#soap x you
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beloveds-embrace · 1 day ago
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noona. noon. any angsty thoughts to share for the duke au? 👁️ (i’m craving angst sorry)
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I DO!! Angst version of the au would be if you weren’t welcomed at all. Sure, no one is being flat out rude to you, no one is actively sabotaging you and John doesn’t hit or force you into anything.
But it’s lonely.
The maids barely touch you, as if disgusted they have to help and tend to the woman their Duke needed to and not wanted to marry, and the butlers are the same. Especially the head butler Garrick. You still don’t know his first name and he doesn’t seem inclined to tell you.
During the dinner… nights with John, you’ve started noticing that your food isn’t quite as well done as his? Less decorated, occasionally burnt or not cooked well, but you don’t want to cause any trouble so you remain silent and John never asks why you seem to eat so little.
You do also meet Duke Riley, the man that John is said to have an incredibly close friendship with, something born during his time servicing the kingdom. You’ve heard so much about him, from bad to good, and you wonder how he actually is.
In the end, you wish you hadn’t met him, too. The humiliation of being flat-out ignored in your own home while he speaks amicably with John…
So yes. Life as Duchess Price isn’t a happy one, but you are just glad you aren’t physically hurting.
But you do find solace in the only kindness your parents had bothered to show you before they gave you away; your personal knight, König. He is the only one to not treat you as such. He is the only one you can confide in, feel just a little bit of happiness and friendship with even if you haven’t even seen his face yet.
“I’m so tired,” you whisper to him one night, under the blanket of the night sky. You’d thrown a simple shawl over your shoulders, and hadn’t questioned it when he fell in steps behind you, always a protective shadow. Today had been hard. You had also decided to no longer dine with John, not too excited about the lackluster food and the stilted conversations. Cold maids, lonely night… you ached for something more.
You take in a shuddering breath, wrapping the shawl tighter around yourself. Konig stands right beside the bench you are sitting on, a familiar and comforting sight and presence. But tonight, it’s not enough. “I’m so tired, König.” You repeat, your voice cracking.
König simply stares at you for a while; you are used to it, used to everything about him. The mask, the accent, the unyielding body that is always keeping you safe. The quiet congestions you have had, during the days you lock yourself away in your office to ignore the loneliness and sadness plaguing you.
You aren’t used to seeing König bend down in front of you, holding his hands out until you place them in his. Familiar pale eyes peer up at you. Proper etiquette doesn’t matter to you in this moment; who will chastise you for the lack of it when this entire duchy holds only the most basic form of respect for you?
Even if they did, you would not let go of König, your confidant. Your knight.
“…What do you need, mylady?”
After a silent moment, you take in a deep breath and look back at him. “…I want… someone who loves me enough to be kind towards me. I want someone who loves me.”
König nods his head. With bated breath, you watch silently as he brings your hands forward, under his mask, to kiss each knuckle on your hands.
“I am your knight, mylady. I am your sword, and your shield. I, too, can be your lover if that is what you want, mylady. Whatever you desire, it is my duty to provide.” König breathes out against your skin, eyes not once flicking away, words not once breaking. He is fully devoted in his decision. “Will you allow me, mylady? The decision is your, always has been. I cannot take you away from this horrible place-“ not yet. “-but I can give you my love and devotion, just as I’ve always done. Will you allow me, mylady?”
And after everything you’ve been through, all the pain and loneliness and exclusion- you can’t say no.
“…Yes, König.”
(By the time John begins to realize that he may have misjudged you, once you find out the truth, it is already far too late for mending any bridges. There is no particular feeling when you look at him, or any of his men. You only ask that no one bothers your time alone with your shadow, your knight. It’s far too late for anything.)
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codnasties · 3 days ago
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https://x.com/HDPornVideoz/status/1807654648171385275?t=-FEv-ufTBrMgHdxgF9v-bw&s=19
ok but like soap and ghost sharing their little birdie, but still cant help kissing each other and sucking each other while lil birdie's just laying down and taking everything they give?? (im depraved)
ghoap sharing a lass 🧼👻 (🌽 link)
a girl gotta do what she gotta do, so if loneliness on a friday night gets the best of you and you need some companionship, what better place to look for it than the pub. have a few drinks and maybe try to find someone to spend the night with.
what you didn't expect when you entered the pub and sat on the bar was the two humongus dudes that you were now sat between, chatting with them and getting your drinks paid for. you had struck gold because those two looked like a damn good fuck.
so when the one with the mohawk, johnny he said was his name, took you to the bathroom, sat you on the sink and gave you the best head you've ever received in your life you knew you were in for a night.
and that's how you ended in your flat, overwhelmed by their musuclar bodies. the older one's - simon's - dick drilling into your pussy, while johnny jumped between making good use of your mouth and trying to eat your pussy. he sometimes got distratcted from the pretty lass that he had in front of him because sont even soap is immune to ghost's desirability, giving his hard cock a few fucks. or both of them passionately kissing eachother when both went to have a taste of your wet cunt. both their minisstrations and the view of these men being lewd with eachoted making you moan so loud you knew the next day some bitchass neighbour was going to come to complain.
you won't have to worry about loneliness anymore, because these dudes came into you your life to stay.
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machveil · 1 day ago
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Soap x reader x Ghost
( or just Johnny with anyone) he has oral fixation. Doesn't matter it's a cunt oflr a cock, tit or peck, fingers? Anything he can in anytime anywhere.
He might be sucking on his hoodie string if he's out of gums and idle, but in sex? He gets his partner(s) marked with hickeys and bites.
He's the one randomly biting his partner(s) during the day
if I could reach through the screen and kiss your cheek I would jesus christ
CW: Fem!Reader, Johnny has an oral fixation<3, ambiguous on the relationship dynamic - up to your interpretation, no condom, wrap it before you tap it, Johnny x Reader x Simon
Johnny likes to keep his mouth busy - when he isn’t talking he’s got something between his lips. I feel like Johnny was a notorious nail biter growing up. his mother definitely tried to make him stop but eventually gave up because he just kept doing it. he doesn’t bite his nails as much as an adult, but every once in a while he’ll chew and bite off the edge of his nails
Johnny has a thing for wearing hoodies. they’re big, warm, comfortable, and the laces for the hood are nice to chew on. he tends to wear black ones to the gym so you can’t tell the laces are coated in spit and drool as easily. he’s definitely borrowed a hoodie from Simon briefly only to return it with spit soaked laces. Simon didn’t even bat an eye, just shrugged it off and put it on. sometimes Simon gets a hoodie back and the sleeve cuffs have been chewed and slobbered on, but that never deters him from lending Johnny his clothes
Johnny will absentmindedly suck on your fingers while you’re lounging. when you’re cuddled together his mouth is latching onto you, anything his mouth can reach. he doesn’t even notice, eyes glued to tv as he uses your index and middle fingers as a pacifier, gently sucking on them and coating them in his warm saliva. he’s so comfortable against you when he does it, eyes half lidded and body limp - he doesn’t even register how he’s got your fingers down to the knuckle resting on his tongue
Simon’s neck is littered with hickeys, easily hidden behind his balaclava. Johnny can’t help himself, tucked against Simon’s side as he mouths at his throat. it’s nice, Simon’s got his arms around his waist - a nice, secure hold. his brain gets to turn off while he dumbly sucks on his skin, red marks blooming against Simon’s neck and shoulders. it soothes Johnny, lets his mind go somewhere else while he sucks another hickey against Simon’s neck, shifting closer with a small whine caught in his throat
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Johnny’s mouth is all yours to use, he’s begged for you to use it before. sometimes sucking and gnawing on items and clothes isn’t enough for him, he needs you. you can’t be upset with Johnny, not when he’s buried his head between your legs, lazily sucking on your clit. he’s solely focused on working his mouth, not aware of his stiff cock straining against his pants. he’s got your hips pushed down, ready to eat you out until he’s done. deaf to your whines and pleas, he’s moaning against your cunt as his eyes flutter shut
Johnny who’s kneeling on the floor, idly sucking on Simon’s fat cock. he’s got a rugby match on the tv, one hand in Johnny’s hair, the other cradling a beer bottle. Johnny’s more than content where he is, nose to Simon’s pelvis, jaw slack as he breathes out through his nose. the weight of his cock on Johnny’s tongue is so good, and Simon’s being nice - hips still and petting him, rough hand gently scratching at his scalp. Simon only thrusts a little when Johnny starts to nod off, eyes drooping shut and drool trailing down his chin
Johnny’s favorite thing? having to sit still, whining as he watches Simon mercilessly fuck you. Simon told him to be good, gave him two commands. “Open.”, Johnny was so eager to begin with, thought Simon was going to fuck his face, turn his brain to mush. he was wrong, but equally excited when Simon guided a dildo into his mouth, “Suck, Johnny.”. his heartbeat was rapid, ringing in his ears, whining as he did what he was told. Simon murmured a quick ‘good boy’, leaving Johnny to watch as he filled you. maybe it was mean, but it was doing something to the poor man, especially when he saw a trickle of white bead out of your slit
Simon knew what he was doing, had a plan going into this. watching you writhe beneath him, head dipping down to mark your neck up - leaving his own hickeys to match Johnny’s. he knows Johnny’s watching, the way his cock stretches you out, bullies it’s way in and out of you. absolutely filthy, his hips stuttering before he’s spilling into you. just a couple times, he forces his hips to buck again, fucking his cum into you, warmth spreading in your tummy as you cry out. Simon can hear the wet sucking behind him, doesn’t have to look to know Johnny has that dildo down his throat, eyes glossy and chin slick
Simon’s nice, lazily pulls out of you after his third orgasm. despite his exhaustion, the overstimulation he feels, he gets up. Johnny can’t help but whine when Simon slowly pulls the dildo from his mouth, teary eyes looking up at the Brit. his desperation is sated though, excitement coursing through his veins as Simon gently grabs his chin. “Good mutt.”, voice hoarse, Simon smiles down at him, “Go clean your toy up, yeah?”. Simon takes Johnny’s place, sitting down. dark brown eyes watching as Johnny settles between your legs, head dipping down to lap at your cunt as you hiccup
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nemo-writes · 24 hours ago
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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆
↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader
↣ chapter summary; finally awake, the pack must face the consequences of their unraveling—and the distance growing between them and the one they love the most.
