sage

You were bouncing with excitement. Literally. Well, as much as you could in a car. Little rocking motions back and forth on your toes, shoulders held high, sharp canines nervously digging into your lower lip as you watched zealously out the window.

Today’s the day. You finally get to meet your team. Your team. Something you get to call your own.

All the other hybrids in your unit, LRC1*, had already been picked. They got to be with their new teams and do exciting new things, and you were happy for them!

The custodians who supervised you always told you that it was only taking longer to find you a team because you were so special, they needed to find adequate people to take good care of you.

You didn’t mind, you liked the thought that all your friends were happy with their assignments. Well, you were a little disappointed. You missed the other people in your unit. For the past week, it’d just been you.

You get lonely easily. You try to chat up the carers as much as you can, but they’re always busy. You can’t wait to have people around you all the time, where you won’t have to spend your last breath just trying to get a first name out of someone.

They didn’t tell you much about your new team. Four members, a captain named John Price, all human.

That was okay, you were already expecting it to be tough around people who weren’t acclimated to hybrids and the way they lived.

Apparently, they’d already been a team for a steady three years. They didn’t need anyone else. On regular occasions, there’s no way you’d be put on a team with men like them. They’re normally on active duty, dangerous, and would never have the time or space for a pup like you.

But recently something had gone wrong during a mission. Leaving them all pretty frazzled, and one still recovering from a pretty severe injury. You knew you were just there temporarily to cheer them up and give them something to focus on. You were okay with that.

You don’t know what happens to scrapped hybrids, but the murmurs about some sort of amalgamation of hybrids, becoming test subjects for the next new strand of human-animal hybrids, have scared you enough to know you’d rather be an unwanted soldier than whatever happens after.

You’re already worried they won’t like you. If you’re being honest with yourself, you aren’t the most talented. The brightest. You’re chatty and friendly, helpful when you need to be, but you don’t have the main skill points mastered yet. You fall on the lower chain of physical strength, don’t do well fast on your feet, and haven’t quite got a handle on guns yet.

One incident report and they never even let you in the same room with a gun again. Nobody even got hurt! How are you supposed to learn how to use something you can’t touch?

There’s one thing you’re really good at. Your sense of smell. You can smell explosives yards away, and sniff out different types of accelerant doubtlessly. And your hearing is pretty good, too. It seems that all of your hybrid traits went to the intuitive junk instead of the things the military finds more useful.

Raw strength. Brute force. Height. Muscle.

You hope you can make up for your lack of those things in your ability in others.

You try your best and then some at everything, you just can’t seem to get much right. But now you can prove you’re better than that. They’re already a fully fledged team, so you have no shoes to fill. You’re not approved to go on missions with active fire, either, so all you have to do is focus on your nose and nothing else!

It seemed easy enough to you.

You all but jump out of the vehicle as soon as it parks, nearly tripping over your tail as you beeline it towards the entrance gate. You don’t look back with how excited you are.

A man in a black outfit stops you with a heavy hand on your chest, your sternum aching a little with how hard he pushes you back.

“You need prior authorization to enter this facility. Where’s your owner?”

You give him a confused look. You step back when you notice his hand on his waistband. The furry ears atop your head flick to the side, tail slowing to an anxious swish.

“She’s with me,” A woman pants, coming up behind you and placing a hand on your back. “What’d we say about running off?”

You give her a slightly guilty look as she clips the black leather leash to the silver D-ring on the collar around your neck. “Sorry, Miss.”

The woman you’ve been traveling with, Marissa, shows the man her ID. She’s been with you for four car rides, two planes, a couple hotels, and now you’re finally here.

“Oh. Alright. Come on in,” He turns and throws some signal to the man in the booth controlling the gate, who nods. You hear a buzz ring before the gates slowly open. You both walk inside and she turns to a man, in the same uniform, on the other side.

“Excuse me, I’m supposed to be meeting a ‘John Price’. Any idea where I can find him?”

The man barely moves, just juts his chin over your shoulder and says in a solemn tone, “He can help you.”

You turn to see a tan hand stretched out in your direction, the appendage leading up to a handsome face, pretty dark hair with tight-knit coils, and a gleaming smile that almost makes you melt. And he smells so good, too. So clean. It makes your eyes water. And your mouth.

Your brain finally catches up as your hand strikes out, quickly grasping his and shaking it. You return his smile, canines peaking over your lips. You can see his mouth part to speak, but you’re all too excited to let him. “Hi. Are you Kyle? You’re so pretty. Marissa told me all about you, I’m so excited to meet you!“ you rush out, watching his amused expression.

Marissa interrupts you by clearing her throat, your ears tilting in her direction. “I’m sorry, I was given strict instructions only to hand her off to John. This isn’t some random delivery.”

He releases your hand, reaching it out in front of her, which she ignores until he finally relents and lowers his hand.

“I understand, ma’am. Precious cargo. I’m just here to escort you to his office.” His voice is silky and smooth. Like honey. You can feel any tension in your shoulders dissipating just at the sound of his voice.

Marissa is not pleased. You can tell by the way she purses her lips, sucking her teeth as she hands your leash over to him. “Fine.”

You’re much too focused on his beautiful face to care for her irritation. He notices, smiles, and grips your shoulder with his warm palm and gentle fingers as he turns and begins to lead you down the pathway previously behind him.

“You can follow me, Miss.”

You’re too enamored by the length of his eyelashes, the thickness of his brows, the dip of his nose bridge, you barely notice his hand reaching towards your neck. He pauses, smirks a little, “Not a flight risk, are you?”

You smile and shake your head, tilting your chin up for him to reach the clasp of your collar. He detaches the leash, slipping it into his pocket. Marissa doesn’t seem very happy with the situation, with him, or you.

You can feel her irritation, but it’s in the background of your enamor with him. He keeps you walking right next to him with a hand on your lower back, still smiling at you as you stare at him. “Captain’s got to finish up a meeting. Sent me out to get you. I’ll take you to his office and we’ll wait there with Sergeant Soap until he and Ghost join us.”

Your chin bobs up and down in a nod, Marissa sighing heavily in response. “Great.” She huffs, looking off to the side.

You’re clearly a bit affected by her mood, ears twitching, eyebrows pulling together. Gaz must notice this because his hand slides up to squeeze your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side while she’s distracted. Your head snaps towards him and your expression is confused until he leans in a little closer to whisper. “I’m sure you’re used to lightening the mood, huh? You’ll be very familiar with dealing with grumpy old men by the time you’re done with us.”

You smile, chest feeling lighter just at the sight of his handsome face. He makes you feel comfortable. And with how lonely you are, that’s all you really need to fall head over heels for anyone. He makes the walk less awkward than it’d be with just you and Marissa. You don’t think she likes you much. He makes for a good buffer.

There’s a quiet ding from Kyle’s hip. He releases your shoulder to fish around in his pocket until he pulls out his phone. The screen lights up as he unlocks it, and you watch him run his tongue over his teeth while he reads whatever the notification is.

“John’s meeting is running late. I apologize. Why don’t we go visit Johnny while we wait?” He switches gears, nodding his head to the opposite direction you were heading once you reached a fork in the path.

“…Okay. No worries,” you mumble, distracted, eyes flitting back to Marissa as she scoffs.

“Oh, sure. What’s next? We go to the zoo and you try to hand her off to a gorilla?”

You see Kyle’s jaw twitch as he grinds his molars together. You wince, shrinking into yourself. The rest of his expression stays still as stone.

“I assure you that you and John will have a moment alone for you to get your complaints taken seriously, Miss. Just a quick detour to make good of our time.” He explains, and you wish Marissa would just be understanding for once. She’s always so stressed.

It’s quiet for the rest of the short walk. It’s hard not to feel awkward. Even once you do finally make it to the medical center building, it doesn’t get much easier. You can’t tell what’s excitement and what’s anxiety anymore. There are a few quiet words between the guard at the entrance and Kyle and he’s let right in, where he leads you to a room in the far left.

“Me and Marissa are going to have a quick chat, why don’t you go ahead and say hi to Johnny?” Kyle offers, knocks on the door, and opens it for you to usher you in.

You barely get a final glance at Marissa before your eyes land on the man reclined in the bed. There’s a bandage on his forehead, a split on his lip, and a bruise on his left cheek. He seems to be healing but he’s not quite there yet.

“Hi,” you beam, stepping closer.

“There she is,” He grins, lips splitting to reveal a chip on one of his upper canine teeth. You think he’s still quite handsome, despite all of this. “Have an easy travel?”

“Umm… yeah.” You shrug, eyes wandering around the room. You walk over to an armchair off to the side, pick up a black hoodie, and brush your thumb over the emblem. Simon Riley. “It was… long. But good. Nothing eventful.”

“M’glad to hear that. And who was that you were traveling with?”

“Marissa. I’m not supposed to travel on my own. She’s nice but… pushy. She rushes.” you answer, gaze following the wallpaper pattern to the window.

“I’m sure you won’t miss her much.”

You can hear a smile in his voice. An odd undertone that makes a subtle shiver run down your spine. He couldn’t have meant it like that.

“…Yeah. I guess not.”

The conversation drifts into a lull, and by the time Kyle comes back to fetch you, Marissa is already gone.

“She was in quite a rush to leave by the looks of it,” he tells you, “Sorry you missed her, love. John had to stay and finish the meeting, but Ghost is waiting for you in his office. Say bye to Johnny now.”

“Bye Johnny,” you say over your shoulder, getting a peek at him as Kyle ushers you out. It’s not like Marissa to just up and leave you like that. Normally she wouldn’t have let you out of her sights. You wonder if it was something Kyle said. Maybe. Maybe not. He seemed so polite.

Simon scares you when you first meet him. He’s too big. Too broad. Too cold. He doesn’t force interactions onto you. Just watches you duck and weave out of his way when you happened to be next to each other. You spend the rest of the day bobbing around the other offices, living quarters, cafeterias, and finally when John’s finished with the meeting, his office.

It’s bigger than you expected when you step in. The left corner has a run-down desk, a lamp, and a chair- everything you’d expect for your average office. After that, though, it seems the room was expanded. Branches out into more of a living space. Two couches, one big green armchair, and a coffee table with some books and mints. It’s very… lived-in.

You like it better than the cold, white architecture of the facility you came from.

John, the man everyone keeps telling you about, mostly lives up to your expectations. He looks nice. Handsome. You wish he’d trim his beard some, but otherwise, he looks clean. He’s sitting in that big armchair in the middle of the semi-circle the couches make. There’s a clear glass in his hand, a quarter of the way full with a gold-ish liquid.

Is he allowed to be drinking on the job?

You wander out into the middle of the room when Kyle releases his grip on your shoulder to find his seating, Johnny following along as well. Simon leaves your vision.

“Hi,” you smile, watching the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He’s not quite smiling, though. You suddenly feel a bit shy, being in the middle of the room. You bite at the cuticle of your thumb.

“Get on your knees.”

Your expression turns confused, a slight crinkle at the bridge of your nose. What for? you wonder, but keep the thought to yourself. Maybe he was super religious. Like, he wanted you to pray or something? People were similar to that back at the facility sometimes.

“Oh, uhh, okay.”

You sink down onto your knees before bending them to lean back onto your heels. It was a dark, wooden floor. It’d probably hurt after only a few minutes. But you were okay. For now.

