#kyle garrick/reader

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 9 masterlist

-

Knock until something answers or until your knuckles pass straight through. 

After Gaz leaves your lab, you spend the rest of the afternoon working on your research, doing your level best to ignore the blood samples sitting in the refrigeration unit on the other side of the room. You normally wouldn’t have to wait very long before running your tests, but you do because you can’t shake the feeling that you are on the threshold of some atrocious becoming, the bloodletting preceding destruction. 

You hadn’t thought of your life up to this point as some prelapsarian time, but the fall seems imminent. 

The tedium of day gives way to the disquietude of night, when all else settles down and the ship hums itself to sleep. You skip supper and head back to your room instead, whittling away the hours with a word search book that ends with you circling the same word over and over again like you can’t find another one. You find yourself writing it even in the margins of the book. 

Alien. 

And it is a whisper quiet thought because you know that if you look at it too hard, you’ll only end up doubting yourself. Write off all of the strange occurrences happening around you as coincidence or all in your head when you know that they are not.

There’s no chance you’ll sleep with the worries weighing on your mind, so instead of trying, you slip out of your room when the ship slips into the deepest part of its night cycle.

The door to your room slides shut softly behind you. It is quiet in the hallway. 

For as many times as you’ve been in space, it’s never felt as alien as now. Perhaps because you’ve always regarded the inky darkness surrounding the ship with a careful, neutral ambivalence. Also perhaps because, consciously or not, you’ve always assumed that there was nothing else out there.

But in the days since Gaz first knocked on the porthole and asked to come inside, your perspective has shifted. 

One of the lights flickers on your wall down the main corridor and you pause for a moment to watch it flicker. It goes out entirely for a handful of seconds before coming back on.

Down the hall you go, the long isthmus between bow and stern, stopping every once in a while to examine the walls and metal flooring. You even sit on the staircase leading down from the orlop deck to the cargo hold to stare at the rusted metal grates. When you test it with your finger, the rust feels real enough. It has that rough, grainy texture, and when you pull your finger away, a faint residue transfers to the pad of your finger. 

Strange. All this time you’ve lived on the ship and yet not once have you noticed anything like this. 

The stairs aren’t rusted enough to warrant reporting it this very second, but you make a mental note to mention it to someone in the morning. 

In the cargo hold, you crouch behind a pallet stacked with crates of supplies on the far end of the hold and stare at a corner of the wall. The interior panelling has started to chip away at the bottom of the corner, chunks of it flaking off when you dig your fingers into the hole. You find more as you scan the hold, even the fire baffles on the ceiling looking a bit rusted when you squint your eyes. 

You wrack your brain for some memory of ever noticing these defects before but nothing comes to mind. 

It’s almost as if, in small, nearly imperceptible ways, the ship has been slowly starting to corrode. The materials themselves seem to be breaking down at an exponentially increasing rate, as if something were sucking the vitality from them. While you can’t deny that the ship is still as functional as the day it left Earth, the longer you stare at some of the finer details, the more things that you remember previously looking adequate enough now seem to be on the verge of decay.  

Can you trust what’s in front of you though? You press harder into the gouge in the wall with your finger, wincing when it slices through the skin and a bead of blood wells up. Can you trust what you’re looking at? 

And what does it mean if you’re right? 

The longer you stare, the more your head hurts. The bubble of blood on your fingertip swells when you press your nail into the skin beside it. 

It would be better for your sanity if you could stop questioning everything, but you can’t change what you are. You exist in accordance with your nature like all things do. 

Another time around the cargo hold before exhaustion starts getting the better of you. You won’t find anything that you haven’t already found.

The walk back to your quarters feels twice as long, winding through dimly lit corridors that echo with the sound of your footsteps. 

Your footsteps echo behind you for a beat too long, as if the ship were bigger than its true size, or as if there were someone following behind you, beat for beat except for the occasional slip.

When one rings a bit too loud, you stop and turn on your heel, staring into the darkness, waiting for something to emerge or the footsteps to keep following you down the hall. 

Apart from the ever present hum rumbling through the ship, the corridor stays quiet. You let out a breath. Everything seems menacing at this time of night. Just the mind playing tricks on itself. 

You keep walking towards your room, ignoring the way your footsteps echo behind you again, just a beat off.

In the morning, you run Gaz’s blood through the centrifuge and wait for the solid and liquid components to separate while you putter around on the other side of the room. Your coffee is cold before you manage to take your first sip. 

Nauseous from skipping breakfast, your empty stomach grumbles, hunger pangs shooting through you. Better that you don’t eat though, for fear of losing the contents of your stomach at a moment’s notice. That’s the overwhelming feeling that you’ve been carrying with you since sneaking back to your quarters early in the morning—that anything might make it all come up. 

The coffee goes down bitter and ice cold. It makes your mouth taste somewhat stale, thick on the back of your tongue no matter how many times you clear your throat and swallow. It might’ve tasted better had you lingered a bit longer in the galley to find the milk capsules, but you’d been in a hurry to rush back to the medbay, not interested in running across Gaz or anyone else.

Then the centrifuge beeps, and you realize that you can’t get up from your chair. 

It’s not that you can’t physically get up, it’s just that every molecule in your being is fighting the urge to do so. All of your anxiety is pressed right up against your sternum, gathered tight beneath your bones; a terrible sense of foreboding that accompanies everything you do these days. 

Eventually, you summon the nerve to rise to your feet and cross the room, hesitating in front of the centrifuge for only a moment before opening the lid. 

It looks normal from the outset, the liquid and solid components separated in the tube with the platelets forming a layer between the red blood cells and plasma. You carry on with removing the supernatant fluid with a pipette and transferring the liquid component into a new test tube, getting everything ready for your tests. 

Under the microscope, you look at what seem to be normal, human blood cells.  Biconcave discs; mostly red blood cells, with a stray neutrophil floating around under the topmost slide. They behave and move so normally that at first you just observe them as you might anyone else’s blood sample, checking for any abnormalities or deficiencies. 

And then, you find them. 

It isn’t easy to make sense of what you’re seeing at first, and the longer you look at it, the less sense it makes. A neutrophil with a fat nucleus swims leisurely around until it encounters a group of red blood cells. The blood cells, stained in order to make them visible, swarm and then part, behaving perfectly normal until the second they don’t. 

You can’t make sense of what you’re looking at because what you’re looking at defies sense. It almost looks like cells cannibalizing other cells, but not quite, the cells not quite consuming one another so much as amalgamating and disappearing entirely. Warping into increasingly strange shapes. 

Cells merge with other cells and then split again, trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, and the only thing you can think of is a tesseract folding in on itself. You’re losing something crucial, something invisible to you—invisible because it transcends your ability to perceive it. A shape turning in a higher dimension. 

The dread builds the longer you look. Your excuses keep piling up—bad samples and lack of sleep—but they feel flimsy, even paltry in comparison to the larger suspicion that has been hounding you these past few days. 

You push your chair away from the table and back up as far as you can until it hits something behind you. Short of breath. Heart pounding in your chest, but this time it’s almost painful. You’re not strong enough to stand at first, at least not without holding onto the back of your chair. 

The medbay door glides shut behind you as you leave, slowly breaking into a run as you head down the main hall, looking for someone else to verify what you saw under the microscope. The mess and galley are empty when you check them, much to your consternation, but you find Hadir in the tiny fitness area a few minutes later, sweating through a round of overhead presses. 

“Morning,” he greets when he spots you from out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not working out in that are you?”

He’s referring, of course, to your lab coat and uniform pants, which are hardly appropriate gym wear. Your ability to joke around is nonexistent though. Hadir must register that from the look on your face though because his arms slowly come down to his sides, a sweat-drenched brow arching in question. 

“Hadir, you went to med school, right?” you ask him.

“I was in nursing school before I dropped out, but—” he corrects, only for you to cut him off before he’s able to add anything else. 

“That’s fine—I need you to look at something for me. Do you have a sec?” 

He goes quiet for a moment and then nods, racking the weights before following you out of the gym. 

The walk back to the medical unit feels like a death march, with you leading the way. Your steps echo through the hall, each one louder somehow. Deafening. The pit in your stomach is bottomless—no matter how far down you go, you keep falling. You’ve done this with Hadir before, leading him towards something that you know in your gut is wrong without the confidence to call it what it is.

The microscope is still there on the table when you walk back into the medbay. The hair on the back of your neck lifts when you lay eyes on it. 

“There.” You point towards the microscope, not taking a step towards it. 

Hadir’s eyebrows furrow. He looks over at it and then back at you. “Okay.”

He crosses the room silently and pulls up a stool, settling in before adjusting the chair and microscope for his height. A tense few seconds pass while you wait for him to adjust everything to his measurements before he leans in to look through the eyepiece.

Then all is quiet.