★ warnings; memory loss, slight non-con elements, violence
☆ story masterlist
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Ghost jolted awake, his heart pounding and skin damp with sweat, his whole body aching with the telltale pain of staying too long in his wraith form. His mask is gone and he’s drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around him, as if he’d been thrashing in his sleep. As he blinked away the haze, he recognized the dim, familiar space of his own room—the one he reserved for moments when he needed to be alone, away from the pack.
“Easy there.” Gaz’s voice cuts through the silence, weary but grounded. He’s sitting in a chair by his side, leaning forward with a flask in hand, his face lined with exhaustion. He looks a mess, his usual spark dampened by something deeper, something heavy.
"Drink this," he murmurs, pressing the flask toward him. The bitter, herbal scent fills Ghost's nose, and he recoils. It’s not your tonic—the one you tailored just for him—but something improvised. The smell is close enough, familiar in a way that unsettles him further. Still he takes the flask, grimacing as he gulps down the harsh liquid in one go. It burns down his throat, sending a faint warmth through his limbs, dulling the ache, but only slightly.
“This isn’t the real thing,” he mutters, passing the flask back.
“It’s what we’ve got,” Gaz replies, a hint of dry bitterness in his voice. “Better than nothing.”
For a moment, silence fills the room, thick and stagnant. Frustration claws at Ghost, his mind churning with broken memories, fragments of something he can’t fully grasp. He clenches his fists, the memories slipping through his mind like sand.
“Talk to me,” he finally says, voice low and tight. “What’s been happening? Everything’s blurred, like I’ve been… trapped in a dream.” His eyes flash with frustration, sharp and intense.
Gaz looks away, rubbing the back of his neck as he struggles to find the words. He inhales deeply, the silence stretching before he finally speaks, his voice low and tired. “You… we’ve been off, mate. The whole pack has. Lost, distracted, like we’ve been… obsessed.” He laughs bitterly, as if the word doesn’t quite cover it. “You especially.”
“Leah,” Ghost breathes out, the name slipping past his lips as his hands clenched into fists, his mind swimming with half-formed images of her—her face, her touch, her scent. But it’s all fractured and wrong, impossible to hold onto.
“How long?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. “How long have we been… like this?”
Gaz shifts uncomfortably in his seat, not meeting his gaze. “Weeks,” he admits. “Weeks of us barely recognizing ourselves. We neglected the house, each other, our own bloody lives.”
Ghost tries to stand, only for his body to betray him, a sharp pain shooting up his legs. “And you’re only telling me now?” he snaps, anger flaring up. “We’ve been falling apart, and you didn’t think to snap me out of it sooner?”
Gaz flinches but holds his ground, meeting his pack-mates' gaze with determination. “You weren’t exactly listening, Simon. None of us were. Tried everything I could—potions, wards, even talking sense into you, but you wouldn’t hear a word against her. And then, it got to me too....”
Ghost lets out a frustrated growl. And then, as if reganing some of his long-forgotten sense, he thinks of you.
“We need to see her. Talk to her. Find out what’s happening.”
Gaz knows exactly who he’s talking about, his heart and mind in sync with his.
“We haven’t seen her in days.” Gaz laments, hand rubbing his face in desperation. “Her phone’s disconnected, and I’ve been taking care of you while Price went to look for Johnny.”
“Are they okay?” Ghost cuts him off again, but Gaz, despite looking so tired and haggard, doesn’t mind.
“Johnny went feral, stayed in his werewolf form for too long. But he’s alright now; he’s resting in his room. We stacked it up with a few of our clothes and food, or whatever we had remaining. We just haven't been able to leave the house, Price and I. Especially not with Leah still around.”
His last words come out strained, verging on bitter. Ghost can feel the weight of Gaz’s frustration; they’re all trapped in this swirling chaos, and every moment feels like they’re slipping further and further away from you.
Gaz reached into a bag beside him and pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes. They were plain, but clean—washed, pressed, and smelling faintly of lavender, a welcome break from the stale scent that seemed to hang over everything else. A fresh black facemask was also neatly folded into the pile.
“Go and get cleaned up,” Gaz said, holding them out to Ghost.
“Didn’t think anyone would’ve had the mind to do some laundry around here,” he muttered, a hint of dry humour cutting through the weariness as he accepted the clothes.
Gaz watched Ghost with a steady gaze, studying the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. After a pause, he pulled out his phone, typing a quick message to the others.
"I’ll let the boys know you’re up,” he murmured, looking back at Ghost. “But before we reach out for any answers, we need to be together. Properly. You, me, Price, and Johnny. The whole pack.”
There was something grounding about that idea—that, whatever had happened, whatever answers lay ahead, they’d face it unified. The pack had always been his constant, and in the haze of recent weeks, he’d almost forgotten how much that meant.
Gaz finished typing and slipped his phone back into his pocket, his expression shifting to something softer. “Take your time, Simon. Get a shower, clear your head. I’ll wait right here.”
Without another word, Ghost headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The hot water beat down on him, easing the aches in his muscles and slowly peeling away the residue of exhaustion. He scrubbed his face, shaved, and let the water run over him, each drop lifting a little more of the fog that had settled over his mind.
When he finally emerged, clean and dressed, he felt steadier, like he was slipping back into himself. Gaz stood in the room, hands casually in his pockets, watching him with a faint but genuine smile. As Ghost approached, Gaz stepped forward, leaning up to place a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. Then, he took his larger hand in his, squeezing it firmly. Simon hesitated just a moment before squeezing back, a silent gesture of thanks passing between them. The steady weight of Gaz’s hand in his felt grounding, a reminder that he wasn’t facing this alone.
Ghost nodded, the last of his hesitation falling away. “Let’s go.”
. . .
The silence in the room was heavy, like a smothering blanket that none of them could cast off. The air held an edge of tension, cut only by the occasional creak of the old house settling. The room itself mirrored their state—scattered, untidy, and dimly lit by the fading glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the grime-streaked windows.
Johnny slumped deeper into the couch, the fabric of Ghost’s hoodie swallowing his frame. The scent of his packmate clung to it, earthy and metallic, a faint reminder of stability in a world that felt increasingly foreign. He tugged the hoodie closer around his shoulders, his hands hidden in the oversized sleeves. His overgrown hair and scruff shadowed his face, but his furrowed brows betrayed his unease.
Gaz sat at the table, his leg bouncing in a steady, erratic rhythm. The untouched tea in front of him had gone cold, a thin film forming on its surface. He stared at it like it might hold the answers they couldn’t seem to find. His jaw clenched as he tapped the table with a finger, the sound barely audible over the tick of the wall clock.
Ghost sat beside him, the chair groaning under his weight. The tension in his shoulders was visible even under his heavy sweater, his face-mask firmly in place. He hadn’t said a word since they sat down, but the intensity in his stillness spoke volumes.
John stood by the window, his back to them, puffing on his cigar with short, agitated breaths. Smoke curled around him, dissipating into the stale air of the room. His reflection in the glass was fractured and ghostly, distorted by the grime. He had always been their anchor, their steadying force, but now he seemed just as lost as the rest of them.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Gaz finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was hoarse, as if it had been days since he’d used it. “We all felt it. That… pull. It wasn’t normal. But now? Now it’s like—” He paused, searching for the words. “Like my skin crawls just thinking about her.”
Johnny let out a sharp exhale, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “Aye. Same. I can’t even picture her face properly. Feels like I’ve got glass under my skin whenever I try.” He glanced at Ghost, who remained still, his eyes fixed on the table. “Mate, you’re the one who’s best at keeping your head. You’ve got nothin’?”
Ghost’s fingers stopped drumming. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under the shift. “It’s not about keeping my head, Johnny,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s about the fact that I should remember. We all should. But there’s… nothing. Just a hole where the memories should be.”
Gaz slammed his palm against the table, making Johnny flinch. “And that’s the other thing, isn’t it? Her. And you.” His sharp gaze cut to Ghost, your name rolling off his lips. “We were ready to ask her to be part of the pack. It was all we thought about for weeks. Then—” He gestured vaguely, frustration radiating off him. “Now she’s gone, and it feels like—like someone yanked a piece out of us and then stitched us back up wrong.”
“Enough!” John barked, his voice rough from too many cigars. He turned from the window, his expression dark and weary. “We can’t sit here blaming each other or wallowing in what we don’t know. The fact is, something happened. Something we can’t explain. And until we figure out what it was, none of this”—he gestured at the room, at them—“is going to make sense.”
Ghost leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, tension etched into every line of his frame. His voice was low but firm as he rasped out your name, “What about her?”
“She’s alive,” Johnny muttered. His voice was uncertain, his fingers trembling. “I can feel it. Somewhere out there. But she’s… out of reach. Like something’s keeping us from her.”
John’s gaze darkened as he looked at each of them in turn, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “We can’t do anything for her—not yet. First, we need to pull ourselves together. Look at this place.” He swept his arm, indicating the wrecked furniture, the dust and chaos surrounding them. “We’re a mess, and that mess isn’t just around us—it’s in our heads.”
He paced to the trash bin, tying off the bag with sharp, precise movements. “We’re no good to her like this. We clear this house. We clear our minds. Only then can we figure out what’s happened, where she is, and why we’re being kept from her.”