You sniff and wipe at your nose absently, staring up at him. You could feel the other’s eyes on you. What were you here for, again?

He reaches for his belt buckle. You stiffen. He continues, undoing it before starting to slip it out of the assigned holes. Your shoulders tense, fingertips pressing against the floor to prepare for you to stand as you lean away.

“Easy.” John attempts to soothe. Like you were some sort of startled horse.

The floor creaks as someone stands behind you. You begin to turn your head to see who, but there’s a big hand on the back of your neck before you can. It forces you to look forward as John sets the belt aside on the table next to him.

He tilts his hips up to tug his khakis down to his knees until they fall to pool around his shoes. Your eyes naturally flick down to the bulge in his boxers. Is he actually hard? How didn’t you notice before? Your ears twitch, lowering back a bit.

You can guess who the hand belongs to by the fabric surrounding his skin. The length of his fingers reaches around to the sides of your neck. You can even smell the stained scent of cigarettes soaked into the fabric from where you were. Your lower lip trembles.

“Wait-“ you squeak, hands and knees pressing into the floor below you as you try to stand. Simon’s hand tenses on your nape and pushes you further toward John.

“Forward.”

“Wait, I’m- This is weird-“

“Wasn’t weird when you signed up for this, was it?”

You frown. You never agreed to something like this. Hell, you didn’t even know which country you were going to until you ended up here. What does he think you signed up for?

Before you can pipe up, he’s shoving you forward again. You stumble slightly, catching yourself with your hands on John’s knees. His bare knees. He’d already taken everything on his bottom half off. Your lips part as your eyes land on the flushed head of his cock, a droplet of pre-come dripping down the glans of his head.

You nearly whimper. How isn’t Simon, or even Kyle or Johnny uncomfortable? They must’ve seen each other like this before. It feels like you’re invading, even though they’re the ones forcing you into their dynamic.

You open your mouth to speak as he grips his half-hard cock in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the wet glans, hips shifting slightly in his seat, but Simon uses the opportunity to grab your jaw, stuffing his thumb in your mouth. He tucks his thumb behind your bottom teeth to tug it down, prying your jaw open with his other fingers. A whimper slips from your throat this time, lips unable to catch it.

John frowns a little sympathetically, watching the conflicted expression in your eyes. The slight panic there, the stress of the inevitable. He could only do so much to comfort.

“I know, I know. Shhh. Simon’s so rough, isn’t he? But he knows best. Daddy knows best. You can trust us.”

You whine, the noise turning into a gurgling-like sound as Simon guides you forward, the head of John’s cock nudging against your lower lip. He goes only a little deeper, the glans bumping against the palate on the roof of your mouth before he pauses.

“She won’t bite,”

His free hand moves to grip Simon’s wrist, the one connected to the thumb hooked behind your bottom teeth, signaling him to release. Simon grunts but does as told. He huffs as he stands straight once more, still behind you with his other hand on the back of your neck.

John’s hand returns to his knee and your lips instinctively close around the portion in your mouth. Not hard or sucking, just kind of resting it on your tongue.

John smiles, “Yeah, Daddy doesn’t need to worry about you biting, does he? You want to be good, you just need a little guidance.”

He slowly slides deeper and deeper but doesn’t make it far until you gag lightly. A tear rolls down your cheek when you squeeze your eyes shut in a heavy blink, only to be jolted back to reality when Simon gives you a pinch on the back of your neck.

He sets that as his depth. Just before you gag, he pulls back out. He’s not making too much noise. I guess that makes it better, right? He doesn’t seem to be satisfied with your shallow threshold.

You’ve never done anything like this before. You’re treading in uncharted waters. Of course that makes you nervous.

John gives you a mix of gruff praises and frustrated grunts, now continually, purposefully triggering just past your gag reflex to feel your throat spasm around him. It’s making your stomach start to churn, esophagus sore and aching. It’s too much too soon, it’s too much-

Your panic is taking over, so much so that as you try to squirm out of Simon’s grip, John stops feeling the puffs of breath through your nose on his pubic bone.

You’re missing a step. Stumbling over the air as your throat suddenly constricts tightly.

“Fuckin’-“ John grunts as he pulls back, feeling you retreat as much as you can with Simon’s grip as you sputter and cough. Tears are flowing freely now as you gasp for air, hand coming up to feel your throat from the outside while you wince.

You see John’s hand close around his length, squeezing pre-cum out of the tip. He lets his head fall back and his eyes close. Apparently, it’s Simon’s turn now.

Simon’s free hand comes around to grip your jaw, swiping the mess of fluids off your chin the best he can. He turns your face to be directed at him from over your shoulder

“Thought you wanted this. Hm?” He gives your face a shake when you don’t answer fast enough, digits digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks.

“I-I did,” you sniffle, “but you’re being mean.”

Something about the way he stares at you, eyes trailing across your face, makes you think he’s found something in your gaze that makes him deeply uncomfortable.

You hiccup as you watch him in the moment of silence, seeing his eyes narrow slightly. He releases your chin and uses his hand on your nape to push you forward once more.

“Nooo,” you moan, placing your hands on John’s knees to try to keep some distance between you.

“Please,” you plea, “I’m no good.”

You crane your head back as far as you can while Simon tightens his grip to be nearly painful.

“Exactly why yer supposed to keep going. Practice makes perfect, pup.”

Your ears perk up and tilt towards the third voice, eyes landing on Johnny sliding off the couch. He shifts onto his knees in front of where Kyle sits, giving you a cheeky smile and wink when he catches your gaze. You frown as Kyle runs his hand through Johnny’s mess of hair.

John pulls your attention back to him with a thumb just under your eye to wipe the tears. They haven’t stopped, but they’ve slowed. You watch his expression as he drags his thumb down your face until it catches on your lip. Your lips absentmindedly close around the digit when he slides it deeper. His eyes follow the movement.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Your first time, isn’t it? Should be takin’ it easy on you. Let’s try something else for a change.”

You let out a small sigh of relief through your nose at his words, shoulders dropping. You wish they’d started with that from the beginning. You’re normally quick to follow directions, but this is difficult for you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, wiping the wetness off on his khakis. He nods at Simon and makes some sort of vague gesture towards you with his hand.

“Up y’get,” Simon asserts, using the hand on the back of your neck and one under your armpit to pull you, quite roughly, to stand. You stumble at first. “Ow,” you grouse, body stiffening under his harsh touch.

You make a startled noise as he tucks his fingers into the waistband of your pants before he tugs them over your ass. Johnny whistles at the sight of your underwear and you nearly flinch at the sudden reminder that there were not only two, but four men in this room.

Your gaze flicks toward the younger men in the room. Johnny’s cheeks are flushed red, his hand pumping up and down Kyle’s unsurprisingly pretty, wet cock. He’s looking at you over his shoulder, lips parting in a brazen smirk.

Your lower lip wobbles. Simon doesn’t pay much, if any, attention to your underwear. He yanks them down right after the pants, pulling until you nearly trip with how he’s forcing you to move your feet. He’s a bit gentler tugging your tail out of its assigned hole, though. “Simon,“ you whimper, reaching to pull his hands off in hopes of making him pause.

Your wrists are quickly snatched up by one of John’s hands in front of you. You turn your attention back to him, head snapping forward once more. He seems a bit frustrated with Simon rushing him along, now. “You’re alright, little love. You wanted this, remember? You wanted a Daddy. You want love. I can give you that. We can give you that.”

Simon is discarding your pants and underwear after tugging them off your feet. While you’re distracted, he stands. Places his hand on your nape once more, the other on your right hip as he pushes you forward. Price places his free hand on your left hip to aid as well, pulling you over his lap.

Your knees are instinctively propping you up on each side of his hip, but it only seems to help them by hovering you over his cock. Your ears are lowered back, brows furrowed, a weary expression on your face.

How the fuck was that going to fit inside you when you didn’t even like to use two fingers on yourself?

“I don’t- This isn’t what I meant. Please, I can be useful.”

“’m sure you can, baby. Just give Daddy what he needs and you can go back to being a good little hybrid, yeah?”

You frown, a slight pout pulling at your bottom lip. He’s responding to you like he’s paying attention, but his words show that everything is going straight in one ear and out the other. You’ve already learned that arguing is useless in your four, or five hours with them.

Simon releases his hand on your hip. Pausing his manhandling momentarily for John to adjust you how he likes. You’re silent. Lips suddenly freeze as Simon tightens his hand on your nape and John hovers you right above his cock. No one mentions how wet you are.

He slowly sinks you onto his lap with your fists tensing and jerking in his hold. Your tail is limp behind you. A whimper is choked out of your closing throat when his head nudges against your dripping entrance. You can’t help but watch as he guides your hips until he’s about an inch inside.

He must miss the first tear slipping down your cheek. Ignores the second. Watches silently as you squeeze your eyes shut. Shoulders stiff. He’s nearly halfway inside by the time you’re gasping, “It hurts, it hurts. You’re too big, I’m not ready.”

There’s silence for a second and you almost think he’s going to ignore you again before he carefully releases your wrists. You sniffle, desperately sucking in a shaky breath as you immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails scraping across his back as you cling to him.

You don’t know why. You shouldn’t, not with the things he’s doing to you. But you need comfort. Stability. He’s the only one there for that now. Simon’s footsteps retreat, not that you’re attentive enough to hear.

He smiles, the hand that just released you going to smooth down your hair. “That’s a good girl,” he coos. Petting at the back of your head, soothing you into a lull of false security. You cry out as his other hand suddenly shoves you down until your ass meets his thighs.

You sob into his shoulder, nails suddenly near drawing blood with how harshly you dig them into his flesh. It hurts, the way he spreads you open mercilessly, forcibly stretching you for his cock. He groans, deep in his chest like a beast after eating its killing. You tremble, tears dripping down onto his shirt and wetting little smudged circles into the fabric.

“Fuuuuckk… She needed me real bad, huh? It’s alright, baby. Perfect fit, yeah?”

He pants hot breaths against your neck, listening to you sniffle and hiccup over a few sobs. His hand stays on the back of your head as he holds you against him. He shifts his hips and grunts while you let out a displeased moan.

John spares a glance to his boys. Despite Simon being seemingly unnerved by his posture sitting on the opposite couch, John sees the signs. His hands are gripping his thigh a little too tightly, a little too close to his crotch. Alternating between tightening and loosening.

His chest rises and falls quicker than normal.

Gaz’s face seems a little sympathetic, a crinkle at the bridge of his nose, and he might fall for it if it weren’t for the hard-on between his legs. He does believe it, just a bit. He knows at this point that Kyle is a sucker for tears. Just a little sniffling from Johnny has him loosening whatever reigns he had on the situation. The good thing for him, the filthy man that Johnny is, loves to be pushed past tears.

Would choke himself on Kyle’s cock any chance he got. Or Simon’s, or John’s.

You’ll get there, too. Eventually.

His hips cant up against your ass and your grunts grow a little more high-pitched, but all you do is hug him closer. Squeeze him harder. Hug his cock tighter in your snug little cunt.

Yeah, you’ll do just fine.

notes: LRC1 = Low Risk Canine 1, as in the first of it’s unit. idk tbh i made it up. so far i don’t have any further plans for puppy or Kitty. doesn’t mean i wont find inspiration to write something else entirely or continue their stories, but id say it’s paused for now. higher chance i find inspiration if anyone wants to leave a blurb in my inbox for me to go off of ;) or just any ideas or thoughts!