You don’t know how long it’ll take for him to notice what you noticed, so all you can do is wait anxiously until he does. Or until he doesn’t—another possibility that hangs over you like a guillotine’s blade. 

Hadir looks through the eyepiece for what feels like an hour, so focused on the slide in front of him that you can hardly even hear him breathe. 

“What are these?” he asks when he finally pulls away from the eyepiece, looking at you from over his shoulder. 

“Blood cells.”

“You’re sure these are only blood cells?”

“Yes.” You don’t make mistakes, especially not with a simple procedure like this. 

“These…these don’t look like blood cells.” He bends his head to look again, staring more intently this time. “I mean they do, but… Where did you get these, doc?”

“I pulled those from Gaz yesterday during his physical,” you admit quietly. 

Again Hadir pulls away from the eyepiece to look over his shoulder at you. The look on his face is inscrutable, much like his sister. You wish you could see behind it and read his thoughts somehow. If only you didn’t have to guess every time. If only his gaze didn’t make you feel so raw and vulnerable, exposed belly ripe for vivisection.

“This is Gaz’s blood?” 

“Yes.”

Another prolonged moment of silence. 

“Doc, I don’t know what this is, but this can’t be someone’s blood. I may not actually be a nurse, but I’ve seen enough blood to know what it should look like.”

“I promise you it is. I drew those yesterday and no one’s been in here since.”

Hadir rolls away from the table, turning to face you fully. “What’s your opinion then? Why’d you ask me to come look at this?”

Here’s where it gets tricky. Because coming to the conclusion that you have internally already come to is one thing, but actually putting it to words is a much more laborious task, one requiring a kind of delicacy and cunning that you have never exactly possessed. 

“I think—” you start, struggling to get the words out. “That if…that if that is inside of Gaz…we need to start having a different conversation.”

“Doc, if anything, I think maybe he’s just sick.” There it is again. That whisper of condemnation. A glimmer of suspicion so faint that you would almost doubt yourself if your mind wouldn’t stop screaming why can’t you open your eyes? Why won’t you just believe me?

“You know that’s not true,” you snap, too severe. “He’s not sick—I’m not even sure he’s a person. This is—this is beyond fucked up. Those cells aren't human.”

He just stares at you, deeply unnerved by your outburst, like his fear is stretched so thin that he can’t see it for what it is. 

“At least let me—can you at least just—” The right words keep slipping from your grasp, too slippery to catch them. “Can you—…just…I need you to just believe me this time…” You trail off completely as it gets harder and harder to breathe. 

“Hey, hey, okay, take it easy,” Hadir says soothingly, getting to his feet, his hands outstretched like he means you no harm.

He moves until he’s right in front of you, hands braced on your shoulders to centre you. Whatever his intention, it doesn’t help. 

“He’s doing something to us,” you breathe, throat so tight that your voice breaks on multiple words. 

“Doctor, he’s not doing anything to us—he just looks sick. Or there’s just something wrong with the blood sample.”

You shake your head. “No. No. Hadir, it’s not just this, it’s—it’s everything.”

“What do you mean ‘everything’?” He sounds almost baffled.

“How he got here—the tests—his smell—the way everything’s like…fucking falling apart. Even Farah promised to keep an eye on him.”

He blinks. “Farah said she’d keep an eye on Gaz?”

You know you promised to keep it between the two of you, but you can’t help blurting it out when there’s a chance it might make Hadir take you seriously. “Yes! Because she knows there’s something wrong with this. We shouldn’t have found a man out in the middle of space when there’s no one else around for millions of miles!”

And you can’t understand how no one else seems at all suspicious when every single thing about Gaz’s sudden appearance on the ship is making alarms go off in your head. It’s like you’re inhabiting a separate reality from everyone else and perceiving things that aren’t really there. Like you are being pried away from their world. 

Hadir’s hands tighten around your shoulders. “Let’s just—let’s take a breath, okay?” 

You’re reluctant to acquiesce, but the look in his eyes tells you that it’s not up for negotiation. He leads you through a simple breathing exercise. Four seconds in, hold for seven, and then exhale for eight. You repeat it until the room stops swimming. 

“We both agree that there’s something wrong with those samples,” Hadir finally says, trying to reassure you. “I’m on your side, okay, doc?” You nod, swallowing. “Why don’t you just redo the test then?”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” you whisper. 

“I know, but things happen, right? Maybe the lid wasn’t sealed properly or you didn’t swab Gaz’s arm before taking his blood—”

“I did swab his arm,” you object, but your throat is too tight and the words come out too soft to make an impact. Hadir breezes past like you didn’t say anything. 

“The point is—it’s not your fault. It’s completely normal to make mistakes. Just destroy these samples and ask him to come back so you can take new ones. I can even help if you want—I’ll be your second pair of eyes.”

You want to protest. You want to take Hadir by the shoulders and shake him until he admits that what’s in front of his eyes is actually there—that you can’t keep pretending like everything’s normal. It would be a pointless battle though. He simply doesn’t believe you. 

The worst part is that you’re grateful that at least your eyes haven’t failed you. At least Hadir saw what you saw, his own conclusions aside. At least you have that reassurance, despite how hopeless everything else feels. 

You take a step back, his hands falling from your shoulders. “Fine. I’ll get a new blood sample and run the tests again.”

“Doc—”

“No,” you cut him off, forcing a tight smile. “It’s fine. You’re right. I’ll let you know when I have Gaz come in again and we can look at the new sample together. Sorry to pull you from your workout.”

Hadir’s lips flatten as he stares at you, searching for something to say that never materializes. Maybe he sees the pointless battle in your eyes as well. 

“Okay…ping me when you do,” he says, letting it go. “Remember, I’m on your side.”

There’s a fine tremor in your hands when he leaves. And though embarrassment keeps you from meeting his eyes on his way out, you tell yourself again that he’s done you a service in confirming what you saw, that at least this has given you new footing to stand on. 

You remind yourself of that as you feel your feet begin to slip from under you.

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

-----------------

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[thatgoblin]

New Witch in Town Part 1

Summary: Things were going great till you received a promotion at work. Then everything went downhill. Your long-term boyfriend cheates on you, your job had to close down for a week, and you have to look for a new place while sleeping on your Ex's couch and listening to him boink his new girlfriend. At least you didn't have to sleep on his (your) couch too long. You didn't look too close at the house, where it was, or how you'd get there, but you'd have four new roommates that were gone a lot for work. It couldn't get any worse, could it? Right?

Warnings: cheating (not by our heroes, narcissistic ex, not really anything big happens this part. Will update with more as they come.

Moving sucks. I have always been of that opinion and are still. Especially since I was looking for a place after my boyfriend of 5 years and I split. I thought marriage was on the horizon, especially with my promotion at work and with how things were going so smoothly, but instead he wanted to get to know the yoga instructor that had moved in across the street. It was almost comical to think that I made up every excuse in the book for him when my friends and family all called him out on being narcissistic and manipulative, but the moment I saw my new neighbor in the downward dog in MY bed with my boyfriend one afternoon, that was it. The satisfaction of kicking him out would have helped me heal, but I had been the one that moved in with him and so I was the one that had to find a new place.

After looking for a week while sleeping on the couch, I thought I got a break. A large six bedroom house with a finished basement, a garden in the backyard, and four roommates in need of a fifth as they worked a lot and wanted someone home to take care of it when they had to leave for work. It seemed too good to be true. I knew it was four men living there as well, but that didn’t deter me. In fact I thought it was perfect. Roommates meant no feelings. I thought that when they were home they would be too busy going out and seeing girls or guys or whoever to even bother trying to sleep with me or date me. The last thing I wanted or needed (mostly needed) was to have a rebound or get in a relationship with a roommate. 

Sending a message to the person who posted the ad in the paper, I arranged to get moved in quickly. There was no talk of rent or contracts or anything other than my move in date. It should have been a red flag, but I was desperate enough to get out of my Ex’s place that I didn’t think twice. Getting a moving van and packing up all my things, which was actually not that much since I wanted to just get out of there, I was quick to leave. The new place was gorgeous and I instantly fell in love with it when I pulled up. Yes, I also had not seen the place. My judgment was clouded because I needed to leave my Ex’s place quickly or end up in jail for murder.

Parked, I hopped out to knock on the door. Before I could rap my knuckles on the massive, dark stained door set, one opened to reveal a built man with a mohawk. We stared at each other for a moment, caught off guard by the timing before I shook myself. “Hi, I’m the new roommate,” I said, smiling as I held out my hand. 

“Hello,” the man said, smiling back as he shook my hand. He was incredibly warm, literally. It felt like I was shaking hands with a heating pad on full power. “I’m Johnny, but everyone calls me Soap,” he said, pulling me in for a quick, bone crushing hug. 

“Nice to meet you,” I grunted before he let go. 