Gaz frowned, the sting of John’s words cutting through his frustration. “And Leah?” he asked bitterly. “What do we do about her?”
John’s jaw tightened, the embers of his cigar flaring briefly as he took a long draw. He let the silence stretch, considering his response. “We leave her alone,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “She’s dangerous, whatever she is. And right now, so are we. Until we understand what’s happened to us, we keep our distance.”
The room fell into an uneasy quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy over them. Slowly, Ghost nodded, his knuckles white against the edge of the table. Johnny exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. Gaz rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion and frustration etched into his features.
“Right then,” Price said, breaking the silence as he picked up the trash bag. “Let’s get to it. House isn’t going to clean itself.”
One by one, they rose to their feet, their steps slow and hesitant, but they moved. The weight of what lay ahead loomed, but for now, they focused on the first step—clearing the wreckage, both inside and out.
. . .
The clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the dull scrape of furniture being moved did little to mask the oppressive tension hanging over the house. Price stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, methodically scrubbing a stubborn plate with the kind of focus reserved for anything but the situation at hand. The faint slosh of water and the rhythmic clink of ceramic broke the silence, but not the heaviness in the air.
Nearby, a trash bag sat tied and waiting. Price gave the plate a final rinse, then stacked it neatly with the others before drying his hands on a worn kitchen towel. He grabbed the trash bag on his way out the back door, letting the screen creak open and slam shut behind him.
Meanwhile, Johnny tied his overgrown hair into a small, haphazard ponytail, the uneven strands barely staying put. His freshly shaved jaw—courtesy of Price earlier that morning—stood out starkly against his otherwise dishevelled appearance, making the lingering exhaustion in his eyes even more pronounced. He heaved another broken chair onto the growing pile near the back door, his movements sluggish but determined.
Ghost, nearby, silently swept debris from the floor, the steady rhythm of the broom punctuating the tense quiet. His broad frame was taut, shoulders coiled as though bracing for a blow that never came. Neither man spoke, their shared silence a testament to the strain hanging heavy in the air.
Upstairs, Gaz moved with a quiet purpose through his small workshop, tucked away in a corner of the house. The room smelled faintly of burnt herbs and candle wax, the aftermath of his earlier work lingering in the air. A faint golden glow pulsed from the fresh wards he had just set in front of Leah's door down the hall, the intricate pattern etched with precision into the wood.
He wiped his hands on a rag, the faint shimmer of magical residue clinging to his fingertips. The wards he had placed were strong, layered to shield her room from any unwelcome interference, but also to keep her presence confined. It wasn’t a solution, just a precaution—one that weighed heavily on him.
Suddenly, the sharp trill of the phone cut through the quiet, making Johnny start and Ghost stop. Price turned his head slightly, before nodding curtly, “I’ll get it.”  
He stalked over to the phone mounted on the hallway wall, snatching the receiver up with a practised brusqueness. “Price.”  
“John,” came Laswell’s voice, rough and harried.  
He frowned, his grip on the receiver tightening. “Kate?”  
“I need to see you,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “All of you.”  
Price’s frown deepened. “This isn’t a good time, Laswell.”  
“No, now’s exactly the time,” she snapped, frustration bleeding through the line. “This isn’t something we can handle over the phone. I’m coming up. Be ready.”  
His jaw clenched. “An explanation would be nice.”  
“You’ll get one when I’m there,” she bit out. Then, after a beat, her voice softened, weariness creeping in. “I’ve got answers, John. But not all of them. Just... be ready. I’ll be there in an hour.”  
The line clicked dead before he could press her further.  
Price lowered the receiver slowly, his eyes narrowing as he replaced it on the cradle with a deliberate motion. He turned back to the others, his expression grim.
Gaz descended the stairs, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stepped into the room. His brows knit together at the tension rolling off Price in palpable waves. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone cautious, catching the shift in the atmosphere like a physical blow.
“That was Laswell,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his stress.
“What did she want?” Gaz asked, his tone cautious.
“Says she’s on her way here,” Price replied, his voice clipped. “She’s got something to tell us. Something about what’s been happening.”
Johnny tilted his head, suspicion flickering in his tired eyes. “She knows what’s wrong with us?”
“Didn’t say.” Price reached for the cigar resting in the ashtray and took a long drag, exhaling sharply. “Only that it’s too much for the bloody phone.”
Gaz frowned, his brow furrowed. “Think it’s about Leah? Or... us?”
“Could be both,” Price said curtly. He cast a glance toward the stairs, his lips thinning. “Either way, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Ghost’s grip tightened on the broom handle, his voice low. “An hour isn’t much time.”
“No, it’s not,” Price muttered. He turned toward the windows again, his profile cast in sharp focus by the dim light filtering through. “So get your heads on straight. Whatever she’s bringing, it’s not gonna be good.”
Johnny let out a humourless laugh as he tossed the piece of wood onto the pile. 
Gaz muttered something under his breath before returning to his workshop. Ghost, ever silent, resumed sweeping, his movements just as sharp and tense as before.
They had an hour to prepare—for Laswell’s arrival, for her answers, and for the storm they all knew was coming.
. . .
The moment Laswell’s car pulled up the gravel driveway, the tension in the house thickened. Price watched from the window, his third cigar of that morning, forgotten in the ashtray as he studied the vehicle. Two figures stepped out behind her, their familiar silhouettes making his jaw tighten. Alejandro and Rudy.  
“Well, this just got worse,” he muttered under his breath, turning to glance at the others. Gaz frowned, Ghost took a long sip from his tea, and Johnny stiffened, his eyes narrowing.  
The trio approached the house with purpose. Laswell led the way, her usual sharp demeanour dulled by weariness, while Alejandro and Rudy followed, their expressions unreadable but far from happy.  
Price opened the door before they could knock, his broad frame blocking the entrance. “Laswell. Alejandro. Rudy.”  
Alejandro gave him a curt nod. “Price.”  
John stepped aside without a word, letting them file into the house. The pack stood scattered in the living room, their postures defensive.  
“Stinks in here,” Alejandro muttered as he took in the room, nose scrunched up. His sharp eyes swept over the remaining clutter and the signs of disrepair before landing on Ghost. His gaze darkened.  
Ghost stiffened under the scrutiny but didn’t flinch. His jaw tightened as he rose up to meet Alejandro.
“You look better,” Alejandro said coolly, stopping just in front of him.  
Ghost grunted, a curt acknowledgment that sounded more like a growl.  
“Good,” Alejandro said, his voice like steel. “Now grit your teeth.”  
The punch came so fast no one had time to react. Alejandro’s fist connected with Ghost’s jaw with a sickening crack, the force sending him staggering backward. He hit the floor on one knee, his hand clutching his face.  
Gaz moved to help, but Alejandro snapped, “Stay out of it cabrón (bastard)!”  
Johnny let out a furious snarl, his body coiled to lunge, but Price’s bark stopped him cold. “Stand down, Johnny!”  
Johnny stopped, his eyes darting between Price and Ghost, his hands trembling with restrained fury.  
Ghost slowly pushed himself up, his expression stoic despite the bruise blooming on his jaw. His eyes met Alejandro’s, something resigned yet determined in his gaze. “I probably deserved that,” he muttered hoarsely.  
“You’re damn right you did,” Alejandro growled, shaking out his fist.  
“Now,” Ghost rasped, leaning back onto his haunches, “tell us everything. Absolutely everything.”  
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sevs-corner · 22 hours ago
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Tf 141: Mafia AU!
Chapter 1: “The rain falls but they fell harder”
{A/N: the unofficial part 1 to this brainrot series of minee🫡}
OG Post Links (if you want to read more crumbs of this slowly building brainrot of mine lol) from oldest to latest <33
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Preface:
It was right around fall when you got the news of been evicted out of your home- the reason being? Your roommate bailed and sold you out. Giving you only so much as a couple of hours to pack your things and leave as they had left too.
Luckily, your desperation was quenched when your co-worker happens to hear your ramblings during the night shift. With no choice but to accept, you accepted to take care of their place and move into the new city bustling in anxious steps. You could only live off your friend’s current supplies, so you needed to find a job fast.
"Turn left... turn left- WHERE?!" Almost feeling the urge to throw down the piece of paper your co-worker handed you earlier, you could only feel the pressure rise in your veins as heaved- trying an attempt to calm yourself-- seeing as how you got lost for the umpteenth time. The amount of turns you made in these wet streets and cuts through the alleyways made you quite hopeless in your situation.
A 'simple, turn right then left!' they said to you while handing the small folded note in your hands just in case. Besides having the direction written, it also had a weird doodle on the underside but paid no mind to it as you were more focused on the instructions of your co-worker, easily understanding it with no issue.
Yet it seems that you didn't as you stumble in front of a quaint...
"Bakery? Now how did I get here this time..."
The building in front of you was quite run down, but the words on the window were still quite visible despite the rain padding onto it . 'Homecooked goods,' it says in white cursive writing, which complemented the natural red bricked border. There were a couple plants that you took notice of wilting, making you frown quite a bit- knowing how, if they were given a bit of more loving, it would look quite beautiful and an even more attractive bakery.
Although you had to shake that thought away, deciding that it wasn't your objective coming into the bakery (yes, it was still equally important to you but finding your co-worker's place was more of an immediate concern.)
Knowing that you had lost all hope at this point, stumbling into so many dead ends that you decided to cut your losses, man up, and ask for directions around this place. For quite a well-known and popular town, this part of it was quite desolate.
Hence, when you started marching towards the bakery, you noticed how there were quite amount of similar cars out front. All black, sleek, fancy- wait... maybe this was a fancy bakery? Or not a bakery at all? What if you can't get any help or information from this place-?
"Johnny wasn't even- woah!"
At that moment, you happened to stop in front of the door and get hit right on the nose by the wood door and solar plexus punched by the quite fancy handle it was accompanied with.