John gives you a mix of gruff praises and frustrated grunts, now continually, purposefully triggering just past your gag reflex to feel your throat spasm around him. It’s making your stomach start to churn, esophagus sore and aching. It’s too much too soon, it’s too much-

Your panic is taking over, so much so that as you try to squirm out of Simon’s grip, John stops feeling the puffs of breath through your nose on his pubic bone.

You’re missing a step. Fumbling over inhales only as your throat suddenly constricts tightly.

“Fuckin’-“ John grunts as he pulls back, feeling you retreat as much as you can with Simon’s grip as you sputter and cough. Tears are flowing freely now as you gasp for air, hand coming up to feel your throat while you wince.

You see John’s hand close around his length, squeezing pre-cum out of the tip. He lets his head fall back and eyes close. Apparently, it’s Simon’s turn now.

Simon’s free hand comes around to grip your jaw, swiping the mess of fluids off your chin the best he can. He turns your face to have your gaze be directed at him from over your shoulder.

“Thought you wanted this. Hm?” He gives your face a shake when you don’t answer fast enough, digits digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks.

“I-I did,” you sniffle, “but you’re being mean.”

Something about the way he stares at you, eyes trailing across your face, makes you think he’s found something in your gaze that makes him deeply uncomfortable.

You hiccup as you watch him in the moment of silence, see his eyes narrow slightly. He releases your chin and uses his hand on your nape to push you forward once more. “Back to it.”

“Nooo,” you moan, placing your hands on John’s knees to try to keep some distance between you.

“Please,” you plea, “I’m no good.”

You crane your head back as far as you can while Simon tightens his grip to be nearly painful. You hear a voice chime in from the other side of the room.

“Exactly why yer supposed to keep going. Practice makes perfect, pup.”

Your ears perk up and tilt towards the third voice, eyes landing on Johnny sliding off the couch. He shifts onto his knees in front of where Kyle sits, giving you a cheeky smile and wink when he catches your gaze. You frown as Kyle runs his hand through Johnny’s mess of a hair.

John pulls your attention back to him with a thumb just under your eye to wipe the tears. They haven’t stopped, but they’ve slowed. You watch his expression as he drags his thumb down your face until it catches on your lip. Your lips absentmindedly close around the digit when he slides it deeper.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Your first time, isn’t it? Should be takin’ it easy on you. Let’s try something else for a change.”

annnddddd then they fuck

notes: master list here still first draft but tbh i don’t even edit them that much before i post the full thing. i’m lazy 🫠 also tysm for 300 followers! actually insane i haven’t lost interest yet so we’ll see if this becomes a long term hobby ;) this part has already hit 3.6k and i have no idea where the end even is yet.

A heaviness is lifted from your shoulders when Simon leaves. You may have interacted more with him, but not many were positive. He was unpredictable, rude, and trapped you inside his house, all while seeming to hate you.

You appreciate Johnny a bit more. He’s nice to you. He’s a bit of light streaming from a window into Simon’s cold apartment of a heart. You don’t know why he’s keeping you here.

Johnny seems to like you. Maybe it’s just a relationship thing, but Simon will deal with you until Johnny gets bored. And you know the deal, then you’ll be tossed to the streets again. It’s not new.

At least they seem to be somewhere around middle class. They have enough to spare. You’ll stay a few more days, stock up on some essentials, and you’ll be on your way. They can’t kick you out if you’ve already left.

So, you let him tug you to the bathroom, willingly go along with him using that horrid disinfectant on your arm, and bandage you back up with some clean gauze. You let Johnny pull you into his side once Simon’s left, turn on the television, and tuck your head against his shoulder.

You struggle to stay awake, the only fuel you have being fear and rage at this whole situation. At yourself. How could you have ended up here?

You know better.

You know you’ll get out of this. You chose to be reckless, and now you’ll choose to be smart about it.

He smells nice. Like pine tar. Warmth.

A bonfire, only you’re just a little bit too close.

Your nose easily falls into place into the indent behind his jaw. Your breaths wash over his collarbone. You can hear the dulled roars of a crowd, and every once in a while, his muscles tense as they cheer.

You only get more tired. You sit up a little more, side propped against Johnny's, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you yawn.

You see him smile in the corner of your eye, and he still is when you turn to him.

“Need t’be put down fer a nap?”

You shake your head, ignoring the urge to roll your eyes. His head turns back to the screen briefly, noting the beginning of half-time, before taking your hand in one of his hardened ones and beginning to stand.

“Well, how about we go wash up?”

Just the motion of standing makes you nauseous, stomach turning lin waves as you resist the urge to gag. You quickly brace your free hand on the couch to help prop yourself up, blinking rapidly to help with the dizziness.

“We?” you ask, confused.

His smile turns more impish, and he tugs you closer as he starts pulling you towards the bedroom.

“Yes, we. Not shy, are ya? Jus’ to conserve water, of course. Bills are expensive these days, y’know?”

No, you don’t know. You don’t remember the last time you’ve even seen a bill in your name. You don’t know the prices considering you don’t- can’t pay them, but you’ve sure heard a lot of people with a home complain about bills.

You wish you had that issue.

You also don’t know how he hasn’t realized you’re not quite the outgoing type. No, he knows.

No response is given.

Once he’s brought you to the bathroom attached to their shared bedroom, he reaches for you. You can’t help the instinctive step you take back, and you almost feel bad when you see the wounded look on his face.

“Ye okay, Kitty?” he questions, brows furrowing slightly. Like he hasn’t trapped you in his home. Like he hasn’t started treating you like his girlfriend. Like it wouldn’t make total sense for you to be unsettled.

“Yeah, I’m just, uh…”

He sighs through his nose, pulling back the curtains of the tub.

“Listen, how about you get in first, and I’ll keep my eyes closed the whole time. Deal?” he adds, pushing his hand out towards you.

Whatever it takes.

You take his hand and let him pull you closer as he turns the faucet on. He switches the water to be directed through the shower before he lets the two of you switch places, stepping back to be behind you. You don’t know if he’s turned around or closed his eyes, but you don’t think you want to.

Trying to be quick with the removal of your clothes isn’t easy when your hands are trembling. You shudder violently when you step under the warm water, squeezing your eyes shut as you stay facing the wall.

“I-I’m in,” you breathe shakily, hugging your arms.

“Alrigh’. Gonna step in behind ya. Don’t rip ma head off.”

You hear the rustle of clothes, ears twitching. Your tail wraps around your thigh as you listen to him step into the shower behind you, flinching slightly as you feel him place a hand on your back.

“There ya are,” he murmurs, tucking his chin over your shoulder and grasping your side with his hand. You’re familiar with this feeling now. He’s not quite pressed up against you, but you can feel the warmth of his chest. You ignore the way your head naturally tilts to one side to make space for him.

“What’s got you so skittish today?” he asks, as if this is new behavior from you. As if he isn’t the one who trapped you in his home.

“Just… not used to this, is all. Want to go back outside.”

“Soon,” is all he tells you, and you don’t know if you believe him anymore. You want to.

He holds you carefully, tilting your head back to keep your hair out of the water as he reaches around you to grab men’s body wash. Compared to the 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner next to it, it looks almost ornate.

His rough hands are surprisingly gentle with you. Even as they scrape against your skin, he’s slow and leisurely with the way he washes you. Around the slopes of your shoulders, down your sides, up your chest. You ignore the way his hands unnecessarily cup around your breasts. Over the curve of your stomach and dipping between your thighs.

You choke on saliva as he does, hand jerking to grip his wrist.

“Easy, Kitty,”

His hand stays strong.

He isn’t looking to give you pleasure. Instead, his fingers swerve around your clit and down your slit to ‘clean’ you. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could lean into his touch and-

No.

“Jus’ washin’ you.”

“I can wash myself,” your voice tremors, chest rising up and down a little harsher.

“Ah’ know you can.” he huffs, leaning his cheek against your jaw from behind. His hand leaves you, briefly, squeezing more soap into his hands before he begins on your legs.

You’re not brave enough to fight him. Not today. You don’t want bad blood, you just want peace. You can only have peace if you leave.

He washes the entirety of your body before moving onto himself. Avoiding your hair. It makes sense to you, considering they’d just done it the other day. While you were unconscious. While you have no recollection.

What else could they have done?

The thought makes you shiver.

You quickly shift your thoughts to something more digestible. He cleanses his hair as though he’s a dog, scrubbing aggressively and shaking his head to send excessive water flying all over the bathroom as he turns the faucet off. You both step out.

He wraps up in a towel and turns to clean himself, seemingly unconcerned with the fact you can fully see his ass. When the rustling of him putting on clothes gets loud enough to cover the sound of their sink cabinet creaking open, you manage to snag a few pads from ripping open a brand new box.

You’d seen them earlier when Johnny was giving you a new bandage for your arm. You tried not to ruminate on questioning why these grown men had period product, women’s clothes, women’s underwear-

Maybe they had an open relationship? No, you would’ve seen someone in the time you’d watched them. A roommate? Nope, same thing. Maybe they were swingers.

Yeah, that makes sense. You’ll go with that.

You crouch down to slip them into the pocket of the pants you wore previously to the shower, and you toss them in the laundry bin casually when he faces you once more. He doesn’t seem suspicious. Just annoyed with the fact that his hair keeps dripping, cursing under his breath. He wraps a towel around his waist and grips your wrist to tug you along with him.

Your wet feet slip along the floor as he drags you, much more focused on getting to the bedroom. He releases you once you’re inside, letting you wander to the bed on your own as he fishes through the dresser.

You sit with the towel wrapped around your armpits, holding the fabric tightly to your body. He stumbles around a little as he pulls some new clothes on. Blue boxers, a red wool-looking sweater, and some casual black pants. He’s not very balanced.

He rifles through the other drawers and brings you out a new outfit, but places them aside instead of clothing you like you expected. You watch as he huffs and puffs until he finds a pale green bottle of lotion, giving you another one of those smiles that make your breath tremble while he kneels in front of you.

“What’re you doing?” you sniffle, holding the towel closer to your body.

“Relax,” he coaxes, squeezing a pump of lotion into his hands. “Yr’skin is so dry, jus’ giving ya a little moisture.”

He rubs his hands together, reaching for your left ankle and starting a soft massage up your leg. You notice the tip of his tongue popping out, running along his lower lip. It makes you anxious.

Excited.

“You don’t need to. Really.” you breathe, but you don’t pull away.

“Let me do this for ya, Kitty.” he says, looking up at you with those blue eyes. They don’t scream danger. No, it’s something else. Something wild and fierce. Not scary or scared, just… off.

It unsettles you. Turns you on.

You nod absently, staring down at him as he reaches higher up your leg. His fingers work near flawlessly. Purposeful. So, when he gets to the top of your leg and his fingers slip along the cleft between your thigh and cunt, you know it’s intended.

He switches to your right, using his warm hands to encompass you all the same. When he’s made your upper leg, he rests one of his hands on your right inner thigh, the other palm slipping under you to slather your left cheek. His thumb is resting on the curve above your slit. Rubbing up and down, back and forth, not quite touching your more sensitive parts. It feels like a warning.