“Here, let’s get you moved in, yeah?” He said, walking over to the moving van. 

“Here, I’ve got the key for the lock,” I said, digging it out of my purse. But Soap already had the back open with a small grunt and a quick lift of his arm. I was pretty sure I had locked it, but he was already in there and moving things to bring in.  

“Hi, you must be the new Roommate, I’m Kyle,” a voice said, catching my attention from Johnny, who had started to unload what looked like four large boxes at a time. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, turning to look at him and smile. The man was leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. His eyes scanned over my body as I stood there in worn out clothes I didn’t mind ruining. A brow raised as we locked eyes, followed by a smile. The scent of rain in the forest floated from him to envelop me and coax me closer. Stepping towards him, I looked to the sky to see the gray clouds getting dark and moving faster. “It looks like it might rain, so if you can help unload-”

“Almost done!” Johnny called as he suddenly ran out of the house. Wait, when did he get inside? Also, why was he saying he was almost done? 

“Johnny is enthusiastic about moving as well as helping people, eating, sticks, chasing cars-”

“No! You said you’d stop that joke!” Johnny yelled, stopping Kyle as he walked by with the last of my stuff. 

“Wow, that was fast. Are you sure you got everything?” I asked, moving to look at the back of the van. “Holy crap, you just moved like twenty boxes from my van to the house in just a few minutes? What?” I must have been really distracted or Johnny was really strong and fast. Maybe both. 

“So, a few things to go over,” Kyle said, putting an arm around my shoulders to guide me away as Johnny shut the back of the van. “Rent is due on the first of the month, so Price likes to have it at least a week before then. No parties, if you want friends over, make sure it’s when we’re not home, don’t go into our rooms, and don’t go into the basement.”

“Okay, your rooms I get, but the basement?” I asked, frowning as we stepped inside. The house was gorgeous, Victorian style with dark colors. It made me think of a less gothic Addams family home. The first floor was open with hardwood floors and gorgeous crown moldings in black, but the furniture didn’t match. It looked very worn and used, almost as if it was all on its last leg, and all the curtains were drawn everywhere. There was no sunlight to be seen, but that didn’t mean that the room was dark. There were lamps and overhead lights that lit up the place, making it easy to see around in the warm lighting. 

“So, the basement is storage and with how Price likes his order, it’s best to just stay out of it so you don’t accidentally touch something he might pitch a fit over,” Kyle said, keeping us moving to the stairs. The same dark wood carried us up a story as he kept a firm hold on me to keep me from wandering. Which was odd given I was living there and I would need to know where things were. “Here are our rooms. The one at the very end is Price’s, mine is right here, next to yours and on the other side is Simon’s and Johnny’s.” Each door was painted black and had an emblem engraved. Johnny’s had a crescent moon, Simon’s had an Ankh, Kyle’s had a star with seven points, Price’s had a ram’s skull with big horns, and mine. . . 

“So, since I live here now, can I carve something fun into my door?” I asked, looking at the blank space and trying to think of something cool to put there. Everyone else had one and I wanted one too. 

“That is not up to me,” Kyle said, brushing it off. “Now, if you want to, you can meet Simon and Price. We actually leave in the morning for work and will be gone for a few weeks because of work.”

“Okay,” I said, following him without a second thought. “So, what do you guys do for work?” I asked, following him like a happy puppy with no fear in their heart. 

“We’re in the military and go on work trips a lot. We figured that if we had someone here, then at least we would be less likely to be burgled or gone up in flames.”

“Well, I am pretty hyper aware of my surroundings when I’m alone and constantly check candles even if I’ve never lit any, so it should be good,” I said as he showed me back down the stairs to the living room where three men were waiting. One was Johnny who was nudging a man in a skull mask and giggling, the man in said skull mask who looked like a teen who found Hot Topic and bought every skeleton piece of clothing they had as well as eyeliner that was messily applied and smeared, and a man who looked like he knew the most and had the most authority of the group. Dressed in a long sleeve shirt and cargo pants, similar to Kyle’s, he also had trimmed mutton chops and mustache as a cigar burning between his thumb and forefinger. “Hi!” I said, waving with a grin and trying to put as much friendliness into my voice as possible.  

“Right,” Kyle said, turning away before gesturing to me. “This is our new roommate. I gave all the rules and such as well as letting her know we’ll be gone soon.”

“Kyle said you guys were in the military and would be gone, so no worries on anything. I already promised no parties and no snooping,” I said, rocking on my feet as I put my hands on my hips. “So, who are these guys?” I asked Kyle, pointing to Skull man and Cigar man. 

“I’m John Price,” the man with the cigar said as he stood up. A plume of smoke billowed out from his nostrils, his blue eyes were bright to the point I swear they were glowing. “Pleasure to meet you. We’ll be out of your hair in the early morning.” He held out his hand for me to shake with a soft smile. I probably came on a bit strong, but that was okay. Grabbing his hand, I shook it firmly. He, like Johnny, was incredibly warm to the touch, but there was something else. Like an electricity to him that had my hand twitching to grip his hand harder.

“That’s Simon,” Kyle said, pointing to the other man who waved from the sofa as Johnny poked at his face. 

“Hi!” I said, marching over to take his hand that was not offered in any way to shake it. He tensed when I touched him, going still and flexing so I couldn’t actually move our hands. “Oh wow, strong,” I said, giggling nervously before letting go. “Well, I guess this is it. Thanks for the bed and furniture by the way. I didn’t really have anything when I moved out of my last place.”

“Furniture?” Price asked, raising a brow at me. “I thought you were bringing everything.”

“There’s not a bed?” I asked, suddenly feeling my mood take a dip. “I thought I saw in the ad that there was a fully furnished room.”

“No, I didn’t put that,” Kyle said, shaking his head. 

“Right, sorry, that was probably something else. It’s okay. I can just sleep on the floor,” I said, forcing a smile to smooth things over. I needed this place even if I didn’t have a bed yet and I didn’t want to upset my new housemates. 

“Don’t be daft,” Kyle snorted. “You can have the sofa.”

 Better than the floor.

“I’ll be real quiet, I promise,” I said as John sighed and Ghost chuckled. 

“No, no. We probably have something for you to use so you’re not on the sofa,” Price said. 

“She can share my bed!” Johnny chimed in. My eyes went wide as Kyle groaned and Simon slapped the man on the back of the head. “What!? Nothing weird! Besides, I have the most normal room and it’s really fucking comfy.”

“Then you’ll have no problem taking the sofa for the night while our new friend takes your bed,” John said, smirking at him. Johnny began to protest when Simon covered his mouth. 

“You can sleep in my room, Soap,” the man said, his voice gruff and low. “There, we’re situated.” 

“I’ll show you where everything is,” Johnny said as he got up. I followed him, feeling an unfamiliar heat drop in my belly when I passed John. I glanced back to see him tip his head with a wink before I was led upstairs. Shaking myself to keep from thinking about it too much, I watched as Johnny opened the door with the crescent moon to let us in. While in my mind I had built it up to be this amazing, whimsical thing, it was very much a regular bedroom. 

The boxspring and mattress were on the floor with fluffy pillows and blankets and sheets that were twisted into a nest of sorts in the middle of it while a dresser sat off to the side with knick knacks on it. The walls were a warm creamy color with posters of movies and football teams, as well as a few framed pictures of what looked like family. A writing desk was on the corner, holding a PC and two monitors as well as a small rack of gaming controls. A headset hung on one of the monitors while an en suite bathroom already had the light on. It had a toilet, a sink, and an old clawed bathtub that held a shower head. I was starting to wish I had checked my room to see my tub situation. 

“Feel free to use the room while we’re gone till you get your bed in. Price has a bunch of stuff in the basement he’ll probably lend you when we get back, but I know a bed isn’t down there,” Johnny chuckled. “Shower works like a shower and hot water is plenty. All I ask is that you clean up and don’t leave things lying around.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate this. I swore that I saw there was furniture listed on the ad, but my head’s been so muddled lately that I probably combined two posts into one,” I said with a chuckle. “Oh well, at least there’s a back up plan. I promise I’ll make sure nothing gets messed up while you’re gone and it’ll be spick and span when you guys get home.”

“You’re not our house maid, just clean up after yourself,” Johnny snickered, ruffling my hair. It was an odd feeling, something someone would do with a person they were familiar with and while I had only met Johnny that day, I was pretty sure he would become a very important person in my life. All four of them really. 

“Thanks,” I said, smiling. The rest of the evening was calm, everyone gathering for dinner at the big dining table by the kitchen. Kyle ordered take out from a local Chinese place for everyone so dishes weren’t needed. Simon skipped dinner, opting to watch a footie game that was on. Conversation was good, they learned more about me, that I was a librarian at a local college and was on vacation that week because renovations were being done, that I liked animals, and as Kyle put it, always seemed to be a ray of sunshine. 