"fUCKKKKKKKKK...." You swore silently, landing on your back and scattering all of your belongings as you clutched both your nose and stomach in (mostly shock) anguish with the person who gutted you mercilessly (accidentally) quickly asking if you were okay.
"Oh my- dearie, where are you hurt? I'm so sorry!"
You could feel the person talking, resting their hands on yours as it gently prodded yours away.
“Mighty careless of ya’, Garrick.” Someone jabs at the person you assumed had knocked you out.
“Ain’t a new sight to see LT?” The voices continues on while another replied with a grunt- which you are quick to piece together that there are three people now who had seen you land on your ass quite… gracefully.
“Oi,” another joins in, “what’s the hold up by the door? You’re bloody blockin’ the way.” A quite irritable one at that, you note.
“Sorry sir,” you hear the one besides you talk, “I accidentally hurt 'em when I opened the door.”
You hear another padding of footsteps as the one besides you shuffle away. You couldn’t see anything at the moment from how teary-eyed you were.
“Are you okay?” The newest voice grunts, right besides you, and you could smell the beer on his breath so you blanched away from him.
“I-i’m fine…” you managed to get out, albeit in quite a nasally tone as you pinched your nose to subside the pain.
“Doesn’t sound like it lassie,” the voice snickers and you turn to them with a closed-eye glare.
“Who are you to assume how much pain I’m in right now?!” You grumble in irritation, unable to control your emotions anymore for how shitty your day has been.
The straw that broke the camel’s back per se.
Lucky they were quick on the uptake.
“Can I see it?”
“Huh?”
You whipped your head to the other side, hearing the same voice that apologized to you.
“Can I check your nose?” He giggles, “Gotta know if we have to take you to the hospital or not.”
“No need to,” you insisted yet your hands fall to your side, letting the man to check it himself- which you had identified once your vision started clearing up from the tears.
"Shh, shh- no need for tears.." you felt a thumb rub at your cheeks gently, and you could barely make out the silhouette of the other man as he hushes you.
Bulky, scruffy beard, but was mostly covered the scarf around his neck, as well as the hat perched on top of his head- making it unable for you to see his entire visage.
"Seems nothing's broken," you hear the gentle man mumble to himself and you could feel yourself stiffen less.
"Thank fuck," you chuckled, "I don't have enough to get that fixed if it was."
"You wouldn't have to pay for it," he replies, eyes now staring at you with more... softness? If you had to make sense of it somehow.
"Why not?"
You stared at him as if you couldn't comprehend the intent behind his actions.
"'Cause he hurt you, lovie." The man, now clearer in your sight, explained- and his, 'oh his dark blue eyes' made you inherently stutter out a response.
"I-it's alright-- wasn't lookin' where I was going is all!" Your hands shake in front of you, widly shaking your head know as you show that you are unable to accept the generosity of the man. As much as you'd appreciate being treated to free healthcare- that seems too much for something that was a mistake (on your part mostly.)
"I insist," the kind gentleman insists, "I, too, was in deep conversation that I wasn't aware that somebody was on the other side of the door."
He grabs your hands, forcing them to calm down and for you to make eye contact with him- hoping that you would see the sincerity in them.
Yet all it did was make you more nervous, now seeing him in his entirety, from his clear cut jawline to how his eyes sparkled under the street light.
'Pretty.' is the first thought that comes into your head as you continue to be whisked away in the hues of the warm comforting--
"Let me help you up."
You yelp, feeling your arms being tugged (and your consciousness out of your thoughts) to a standing position, though from the sudden jerk you barely could catch yourself- sensing your self fall once more face first this time.
"Woah there!" You felt hands at your waist, steadying and grounding, as you feel the sudden rush of blood in and out of your head.
"Sorry," the kind man once again apologizes, "was that too fast?"
You sighed, unconsciously leaning your head against his chest, trying to calm the pounding in your head- "no, you're good."
"Dizzy?" You feel a warm hand on your forehead and you nodded again, thoughts now feeling a bit muddled from just about everything.
"think they caught a cold sir," another voice pipes in, the grumbly one from earlier.
"Seems like it," the mustache man replies, "got a place we can take you back to, lovie?"
"can't find it," your mumbles are barely audible from how muffled it was into the man's jacket and the patter of the rain on the sidewalk, yet they still caught on and looked at each other in confusion.
Odd and cryptic- was it because you knew them? Or you didn't want anyone knowing where you lived- especially with four strange big men at that.
Sighing, the bearded man signaled to the other side with a jerk of his head, "ask nonna and nonno if they can spare a room for the night."
"On it sir," the two responded with a quick nod, leaving as quickly as they had gone out.
"tell 'em I'll handle the lodging pay!" he follows up and they responded in affirmation again before he turns back to you, shivering up in his man's arms, looking quite defeated.
You looked like a kit left in the rain, and he felt that surge of sympathy of wanting to care for you- but he knows he can't. Not with a non-combatant and civilian, he thinks.
"Get 'em inside Garrick," he instructed and 'Garrick' responds with a soft, "yes sir" before mumbling to you and helping you move into the warm bakery.
The bearded man stayed outside, collecting your things until he saw paper jutting out of your bag, lines that were quite familiar. Checking if you were inside already, he could see Garrick bring you inside by the hand as you approached a fussy elderly couple, who quickly ushered you and Garrick up some stairs, deeper into the building.
Once he knew you were out of sight, he quickly grabs the paper and reads the words on it.
'Nothing of note,' he thinks then turns it around, eyes narrowing at the symbol draw at the underside.
"haven't seen this in a while..."
"Haven't seen what in a while sir?"
"Ghost," the bearded man regarded before passing the stuff he picked up into his arms, "we'll discuss it back at HQ."
Ghost nods and leaves to go back inside while another exited to join him.
"Did it come from 'em sir?" The shorter man asks, and the bearded man nods.
"Yes," he confirms, "but I do think its not from them specifically."
The other man hums, "sounds like we need to do some diggin' on 'em."
"we'll get more info from 'em once they wake." he grabs a smoke from his pocket before gesturing the other to light it for him. "Stay on post Soap."
"Aye sir," Soap salutes and watches him leave as he returns inside, doing as he was told.
You wake up with the gnarliest headache ever, that even if you did drink yourself blank out drunk- this would still take the cake of morning hangovers.
"Mornin' sleepyhead."
"the fuck?" You grumbled, throwing an arm over your eyes as you evade the sunlight by the window to spot a man by the doorway. He had quite a fancy fit on with the subtle floral pattern of a polo to the grey slacks with harnesses attached around his waist and thighs, gun holster by his hips but no gun in it.
"rough night?" he asks and you nod along, unsure of what happened to you- everything still quite a blur in your head, memories merging and dissipating the instant it comes popping up.
"our boss paid for your lodgin' here," he walks into the room and ends up at a chair by your bedside, "'compensation for his men' hurtin' ya last night, he says."
Hearing him say that made everything come into place, "you were the guys I bumped into at that bakery last night!"
You pointing at him in accusation made him chuckle and lean closer to you, yet that made you lean further away as you now realize the very trepid situation you were in.
"That's us alright," he hums, "are you still hurtin'?"
'oh,' you thought to youself, 'he was just checking if my nose was better.'
Embarrassment filled you at the insinuations that you made up in your head, as you assumed his intentions; hence, you had to look away from him- to save the little bit of dignity you had.
"no," you quickly snippet, "head's just heavy."
He clicks his tongue before standing and going to a desk, making you perk your eyebrows in confusion.
"well," you hear water being poured, "might be because you were burnin' high with a fuckin' fever in the rain."
He hands you the glass of cool water, "that's why."
You glare at him before chugging the water down, letting out a small burp while wiping the side of your mouth as you feel less parched than when you woke up.
Silence filled the room as you thought of how odd your situation was. No matter how accidental your meeting was- doing this much for a stranger was quite... well, strange is the best way to put it.
"Why're you guys concerned?" You finally managed to get out, despite the mess of thoughts you're having right now.
There was no malice behind your words, just simple curiosity and he could see it from how clear your eyes were of your intentions-- quite ironic from how much of a mess your brain was right now.
"boss felt responsible," you could hear the man chalk it up to that conclusion, "likes takin' care of people, that soft old chap."
You didn't quite catch the last part of his words as he mumbled it under his breath but you nodded anyways.
"That's quite kind of him," you softly spoke with your voice still hoarse, "can admit that it's hard to come by that kinda thing nowadays."
"I got lucky," you admitted, "please thank him for me."
The way you smiled made him pause for a second- it was genuine and so clear of its intent behind that it made his skin crawl and hair stand at the ends of his neck. He could feel his hand twitching to rub and his face and neck, so he let it- turning away from you as he reassured you that he would.
After a couple of more minutes, he tells you more details of your situation and you felt more grounded now, thanking him and his boss once again for looking out for you.
"No problem, sweets." he shoots you a grin- a quite silly and crooked one at that which made you return it in kind as you bid him farewell.
"Better get goin' huh..." you tell yourself as you picked yourself up from the bed and stretched, "still gotta ask and find out about where this place is..."
Yet as you look through your bag and all of its pockets, you noticed that the paper was missing, dumping the rest of out, you groan out- once more- in anguish at your situation.
"this is such a fucked up week!"
"how about we un-fuck it cara*?"
(A/N: *cara- Italian for 'beloved'/ 'dear')
And that wraps up the 1st chapter to this series!! Heads up, updates will be slow but feel free to hmu with ideas/ thoughts about the AU hehe (including my other ones too :>>)
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vicariousresearcher · 3 days ago
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part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
Johnny who’s slowly making progress. Whose tremors in his hands are relaxing. Who’s starting to be able to order food in public again without his stutter doubling over itself. There are still more days than not that he’s using the wheelchair more than the forearm crutches but even with that he’s accustomed to it enough that he’s got plenty of mobility.