The rest of his movements are made with his left hand only. You feel him reach towards your towel, pulling it to slowly fall on the bed behind you. You exhale shakily. He keeps his right hand just above the little bundle of nerves, pumping some more lotion into his other. He begins to rub it onto your hip, up around your lower stomach and sternum.

His thumb lowers. Resting right over your pulsing clit. Presses.

“Johnny-“ You jolt, voice wavering.

“Shhh. Yer fine.”

You glance at his face, insides clenching, “I don’t- You-“ your voice breaks off on a choked whine, head falling back between your shoulders. It shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t like feeling out of control, but now you feel that your entire being, bare throat and all, has been plucked by them.

Your lips part to pant as he starts to rub half-circles atop your clit. You can’t tell whether it’s from stress or pleasure. Your lids fluttered closed.

Stop, no, more, now-

He abandons rubbing the lotion part your collarbones, both thumbs parting your lower lips. One thumb just above it, raising the skin of your clitoral hood to expose the little bead beneath. “Fuck, look how pretty she is…” he mumbles softly, his voice startling you all the same.

“Please-“ you choke out, head lifting forward and righting itself. You feel too vulnerable. Too exposed. He rubs his thumb in light circles around your bare clit, your fingers curling against the bedsheets.

His hands slip around your thighs, gripping the curve of your ass to pull you to stand, feet dragging against the floor. Your hands snap to press against his shoulders for support, your vision fixed on the way his pretty blue eyes look up at you. Fuck.

“I gotcha, baby.” he exhales, and you frown. He cranes his neck to press kisses along the part of your slit, gaze focused on you, then flitting to somewhere behind you, before opening his mouth to carefully suck your clit into his mouth. Your mouth drops open, cheeks feeling warm as the muscles in your neck knot together, head falling back just to shove you back into reality as your head hits a firm pillow of flesh.

You flinch in surprise, head snapping to the side to see the side of someone’s jaw, then raise your gaze higher to meet Simon’s. Your muscles are stiffened in preparation to flee, eyebrows pinched together in a guilty expression, corners of your lips tugged down into a frown.

He’s staring at you. You return it. What’s there to say? ‘Hey, you’re back. By the way, your boyfriend is eating me out. Sorry?’

Until Johnny’s lips part to make way for his tongue, your spine curving inward and eyes rolling to the back of your eyelids as your head meets Simon’s shoulder. Your hands drop from your chest to lace into his hair and tightly grip the strands.

“Fuck,” you sputter, eyelashes drifting shut. You feel a pleasant ache in your lower stomach, muscles twinging in a good sort of pain.

There’s movement behind you, a rustling of Simon’s pant pockets against the back of your bare leg. You feel his hands raise- and there’s pressure on your neck now, a clasping noise right next to your ear.

It’s hard to make your eyes force themselves open when Johnny's mouth feels so good, but the strange noise has you curious.

One of your hands comes up to your neck, feeling around to feel a leather strip banded around your neck. Johnny tightens his grip on the backs of your thighs and pulls you closer. Renews his efforts. Your pleasured noise is cut off by how startled you are, hand frantically pulling at the collar on your neck.

“What-“ you squeak, only a finger or two fitting between the collar and your skin before Simon is redirecting you. He grips your forearms, maneuvering you until he can clasp both your wrists in one of his bear-like hands, pinning them against your sternum. His other arm hooks around your collarbones and pulls you flush back against him. “What’re you doing- Stop-“

“Settle down,” he scolded, feeling your muscles tense as you squirmed. A grunt- halfway between pleasure and panic is then the next thing that slips from your lips as you struggle. Johnny is acting none the wiser, flattening his tongue against your opening and dragging up until your fingers twitch.

You moan, displeased, as Johnny draws his hand up to press his thumb to your clit. Firm pressure at first, almost a bit too much for your liking, until he starts rolling the nerves underneath his thumb.

It’s when you get to the point of baring your teeth that Simon decides you truly need an attitude adjustment. His forearm tightens around your collarbones until it is flush with your neck. Holding the fragile dip of your throat in the stiff tendons underneath the roughened flesh of his arm.

A justified rumble of disapproval bubbles up your throat only to be caught in its tracks by his grip tightening. Your breath gets weaker, vision a little hazier, muscles losing some of their fight, while your head gets lighter.

“There y’go…. That’s it.” His words are molten against the back of your neck. He steals your last breath, holding you for a few more seconds until he loosens his grip. You gasp, the air whooshing down into your lungs harshly. It leaves your head delightfully fuzzy from the rush, eyes watering until a tear streaks down your cheek.

You let your head fall back willingly this time. You go a little looser in his arms, hands going limp in his grip while you lean back against him. Johnny takes the newly relaxed muscles as his sign to slip his tongue inside of you, your thighs instinctively squeezing around his head.

You let out some sort of indignant squeak as your voice comes back, hips leaning away from his motions and causing you to bump into Simon behind you. It doesn’t give you much, besides a guess on Simon’s opinion of the situation considering the imprint of his cock against his thigh.

Johnny just digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs while he hums against you. Simon doesn’t seem as pleased. “Give it up, love. Fighting just makes him want you more.”

You moan, displeased as Johnny’s tongue makes its way back inside you. It somehow feels more visceral, more raw than your fingers do. It aches in a beautiful way. Johnny’s hand slips up your side, palming the swell of your breast when he reaches it.

His tongue slips out of you, drawing the muscle up to replace his fingers against your clit. Your toes curl in your socks as he sucks it into his mouth, thumb coming down to rub circles around your opening instead.

They work together like a perfect melody. Johnny’s finger pressing just barely inside, his lips making way for his tongue, Simon’s forearm tightening just at the right time. It feels like amber burning between your legs, the fire spreading up your abdomen and down your thighs.

You nearly screech your way through the climax of it, your throat grating painfully. Simon’s arm around your throat makes you feel ten times lighter. You should feel scared.

You don’t.

Your eyes flutter back open without the knowledge of ever closing them, flicking down to Johnny between your legs. He slowly pulls his mouth off of you, his smile surprisingly sweet for the filthy things he just did to you. It nearly enrages you.

“I hate you.” You pant, bare chest heaving. He just fucking smirks at you.

Simon releases your arms, and your shoulders release their tension. Your hands stay where they are, glued to your sternum, fingers curling and flexing to test the renewed sensation. His freed hand dips down between your legs, your brain too fried to defend yourself. Your nose scrunches in disgust as he collects your slick on his fingers before subsequently smearing the liquid on your cheek with his index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, m’ sure y’do.”

Your hands come up to push at his forearm, sending yourself further back into his chest. “Ew, that’s- fucking gross!” you blurt, ignoring his snicker.

Johnny stands in front of you and grabs your face in his hand, smushing your cheeks between his thumb and other fingers. He takes his time licking the stripe of slick off your cheek, moaning like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted.

He pulls away with a laugh, deep in his chest, licking his lips and releasing your face.

“Fuckin’ delicious.”

You scowl at him, the space between your eyebrows crinkling with the amount of distaste in your expression, ears turning to the side. You wish you could like them. You wish you could relax for once.

Fuck them. Fuck their apartment. Fuck their money. Fuck their perfect faces and gentle hands. You want out.

You cringe internally at nearly every other interaction with them throughout the day. They’ve touched you. Felt what it’s like when you come. Tasted the tacky substance between your legs.

It grosses you out to have someone know you so intimately, without even knowing your name. ‘Kitty’ isn’t *so* insufferable anymore, but you still don’t love to hear it.

It’s later in the day, Simon doing whatever he does in the bathroom that makes him take so goddamn long, when you decide it’s time. Johnny is curled up in their bed, under the covers, waiting for you to return with water. You won’t.

You’d said you were thirsty when you saw a moment that your biggest threats were at their weakest. It’s not nice. You don’t enjoy it. It's necessary.

You open the cabinets a few times, pretending to look for the glasses. (You wouldn’t need to, you’ve already been here a dozen times.) You turn on the faucet, too, hoping it covers some of the noise while you're grabbing the things you’d stashed below the sink. A few pads, some protein bars, and a bottle of water. A pair of socks, ibuprofen, and some toothpaste. Things they won’t miss. Things they don’t need.

You’re currently kneeling in front of the cabinet under the sink, shoving as much as you can fit into the front pocket of the hoodie snatched just a few minutes ago. You curse quietly to yourself as the toothpaste clatters to the ground to your left, and you go to reach for it, startling when the tube is beside a pair of legs.

“‘the fuck are y’doing?”

A jolt of surprise runs through your body at the sound, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water when your startled gaze lands on him. You wince as you bang your head on the counter on your way up. You frown, ears tilting to the side at the sound of his voice.

Your shoulders are up by your ears, and your arms are held close to your chest while you stare at him. Your voice comes out unnaturally high-pitched and quick-paced. “I- You just- You don’t even *like* me. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, I’ve already thanked you for everything, you can just let me leave-“

He grabs you by the face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks. You can only imagine the way you look, lips smushed together by his grip, despite your attempt to glower. “Y’think I’d let you stay in my fuckin’ apartment, eatin my fuckin’ food, if I didn’t like you?”

And when you don’t respond, you can’t with the way your lips are pressed together, he shakes your head like an unruly dog might. You can almost feel your brain rattle around in your skull. “Hm? Think I’d let you make out with my boyfriend?”

“Mmph!-“ you aren’t allowed to begin speaking with how quickly he smashes his lip against yours, your teeth catching on his upper lip, but he doesn’t mind. Your hands raise to his abdomen, ready to push away.

His other hand comes around to press a heavy hand on your ass, pushing you to stumble forward until your chest collides with his.

All the while, he’s pried your mouth open, ignoring when you try to shove him out, moaning unnecessarily loud as he sucks on your tongue. You can feel the copious amounts of spit swapping back and forth between mouths as he ravages you, a foamy glob sliding down your chin and onto his thumb, where it drips down his hand.

It’s only when you’re struggling to gasp for breaths that he decides to pull away. When you open your eyes again, your head immediately turns to the side with the way he’s staring at you, heavy breaths coming from his nose.

Your eyes are watery and glossed over, lips raw from his teeth, a bit of perspiration at the back of your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“That help you?”

You nod, lips parted to pant, eyes reopening. You’re not sure it did.

“Good.” He huffs, tugging on the D-ring of your collar before freeing you and shifting aside to let you pass. “Go join Johnny. I’ll get your water.”

You’re frozen for a moment, mind buffering before it catches up just to hear the sound of Simon reengaging the lock on the window. You feel a clap on your ass just as you start to walk away, shoulders jumping while a yelp leaves your lips.

You hurry your pace, nearly stumbling in your urgency to get away from him as you hear a chuckle from behind you. You frown, tail agitatedly swishing between your legs as you walk through the hallway. Soap is sleepily smiling on the bed when you come across the open bedroom doorway, lifting one of his arms for you.

“There ya are. Where’s your water?”

“Um…”

“I’ve got it.” Simon interrupts from behind you, causing you to jolt once more. You look at him over your shoulder, and he just raises a brow, signaling for you to continue.

“I couldn’t find the cups. Simon helped.” You breathe, exhaling through your nose. His name tastes foreign in your mouth. Tingles on your tongue. You swallow through thick saliva, walking around the bed to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

Johnny does seem to mind the space, opening his mouth, just to be interrupted by Simon coming to sit next to you. He squishes you up against Johnny and forces you to settle between them. Johnny hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you down to be reclined with him.