“Simon doesn’t like the sun,” Kyle teased. “He’d melt like the Wicked Witch if he went outside during the day.”

“Shut it,” Simon growled, flipping him off from the living room as we ate at the table. 

“Behave. I don’t want to sit on the plane tomorrow with you two bickering like children,” John said with a grumble.

“So where are you guys going?” I asked, getting more noodles on my plate.

“Classified,” Johnny said between mouthfuls of food.

“Well, do you know what you’ll be doing?”

“Classified,” Kyle said, snatching the last egg roll.

“Okay, do you know if-”

“Sorry, Love, classified,” John said, giving me an apologetic smile. At least he was nice about it. 

“Alright, well, I hope it goes smoothly and quickly and safely,” I said. “Whatever it is you do.”

Despite trying to help, I wasn’t allowed to clean up after dinner. None of them would let me. Each of us went to our rooms after a quick ‘good night’ and it was starting to feel like home. Even if I wasn’t in my own room, I was in a clean bed (that had the very distinct smell of a dog despite there not being any evidence of the animal being there) with comfortable pillows and blankets, making it better than when I was at my Ex’s on the couch. In bed with my eyes closed, I found that I couldn’t fall asleep. I’d be on the cusp and then my body would jolt me awake as if some unseen threat had nearly grabbed me. The whole night was like that. It was when the guys left that I finally passed out from exhaustion. I had no idea what it was or why it was happening, but I at least was on vacation. 

There was no return date for them that I was given, so I tried to keep busy with getting things I needed. Like the bed. It was hard to pick one and each salesperson I worked with seemed just as pushy as the last one. If I didn’t say no to all of them, then I would end up with ten beds. At least Johnny said I could use his. By the end of the week, I was finding myself feeling worse than when I was at my Ex’s on the couch. I was lonely and tired and emotional and just wanted someone to hug me and pet my head. Neither of those things were going to happen, so I tried to march on. At the mattress store, trying one last time, I was laying on a rather comfortable one when I heard a familiar voice. 

Sitting up, I saw my Ex with the girl he left me for. They were hugging and touching foreheads and smiling while picking out furniture. He and I were supposed to renovate a room to make it into a library, but there he was with someone else and I was bedless. Worse, I didn’t have anything I wanted. I had unpacked my clothes into a closet, but all my pictures and decorations and bigger stuff were still at his place and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for them back. The tidal wave of emotions hit me, making me apologize as I speed walked out of the store before he could see me. 

Back home, I changed into comfortable clothes and grabbed cold pizza to eat before turning on Titanic in the living room. I needed to cry and get it out before I turned into a hysterical nut job over a mattress. There I stayed for the weekend, crying over 1998 Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet because while their love was brief, it was intense and lasting despite the years of separation. That was how the others found me Monday afternoon. I was given a half day as a water pipe burst, kicking me out of my building again, so back to Titanic with tears and pasta. 

“I’m flying, Jack. I’m flying,” I ugly sobbed as I held my arms out with Kate and Leo. The others were damn near silent as they stood by and watched my misery. 

“Should we do something, Cap?” Kyle asked. They were in ear shot, but I ignored them as I ‘doo doo doo’d along to the score. 

“I don’t know if we can,” John said. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Johnny said, dropping his bag before coming over to me. “Hey there, what’re you watching, hen?” He asked, his voice soft and gentle as if he were speaking to a scared animal.

“Titanic,” I whimpered. 

“How many times have you watched it?”

“It’s almost four hours long because it’s the extended edition,” I said. “I’ve had it on repeat since Friday.” Johnny was quiet, looking at me wide eyed before looking back to the group. That was clearly too many times. 

“How about we turn this off for a bit, yeah?” John said, coming over to pick up the remote. 

“No, don't touch it!” I shrieked, grabbing the remote from him. John jumped back like a wild animal snapped their jaws at him. “I’ve had a bad week and I'm still out of work because the building is old and hasn’t been kept properly for so long and they’re finding more things to fix. . .”

“You’re sad about work?” Kyle asked, coming closer, putting his arm around me. His rainy, earthy scent swirled around me, calming my tense muscles. John shot him a dirty look, but didn’t say anything. 

“Not really. I mean, I haven’t taken a vacation in nearly 6 years because I love it. So a break is nice, but I tried to go mattress shopping this week and I felt weird every time I tried one and the last store I was at had my ex-boyfriend, Dirk, with his new girlfriend buying a writing desk,” I said, getting choked up. “We were making a library in our house and that was the last piece. Then I caught him in bed with his new girlfriend and now I’m just a loser in a big, empty house with no mattress who watched Titanic over 15 times!”

“It’s okay. We all go through bouts of bad luck,” Kyle said, rubbing my arms.

“But this isn’t bad luck!” I cried, pulling away to look at them. “I’m cursed! It has to be it! I was with Dirk for nearly 5 years and we didn’t canoodle once! We were planning on starting a radish farm in the countryside and raise sheep as a side project! Then right after I got my promotion, my boss gave me a whole gift basket of knick knacks, because she knows I love knick knacks, the same day I came home to find Dirk in bed with our neighbor! Then I had to sleep on the couch and listen to them boink till I moved in here, leaving behind so much stuff because I just wanted out of there, and then he finishes our projects with HER!? That’s being cursed.”

“How much stuff?” Simon asked, breaking the awkward/stunned silence. 

“Like, I sold a lot when I moved in, but the bigger stuff was mine. The TV, the sectional, the bar cart, all the plants-”

“Suffice to say, you still have a lot over there, yeah?” John said, cutting me off. I nodded with a sigh, wiping my face with the sleeve of my fuzzy bathrobe that probably needed to be washed. I hadn’t showered or changed all weekend, having doused myself in deodorant and dry shampoo to make it through the day only to have it backfire when the pipe burst and drenched my clothes. So back into depression pants it was. 

“Right then, looks like we have a mission, boys,” John said. “Gaz, get us a decent sized moving truck, Soap and Ghost, move all our shite out and clear the areas.”

“What about me?” I asked, looking at him with big eyes, full of confusion. 

“You have the most important job of all, Love,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder. Warmth bloomed in my chest as he looked at me with a soft smile. “Go take a shower.”

Well then. 

“Are we not going to touch that she said ‘boink’ and ‘canoodle’?” Simon asked.

~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~

After a shower, with Soap coming in to make sure I didn’t still smell sad several times, I was deemed fit to join the mission of getting my stuff back. Kyle had found a moving truck easily with the day going late, so he and Simon rode together while John, Soap, and I rode in Soap’s jeep. “Is this the place?” Soap asked as we pulled up in front of the cottage like home that used to be mine. 

“Yeah,” I said with a soft whine. “I mean, maybe we should come back tomorrow. He might not be home and I don’t want to walk in on him and her doing the horizontal tango again.”

“Listen,” John said, turning in the front seat to look at me. “You can’t just ignore things and let people walk all over you. You need to stand up to him and take back what’s yours. It isn’t right that he keeps so much while you just accept the bare minimum. Especially if it was yours to begin with.”

“It’s okay to take up space and speak up to keep that space,” Soap said, turning to look at me as well. “You’ve got back up in this, too. We won’t let him walk over you.”

“Really?” I asked, looking at them. 

“Really,” Soap said with a nod.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I said, letting out a big breath. Stepping out of the jeep, I led the two men to the front door. Knocking quietly, I waited only a second before turning around. “Okay, he’s not home, let’s go.”

“No, you are going to stand your ground, Lass,” Soap said, catching me before I could even walk away. “You’ve got this.”

“And we’ve got you,” John said with a firm nod. 

After nodding and taking another deep breath, I turned back around to knock louder on the door. 

“Maybe a bit more ‘umph’ if ya could,” Soap said. Raising my hand, I slammed it down on the door as hard as I could three times. “Jesus, taking the door off its hinges,” he snickered. 

It did the trick though, Dirk opened the door with a very bewildered look on his face to see me and two men of different heights, but equally big muscles. Dirk himself was tall, almost 6’7”, and had shoulder length brown hair that he kept up in a bun. He had recently shaved off the beard he’d been growing since we started dating as well, giving his once round face a more sharp angle.

“Peaches?” He said, looking at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I want my stuff back, Dirk,” I said, but my tone made it a request rather than a statement. “All of it.”

“What do you mean? You took all your stuff with you,” he said. In true Dirk fashion, he was trying to gaslight me and the others. I knew that most of the stuff in the house was mine and so did he, but he had made sure everyone knew it was ‘ours’ when they came to visit. 

“No, I still have stuff here. My pictures, my decorations, my sectional and tv and appliances-”

“Look, I know you think you need that stuff, but you don’t. You’re good without it. Otherwise you would have taken it with you from the start,” Dirk said, giving me a soft smile. One that used to make me melt as he pulled so much nonsense right in front of me. 