It’s been over two months that you’ve been working with Johnny and he’s been thriving as well as a man in his condition can. He attributes this entirely to his god-sent Angel of a nurse. He wouldn’t have gotten too far without you helping him through every stage. Having endless patience and compassion. Not a judgmental bone in your body.
So it comes as a complete shock when you ask him about having his sister or one of the team come up in two weeks because you have to take a shift back at the hospital.
“Why would you n-need that hen?” Johnny's voice is strained despite the joking tone he tries to lighten it up with. “Needing more funds? Am I n-not paying you well?”
You just shake your head, back turned to him while you section out his meds for the week. Unable to see the mounting anxiety in his face.
“Oh, don’t worry about my money. I just need to work on the floor every four months or I have to get reorientated. It’s just more convenient so that when I leave I have a job right away.”
“Already thinkin’ bout leaving me hen?”
You just rolled your eyes at the comment, having gotten to the point of being casual with Johnny weeks ago.
“Only so many football games I can listen to Johnny before I start to go mad. Try changing it up to hockey or baseball once n a while.” You slot the bottles back into the cabinet and the pill box on the counter for easy access. “So it’ll only be two days I’ll be gone and I can get everything set up beforehand. That sound good?”
You look over to him expectantly and Johnny doesn’t have the heart to say no to you. 
No, he can’t do that yet. That’ll freak you out. Get some big reaction. He needs to get you to make the decision to stay on your own.
......
Everything just seemed to go downhill so fast. Relapsing back into previous conditions.
Every other word evaded him to the point of forcing himself into a stewed, annoyed silence from being unable to just get a damn sentence out without ‘sounding like an engine about to give out.’
Waking up to a hard thump and groaning, sending you padding out into the dark hallway only to find Johnny on the ground, forearm crutches on the floor right beside him. Quickly stammering out that he thought he could make it to the bathroom without the wheelchair. He normally does this is just a one off please don’t fuss over him hen-
You having to strip off his shorts to apply moist pads to his thighs after he’d spilled steaming hot coffee on himself. His hands shook too bad to slide under the waistband. He kept apologizing with a look of frustration on his face. Brows furrowed and teeth bared with a hiss of pain yet eyes soft with humiliation as you kept reassuring him that it was okay. This was your job. You were there to take care of him.
He always tries to keep that light tone of his, joking about independence and no longer having a babysitter one day. It makes you want to believe him but the bitterness and scorn in his eyes when seeing even his buddies come by is palpable. 
Even the fun of watching football is sucked out when his brain contorts to see the men as comparisons to his own state. Functional men.
Men that you would never leave, men that you would willingly cling to, men so unlike him.
…..
Johnny’s therapist takes you aside before one of the sessions, asking about the sudden change in Johnny’s progress. If there were any triggers you could remember.
And you should’ve said something. Confessed that the trigger of Johnny’s worsening was the perceived threat of you leaving. But you didn’t. Because if you did then flags would be raised about the inappropriate boundaries being crossed between caretaker and patient and you would be removed from Johnny’s care. And that just would make his recovery worse. 
You were doing the right thing, right? You were just looking out for Johnnys well-being.
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midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 days ago
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Shadows and Paws
Chapter 4: Boundaries and Bonds
Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader
AU: Hybrid 141 X Hybrid Reader
Warnings: language, violence, mild blood/injuries, Readers nickname/callsign is Foxy
Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i almost forgot about this chapter but I hope I made it worth the read!
Word Count: 1.4k
Masterlist | Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The morning fog clung to the trees, shrouding the forest in a damp, eerie silence that set every nerve on edge. Each footstep felt like it echoed too loudly, despite the team’s silent movement. Foxy moved with confidence, yet a tension had settled into their posture, an awareness that they weren’t alone. The forest felt charged, as if the very trees were watching.
The team was alert, senses heightened. Gaz had already taken to the air, circling above to give them a view of the terrain, his keen falcon eyes searching for any sign of movement. Ghost moved in tandem with the others, silent and vigilant, while Soap’s usual energy was tempered, his ears constantly flicking to pick up the smallest sound. Price took up the rear, his mind running through different strategies, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were stepping into something dangerous.
"Something’s not right," Soap murmured, his voice barely audible. "I feel like we’re being watched."
"That's because we are," Foxy replied, scanning their surroundings, their eyes sharp. "It’s not just the rogues. This forest has its own… rules. Keep close, and don’t get separated. Trust me on this."
Price nodded, sensing the gravity in Foxy’s tone. He knew they wouldn’t give that kind of warning lightly. "Stay sharp, all of you. Eyes on each other."
Their surroundings grew darker as the trees thickened, the mist swirling around them like a ghostly veil. Even Ghost felt unnerved by the strange silence. The usual sounds of forest life—birds, rustling leaves, snapping twigs—were absent. It was as if the forest itself had been subdued.
As they descended into a small hollow, Foxy stopped suddenly, raising a hand. The team froze, their eyes darting around as they tensed, prepared for anything. The silence pressed in on them until the faintest of sounds broke it: the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. Foxy’s ears twitched, and they turned to the team with a serious look.
"We’re close. They’ll have scouts positioned around here," Foxy said, barely above a whisper. "They’ll spot us if we’re not careful."
"Can’t we just go in and give ’em a surprise?" Soap asked, his voice tinged with frustration, but a look from Price kept him silent.
"No. We’re outnumbered here," Foxy replied, a hint of exasperation in their tone. "This isn’t a game, Soap. One wrong move, and they’ll know exactly where we are. We have to play this smart."
Soap glanced away, chastened but still visibly restless. Ghost noticed and placed a hand on Soap’s shoulder, a rare gesture of solidarity. "Listen to Foxy. They know this terrain better than we do."
Soap took a breath, nodding, and gave Foxy a slight, apologetic smile. "Fine. Lead the way, Foxy."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Foxy’s mouth. "Glad you’re finally seeing reason," they teased, though the tension in their posture remained.
They led the team forward, moving with caution. Each step was calculated, each breath measured as they descended further into the underbrush. The forest was dark and thick, and the weight of the silence pressed down on them, more oppressive with each passing moment. Finally, they reached a small rise overlooking a clearing, and there, gathered near an abandoned structure, were the rogue hybrids.
The rogues weren’t just the chaotic, disorganized troublemakers Foxy had described before. Their formation was tight, disciplined, as if they’d been waiting for an ambush. Some had weapons, crude but effective, and their eyes glinted with a dangerous focus.
Foxy tensed, their eyes narrowing as they took in the rogues below. "They’ve gathered more than I thought," they whispered. "This is going to be… tricky."
Price glanced at Foxy. "What’s our best move here?"
Foxy hesitated, their sharp eyes calculating. "We need a distraction. Something that’ll draw their attention, just for a moment. Once we have that, we can move in and neutralize as many as possible. But it’ll be risky."
"I’ll go," Soap volunteered, the gleam of a plan in his eyes. "They won’t even see me coming."
Foxy looked at him, assessing, and then nodded. "Alright. Just don’t get yourself killed."
Soap grinned, giving them a quick wink before slipping down the incline. His movements were quick but controlled, every step soundless as he made his way toward the rogues.
Ghost leaned in, murmuring to Foxy, "We trust you to lead us here. But you need to know we’ve got your back too."
Foxy looked at him, their usual playful demeanor softened. "I appreciate that, Ghost."
In the clearing, Soap was nearing his target, a lone rogue standing a few paces away from the others, back turned. In a fluid, silent movement, he lunged, his hands closing around the rogue’s weapon and pulling them backward, rendering them unconscious before they could make a sound. The team waited, tension thick as Soap disappeared into the shadows again, inching closer to the heart of the group.
Suddenly, a sharp voice rang out from the clearing. "Well, if it isn’t the little fox," one of the rogues sneered, their voice thick with disdain. "Did you think you could just wander back in here and claim territory?"
Foxy’s jaw tightened, and they whispered to the team, "Stay low. This one’s trouble."
The rogue leader, a tall figure with dark, matted fur, looked directly at Foxy, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. He took a step forward, his voice carrying through the clearing. "Thought you could come in here and take control? You’re delusional."
Foxy’s eyes narrowed, their hand hovering near their own weapon. "I didn’t come to take control. I came to stop you from destroying everything."
The rogue leader laughed, a guttural sound that grated on the nerves. "You think you can stop me? You and these… pets of yours?" He glanced at the rest of the team with a sneer, clearly unimpressed.
Price’s hackles rose, and he took a step forward, his voice a low growl. "You might want to rethink that."
The rogue leader’s gaze flickered over Price, then over the rest of the team, and something changed in his expression. He took a step back, as if reassessing the threat before him. "So you brought a little pack with you," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the unease in his voice was unmistakable.
Foxy smirked, their confidence returning. "Did you really think I’d come here alone?"
The rogue leader scowled, his expression darkening. "This isn’t over, Foxy."
Foxy’s expression hardened, their voice steady and unyielding. "No. It’s just beginning."
At that moment, Soap gave the signal, and the team moved in, a coordinated, seamless assault that caught the rogues off guard. Ghost’s panther-like reflexes kicked in, his movements swift and deadly, while Gaz swooped down from above, his talons aimed with precision. Price kept close to Foxy, covering them as they fought their way through the chaos.
The battle was quick but brutal. Foxy moved with a ferocity that surprised even them, every strike aimed with a deadly accuracy. They fought side by side with the team, their movements in perfect harmony, as if they’d been fighting together for years. In that moment, any lingering doubts about trust dissolved. They were a team—a pack.
As the last of the rogues fled, Foxy turned to the team, their eyes shining with a fierce pride. They were bruised and bloodied, but they stood tall, unbroken.
Price stepped forward, nodding approvingly. "Not bad, Foxy. Not bad at all."