Simon hands you your water wordlessly. You take it, hands clasped around the glass, eyes distracted by the small, white flurries swirling around at the bottom of the cup. You make eye contact as you pause. He holds strong with that same, dead look in his eyes, and watches as you take your first sip.

You know better.

You shove the thought down, as well as the small satisfaction at Simon looking pleased. You settle in closer to Johnny, fixing your blurry vision on the television.

You’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe.

notes: not my best work 😞 i might edit some in the next few days. just wanna get it out or ill never post it. this is also like my third time writing smut soooo… did i match your freak. be honest

Your eyes flutter back open without the knowledge of ever closing them, gaze flicking down to Johnny between your legs. He slowly pulls his mouth off of you, his smile surprisingly sweet for the filthy things he just did to you. It nearly enrages you.

“I hate you.” You pant, bare chest heaving. He just fucking smirks at you.

Simon lets go of his grip on your arms and your shoulders release their tension. Your hands stay where they are, glued to your sternum, fingers curling and flexing to test the renewed sensation. His freed hand dips down between your legs, your brain too fried to defend yourself. Your nose scrunches in disgust as he collects your slick on his fingers before subsequently smearing the liquid on your cheek with his index and middle.

“Yeah, m’ sure y’do.”

Your hands come up to push at his forearm, sending you further back into his chest. “Ew, that’s- fucking gross!” you blurt, ignoring his snicker.

Johnny stands before you and grabs your face, smushing your cheeks between his thumb and other fingers. He takes his time licking the stripe of slick off your cheek, moaning like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted.

He pulls away with a laugh deep in his chest, licking his lips and releasing your face.

“Fuckin’ delicious.”

You scowl at him, the space between your brows crinkling with the amount of distaste in your expression.

just gonna leave this here… ok bye!!

“How long d’you think she’ll be out for?” Johnny asks, watching as Simon pets over your hair like a beloved dog. Simon’s gaze is downturned towards you, blinking slowly as he watches your eyelids flutter and close.

“I gave ‘er enough to last ‘till tomorrow morning.”

Johnny whistles quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. “Talk about a hell of a hangover, huh?”

Your mouth is dry as you wake. There’s something slightly scratchy around you. Under you. You’re warm. It takes all of your energy, and multiple seconds, to pry your tired eyes open.

You’re in a room. A small table stands beside the bed you’re on. A plain, dark wood. Blueish grey sheets. A door to the left and a double closet to the right. You’re trying to conjure some sort of memory, but nothing is coming immediately.

Your arm doesn’t ache so bad. In fact, it feels kind of numb.

A blanket is draped over you. A few, you think. The warmth you feel is from something- someone hot pressed against your back. A naked chest tight against you. You feel a chin on your shoulder, breath against your neck. This feels familiar.

You blink. Your fingers spasm. Your ears flick.

“Mm.. you awake, love?”

Johnny.

Your breath shakes as you feel a crooked nose run up your neck and nuzzle along the edge of your jaw. Your heart beats louder in your ears than his voice does.

You’re still wearing clothes. You can feel his boxers against the back of your thighs.

You know he knows you’re awake, so you hesitantly nod. You can feel your hair is combed and clean. The fur on your ears and tail is brushed. Soft. For the first time in a while.

He peels himself from you, and you can hear him sit against the headboard. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, turning you towards him, and lugging you up against the bed frame with him.

He pulls your limp body into the crook of his arm, pressing his nose against your hair and breathing in before he presses a small kiss to the top of your head. The flesh of your cheek is smushed against the muscle of his shoulder. You smell men’s shampoo. You don’t know if you can move or not. You haven’t tried.

You slowly flex your fingers, then curl them into a fist. You’re tired, but you’re okay. You shift to sit up a little, subconsciously leaning away from him a little.

“Are ya feeling okay?” he asks, “Took quite a tumble yesterday. Still ain’t sure if ya hit yr’head or not.”

Why is he holding you like this? You broke into their home. And aren’t they together? You swear you thought Simon and Johnny were in a relationship before, but now you can’t remember much.

“Tumble…?” you question, lips sticking together as you part them to speak.

“Oh, yeah. You don’t remember? Yesterday morning, when ye were about to leave. You collapsed.” Johnny tells you, squeezing you a little closer. You can’t tell if that was his response to you scooting away, or if he really is clueless.

“..Oh.”

“Yeah, but we got ya all fixed up, didn’t we, Si?”

You frown in confusion, eyes flicking to the doorway where you find Simon lurking, one hand gripping the doorframe. He hadn’t made a sound. Not even the creaking of a floorboard or squealing of shoes. He’s dressed in casual athletic wear as if he might’ve come home from a jog an hour or two ago. You’ve learned he does that every morning, usually around seven.

Simon just grunts like the caveman he is, eyes running over the picture of the two of you.

“Get up. I’m making breakfast.” he huffs, turning and walking down the hall just as quietly as he came.

Johnny sighs next to you, his free hand flipping the covers off the two of you. “Well, let’s not make him wait any longer than we need to.”

He stands, your eyes trailing down his back as he bends over. You watch as he tugs some gray sweatpants over his hips, grabs a shirt from the floor to pull over his head.

“After y’finish eatin’, I figure I’ll rewrap that nasty wound o’ yours, and you can tell me all about how ya ended up that way, yeah?”

You don’t speak, but he doesn’t seem to be looking for a response, anyway. He straightens and turns back toward you, your eyes fixing on his thick fingers tying the strings of his sweats, on the imprint of something against his upper thigh-

You blink heavily, eyes swiftly flashing up to his. He’s smiling at you, but not smugly. More… gentle, than anything. Your voice quakes when you speak.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

He sighs, reaching a hand up to shove some overgrown strands of hair out of his face. “Alrigh’. How about you go on ahead an’ join Simon? ah’m gonna take a piss.”

He turns and trudges over to the connected bathroom before you can respond. You slowly nod to yourself. You feel tired. So tired. You shouldn’t, considering this is the first time you’d slept on a mattress, let alone a bedframe, in years.

You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, legs shaking as you push to stand. The floor is cool against your warm skin. You take a quick scan of your surroundings and don’t find much more than what you’d expect from them. A single, golden brown dresser. Two bedside tables. Not much decor besides a little clutter. Everything’s a little mismatch.

Your feet move as if they don’t belong to you. They seem to know the choreography of their kitchen more than your consciousness does.

Your vision is fuzzy. Your body feels like a rusty engine of a car. Just barely rumbling back to life each time you twist the key, sluggish and old.

Your sense of smell stirs to life before anything else. Slightly burnt toast, you think. Strawberry jam. You sniffle as cold air pinches at your nose, shivering and hugging your arms with the opposite hands.

You flinch and hiss when you make contact with the sore skin beneath the bandage on your upper right arm, shifting your grip lower as you wince. Your slow walk has finally brought you to the kitchen.

Your eyes trail over his face as he slides three pieces of toast on a plate, two on another, and a single slice on the last one.

“Mornin’.” He vaguely gestured around the stools at the kitchen bar. “Sit.”

And once more, your feet guide you before your thoughts do. The backs of your thighs meet a stool as he spreads a vibrant red jam across the piece of toasted bread, most of it golden brown with the crust a little black. He slides the plate with a single slice in front of you.

You prefer raspberry jelly. You don’t like the crust on your toast. You also can’t imagine he’d care if you told him either of those things.

Your fingers shake as they reach in front of you, skin feeling fragile as it touches the brittle corners of the bread. Sharp canines pierce the texture easily, teeth tearing off a chunk and chewing as your tongue slips out to swipe the remnants off of your lips.

He’s staring at you. Has been since you picked up the piece of toast. His gaze fixes on your tongue so vehemently, that you’d think he was waiting for you to open your mouth just to catch a glimpse.

A shiver runs down your back and you shudder, spine curling inward slightly to keep you looking small. Even if you weren’t physically.

“‘ave you brushed your teeth?”

Your face twitches into some expression of confusion, and your hand comes to cover your mouth not so subtly as you place the toast back on it’s plate.

One of the many luxuries you didn’t have being homeless.

“N-no, I haven’t h-“

You’re stunned into silence by the view of him abruptly standing, lips parting in surprise as he curves around the corner of the counter.

“C’mere.”

His hand is on your nape, grip just a little too tight. Again, you feel a sense of deja vu. He pulls you out of the chair and your hands jerk up to commit some sort of action, just to fall flat at your sides. You feel like a snail in comparison to his heavy footsteps.

He walks you to his bedroom and opens the attached bathroom, ignoring the way you nearly flinch at the sight of Johnny- his boxers and sweats tugged down to where you can see the beginnings of a pale appendage. There’s still a toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. His head pops up when the door opens but he doesn’t seem surprised to see you.

You swallow thickly, throat suddenly feeling tiny and clogged as Simon pushes you to the counter. You cast your gaze downwards.

His big fingers seem to randomly grab a green toothbrush from a cup on the marble. It’s clearly been used, has to be one of theirs. You nearly gag at the thought.

He shoves the plastic object into your mouth, his lips twitching at your gurgled grunts as he roughly pushes the bristles back and forth against your teeth.

Your hands jolt up to his offending digits and wrist, halfhearted claws digging into the firm muscle beneath his sleeve.

You try to turn your head away and his grip slips to the front of your throat. Light pressure. Thumb just under your jaw to keep your chin propped up while he listens to the thu-thud of your heartbeat. Your ears flick to the side and lower.

When you finally get a good enough grip to tug yourself away from the toothbrush, neck muscles straining to tear away, he seems amused at the flash of teeth.

“Yeah, bare those pretty teeth at me, love. Let’s see how that goes.”

The expression on your face twists to the closest thing you can get to a scowl. You almost get away when he tightens his grip on the front of your throat enough for you to part your lips in a gasp.

“Enough.” he snaps, so loud you think you can feel your skull vibrate. You nearly choke on the toothpaste, just barely manage to stop yourself from swallowing. Cold fingers tremble in front of you before you lower them to cling to the counter at each side of your hips. Squeezing your eyes shut helps a little and you go still.

“Jeez, Si, didn’t get a good night’s sleep?” Johnny pipes up, and you can hear a rustle of fabric and the groaning of pipes as the toilet flushes. You hear him spit into the sink behind you and the tap run while he rinses his mouth briefly.

Simon ignores him and resumes for a minute or two before he turns and pushes you to bend your upper half over the sink. Gives your tongue an exceptionally harsh scrub before he drops the toothbrush into the sink.

“Spit.”

And when you hesitate, because that’s a weird fucking thing to say, he shoves his salty, meaty fingers down your throat until you gag, nearly retching around his fingers so you expel the toothpaste involuntarily instead of just repeating himself.

Your nose burns.

You’re crying when he releases you, bitterly glaring up at him as he rubs the leftover toothpaste from your lips. He doesn’t let you rinse.

“Way to scare a girl away,” Johnny sighs, shouldering Simon out of the way to stand in front of you.

He cups your cheeks with his warm hands and gently brushes the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s alright, lovely. No need fer the tears. You know he means well, hmm?”

You can’t help the relieved sigh as he touches you, body instinctively relaxing under his heated touch.

You don’t know if it’s your own doing or his when you nod.