“Or, she didn’t have help to move it, so that’s why we’re here,” Soap said. “So, if you’d let us in to grab her stuff and go, that would be grand.”

“Whoa, whoa. I can’t just let you in here to take what you want,” Dirk said, holding up his hands. “I’ve got my stuff too and for all I know she could say it’s hers when it’s not. Obviously you’d believe her over me, so I can’t risk that. Look, Peaches, you can come back without these guys and I’ll help you get your stuff tomorrow, okay? I’m kind of busy and can’t stop what I’m doing.”

“Dirk, what’s going on?” A voice called. Walking out from the old office, the yoga teacher looked confused. She was in leggings and a sports bra, covered in paint. 

“Nothing, Darling, go back to painting,” Dirk said with a dismissive chuckle. “So, how about after 3PM, hmm?”

Seeing the Yoga Teacher in her outfit, covered in pea green paint, and knowing she was painting over the Italian Vista Yellow of the Library that I had done triggered me. Dirk had clearly replaced me with ease and he was replacing everything I had done without a second thought.

“Dirk, give me back my stuff,” I snapped, looking up at him with a fury. 

“Look, Peaches-”

“Shut up! I’m taking my stuff back and if you try to stop me I will bite you!” I growled. “Now move your stupid lanky, Jack Skellington body before I make good on my promise.” 

“Whoa! Pe-”

“Stop calling me Peaches! That’s not my name and I don’t even like the fruit that much!” I snapped, pushing him aside. “Come on in guys. I don’t want to stay too long and get the smell of lies on everything.”

“I don’t know about that, but okay,” Soap snorted as he and John came in. Everytime Dirk tried to interrupt, I’d snap at him about how I kept all the receipts for everything big I bought and I did indeed own it. Yoga Teacher had left promptly, telling Dirk she’d be back later. Simon and Kyle were quick to help as well, Dirk giving Simon a weird look after telling him to go ahead and come in. Simon had cracked his neck and while I couldn’t see it behind his mask, I could tell he had a wide grin underneath. 

It took maybe an hour to get everything from the sofa to the tv to the dining room table and all my small stuff. Once it was packed up, Dirk stood at the threshold of his home with his arms crossed while glaring at me. Soap just flipped him off while blowing a raspberry as we drove home. 

Unloading was just as easy, the guys carrying everything inside quickly without even breaking a sweat. I knew active military people kept fit, but this was even a feat for them. 

“Looks good,” Kyle said, seeing how everything seemed to magically match the house. Gone were the torn and taped furniture and in was the almost new items that really spruced up the home. 

“Thanks,” I said, looking at them. “All of you for everything. I thought that I would be miserable for a much longer time than I was.”

“You’re welcome,” Soap said, ruffling my hair again. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped at the display of affection. It felt nice. 

“One problem,” Simon said from the sofa, having turned on the TV. “You still don’t have a bed.”

“Damn it.”

~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~

“Are you sure you’re okay with sharing your bed with me?” I asked John after grabbing some of my own blankets. 

“Of course,” he said, opening the door to his room. Like Soap’s, it was clean and orderly. Everything in its place. He had bookshelves full of paperbacks and hardbacks that lined one wall, a desk that looked like it belonged to a lord or duke that was huge and had intricate carvings on it, and his bed was huge. I figured it would be a queen like Soaps, but it was a king with the softest, silkiest sheets I’d ever felt. The blankets were light and the pillows fluffy. It was going to be a dream come true to sleep there. “Make yourself comfortable on the bed. I’m going to take a quick shower then join you,” he said, giving me a smile before disappearing into his bathroom.

Soap wanted his own bed and while I would have been fine sharing with him, the look Simon gave me was warning enough. Kyle made an excuse that he was cleaning his room and didn’t want guests over, so that left me with Price. I didn’t mind so long as he didn’t. Pulling back the covers of his bed, I made a small nest to give us a barrier of sorts. It felt polite to designate our spaces given we barely knew each other. 

Comfortable and laying in bed, I closed my eyes as the sounds of John’s shower lulled me to sleep. But like last time I tried to sleep when the boys were home, I jerked awake like I was either going to be grabbed or about to fall. Sucking in a breath through my nose, I looked around to find it had only been about 10 minutes since I laid down. John was coming out of the bathroom in just a towel to see me sitting in bed, looking around in a slight panic. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, coming over to my side of the bed.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I was asleep and then I just. . . I don’t know. I woke up suddenly. . .”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, sitting next to me. Looking at him, it didn’t even occur to me that he had just a towel on. I was distracted. His body was built and toned, but nothing like a body builder. Short curls covered his chest and trailed down his belly, his legs and arms having a generous amount as well. While I got that with a glance, it was two large, dark scars that ran down either side of his spine from the middle of his shoulders to the middle of his back that drew my attention.

“Had surgery on my back,” he said, pulling my attention from the marks. “I fell out of a helicopter about 5 years ago and broke my back as well as my pelvis. It took nearly 15 hours of surgery to put me back together after getting med-evaced out of there.”

“Wow,” I said softly, worrying my blankets between my fingers. “It doesn’t hurt at all now?”

“No, not really. I forget they’re there since I never see them,” he said with a soft chuckle. “There’s much smaller ones too, we all have them.”

“Is that why Simon wears a mask?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, nodding. “Poor guy would get more stares if he didn’t wear it and he hates attention as is.”

“I’m sorry you were put in a position to get them. I know it’s naive and childish, but if only we could all get along,” I said.

“The world would be much better off,” he nodded. “I’m really proud of you today. That took a lot of guts. From just the small interaction we had with that prick, I understand why you wouldn’t want to confront him.”

“Thanks,” I said, chuckling. “I had help, but I’m glad I did it too. Not sure what I would have done without you guys.”

“Still be watching Titanic, I’d say,” John snorted. Scoffing, I nudged him with my foot as I rolled my eyes. 

“It’s a good movie and pretty stinkin’ accurate,” I said.

“Eh, it has its moments. I don’t remember the third class passengers being locked behind doors, but Guggenheim was pretty spot on,” John said, holding my foot to absentmindedly rub it. 

“You think? I mean, no one can say for sure about the doors or Guggenheim, but they tried to stay true to it and made it a lot more. . . Real, ya know?” I said, relaxing as he worked his way up my ankle with warm fingers pushing and working my tired muscles. 

“No one ever thought it had really split besides a few of the survivors that said so, but then again, who listens to us?” He said.

“‘Us?’ Look, I know you’re in your late 30’s but you’re nowhere near old enough to have been on the Titanic. My great-grandmother, maybe, but you’re not even regular old,” I said. “You’re barely middle-aged. Then again, I heard we’re getting quarter life crises now.”

“Thank you,” John laughed. “For not calling me old. But you don’t know. I could be an immortal demon that just likes to spend time with humans because they’re so fascinating.”

“Well, you’re an especially nice demon, if I say so myself,” I said, smiling as he switched feet. 

“Don’t tell the others, they’ll start using it against me,” he said with a wink. 

“Oh, I think they know already,” I giggled. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. They know how to twist my arm to get what they want,” he said. “Okay, lay on your front.” Setting my leg down, he patted my thigh to encourage me to listen. I didn’t ask or bother trying to. Doing as I was told, I moved to lay on my belly with a pillow tucked under my head with my arms curled around it. 

John moved, straddling my rear before pushing my sleep shirt up. Before I could protest, his fingers were digging and rubbing into my tense back. My words died on my lips as a moan came out instead. 

“Looks like I found the right spot,” John hummed as he kept working that spot, earning more noises between whines and hisses and grunts till the knot was gone and he moved on to the next. It felt amazing and painful as he worked my body into submission. By the time he was done, I was goo beneath him. 

“That felt good,” I mumbled into the pillow, feeling like I was in no way going to be able to move. John must have known his powers as he moved me over a bit and tucked me in. He left me for a few moments before coming back in pajama pants and a tee. “Were you just naked on top of me?” I asked.

“Is that a problem?” He asked, climbing into bed next to me.

“No, just an observation,” I said, finally falling asleep and staying asleep. 

Instead of jerking awake, I had dreams filled with debauchery that would make Benjamin Franklin blush. All of it was with John, too, which made waking up to find a mess of arousal in my pants all the more embarrassing. John was already up and out of bed by the time I was sitting up, luckily, so I went ahead to shower then get breakfast. By the time I came back with a coffee and bagel, John was busy in my room.

He had found a bed frame in the basement that he said was perfect for me. It was a canopy bed made from wood with a dark finish and gauzy lavender curtains. 

“I didn’t even know that I had this,” he said, showing me after setting it up. “It’s a king size, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate the space.” John had also pulled up a matching dresser and side tables as well. “It doesn’t go with the paint job, but you could do that in your own time.”