Foxy smirked, wiping a bit of blood from their cheek. "I told you I could handle myself."
Soap clapped a hand on their shoulder, grinning. "You did more than that, Foxy. You saved our hides back there."
Ghost inclined his head slightly, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like you’re one of us now."
The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Foxy felt a warmth in their chest—a sense of belonging. They looked at each of them, their expression softening. "Thank you," they said quietly. "For trusting me."
Price simply nodded. "We’re in this together, Foxy. Let’s get moving."
And as they left the clearing, the fog seemed to lift, the forest somehow less foreboding, as if it too recognized the bond they’d forged that day. They weren’t just a group of individuals anymore. They were a team. A pack.
—————
End of Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
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Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜
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lunamoonbby · 22 hours ago
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Me when my theory is correct:
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LMAO you feeling like Sherlock Holms with the way your theories are right🤣🤣🤣
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waves-against-a-cliff · 18 days ago
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Soap putting you in a headlock when fucking you into the mattress, his chest against your back as his hips snap against the fat of your ass. You're clawing against his forearm which only makes him chuckle and comment about how feisty you are while he hits so deep inside you that you damn near scream.
Biting down hard enough to leave indents on his bicep and not letting go until he uses his other hand to wrench your head away by your hair with a snarl. Snapping your jaw at him while he stares down with feral blue eyes, "Ye wannae play rough?"
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nighttimealone · 1 month ago
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Cw: Nsfw (Humping, Simon and Johnny. please see reblog for Kyle, Price and König)
Simon loves dry humping, you lie on the bed, eyes droopy as you let his pin your thighs against your breast, your panties and his boxers still on as he grinds his bulge slowly against your clothed core. You both don’t say a word, looking into each other’s eyes with affection and increasing desires, only soft moans and occasional grunts ringing in the air. He won’t stop—nor that you want to—until your panties is all soaked, fabric darkened by your juices and stick to your pussy, showing the outline of your mounds and perked clit, and you’re whining pleadingly whenever he pokes his red tip against your entrance, let the wet fabric gets pushed in a bit before he pulls back, taps his hard cock on your clit and huff out a laughter. “All whiny and moaning now. Need this cock so bad, princess?”
Johnny’s always a bit kinky, so you’re not even surprised when he starts grinding his leaking dick against your foot like a horny dog. You’re on a call with your friend, and he was sitting beside you and scrolling his phone normally minutes ago. God knows what did he see that got him humping your foot right now. You’re wearing socks because it’s a bit cold, but it’s now stain with his precums because he shamelessly fished his cock out so it would feel better without barrier. You fake a cough when he groans out loudly, not caring if your friend will hear him through the phone.
“Johnny, what the hell?” Excusing yourself and mute the mic, looking down at him rolling his hips and meet your eyes “Need that pussy of yers now, please, lassie…” His voice low but begging you like a lost puppy, and you can feel arousal pooling in your panties too. Well, guess you don’t have any choice other than apologizing to your friend and hang up the phone, letting Johnny fuck you brainless and walk wobbly tomorrow.
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beloveds-embrace · 1 day ago
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Your expiration date au.. with omegaverse.. what if I add fuel to it *rubs hands mischievously* you said the chip will eventually kill reader, and what if it starts slowly? Reader starts to slowly lose their scent, their urge to nest, etc. and the t141 notices and asks reader about it but they make up some excuse like using scent blocking soap and not being in the mood, etc etc. because reader doesn't want them to worry. It goes on like this until it starts to get worse and the t141 don't even see the stuff reader said they were using, so they urgently asks reader about it. Reader still refuses to tell them, fearing that the last moments they'll share will be filled with sad gazes and fruitless attempts to save reader. It gets to the point that they start arguing about it. Until you start to lose your ability to smell other people's scents (and other stuff that connects and avails reader to spend time with the t141 that has something to do with a/b/o dynamics lol idk much about omegaverse, sorry 🙏). Reader start to panic, because t141's scents are a source of great comfort to them and they endure it for a while and before reader completely loses their sense of smell of other people (they can still smell normal stuff like food), she confesses to t141 about the chip. You can decide how they'll react, I just wanted to add fuel to the fire (angst) 😼😼😼 btw I use they/them pronouns for gn reader, sorry if it's not to your liking! (I completely forgot what pronouns you use for reader.. or if you ever used them lol)
Anon… who hurt you 😫 okay but the idea of no longer finding comfort even in the nest you’d painstakingly made, the nest covered with their clothes and items so it’s soaked in their scent, the nest that should be one of your most precious things ever- except now it smells like nothing and is missing such an integral part of what makes it a nest?? Oh, the angst is real with this one.
Not helped by the arguments that are keeping you seperated from your pack, your alphas, but when it starts to get really, really bad you just kinda have to throw away the arguments and confess the truth about the chip and your expiration date and why your scent is all over the place in stress and worry and fluctuating. Not an easy conversation but it’s necessary, because you don’t even give the chance to fully come to terms with it before you are _begging_ them to not abandon you now of all time, right when you need them the most.
(They’d be so crushed tho. Feel so… useless because their omega is sad and dying and according to your own words, there’s nothing they can do to even save you even if they refuse to believe it. There has to be something and they swear to find it, but comforting you is priority at the moment.)
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disgustingtwitches · 3 months ago
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MDNI
Working at a restaurant with 141! (Part 1)
Let's get this out of the way, the restaurant fucking sucks. Don't even know how it's still open. The food is terrible. The owner is an incompetent drunk who's never there. You got referred to the job from a friend of a friend. You did an interview with the head chef/manager, John. He hired you because you were hot.
"The fuckin ass on that one, huh?"
Just like any man that works in a restaurant, they're all horny fucks who love to tease you. You'd run back to the kitchen and ask to tweak an order. Price would wink and say:
"Next time it's gonna cost ya."
When it gets slow (which was all the time), you'd sit in the back and chat about how they met and what they did with their lives. They all get paid under the table for various reasons. Johnny takes smoke breaks with you, sometimes Price joins. Gaz pours shots for everyone after "busy" nights (busy meaning there was an hour where there were two tables to serve instead of one). Ghost... well he's strictly work. Sometimes he engages in banter with the guys, but he only acknowledges you when needed.
Your first month flies by, you basically get paid to sit around and talk with the most charming men on the planet, and Simon.
"He'll warm up eventually. Just gotta loosen 'em up, just like any tight ass."
Soap smirked as he leaned against a counter while everyone was wrapping up for the night.
"Don't you have dishes to put away?"
Ghost snapped while wiping down his station. At least he was nice to look at.
You and Gaz would roll up the forks and knives talking about bullshit, knees touching. Soap and you would light each others smokes by touching one lit end to the unlit one, all while still holding the cigarettes in your mouths (he called it a cigarette kiss). Price would constantly make food for you:
"Gotta plump you up 'fore it starts getting cold, yeah?"
He'd look you up and down while sliding you a basket of fries. And Simon? Cold as ever. Even when he started driving you to and from work because your car broke down. He drove like a madman, but it was totally silent. You made the mistake of reaching for the radio once, he gave a admonitory grunt and you snatched your hand away.
As time went on, you got comfortable with everyone and they got comfortable with you. It started with suggestive jokes.
"Simon's just straightforward, doesn't beat around the bush."
Price said one day while prepping vegetables with Ghost.
"What are you talking about? He beats around the bush all the time Price, you know that."
Soap walked by with a shit eating grin while he was carrying a bucket of dishes to the back. Uproar from the guys. Ghost storms off following Johnny, knife in hand. You want to stop him, but Gaz places a hand on your shoulder.
"Best not to do that, just let 'em settle that amongst themselves."
Johnny comes back disheveled, wearing a different shirt. Simon is stone faced as usual as he goes back to prep. It only got worse after that.
You'd watch as the boys messed with each other more; pats on the back, that turns to squeezes on the shoulders, that turned to slaps on the ass.
"They're just handsy," you think to yourself.
Eye contact that lingers for a second too long.
"They're just close friends," you think to yourself.
Compliments that boarder on harassment.
"They're just joking around," you think to yourself.
Then you entered the walk-in freezer, only to make direct eye contact with Johnny as he has Kyle's dick down his throat.
"Oh, uh-huh..." you think to yourself.
You didn't look at their faces for a week, they acted as if nothing happened. Then, the flirting only got worse.
"Behind!"
Price would yell while grinding up against Simon's ass when passing behind him.
"Yes, Chef."
He'd respond while he continued cooking, unfazed. They seemingly shared clothes: the younger guys preferred to don John and Simon's apparel all the time. You stopped going into the walk-in for a while, you figured you'd give Gaz and Soap some privacy (although they didn't seem to mind an audience). Christ, was everyone fucking everyone here?
You were taking a smoke break with Price when he leaned back on the railing and adjusted himself, it wasn't really adjusting himself as it was more him gripping his thick dick and looking directly into your eyes. You nearly choked as he smiled.
Ghost threw you a hoodie when he dropped you off one night. It started raining before you got home and you were complaining about just getting your hair done. You tried to give it back but he refused to take it.
"Keep it. I don't care about that one anyways."
He shrugged. You'd wear the oversized hoodie to bed, the smell was comforting. Smoky, dusty, boozy, like Javanese vetiver. It smelled like a grown man. Delicious. Accidentally wore it to work one day when you were in a rush getting ready. That started a trend for the rest of them to get you to wear their clothes. It less of a trend and more of a competition honestly. They'd "accidentally" spill drinks or food on you.
"No worries, I've got an extra shirt in my car!"
They'd have a wide, cheeky smile plastered on their faces while giving you their shirt. Of course, they wouldn't take them back either; so you had a growing collection of huge shirts that you'd wear around your apartment. Eventually, you had to go back to the walk-in. Thankfully, there were no exhibitionists present. You were reaching to grab some ketchup when the door opened. You and Johnny stared at each other for a long moment.