“Let’s go finish our breakfast.” he says, moving his hands to your shoulders. He turns you and you pout (frown) the entire time he walks you out of the bathroom. He brings you out to the living area but instead sits you down on the middle cushion before joining Simon in the kitchen.

You huff to no one but yourself, tongue running over your teeth absently. At least you have a clean mouth now. Better than nothing for all the trouble he’s put you through.

Johnny walks back in just as you finish your train of thought, holding your plate and his. He places the one with a half-eaten piece of toast in your lap, sitting beside you and doing the same with his. Your fingers twitch on your thighs.

Johnny slings an arm around your shoulders, bringing you a little closer to him. Just like he’d done a few minutes prior when you’d woke up in his bed.

You’re hungry. You know you are. With the way your stomach aches like a crater, there’s no way you couldn’t be. Why don’t you want to eat?

Maybe it’s the whole situation, the way they’re treating you. Like they don’t plan on you leaving. They’ve already started making space for you in their lives. It feels as if they’ve shoved you into the deep end, not given you a chance to catch your breath or dip your toes in. It’s weird.

“Not hungry?” Johnny’s voice brings you back to the moment, as well as Simon joining the two of you on your other side.

He’s farther than you’d like.

Your eyelashes flutter after a moment, and you shake your head.

“Tired.” You rasp, your voice scratchy and your throat feeling swollen.

“m’sure now you regret wasting all that energy causing a fuss in the bathroom, huh?” Simon unhelpfully adds, voice slurred while he speaks with food in his mouth.

You glare at him from the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t notice with the way he’s shoveling food down his throat.

Johnny releases your shoulders to reach for your plate, ripping off a small piece and getting some jam on his fingers as he brings it up to your mouth.

“Come on, just a bite?”

You don’t respond for a moment.

Eventually, you decide you’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here fastest.

It only takes a nod before he’s pushing it past your lips, a bit more gently than Simon was with the toothbrush.

He ignores the fact you agreed to a single bite as he continues feeding you. The toast tastes slightly of mint when you take your next bite.

“So, after breakfas’ ah’ll rewrap tha’ wound, Simon’s gotta go to the store, I’ve got a game t’watch, I figure you can rest up on the couch with me. How’s that sound?”

You look over at him, red jam smeared over his lips, free hand stuffing food in his mouth nearly just as quickly as Simon. They’ve both got a bad habit of talking while eating.

It doesn’t feel like have any other choice but to nod. Not that you plan on sticking to that. You drift off to a memory earlier in the day when you were in the kitchen for the first time.

When your eyes naturally flit back to the window you’d climbed in the day before, you noticed the dried blood had been cleaned up.

You also noticed the little nob on the top of the window had been turned, sealing the window shut. Probably just because of the storm.

lHowever, it irks you. Even when it was storming, they kept it open for you. It’s only closed now that you’re inside. You need to say something. Confirm that they know you aren’t staying.

Something inside you hushes your thoughts, telling you to keep quiet, you want this-

You urge your unease to the front of your mind.

“S-So when can I leave?”

Do you really want to?

Your head turns to Simon, and he pauses, before resuming his meal.

You turn to Johnny, and he just smiles at you sympathetically, a speck of red on his cheek.

“Oh, love. You aren’t goin’ anywhere. Not in this weather. Let the storm pass and we’ll talk then, yeah?” he says, reaching forward to wipe a bit of toast from the corner of your lip with his thumb.

For the first time, his smile doesn’t comfort you.

You don’t finish your piece of toast.

notes: that little moment of reader struggling with food was meant to show her unease around them and loss of appetite from the drugs, not an ed btw! i admit i have no idea what foods english people eat so take it easy on me ok? if you’re reading this thinking ‘god i just want them to fuckkkk’ me too 😞 in due time. also at what point do i stop using the ‘new writers on tumblr’ tag?

taglist: @lilana56 @angelic-thingys @sweetnightowl @skullcrawler @kxnnxy @lazystorycollector @pagesfalling @honestlymassivetrash @theyoungeagle

lemme know if i missed anyone it wouldn’t let me tag a few people for some reason

Three weeks. Three weeks you’d gone without Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. You wish it were harder to admit you missed them. It’s not normal to get attached so quickly. You’d only been with them about a month before they’d gone on their first assignment. It was hard to not be sad.

Price said he’d only tell you when he knew for a fact they were coming home. He knew you’d be too anxious for their arrival to the point you wouldn’t be able to sleep. So, when he gets a call from them right before bed that they’d be getting home, he decides not to tell you. He takes you straight to bed, lets you cuddle up into his arms, and waits for the chaos in the morning.

You normally alternated between sleeping in Price’s bed, Gaz’s, or Soap’s. They had their own separate little area of the base sectioned off once you were introduced. A tiny common room attached to something that could just barely be called a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. Each one had two beds. One room with Ghost and Price, one room with Gaz and Soap.

The 141 and the rest of that base’s staff had been told you were a danger to other people. If anything, they’d rather the four of them be at risk than the entire base. But you couldn’t be that bad, could you?

No, you’d turned out to be an annoying little sweetheart. They’d known that after you failed ninety percent of your drills, tests, and quizzes, and avoided any type of confrontation. Zero kill drive, they’d eventually learnt after your dozenth fail. You were supposed to be a vicious, powerful dog hybrid. They’d received an overgrown puppy.

The team was told by the higher-ups that they’d have to keep you for a while longer, considering there was no more transferring you when they were supposed to be your final placement. You’d aged out of the facility. That’s why you were here.

The facility was built a little after hybrids were manufactured. Once they’d realized what a tool for the military that hybrids could be. Meant to raise the artificially made hybrids from ages ten months and up and turn them into soldiers. Teach them combat, fieldwork, and how to use weapons. Scientifically made to obey orders and be raised as soldiers.

The 141 had no idea what they were doing over at the facility, but whatever they had raised wasn’t a soldier. You were clueless. Confused. A little dumb, even, in social aspects. It wasn’t your fault they weren’t competent enough to teach you how to use the stove.

After you’d been with them for about a month and even Ghost had started to tolerate you, they’d finally gotten news of a new placement for you. You’d aged out of the facility, regular civilian life was made for no hybrid, and other task forces wouldn’t take you after what they’d heard. So, where else was there to go?

Front lines, they said. No, they were taking you to an underpaid, under-regulated, isolated Space Force unit. The lowest-ranked branch throughout this entirety military. But they didn’t focus on space, did they? This particular unit had teamed up with an EOD* unit considering the amount of unused acres they had.

Everyone there was glorified test dummies, specially created for soldiers with one too many loose screws to test their bomb diffusing skills. While the space force spent their time pretending they were above board and everyone was getting their work done, they were blowing up fields.

They were apparently the only place willing to take you. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Hybrids could be useful in sniffing out explosives. But they were ecstatic for your arrival. Excited. Urging. Practically foaming at the mouth for a compliant hybrid that no one cared about enough about to check if you lived or died.

Price wouldn’t be able to fucking live with himself if he left some defenseless, pretty little puppy to get blown up under the guise of ‘testing’.

(He didn’t realize it, but he’d been won over the moment he saw your picture tucked into the file he’d been given on you. Your sweet smile with those pointy little canines. You could charm a snake with one flash of teeth.)

He’d been working with you for a little over four weeks before the boys left and he’d found you could barely take care of yourself. Clumsy, naive, unknowing of what was outside of the facility.

He declined and insisted they’d keep you before even having a chance to discuss it with the rest of his team. No, he’d figure out something to do with you. He was told the other base was disappointed they wouldn’t be receiving you, but Price had pulled enough strings to know they’d never hear your name again.

That was just a few days ago. They were already having a hard time getting adjusted. Having to teach you bloody everything. He’d eventually have to figure out a way to gently tell the boys they were keeping you. But when he saw your excited, smiling face when you saw the returning boots of Gaz, Ghost, and Soap at the door, he knew he couldn’t have decided to leave you in their greedy paws.

You’d woken up to Price getting ready. Compared to the rest of them being so stealthy, Price was loud in the mornings. It was dark and you were still so sleepy, you didn’t even see Ghost asleep in the bed next to where you’d slept.

It’s only when you’ve brushed your teeth and done your morning routine that you wander out into the common areas. Clad in a new dress that Price bought you for good behavior during a meeting. You follow Price aimlessly out into the kitchen, watching as he plugs in the coffee machine. Your eyes scan the area absently as you lean against the counter, focus landing on three pairs of dirty combat boots by the door.

“They-“ you squeak, voice turning all high pitched with excitement as you turn towards a messy-haired Price at the bar in the kitchen. Your tail beats against the backs of your thighs.

“Easy,” he grunts. He knows where this is going. He slips from his stool to grab the warm bread currently popping from the rusty toaster. “Just got back late last night. Let them sleep in, yeah? It was a hard one.” he says, voice deep with sleep as he slips two onto his plate and another two on yours.

You’re already practically vibrating with excitement. You try to urge your tail to stop causing a fuss behind you. It doesn’t work. You curl your hands around the fabric where your dress ends, mid-thigh. You squeeze until staying quiet isn’t nearly as painful. You swallow. “Y-yeah. Makes sense.” you try, voice coming out a little hoarse.

“You’ll see ‘em later. Gotta let ‘em sleep and eat, and then you can jump all over them.” His gaze is still focused on the food as he plops the last few fresh blueberries throughout the base onto your plate. He knows you love them.

The coffee machine dings, signaling it’s finished its job. He pushes your plate towards you as he takes a long sip from his coffee. A first of many. “Plus, you’ll be busy. Gotta help me with my paperwork, remember?”

You nod, stiff and forced. You want to whine. Storm right back into their rooms and hug them so tightly your knuckles turn white. But you don’t. Price has been teaching you about obedience. Listening even when you don’t want to. You’re not a fan.

You didn’t even help with his paperwork. You just stayed in his office, did puzzles sometimes when he could find one for you, and cuddled into his lap when he let you. But, you agreed.

Only that with the prospect of seeing the others later, you wouldn’t be able to stay still. Even during breakfast. Surely not when you’re cooped up in his office. Not when he has no puzzles, can’t have you in his lap right now, is taking too many phone calls to talk, is unable to take you out for a walk around the fields, or is even available to give you an ounce of attention.

He’d even brushed you off when you tried to slip between his thighs, bare knees against the carpet, refusing to look down at you.

You can’t stay still. You need something to do. Even as you shuffle around the room, prod at metals and picture frames, and flop from one chair to another, he doesn’t seem to mind. Not when you drag a chair across the room to get a good look at something high on the walls. Not when you huff and puff to yourself.

It’s when you’re tidying some pens you accidentally knocked on the floor that you notice one of the drawers to his filing cabinet is slightly ajar. Weird. He always has those locked. You settle onto your knees in front of the drawers a few feet away from his desk.

You peek over to see if he’s watching once, or twice. Still hyper-focused on the papers in front of him if the wrinkle between his brow tells you anything. You quietly open it and just when your gaze falls on a file titled with your name, suddenly Price is just as stealthy as the rest of them.

The drawer is closed by a large hand appearing in front of you. Your head snaps up as Price stands over you and you gape at him as he tells you, “Nothin’ in there for you, little one.” while he slips the key into the hole and locks it.