“It’s wonderful, thank you,” I said, turning to hug him tightly. He tensed for a moment before relaxing. That heat I had felt before came back, settling heavily as he held me. 

“You’re welcome,” he said softly into my hair. Pulling away, feeling drawn to him still, I had to look away or I’d stay there longer. Soap and Kyle were waiting on me and I couldn’t put it off any longer. “You better go before they start hunting for you. I’ll unpack these few boxes for you and set them on your dresser and nightstand for you to place where you want later.”

“Thanks, again, John,” I said with a nod. “I really do appreciate this.” He turned to give me a smile before waving. Waving back slightly, I hurried down the stairs to where the two men were waiting on me.

“Someone looks flushed,” Kyle purred with a smirk. 

“What? No, I just ran down stairs, shut up weirdo, let’s go get me a mattress,” I said, waving him off before walking outside. Were my cheeks red? I didn’t think there was much to it. It was just a HUG for crying out loud. I didn’t need or want to like my roommates like that. Eugh. 

“So what size of mattress do you need for your new bed frame?” Soap asked as he drove. 

“John said it was a king size,” I said, looking at my bank account. Which did not look good. I was paid for the first week off, but the second week was going to be paid as if I worked half days. “Which I’m now regretting that I said yes to. I was ready to buy a full size mattress. It’s just me in it so it didn’t need to be big. Heck, I was going to go for a twin.”

“You are not getting a twin bed,” Kyle said. “They are for children and grannies, of which you are neither. A full size is okay under circumstance, but you need at least a queen bed. Also, because Price put together the bed frame already, you have to get a king size. He won’t take it down and won’t let any of us touch it.”

“I know, I feel bad, but a king size is going to be over a thousand pounds and I don’t have that kind of money,” I said with a sigh. I hated letting people know that I didn’t have much. It felt weird and embarrassing. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll buy it for you,” Soap said. 

“Wait, what? No, you can’t. I won’t let you?” I said, confused because he was so calm about it. 

“Think of it as payment for your stuff replacing our old stuff,” Soap said with a shrug. That made sense. Pulling into the parking lot, it wasn’t long before we were looking at a sea of mattresses and all of them looked the same. 

“Okay, so where should we start?” Kyle asked. I sighed and shrugged, but then Soap took the lead. Pulling me over by the arm, he picked me up like a doll and tossed me onto the bed as I yelped. “Not what I meant, but that works.”

“What the heck, Soap!?” I cried, bouncing on the bed. 

“Is it comfortable?” He asked, hopping onto next to me.

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Then on to the next one,” he said, dragging me off the mattress. Each mattress I tried, I was thrown on by Soap like a dog tossing his toy in the air to catch. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, clawing myself away from Soap. “If you throw me again, I will barf on you.”

“Duly noted,” he said as he sat up. “So, did you really spend 5 years with your ex and not have sex?”

“Why? Why are you bringing this up?” I asked, looking at him wide eyed. 

“Well, it’s curious, is all,” he said with a shrug. “You slept in the same bed, but never did anything? Not even hands?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I said, standing up to go to another mattress. 

“Hen, wait,” he called, hopping up to follow me. “It’s just. . . He slept with your neighbor, but never with you and he lived with you. That’s odd.”

“Okay, I get it, I’m weird for not sleeping with my live-in boyfriend,” I huffed at him.

“No, I meant that was odd for him,” Soap said. “You didn’t suddenly find yourself wanting to fuck someone after years of celibacy. It’s weird for him.”

“Okay, so you think something else happened?” I asked, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Well, you said your boss gave you knick knacks and then everything went to shite,” Soap said. “It sounds like a curse to me.”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you there. Curses aren’t real, I was being dramatic,” I said. “My ex just decided he was over manipulating me and doing what he wanted while using me.”

“Did he ever do anything like that before?” Soap asked. “I mean, anything out of character that suddenly?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned. “I don’t think so. Johnny, what’s the deal with this line of questioning? It’s not a mystery to be solved. Dirk was a narcissist that was using me and made it so I didn’t see his intentions. That’s it.”

“I don’t think it is,” he said, shaking his head. “You said you went back to work and had to leave the same day? What are they renovating?” 

“This is getting a bit weird for my taste, so let’s get back to mattress shopping,” I said, turning away quickly. The way he was pushing for something made my stomach twist. There wasn’t a grand conspiracy going on. It was just stupid things happening at the worst times. 

It was another half hour before I found the bed I wanted. It was comfy and cozy and until I broke it in, I could put a pillow topper on it. With the purchase made then loaded up, we went home. Soap and Kyle were quick to move the pieces in before we realized I didn’t have any sheets. Of course. 

“I’m just going to run down to the shops and grab some. I really want to sleep in my own bed tonight with my own pillows and covers,” I said. 

“Here, take the jeep,” Soap said, tossing me the keys. 

“Thanks,” I said, catching them. 15 minutes later I was browsing through the home goods store, trying to decide what colors I wanted. While browsing, my mind began to wander as Soap’s words came back to me. Curses weren’t real. They were just made up like fairy tales to keep people from messing around with dead things and not to be awful to each other. But he was right. Dirk had changed that day I got my promotion. We hadn’t been intimate because he wanted to have a slightly old fashioned relationship. I didn’t mind because I didn’t really think about that stuff because I was usually so busy with work. 

He was still the bad guy, his gaslighting had been happening since we met and it wasn’t like his cheating was out of the blue. I had thought he’d been seeing someone else before, catching him kissing a girl from his work. He explained it away as they were in a play, which made no sense as he worked as a salesperson for compost. Soap’s words shouldn’t have been eating at me so much, but maybe he was right. Maybe I was cursed and I needed true love’s kiss or something to break it. Except, no one loved me and I didn’t love anyone. Not like that at least. That connection with someone where you can almost read their thoughts, that you can feel what they feel, and while sometimes you fight, it doesn’t tear you apart. It brings you closer. 

No. I didn’t have that and I was starting to think I never would. 

Just as I was about to grab the purple jersey sheets, lost in my thoughts, my hand landed on someone else’s. 

“Oh, sorry,” I said as I pulled away. Looking to the right, a man with sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes had reached for the same set of sheets.

“Oh, no, go right ahead,” he said, his voice dripping with a Southern American accent. Chuckling, he stepped back to wave me on. “Sorry about that, I didn't realize someone else was grabbing for the same set.”

“Sorry, I was in my own little world, but thanks,” I said, taking the sheets to put in my trolley. “You don’t really strike me as a purple guy.”

“I’m usually not, but I was wanting to branch out a bit and, well, I need some new sheets anyways,” he said. “I’m Phillip, by the way.”

“Hi,” I said, giving him my name. “You don’t really get many Americans around here.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” he said, nodding. “Are you a local?”

“I moved here a while ago, so I’m basically a local now,” I said. “How long have you been here?” 

“Not long. A few months really,” he said, leaning against his trolly. “I’m with the military and so I’m used to moving every few years.”

“Oh? My roommates are military too,” I said. “I have no idea what they do or what their ranks are, but they’re in the British military.”

“You don’t say? You wouldn’t happen to at least know their names, do you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Uh, John, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon,” I said, a little perplexed. Maybe Phillip worked with them recently or they worked together in the past.

“That wouldn’t be John Price, Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish, and Simon Riley, would it?” He asked, coming closer as he kept his eyes locked with mine.

“Wait, yeah. Do you know them?” I asked. My stomach began to twist again, like it did with Soap before. Something in my brain was telling me to run away, throw things at him and get out of there as quickly as possible. The air around us didn’t feel right, It was suddenly stagnant and warm versus the cool and moving with the fans on. 

“I sure do,” he said before my phone went off. It was John. Phillip’s eyes finally left mine to look at my phone in my hand with a smirk. “You should probably answer that.” Frowning, I answered it as I stood there with Phillip. 

“John?” I answered, my voice shaking as I looked back up at the blond. Phillip stepped closer, cornering me to keep me from slipping past him.

“You need to get home, NOW,” John said. “I pulled out all your things and set them up like I said, but there’s something wrong. Something is very wrong.” He sounded agitated, almost out of breath like something had chased him. 

“John, I think you’re right,” I said. He paused, hearing the tremble in my voice

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, the call getting staticy. 

“I don’t know,” I said. Phillip sighed, holding his hand out for my phone, gesturing for me to give it to him. “John.” My back hit the wall of items, a few of them fell, but that was the least of my problems.

“What’s wrong?” He asked again, firmer.

“Do you know Phillip Graves?” I asked. John cursed as Phillip rolled his eyes, yanking my phone away. “John!”