"Need help getting that, bonnie?"
Before you could respond he was reaching over you, pressing his chest on your back. He handed you the bottle while his dick grew hard on your ass. He was breathing hard in your ear, waiting for your reaction. You pushed back on him and that's all he needed, he gripped your hips and grinded into you. Even through your jeans you could feel his dick twitch when you moaned. It was a hot minute of panting while he pulled you back onto him desperately, like he was trying to fuck you right through the denim. The door handle clicked. You both froze, staring at the entryway.
"Johnny?"
Gaz's head popped in. Your face got hot while he stared back and forth at the two of you. One thing led to another, and your pants are around your ankles while Johnny is face first in your wet folds. Kyle is standing behind you, fucking your thighs and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck.
"Pretty doll, how long have ye bin waiting fur this, huh?"
Soap looked up at you with so much adoration, like he was servicing a goddess.
"Gonna cum Johnn-"
Gaz whimpered and bit your shoulder to muffle his groans as he came right between your thighs and cunt. Soap cleaned up the mess greedily, savouring the taste of both your juices. He didn't stop eating you out until you finished. Gaz held you up while your knees buckled when you came undone. Gentlemen they are, pulled up your pants for you and wiped the smeared lipgloss from your face. You stumbled out of the freezer, walking past the kitchen. Price's eyes crinkled as he saw you head out onto the floor.
~
"You shouldn't do that in there. It's unsanitary. And a health code violation."
Simon looked straight ahead as he weaved between cars. You opened your mouth, but no words came to mind, so you just nodded. Your leg bounced nervously. He grabbed your thigh, stopping the movement. His hand stayed there until you were in front of your place. You stared at him, his brown eyes boring into you.
"G'night."
He pulled his hand away, placing both of them on the steering wheel. You walked into your apartment, dizzy with confusion. "What the fuck is going on?"
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machveil · 22 hours ago
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Johnny stealing one of Simon’s balaclavas for Halloween - he’s sure Simon knows, but the Brit hasn’t come looking for him. Johnny has a good laugh, grabbing one of his black gym hoodies and a pair of jeans. it gets a good laugh out of you too, a little surprised when Johnny comes out of your room donning Ghost’s signature mask. he tries to walk a little slower than usual, poorly mimicking how Simon stalks around
Johnny who fakes a British accent, it doesn’t sound like Simon’s at all - Simon’s Mancunian accent, rough and deep, is probably turning in its grave at Johnny’s impression. you both giggle over it, cupping his masked cheeks and smiling up at him. he can’t help it, leaning down to kiss you through the balaclava, snorting when you laugh mid kiss. it’s silly, the way his eyes sparkle with mischief when you’re used to seeing Simon’s dark, cold gaze behind that mask
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CW: something possessed me to write this, Johnny fucking you in Ghost’s mask, ambiguous relationship dynamic - up to your interpretation
“Think Simon could fuck you this good?”, panting against your neck as he ruts into you, Johnny can’t help but smirk behind the black fabric. he didn’t really know where the question came from, a possessive bite to his words as he snaps his hips forwards, “He wishes— he could be me.”. moaning when you squeeze around him, he can’t be bothered to tug the balaclava up, drool seeping into the fabric as you cry out beneath him, hiccuping as he pulls out
too much, his cock being bullied back into you with a harsh thrust, “Nah, m’better than ‘im, aren’t I?”, he huffs, tears glossing over his pretty blue eyes as he shifts to look down at you. “C’mon, say it, mo ghaol.”, pretty blue eyes, but as you look up at Johnny there’s something unmistakable looking back at you, the way Simon looks at you - a gut wrenching devotion that has your heart thrumming. “What’s wrong? Cannae answer me? Or do you jus’ want Simon to ruin you too?”
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nemo-writes · 3 days ago
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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆
↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader
↣ chapter summary; summoning her was a choice heavy with consequences. now, you're forced to confront buried loyalties and a steep price for salvation.
★ warnings; body horror, mommy issues
☆ story masterlist
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Hours pass after the call, each second heavy with anticipation as you sit on the porch, nails tapping out a nervous rhythm over your knee. Calling her was a decision you didn’t take lightly, and now that she’s coming, you can only wonder how it’ll play out after all this time. You’d left, and now, after everything, you’re the one who reached out first.
Suddenly, the rumble of an engine breaks the quiet, and it makes you straighten immediately. A sleek, black Mustang pulls into the drive, its windows so dark they blend seamlessly with the car's polished frame. It parks beside your own truck and where Sybil is sleeping inside. You stand up, unconsciously straightening up and brushing invisible lint off your clothes.
The moment the engine cuts off, you feel your pulse kick up a notch, the anticipation turning almost to dread.
A tall and imposing figure steps out of the driver’s seat first. It’s König, towering as ever, his dark, broad frame cutting a familiar figure in the low evening light. He steps up to meet you and doesn’t speak right away. His eyes, visible through the thin slit in his mask, soften just a little, a trace of warmth amidst his usually stoic demeanour. Carefully, he thumbs your chin in a familiar and comforting gesture, before he steps back.
“It’s been a while,” he murmurs quietly.
You give him a small nod, secretly grateful for the reassurance he brings. But the spell of reassurance fades as he opens the back door. Out slinks Cath Palug, your Mother’s familiar, a sleek, pitch-black sphynx cat with eyes like twin pale green mirrors, large and unblinking. The cat stretches his lean, wiry body and pads gracefully from the car, casting you an assessing gaze with piercing intelligence. Cath Palug’s presence is a prelude to the inevitable, and you swallow, feeling the familiar pressure of old expectations closing in.
Then your Mother steps out.
She’s a striking figure, even more intimidating than you remember, her poise and presence as commanding as ever. Dark glasses cover her eyes, and a sheer veil drapes elegantly over her face. The rich red of her lipstick is perfectly applied, as are her sharply pointed black nails, all silent declarations of control and power.
The instinct to fall back into your old ways is overpowering, and before you can think twice, you take a single step forward, bowing your head as you take her outstretched hand. You press a respectful kiss to the ring on her finger, a gesture that feels as natural as it is jarring—old habits and all. She says nothing as you straighten, and though her eyes are hidden, you feel her gaze on you, sizing you up. The faintest smile touches her lips, cold and knowing.
“Hello, darling,” she finally says. Your pulse quickens as you nod, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.
Her gaze flickers over you, taking in every detail. “You look dreadful,” she says bluntly, the hint of a frown just barely touching her lips. “Haggard, exhausted. Stand up straight, would you? And explain the situation clearly.”
Her voice is clipped and unwavering, the very tone you’d grown up trying to avoid displeasing. The urge to explain, to smooth over any cracks in your composure, presses against you, and despite the bitterness it brings, you lift your head and straighten your shoulders, forcing calm into your voice as you begin.
“Yes, of course, Mother.”
As you start to recount the events, Cath Palug rubs briefly against her heels, tail flicking as it studies you with the kind of scrutiny that is all too familiar. Meanwhile, König moves ahead, his tall frame cutting through the space with purposeful strides. You can tell by his pace that he’s already in full guard mode, reading every shadow, every open corner for a potential disturbance.
You guide her through the entrance, and with every detail you recount, she says nothing. Her nose wrinkles as she surveys the house, one hand reaching delicately into her pocket to retrieve a crisp, black-lace handkerchief. She presses it to her nose, a distasteful sigh escaping her lips.
“Charming place they have here,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Your beloved truly have a flair for neglect, don’t they?”
You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “I asked them to stay on the far side of the house for now,” you reply, your voice laced with as much calm as you can manage. “They won’t interfere.”
Her critical gaze sweeps over you, and she nods, looking satisfied, as if you’d passed a test you hadn’t realised was still in place. “Good. That makes this far easier.”
As you reach the door to Leah’s room, she pauses, assessing the energy hanging thickly in the air.
“König,” she says, her voice softer but no less commanding, “stay back. Watch over us but don’t enter. I suspect whatever is inside may corrupt even the strongest minds.”
König bows his head, stepping back with the same silent grace he used upon entering. He positions himself just outside the room, gaze sharpening, vigilant and ready but out of view. As the two of you step in, you can feel her energy tense, the magic in her stirring to meet whatever lay inside.
You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “It’s a parasite,” you explain, feeling the sting of her scrutiny with each word. “And it’s vampiric in nature.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. The signs are practically screaming.” Cath Palug, hops into the bed and arches its back, sniffing cautiously as if tasting the darkness in the air, before hissing sharply at Leah and jumping back down. Your Mother steps closer to Leah, removing her glasses and examining her with an appraising look that makes your stomach twist.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs, trailing one long, black nail above Leah’s arm. “I can see why she was chosen. A perfect little target for something so vile.”
Her gaze flickers over to you then, sharper, assessing. Her eyes carry that icy, knowing weight. “Your situation couldn’t be more clear, either,” she says, her tone cutting. “Discarded, were you? Cast aside without a second thought, as if the love you poured into them was nothing compared to this... human.” She gestures toward Leah, her lips curled into a thin, humourless smile.
The truth in her words is a punch to the gut. Tears prick at your eyes, but you won’t let them fall—not here, not in front of her, not after all the years you spent learning to hold yourself together under her piercing gaze. You swallow down the sting, focusing on keeping your composure, just as you always had in the past.
Finally, she steps back, putting her dark glasses back on as her expression cools. “I’ll treat her,” she says, a glimmer of satisfaction in her voice, as though she’s won something precious. “But there’s a toll to be paid, of course.” She tilts her head. “You’ll return to the coven. That’s my price. Come back as my heir, and I’ll cleanse her.”
Shame curls tight in your chest, creeping into every part of you, but your thoughts linger on them—on how, despite everything they’ve put you through, you still love them. You remember when they were the ones who held you up, who sheltered you, loved you. For the memory of those days and the loyalty they once showed you, you draw a breath and nod, head bowed.