You don’t even bother apologizing when you’re so pent-up right now. Your tail falls limp behind you. You furrow your brows as you glance up at him, slumping back onto your heels into a sitting position. “Why not? What’s in there?”

He can barely resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Get off the damn floor,” he sighs and leans down to grip your biceps, pulling you up to stand. You let him, but you’re not very cooperative.

“Fine. You really want something to do?” he asks and doesn’t finish until you hesitantly nod. He walks back over to his desk to grab his nearly empty coffee mug and brings it over to you. “Get me some more coffee and yourself… some fuckin’ juice or somethin’, alright?”

You frown slightly. Seriously? That’s what he wants you do to? I guess.. it’d be better for you to take a moment. Even if it was just a short walk back to your common room, he seemed pretty frustrated with you.

You feel a little bad. But not enough to apologize when you were frustrated with him, too. “Fine,” you huff, grabbing the cup from him and turning around as you walk back toward the door.

The walk back to the kitchen is maybe 60 seconds. Your eyes are down the whole time, paying attention to your steps, the floor creaking under your weight. You open the door to the common room and shut it behind you, going straight to the kitchen.

You pop one of the coffee pods in the machine and start it up again after you put the mug in, leaning against the counter as you hear it come to life. You pick at a cuticle at the edge of your nail while your sharp canines dig into your bottom lip absently.

“Love? That you?”

Your ears perk, your head snaps up and your spine straightens. A bright smile takes over your lips as your eyes land on Gaz walking out of the bathroom in a grey tee and blue shorts. You can feel your tail beat over the back of your thighs as you rush over to him. You slam straight into his chest, completely missing the bandage around his upper arm and shoulder, just missing his quiet groan.

Your arms wrap around him tightly, burrowing your nose into the crook of his neck under his ear.

Just right. Just what you needed.

He lets out a pained chuckle, arms slowly coming around you.

“Mmm… missed me?”

You nod wildly, head bobbing up and down and knocking against his chin. One of his hands slides down your back, gliding against the soft material of your dress until his hand settles in the curve of your lower back. He tilts his head until his lips are by your ear, “Daddy get you a new dress?”

You repeat your nod, pulling back until you can see his face. Your hands slide up his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck of his neck as your eyes flick over his face. He looks mostly uninjured besides a tiny split on the edge of his jaw. He always told you not to worry about it. While you tried not to, you couldn’t control every single one of your thoughts. “…Yeah. Do you like it?”

“‘Course I do,”

His lips quirk up into a smile that you return while his hands slide down to cup your ass. He pulls you a little closer until you’re back up against his chest and you’ve risen onto your tippy toes. Pulls you until your breasts flatten against his chest and his hand cups the side of your neck with his thumb under your jaw.

He tilts your chin up enough that he can kiss you, his lips slightly chapped against yours. His other hand’s fingers dig into the flesh of your cheek, giving a firm squeeze. It’s slow and soft at first, but you can feel the tension bubbling beneath the surface. He pries your lips open with his tongue, running it along your teeth before slipping fully inside to join yours.

You hum happily into his mouth, massaging your tongue against his before he slips away. Tilts your chin to the side with his thumb to give him the access he needs to kiss along your jaw. “You look.. fuckin’ lovely, baby.” he rasps, lips wet with a mixture of yours and his saliva as he drags his kisses down to your neck.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip to not smile too wide, feeling warmth rise on your cheeks. “Thanks,” is all you can squeak with the sudden shyness slipping up your spine and grasping around your brain. You can feel something stiff against your thigh.

Your ears twitch as the coffee machine beeps. He nearly rolls his eyes. Great fuckin’ timing.

You start to lean away, slowly releasing your grip on him. “Kyle… I gotta finish John’s coffee. I promised.”

He groans, letting his head fall back. He huffs and gives you a quick squeeze before he eventually releases you. You turn and make your way over to one of the higher cabinets. It creaks open as you reach up, grabbing a gray mug and watching as a tanned hand comes around you to pluck it from your grasp. He sets it on the table, sliding it out of your arms length as you reach for it.

“Kyle!” You whine, unable to turn to look at him with the way he presses up against your back. He places his hands on each side of your waist, pressing his warm chest tight against your back.

“I know, I know.”

You huff.

“My pretty girl..” he mumbles under his breath as he runs his hands up and down your sides. Before you can think to respond, he’s kissing you again. One hand to turn your jaw towards him and one on your waist while he holds you still to shove his tongue down your throat. You can barely keep up. It’s only morning, but.. you missed him, too.

His head ducks down over your shoulder to pepper kisses along your exposed collarbone.

“Need you,“ he whispers. All you’ve done at this point is blink, and he’s pinned you against the counter.

He buries his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder, hands gliding up your front to cup your breasts through the fabric of your dress. You don’t even stiffen. You’re just surprised at how quickly he’s moving things along. He’s acting like he’s intoxicated.

But you’d be a little desperate to have something soft and pretty after weeks of hard work, no?

His thumb brushes over where he assumes your nipple would be. His mouth waters. Something’s buzzing in his ears. Howling.

“Need to fuck you. Please. Need to touch you so bad, love. Will you let me?”

You shiver as his nose runs along the curve of your neck until he’s nudging at your jaw. “Yeah,” you whisper like it’s some poorly kept secret of how badly you need each other. His hips grind against your ass from behind and he groans, hips giving an involuntary buck before he’s quickly reaching down to push the skirt of your dress above the swell of your ass.

He can already feel himself stiffening in his trousers. He needs you. “Yeah, you missed me too. Right, baby?” he asks, placing a kiss on your neck before he moans at the sight of your half-bare bottom only partially covered by the edges of your underwear.

He uses one hand to gently pin your fluffy tail to your right hip to keep it out of the way. You lean forward slightly, bracing your hands on the cold counter. “Yes- Yes, I missed you, Kyle.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to restrain himself as his free hand comes around your front to dip under the band of your underwear. He inhales sharply as his fingers cup over your cunt beneath your underwear. Soaking wet like always, he finds. “Fuck, she needs me real bad, doesn’t she?” he breathes quietly.

You whine as his middle finger slips between your slit to gently rub against your clit. His finger glides easily with the slick provided by your needy body. Your breath is too shaky for you to attempt to speak. He rubs precise circles around your bud to coax even more slickness from your body, increasing the pressure until your thighs shake.

“Oh, God,” you cry, head falling forward between your shoulders. He adds a second finger, rubbing firmly with two now. “That feel nice?” he asks, breath rushing over your shoulder. He rests his chin there while he presses a little tighter against you from behind. He’s so fucking hard, it nearly hurts. Five more minutes and it might.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer, voice coming out choked and rushed. It feels better than good. You can feel shockwaves of pleasure spreading out from between your thighs, over your stomach, and down your legs. “Can you?-“ you cut yourself off with a moan as a single finger of his presses inside you, your jaw falling slack.

“Yes,” you groan, tongue feeling numb in your mouth. A few pumps of his finger have your thighs clenching together, one hand slipping from the counter and reaching behind you. You just want to touch him, even if you can’t see him. You grasp his hip with little finesse, nails biting into his skin.

“Mm.. just like that, huh? Want another? Shit, you’re so warm, baby. So soft. Just for me.” he pants, chest rising and falling against your back.

You nod and straighten a little to push your ass back against him. His hand, which has been gliding up and down your waist, shifts to grip your hip tightly while he hisses. You mewl as he adds a second finger, palm grinding against your clit.

“Easy, love. Be good. Know I won’t hurt you. Gotta be gentle, take our time.” he confirms, turning his head to bury his nose behind the line of your jaw.

“Need you now,” you moan as his fingers curve inside of you to brush against something that makes you throb. You push back against his fingers, craving more. Needing more. “Won’t hurt so bad. You’ve done enough. Just let me have you now. Please, Kyle.”

“Fuck,” he exhales, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. Almost to ward off the ache. Yeah, he was lying to himself earlier. What’d he say, five minutes? It’s hardly been two and he can feel his cock pulsing painfully against his thigh. “Yeah, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

He shoves your panties down your thigh and gently pushes at your low back until you bend over enough to let him ruck your dress over the swell of your ass. You’re bent halfway, your palms flat against the counter. He carefully grips your tail to push it aside once more. He lets go briefly to push his blue shorts and black boxers down his thighs, not even bothering to take them all the way off. No, you were much more important.

He grips your hips while using both thumbs to keep the fabric up as he positions himself behind you. “Ready?” he huffs, his voice so husky and deep you were almost worried he had a sore throat. You nod and the glans of his head nudge against your entrance before slowly pushing in.

Your jaw slowly drops open as he presses inside, gently stretching you open just right so that the hinges of your skull ache. You’re suddenly stunned into silence. Normally, to put it bluntly, you talked a lot. You loved learning about people. Especially people hard to learn about like the 141 boys. But now, it seemed like Gaz was awfully interested in exploring the internal parts of you.

Gaz slides a little deeper as you whine. It stings, but not too bad. Not when you’re so fucking wet. “Still alright?” he confirms, warm breath brushing over your cheek. His hips are flush with yours now and he feels burning hot against you. Inside you. “Mhm.” you hum shakily, not quite trusting your vocal cords to pronounce your words enough to be heard.

There’s a sound of creaking wood that comes from the doorway. Your ears perk. Both of your chins suddenly tilt up in that direction to see a sleepy, grinning Soap. Wearing only grey boxers. The slight crease between your brows softens and you smile. “I knew you two were gettin’ up to somethin’ without me,”

You feel Gaz’s lips split into a grin against the heated skin of your cheek. “Just started. Still plenty of time for you to join,” he says breathlessly as he pulls his hips back just enough to carefully thrust them forward. You jolt slightly, hand leaving him to grip over his on your hip.

A whimper slips from your lips. You pant, the front of Gaz’s thighs sticking to the back of yours from the accumulated sweat. “Johnny,” you whine, nearly reaching out toward him but opting not to with the fear you’d collapse.

Soap’s smile turns a little softer as he approaches, but the length between his legs certainly does not. You moan as Gaz starts up with a slow rock against your ass, feeling sweat start to prick the skin of your neck and armpits. He groans quietly in your ear.

Soap walks until he’s on the opposite side of the counter you were pressed up against. It wouldn’t take much to reach him.

“Fuck, ye look so wrecked,” Soap chuckles with his lips opened in a grin, smoothing your hair back with his hand. Gaz smiles behind you but your lips turn into a pout. Did you seriously look that bad? I mean, you knew sex wasn’t pretty, but you looked so bad he described you as ‘wrecked’?

Soap quickly notices the way your shoulders tense slightly, a light wrinkle between your brows. “No, no, I only mean in a good way, lovely. Wasnae bein’ mean to ya. You look as pretty as ever, baby.” he coos, pinches your left cheek between his fingers, and leans forward to press a kiss to your right.

You huff, but you let your guard down easily around them. Soap wouldn’t say something like that and mean it poorly, could he? No, you trust them.

Your hand leaves Gaz’s hand at your hip to grab Soap’s retreating one, pressing his palm against your cheek. “I missed you,” you sigh, but it more or less trails off into a groan as Gaz’s thrusts get a little firmer.

One of Gaz’s hands slips up from your hip to tug the right strap of your dress down, then reaches forward to tug the cup of the fabric down until one of your breasts is free. Your hand slides back to the edge of the counter.