“Hello, John, it’s been a while,” the man cooed. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, turning to look for help. It hadn’t been that long since I was in the store and it wasn’t nearly closing time, but the entire store was empty save for me and Phillip. Even the employees were gone. “You know what we want. It’s an easy decision to make and I’ll make it even easier on you.”

“What?” I said, looking around again, seeing the windows blacked out. It had been bright with sunlight not five minutes ago. “John!” I cried, getting scared. Turning back to Phillip, he didn’t look the same. His eyes glowed red as black smoke rippled off of him. Screaming, I tried to rush past him, but he easily tripped me to send me to the ground. I didn’t have time to scramble as strong, smoking hands pulled me to my feet. 

“Don’t hurt her,” Phillip said, his skin turning a pale, purple color. “Not yet at least. The ball’s in your court, John. I just hope your new roommate doesn’t mind being killed over a rock. I mean, you’ve let dozens of other people die over this, so what’s one more, hmm? You know where to find me when you’re ready to hand it over. Buh-bye,” he said in a sing-song voice before hanging up. “Now, let’s go have some fun.”

Masterlist

New Witch in Town Masterlist

Next>>>

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @ghosts-cyphera

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[partiallysame]

Being Price’s lil wife

-Task force 141 knew Price was married. Man wore his ring religiously, always putting it back on the second they were in the helicopter/plane/whatever after each mission

-He’d come to work with a lunch packed with a cute lil heart note

-To be honest they all assumed you were the same age as Price (old) He always said he’d been “married for years” (3)

-They never knew your name, Price only ever referred to you as The Missus

-Gaz swore Price had a photo of you in his wallet (he did) but they never knew what you looked like untilllllllll

-You called your husband simply to complain. The AC had gone out and the repair man wouldn't be able to get there for a couple days. No no this simply would not do, his perfect lil lady could not be uncomfortable in her own home he wouldn’t have it but fuck he’s out of the country for a few more days. His team however is not and while stupid, they do know how to do maintenance work (why? Just because.)

-He called his team for a very important mission. Gave them the address, accompanied with “I don’t want to hear a fucking thing about you causing any trouble or being disrespectful to the Missus you hear?” The boys were absolutely giddy to finally see the ever so important Missus.

-The second you opened the door Soap was apologizing for having the wrong house and oh so politely asked if you knew where the Price household was. This had to be the wrong one because there you stood, pretty young thing, big doe eyes. Standing in just a big shirt ending at the very tops of your thighs, lashes batting at the three soldiers standing at your door.

-“You’ve got the right place. John told me you were coming, please come in.” You had to hold in a giggle, watching all of their eyes go wide. Gaz immediately looking at the sky, the floor, anywhere but the wife of his captain that he was just undressing with his eyes.

-When you turned to guide them into the house they all saw PRICE printed on the back of the large tshirt just barely covering your ass (this is your own home pants are never required and its hot as hell without the ac). Now it was Ghost’s turn to look anywhere but at you.

-As they worked you’d bring them water or snacks. They now understood why Price kept you hidden from them. The perfect lil housewife. The woman of all of their dreams already taken.

-When they were finished they went to the kitchen to inform you they were done only to find a full meal set on the table waiting for them but worst of all? There you were reaching up to the top cabinet. On your tippy toes, your shirt (Price’s shirt) riding up enough to expose the bottom of your ass and lacey pink panties. Soap had to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. Ghost grabbing the tops of his teammates heads, turning them away from the incredible sight in front of them.

-Price was right to keep you hidden from them

-They might just have to sneak in and break something every time Price was out of town if it meant this is what they got to see.

Price's lil wife Masterlist

[kkusuka]

this is in the "141 and john price's wife" universe. still gn pronouns. i also don't think price texts that much- old man syndrome.

the 141 absolutely have a group chat dedicated to pictures and information (porn) about their little wife.

it starts, as many silly things do, with johnny and a picture of you asleep on the couch. cuddled into the armrest covered in the tortilla blanket he'd gotten you as a gag gift, and it was just too good not to share. (although he only sent one of the thirty he actually took, he's gotta keep as much of you to himself as he can.)

then it was kyle with you in the yard, laying in the grass after cutting down branches in the sweltering heat (something john would never let you do if he'd know about it, but he appreciates the flush of your cheeks and the angle of the photo makes it seem as if you were under him doing another strenuous activity.)

and it continues like that for months, cute little pictures of you gardening with price, walking with simon, watching tv between kyle and johnny- just sharing the daily life of their pretty bird.

but the real nature of the group chat doesn’t start until simon sends a picture of you bent over, putting something in the oven, in the tiny, red daisy duke shorts that are only just long enough to be considered inappropriate for the public.

sr: fuckin' lucky that shit only takes 10 minutes to cook or we'd be in the kitchen all day.

soap: fuuuuuuuuckin' hell

kyle: don't rub it in simon, we'll be home in two days

sr: don't worry, i'll warm 'em up for you

price: Behave yourselves.

and it all just unravels from there.

john's the next culprit. he has loads and loads of less than decent pictures of you, perks of being the first husband, but he's not reaching into the stash for this one. he has a point to make: if anyone's getting off to pictures of his wife, he's gonna be the one sending them.

it's barely two hours after the other three left that something is sent into the chat. face down, ass up, cunt dripping with cum as price uses his thumb to keep your pussy open to the camera, the rest of his hand palm down on your ass, the ring on his finger glistening in the flash.

sr: fuckin' filthy captain

soap: BRING ME BACK, PUT ME IN CAPTAIN

kyle: tell 'em i said thank you

it's not surprising that the minute he comes back, johnny's on you. methodically placing the camera, making sure it captures all of you and his face buried between your thighs. it wasn't the first video sent into the chat but it's definitely one of the best ones.

your head thrown back, hands in his hair, gripping what you can so you can grind your pussy on his tongue. his phone is just close enough to hear your small pants and groans as he sucks on your swollen clit.

soap: i could spend the rest of my life right there

sr: you let 'em fuck yer face like that?

soap: lt i'd let 'em gag me

soap: then step on my dick

soap: then leave me on the floor to rot

*kyle, price, and sr disliked three messages*

soap: like you fuckers wouldn't

and kyle is not a man to be left out, but he is also not as keen on sharing his private time with you as johnny is. so there aren't videos coming from him, instead he has 4k close ups of your tits after he spent almost an hour sucking hickeys into every part of your chest he could reach.

and kyle is like an artist, he makes sure your hair is splayed out perfectly, and that you're just fucked out enough to give him a bright smile. he also makes sure that the locket they gave you, the one that's has their names engraved on the inside, sits perfectly above the swell of your boobs. and goddamn is he proud of his pictures. (it's not hard for you to look pretty in pictures because you're already pretty but kyle thinks he's the best at actually capturing it).

soap: another two things i would put my face between until i suffocate

*sr, price, and kyle disliked a message*

soap: go fuck urselves

and simon is just mean, fingers peaking under your panties, finding your clit just to sit there, finger pressed on your bud, only moving for a few seconds before falling still again; his other hand hold your hips down so you can't do anything but wait for him to move again. and he does it the entire length of the manchester game until your panties are completely soaked through.

soap: stone cold, lt. stone cold.

but before he can do anything, he has to take his picture so the other fools can remember what a whore you are for him. and because it's between games he'll let you sit on his dick and grind into him during commercial breaks. maybe he'll even film in and send it to the guys, let them see you drip all over his lap whole stretching to fit him in your cunt.

but whether his team loses or wins, he'll flip you over and fuck you into the couch cushions, so at least you get that!

then they're all away on a mission, and you know about their little chat (it's hard not to when suddenly they have a camera out every time you're in their vicinity.) so you take it upon yourself to give them their fix. and why not play around with them well you're ar it?

it starts when you go shopping merely three days after they left. they tear up your bras and underwear so obviously you would need to buy more eventually. but usually when you go shopping one of them is with you to share their opinions, but since they're away, you just have to send pictures instead!

a whole catalog, in facts. you've got angles, dressing room lighting, and a whole lot of time on your hands.

*you sent 22 photos to 'the bird house'*

you: i can't choose :(((

you: help me out?

kyle: give me 6 hours to fly home and i'll help you with anything

price: Looks great. But I can't tell from the pictures, you'll have to try them all on again when I get home.

soap: licking the screen isn't working, captain i think i need to go home.

