laswell had told them a human would be joining them, Soap had assumed you'd be a liability no matter how much she claimed you were competent, and he knew the others thought so as well- Price, especially, had been adamant about not accepting you into the team (and his hoard), and then they met you and between then and now, Soap knows they've changed enough to the point he can freely admit that you are pack whether you like it or not.
Though the way you shudder and moan again, slumping fully against Price, lets him know it's the former rather than the latter.
For the writers struggling to rid themselves of the classic ‘said’. Some are repeated in different categories since they fit multiple ones (but those are counted once so it adds up to 100 new words).
Note: everyone is entitled to their own opinion. No I am NOT telling people to abandon said and use these. Yes I understand that said is often good enough, but sometimes you WANT to draw attention to how the character is speaking. If you think adding an action/movement to your dialogue is 'good enough' hate to break it to you but that ruins immersion much more than a casual 'mumbled'. And for the last time: this is just a resource list, CALM DOWN. Hope that covers all the annoyingly redundant replies :)
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