“I shall serve,” you say, the words heavy on your tongue.
A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and without another word, she turns back around to face Leah. Her hand hovers over her chest for a moment, then sinks into it as if phasing through mist. You watch, heart pounding, as her fingers disappear beneath Leah’s skin, moving with a surreal ease. She reaches deeper, her arm lost in Leah’s body until, with a sharp tug, she yanks her hand back out.
In her grasp is the parasite, writhing and hideous, a twisted, centipede-like thing. She holds it up, it's dark, slick body wriggling, as she flicks her wrist and tosses it into the air. Cath Palug leaps, claws extended and teeth flashing, catching the creature in one swift, lethal motion and dispatching it efficiently.
It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. And just like that, it’s over.
The tension in the room is palpable as Leah lies motionless on the bed, the air thick with expectation. After a heartbeat, she gasps and jerks awake, pulling you from your anxious vigil. Relief tries to settle in your chest, but it’s quickly swept away as your Mother’s elegant hand presses firmly onto your shoulder, steering you out of the room without a second glance at Leah.
Her work here is done, and by her rules, so is yours.
Stepping into the hallway, you’re met with a tense standoff. König stands, silent and imposing, facing off with Price and Gaz. Their expressions are tight, But when König's gaze falls on you, his stance softens, just slightly, allowing a gentleness to seep into his intense demeanour.
Words start to form on your lips—an explanation, a warning—but they’re forgotten as Price and Gaz push past you without a second glance, their attention fixed solely on Leah. The pang of their disregard twists painfully inside you, deepening as your Mother lets out a disapproving click of her tongue, muttering, “Predictable,” with cold satisfaction.
Yet König steps up to stand by your side. His eyes linger as he wraps one of his arms around your shoulder. As he holds you, his calm strength eases some of the tension from your shoulders. Gently, he guides you away from the room and the people who were once everything to you.
Before reaching the front door, you hesitate, glancing up at him with a thousand concerns flickering in your gaze. Your mind returns to Sybil still back in your truck. 
“Sybil… she’s—,” you whisper, unable to hide the worry in your voice. König’s eyes meet yours through his mask, understanding immediately. He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“She’s safe, meine liebe,” he murmurs softly. “Sybil’s waiting for us in the car. I thought you’d want her close.” His thoughtfulness eases your worry. “I know how much she means to you. The ward you left behind was sublime, as always.”
Your face warms at his compliment, and you start to thank him, but he hushes you gently, brushing a calloused finger over your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he says, his voice soft yet steady, an unwavering promise.
It’s not unfamiliar, this caring side of him, but after everything, it still catches you off guard. He picks up your bag of supplies from beside the door, effortlessly slinging it over his shoulder before acknowledging your Mother, who watches a few paces away. She gives him a curt nod, a subtle approval that König returns with a respectful bow before leading you outside.
At the curb, he helps your Mother into the car first, Cath Palug jumping in right after. Then, he guides you into the back seat. Sybil, just as he promised, is curled up in the front seat. Relief sweeps through you as you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her nose. She lifts her head to gaze at you with sleepy, trusting eyes, her tail thumping faintly.
For once, your Mother remains silent, her face impassive as you reunite with Sybil. König watches you in the rearview mirror, his gaze holding yours for a brief, grounding moment before he starts the engine.
Just as the car pulls away from the curb, your Mother speaks, her tone as sharp. “Take us to Black Mous.”
The command strikes you like a shock, but you swallow any questions that rise in your throat. König’s eyes flick to her in the mirror, and he responds with his usual composure. “At once. We’ll be there shortly.”
. . .
The car stops smoothly at bar's entrance. König steps out first, opening the door for your Mother with a practised ease, her familiar jumping out behind her. She whispers something to König that you don't catch, and he nods solemnly before rounding the car to help you.
He then goes to your door, offering you a hand which you take with a soft thanks. His grip lingers on yours however. “Sybil and I will be right here.” His voice is soft, steady, even though you can see the slight tension in his jaw. He gently squeezes your hand before finally letting go, settling back against the car with folded arms and a watchful gaze even under the mask. 
With one final look, you follow inside after your Mother.
Inside the bar, the world falls silent. The regular patrons, familiar faces who would normally greet you with nods or smiles, freeze at the sight of your Mother. She strides forward with Cath Palug keeping pace beside her, his slitted eyes glinting dangerously.
“Everyone, out.” Laswell’s voice cuts through the silence, firm and resolute. She doesn’t need to repeat herself. Chairs scrape across the floor as patrons hurriedly exit, their glances lingering on the two of you before quickly darting away.
You follow after your Mother, feeling like a shadow—silent, resigned, and drawn along by her intense presence. She halts before Laswell, Cath Palug twisting around her feet, her movements slow and foreboding.
Laswell’s gaze flicks between the two of you. “To what do I owe this… visit?” she asks cautiously, her usual confidence strained.
Your Mother doesn’t waste a second. “The Le Fay coven withdraws its support. Effective immediately,” she declares, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
Laswell’s face blanches, her mouth opening in protest. “Surely there’s something we can discuss—”
Your Mother raises her hand sharply, silencing Laswell mid-sentence. “Enough.” Her tone is cold, final. “I’ve seen the state of things. Your judgement is clouded, and this establishment has drifted too far from what it once was.”
For years, the Le Fay coven had been her most steadfast ally. They’d depended on her just as much as she on them—a mutual pact so deeply woven it felt unbreakable. And yet, here your Mother stands, wielding her power to sever it with a single decision. She speaks with the conviction of one who knows her word is law. 
There’s no room for Laswell to manoeuvre, no path to reverse what’s been done. You watch her expression flicker from anger to desperate resolve, and finally, to a bleak resignation. She glances your way, perhaps seeking some support. But before you can even gather the strength to respond, your Mother snaps her fingers, and the effect is instantaneous. 
Laswell’s pleading expression crumbles, her gaze clearing as though an unseen fog has lifted from her mind. “I… what—” she stammers, blinking rapidly, as if seeing the room and the two of you for the first time.
“Consider this a lesson,” your Mother says with a hint of a sardonic smile. She turns sharply, her familiar trotting behind her in perfect synchronisation. You glance back at Laswell, once your friend and confidant. The desperation painted all over her face is now replaced with stunned silence. 
Without a glance towards you, your Mother’s peaks. “We’re going home.”
Her words settle over you like a sentence to exile from this place you once thought of as your real home. Though she doesn’t say it, you understand—she’s making it clear: you’ll never set foot here again. You do nothing more than nod in silent acceptance. 
The price you’ve paid feels almost unnamable, yet you bear it without a word, quietly resigning yourself to the weight of the path you’ve chosen.
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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 6 months ago
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[TF141 with A Reader That Can Fall Asleep Anywhere and Anytime]
Price’s heart skips a beat when he steps into the bedroom and sees your legs on the bed while the rest of your body just dangles from the edge of the bed.
He manhandles you back onto the bed and kisses you goodnight, but his poor heart gets surprised again when he goes to the bathroom in the morning and is welcomed by the sight of you dangling your legs on the edge of the empty bathtub this time and body lies in the tub.
He picks you up and you stir, murmuring that you were brushing your teeth when he asks you why you’re sleeping in the tub, and then drift back to dream in his arms with the toothbrush in your hand.
Soap is too used to your weird sleeping habit, so when he comes home and sees you lying with your head on the couch but hanging your legs over the back of the couch, he just scoffs a laugh and carries you to bed.
“Hey Johnny” you mumble when you feel him put you on the bed.
“go back to sleep” He kisses you and goes to shower, and when he finishes and goes back to your side, he shakes his head in disbelief when he finds you lying horizontally even though he just adjusted your position into a normal human one 5 minutes ago.
Gaz wakes up in the morning and walks to the living room just to witness you standing but bend over the kitchen counter, he almost thinks you’re dead and the haziness in his mind just vanishes in a second.
“babe wake up!” he knows you’re alive but still checks if you are breathing as he wakes you up.
“goo morni kyl I -&&:@/“ and he only watches you straight up for a greeting and then slump onto the counter to sleep again, while the tea you make is beside you.
Ghost
“What do you want for dinner?” He asks when you two sit together in front of the desk, he's using his laptop while you’re reading.
“What you want for dinner love?” He says again when he doesn’ t get a response from you.
“Love?”
He turns to face you after another silence, and finally, he discovers why you're so quiet, because you fall asleep while resting your head on your hand.
He grins while taking out his phone and records you, and (luckily) he captures your head slips out of your palm and slams your face on your book as you are totally unfazed and keep snoring.
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mrsparrasblog · 5 months ago
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Self defense with Simon
But imagine being Johnny's girlfriend who is unable to fight, and Soap is always afraid that something will happen to you. So he tries to teach you hand-to-hand combat, but it either ends up with sex or he is afraid to hurt you.
So he asks his best mate, Ghost, for help. Ghost, of course, agrees, and soon you are in the training hall with your boyfriend, getting thrown around like a rag doll by his best friend. He has you pinned under him, over his shoulder, you are in his headlock, and lastly, you are under him as he tries to teach you how to get away from being choked.
Well, he didn’t think you’d let out a moan, and Ghost, who was just a starved animal in need of something sweet, went feral, trying everything to get you to mewl again.
Your yoga pants already had a wet stain from your arousal as he finally ripped them off and pushed his way-too-big dick inside your pleading hole while Johnny stroked himself on a chair next to you, "Told ya, bonnie, if a bad man comes, he does that to you."
"Just trying to teach you how to get out of it, luv."
Behind closed doors, Gaz and Price were stroking themselves as they watched you getting manhandled and fucked by Ghost.
-------------
"Good news, bonnie, Price and Gaz want to train with you too."
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