*sr saved 22 photos to Camera Roll*

kyle: smooth riley, real smooth.

and of course it doesn't end there. you have a chance to torture them a little bit with zero consequences and you're going to take it.

but it takes a while for you to send videos, usually you send  your outfits, or the tiny bathing suit top you wear while tanning, even one of you in the kitchen in nothing but your tiny apron. (it's the only one that john does not appreciate, popping a boner between briefings as a captain is not hie proudest moment.)

but as the months go longer and longer, you get more and more desperate. your toys are reserved for times like this, a small bullet vibrator and a thick 8-inch dildo. it's nowhere near as nice as fucking your men but it'll have to do for the time being.

and you know them being away is not their fault and they'd be home in an instant if they could choose to be; but if you have to deal with your pent-upness, so do they.

so you set up your phone, leaning it on the lamp that sits on your bedside table, so it captures your entire body, covered only by sheer light-blue lingerie and your locket, as you sink down the length of your dildo, vibrator pressed to your clit. you send four different videos, one for each of them, in the order they came into your life (you think it's cute, they're one picture away from firebombing the whole country they're in and flying home).

you: just something to hold you over until you get back!

kyle: so good for us babe.

soap: yer evil bonnie.

soap: my arm can't keep up with this

sr: birdie thinks it's real funny now

you: i do

sr: not gonna be so funny when we get home, yeah? might have to give you a refresher about what happens teasing birds.

price: 6:30am tomorrow, get everything you need in order because you aren't moving for the foreseeable future.

*you loved a message*

[skyrigel]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[quarterlifekitty]

One thing that makes me go feral is when in the middle of fucking, one person gets overstimulated and tries to crawl and squirm away from the overstimulation, and the other person drags them back by the hips like "Where do you think you're going?" 😩 which of the guys do you think is most likely to do this?

(Can you tell I'm ovulating... 🫣)

ALL

cw: daddy kink adjacent stuff for Nik, as per usual. Just a hint of aggression, and marking dubcon just in case

Gaz is literally so sweet about it. Like you’re a little kitten about to walk off the edge of a table and he’s just redirecting you. “No, no, love— this way,” he coos as he puts his hand beneath your hips to cup you and pull you back.

Soap is about to lose his mind, it’s so hot to him— “Ah’m just givin’ it tae ye so good, huh, bonnie? Cannae take it anymore? Too bad,” he tuts, his fingers sunken into your soft flesh as he pins your kicking legs and tugs hard.

Ghost reacts with some real aggression. He’s not mad at you— he’s mad at the idea. The concept of you being separated from him. He’s bruising and yanking your body, manhandling you under his weight. “Don’t fuckin’ run from me, birdie— don’ wanna know what’ll happen if’m pulled outta this cunt—“

Price can’t help but smile. Such a sensitive little thing. “If you’re already in this state— doesn’t bode well for the rest of your night, darl’— cause I ain’t near finished with you.” He’s prepared to wait upon you like you’re his ailing, bedridden queen suffering from the consumption tomorrow, cause you’ll have about as much energy left when he’s done.

König is holding you too tight to let you even begin to squirm away— he can just feel the tense and strain of your muscles against his hands. It makes him kiss you as deep as he can manage— he just thinks it’s so cute, like you’re a little moth with wings beating against his cupped palms.

Nikolai laughs. He laughs at you. You’re just so silly— thinking papochka will show you mercy. He’s not a merciful man, malýshka. He’d best remind you of that— not that you’ll ever really learn. He wouldn’t want you to, really. He likes playing this little game with you. It’s like ballroom dancing to him— very romantic and sweet.

[softaestluv]

next | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Something, something, about the 141 men all being quite obsessed with you, placing bets who could get you first— everyone thinks it’s Kyle, he’s charming, handsome, who wouldn’t swoon at his feet?

Maybe even Johnny, he’s a bit of a dog, but he has a way with women, by some miracle, and he’s smart, maybe it’s his blue eyes.

No one thought it would be Simon, their lieutenant, of all people, anti-social, rough around every edge. A brute, curt, wears a skull.

Then one day, they get a message in the group chat from Simon, a picture attached. Kyle can’t believe it, Price, the dirty old man, saves it to his phone instantly, Johnny has to do a spit-take because there in the photo is you.

But it’s not just you.

It’s you perched on Simon’s lap.

Naked from the head down, back facing the camera, with your face buried in Simon’s neck. Simon gets a low enough angle, gets a perfect view of your pussy, stretched wide over his fat cock. Puffy and swollen, glistening with your sopping arousal.

With a simple sentence:

‘Look who I found’

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[abusivegymrat]

Embarrassing things Ghost has gotten hard for before;

Warning(?): sometimes it’s okay to write about being the mc and the center of attention🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️😖😖 if i write it while cringing u will read it while cringing period. We love things that r hard to read.

1. You were in a briefing where you weren’t allowed phones, and when the other lieutenant on duty turned at you, you immediately took your phone and buried it between those thick delicious thighs. Bury his head, please.

2. When you dominated him in training, wrestled your way out from under him and kicked him face first onto the floor, stepping on his back. It felt like a foot job, tbh.

3. When you manhandled someone else. See, all the younger recruits are like siblings to you, especially women. You once saw one of them crying because she was “too heavy” for her man so you just picked her up and threw her over your shoulder. He felt saliva building up in his mouth when he saw the muscles in your arms ripple.

4. Whenever you get tasked to do a debrief, because he could watch you talk all day. And when he stares at you for too long, his mind wanders off into dangerous territory. Can’t help it.

5. Apparently fireman carried him away from fire when he was unconscious, Soap won’t shut his bitch ass up about it.

Meh sorry

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[pricetagged]

Please pretty please if someone wants to give me a Christmas gift I request one (1) of the following 💖 dark, mdni, implied dubcon/noncon.

Yulecat Gaz. He's a sinister, toothsome predator. A solstice spirit with just a touch of malice. He's smiling, of course, and so sorry, love - You've broken a rule that you didn't know exists, but ignorance does not grant pardon. And it's a death sentence. He should eat you right up, tear into the soft arch of your neck (gristle and blood and teeth) and suck at the marrow.

Except-

Except now that he's circling you, something slithers into his mind. He's a cat batting at a trembling mouse (cowering, timorous beastie) and it's just delicious. Lapping at your tears. Toying with you, letting you chase at hope before he snaps his teeth. Closes the cage.

You pay the toll in flesh, but not as first intended. Let him paw at you, lave his tongue along your spit-slick flesh until you're raw and aching.

It's mercy and it's punishment. He makes you thank him for his kindness; give offering to this benevolent creature of chaos and hunger. You spell out your gratitude (bitter, sour, desperate) letter by letter on your knees before him, claws nails and too-strong fingers keeping you in place (strong enough to dig in and rend you to pulp).

He coos at you as he wipes your tears, nails catching and drawing crimson as they follow the lacrimal tributaries cooling on your cheeks. Salt and iron dripping down, heady and fuck-

He's trembling more than you. Coiled tight from the strain of stifling his strength. It itches at his gums, his fingertips. Bite, rend, lacerate.

But that would be an ephemeral pleasure; a transient taste, all hot spray and cooling chunks. The thought is anathema. A malediction (isn't that funny, face stretching into a trenchant grin).

You're a meal he wants to savour.

_____________

In this universe I will also take one (1) hulking, mean krampus Simon; one (1) chaotic solstice spirit/Jack Frost Johnny; and one (1) disciplinarian "Santa" Price (they all work for him; he's the architect).

[thatgoblin]

141!MONSTER AU CARDS

Warnings: Blood, some gore, sexy stuff, skulls, Simon's is hella violent, Price's is hella sexy, Soap's is spooky, and Gaz is 'looks like a cinnamon roll, but could kill you.'

I've got more of it done. Hopefully, this weekend will be the first post of it!

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @lunarw0rks

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.

[partiallysame]

Price’s lil Wife Poly!141

Price’s rules for the boys

- work and home are separate. He can not stress this enough. No call signs used in the house. No ghost mask (told Simon this the very first time he met you. No mask. Not now. Not ever)

- soap used “gaz” once and price made him run laps around the neighborhood (the other housewives loved it)

- No talking about any mission any op. Complaining about recruits or higher ups was allowed. Only can talk about what happened on base.

- The missus was kind and pure and he would not let the type of work they do reach her

- When it came to what could and could not be done physically that was fully up to you “stop asking me. It’s her bloody body for christs sake” after the thousandth awkward “can I please fuck The Missus tonight 👉🏻👈🏻”

- If you wanted one of them one night? Just fine. All of them one night? Also fine

- In fact most things in this new relationship were completely up to you. If they stayed/lived in extra rooms, what they called you, how often and how they got to touch you

- Other than the No Work rule the only other thing Price (tried) to put his foot down on was “if she sends you a voice message. Don’t. Fucking. Open. It. In. Public” well that just seems weird now doesn’t it? No lil Mrs price was a lil tease and now she has more men to mess with????

- Only a week or so in to this whole thing Johnny was the first to get one and did he forget or just choose to ignore Price’s rule? The world may never know but he pressed play (full volume bc men always have their volume up for no reason) and the sweet sounds of you moaning his name played so fucking loud in the grocery store. The rest of the boys made the same mistake. Price tried to warn them, he really did.