Gaz and Soap both share a groan as their eyes flick down, Gaz’s chin on your shoulder as his hand firmly squeezes the flesh. “Ah’ ken ya did. But I’m sure Price took good care of you, yeah?” Soap purrs, his hand moving to the left strap to tug it down your chest as well.

The whole front of your dress slips down, revealing your front. Gaz huffs and puffs warm breath against the side of your neck, thumb, and pointer gently plucking at your nipple as his hips thrust against yours.

Soap’s eyes briefly flick down to the slick mess between your thighs. Gaz slid between them, penetrating you, not bothering to even pull all the way out before he punched in with another slow thrust. You’re so wet. So willing and eager, your hole just swallows him up.

You moan at every entrance and exit, not bothering to quiet your noises. Not when Soap and Gaz love them so much.

Your attention is vaguely brought back to Soap as one of his hands cradles your cheek.

“C’mere,” His thumb wiggles its way into your mouth, hooking behind your bottom teeth and tugging a little until your chin is tilted towards him and your jaw is open. He looms above you, much taller than you with the way you’re leaning forward.

You’re a little confused. Is he going to stick his tongue in your mouth? You’re blinking up at him, face scrunched in confusion, mouth open. You flinch slightly at the sound of him spitting while your eyes instinctively close.

Suddenly, there’s something warm and wet in your mouth. Your eyelids flutter open, and all you can do is moan at the sight of saliva dripping from his mouth into yours.

Gaz’s voice joins yours as you moan, peering over your shoulder to watch the way Soap spits, waits for you to swallow, and then presses your lips together. You mewl into his mouth, one hand coming up to cling onto his bicep as Gaz gets a little rougher behind you.

His tongue slips inside your mouth, massaging against your own, licking against your teeth as if to memorize your taste. “Fuck, baby.” he moans as he pulls away to pant against your lips, eyebrows scrunching together.

You’re almost in awe at how he could be so worked up by just a kiss.

There’s a slick clicking noise between you. Your eyes flick down to see Gaz’s hand stuffed in his boxers, wrapped firmly around Soap’s cock. You hadn’t even noticed that his hand had left your chest.

Your fuzzy eyes are transfixed on the sight. Blurry from the vision in front of you and the cock inside of you. Watching the way Gaz slides his hand up, tightening and twisting around the head while Soap shudders and his upper body lurches forward. His hands turned into fists against the counter, head hanging between his shoulders as his chest heaved.

“Fuckin’ hell, Gaz…”

Gaz seems to notice your interest, his hand pumping twice more before lifting off. “You wanna try a go, love?” Your face is flushed with heat. Not from embarrassment. Arousal. You look over to see his chin on your shoulder, his heated gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. You nod.

He smiles, and your hand on Soap’s bicep slips down to support you against the counter once more. Gaz takes your dominant hand and slowly curls your fingers into a fist around the base of Soap’s cock. His fingers fit in between the gaps of yours. Soap’s lips purse as Gaz starts slowly dragging your hand up and down.

Your lungs pause for a moment. He’s hot. Burning hot between your fingertips. He feels different than you expected, honestly. The skin is soft.

Soap’s eyes are focused on the sight of both your hands working around him as Gaz gets you to a solid pace. He then exits his hand to grip your waist, fucking into you a little harder. You moan, hand fumbling a little without his before tightening your grip to do it on your own. And eventually, a little faster.

“Fuuuck… Yeah, jus’ like that. Mm..” Soap moans, his hand wrapping around yours to guide you and make your grip a little tighter. Gaz picks up the pace, one hand tight on your hip and the other on your waist to support you during his roughening thrusts.

You can feel the beginnings of a fire stirring in your lower belly, sparks begging to be caught and ignited. Your hearing is going a little fuzzy, brain struggling to choose a sense to focus on. Soap’s hips pump into your joined hands, his hips twitching as he chases the pleasure.

Soap abruptly pulls your fingers off to spit into your palm before bringing it back to his cock, whining about the slick, warm feeling of your hand around him. He tightens his grip around yours, forcing you to pick up your pace before he releases you to do it as you’d like.

Gaz’s thrusts start to run a little wild, his short fingernails digging lightly into your flesh. “Fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna come.” he groans, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder.

“Bleedin- ahhh, shit. ‘m close too.” Soap stutters out, shoulders hunching as his other hand supports him against the counter to help fuck his pelvis into your fist. his free hand reaching out to grab Gaz by the back of his neck. He leans forward, smashing his lips against his. You think you hear some connection to teeth through the moans, but neither of them seem to care.

It’s a filthy display of tongues and spit, and neither of them really seem to care about the mess. Soap pulls away briefly after a moment, both of their bodies gasping for air. “Come for us, Gaz.” he whispers, lips brushing and neck and face flushed with arousal.

You’d say you’re disappointed by not being able to come with him if he weren’t so goddamn beautiful. The way he chokes on his noises, forehead leaning against Soap’s as his cock jerks inside you. He’s always so warm when he’s inside you, burning liquid dripping out around where he’s penetrated you. Oh, and hot on the outside too.

Soap can’t help but follow, his hand leaves the counter to practically choke your hand around his cock as he stammers, “Oh, fuckin’, ohhhh God.” He moans louder than he probably should, even with our living space blocked off from the rest of the base.

Gaz’s thrusts start to slow to a stop, Soap’s hips jolting and stuttering in their movements until his spend drips over yours and his fingers. It’s silent for a moment, Soap slowly releasing your hand off his cock, just to snatch it up in his own and bring it to his mouth.

He drags his tongue over a dribble of come on your finger, humming at the taste. His eyes are half-lidded when they lock with yours and you think all your internal organs pause for a moment or two.

With heavy breaths in the air, Gaz slowly pulls out. He stays pressed up against you, loosening his grip, and rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “Lemme make it up to you.”

“It’s.. it’s okay,” you pant, a little delirious.

By the time Soap lets go of your hand, it’s no longer wet with his spend, but instead his spit. Gaz’s fingertips slip between your thighs once more, gently rubbing over your sore slit. A whimper slips from your throat and you cling to his tan forearm as he slowly dips two fingers inside of you.

“My pretty baby,” Soap croons, cupping your cheek with his dry hand and running a thumb along the skin. “We could never forget about ya, sweet thing.”

He leans in to give a short, sweet kiss to your lips. His other hand, slightly wet, cups the soft flesh of your tit in his big hand. His thumb and pointer pluck at your nipple until you whine, which is when he then ducks down to suck the swollen bud into his mouth.

You were already getting close before Gaz came and now you were practically hurtling towards the edge. Gaz keeps a slow pace at first, rubbing firmly at your clit with his thumb while his fingers pump inside of you. One of your hands claws at Gaz’s forearm, the other still supporting you against the edge of the counter.

“Johnny,” you whine as Gaz pumps his fingers a little faster, his hand squeezing your side once before his hand comes up to pinch at your neglected breast. Soap grazes his teeth against you before briefly pulling away, “Not the name you should be moanin’, sweetheart.”

You lean back onto Gaz, head falling against his shoulder. “Kyle..” you moan, the new position leaving your other hand free. It comes up to the back of Soap’s head, holding him to you. You can feel the way he smiles against your nipple.

“Hm? You close?” he teases, nose brushing against your ear. “Uh-huh,” you nod, mouth ajar. Your eyes flutter closed as warmth spreads into your lower stomach, building and building. He keeps a steady pace with his fingers, but you jolt slightly when you feel a second hand between your legs.

You look down to see Soap’s thumb rubbing firmly against your clit, pointer finger lifting your hood. Almost too firmly with the way your back arches off Gaz’s chest and a guttural noise is ripped from your throat. Your toes curl in your shoes, heels nearly lifting off the floor.

“F-Fuck!” you suddenly cry as a wave of pleasure slams into you, nearly shoving you out of your body. Your vision goes white. By the time your eyes lazily reopen, Soap is standing in front of you, chuckling.

Gaz smiles against your shoulder. You’re too busy blinking away the fuzziness at the corners of your vision and too focused on the slick and come dripping onto your thighs.

“Who knew all you needed was a good orgasm to finally curse?”

“I could’ve guessed.” Gaz helpfully adds from behind you. You smile.

“Sod off.” Soap grumbles, leaning off the counter and cringing at the stickiness of the fake marble. And his hands. And thighs. And basically everywhere. At some point, you’d started slumping over, and Gaz gently laid you down. “Easy, easy,”

Your chest was flat against the cool counter while your panting breaths puffed against it. Your eyes flutter shut while the wave of pleasure washes over you and leaves with a twinge in your abdomen as a goodbye.

You don’t even twitch as a pair of footsteps approach. You blink. Your ears twitch. When’d the door open? Gaz slowly pulls off of you. He brings your panties up your thighs once more, making sure they’re secure around you with one hand as the other flips your dress back down. You cringe as you feel the fabric immediately start to dampen.

You vaguely hear him pull his boxers and shorts back up before he rubs a hand along your back. “You alright?” he asks, still sounding a little breathless. He brings your dress back up your torso, slipping the straps back over your shoulders.

You nod after a moment, nearly jolt as your eyes land on a dark figure in the room. You recognize it. Him. He appears like a Ghost. You swallow to soothe your dry throat, watching with furrowed brows as he takes a few more steps until he’s right in front of the counter you’re bent over.

His shoes are squeaking against the floor. There are sprinkles of water on the shoulders of his hoodie. He’s in his usual running attire, which he must’ve just come back from, and you’d guess it was probably raining, too.

He’s not wearing his mask. You try your best not to gape as your eyes flick over his features. His hair is darker than you thought it’d be. His eyelashes are normally smudged in coal, but they’re blond right now.

Ghost is not… particularly attractive. I mean, you think he’s pretty. You think the other boys do, too. But by conventional Western beauty standards, he’s not a top model.

Ugly, mean scars are across his entire body and face. There’s a tiny cleft on his upper lip. His shoulders are always tensed up to his ears. Not to mention the scowl he always seems to wear. Even with the mask on.

You can always seem to sense when he’s glaring at you. He doesn’t seem to be happy with you often. But if some random clueless puppy joined your military task force, you wouldn’t be either.

You’re yanked out of your head by his hand raising to pinch one of your spaghetti straps before letting it snap back to your skin. You flinch. If he notices, he doesn’t care.

“When’d you get this little number?”

His voice is raspy like he’d just woken up. But you’d guess he’s been awake for a few hours. He’s not even in boxers or PJs. You’re not sure if you can even imagine him sleeping in anything besides daytime clothes, though.

“Daddy.. Daddy took me out shopping. While you guys were gone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. It’s slow to catch up. You don’t bother asking for approval or opinion. He won’t give it to you. He grunts as he starts walking away, still in your line of sight as he pulls the now cold coffee mug out of the machine to replace it with his own mug.

“You lot need to be more quiet. Price came pokin’ around looking for her. And ‘e’s half deaf. Take it to a room next time.”

Shit, Price.

You all have the same response, but yours is much quieter.

“Sorry, LT.”

notes: this is literally my third time ever writing smut and first writing penetrative sex so PLEASE have mercy 🙏 . if you know nothing of the military like me, *EOD means Explosive Ordnance Disposal which is a branch of the military and basically i think they deal with and diffuse explosives. there probably won’t be any more parts to this. also i still can’t force myself to like this much for some reason so im probably gonna disappear off tumblr for a bit 😞 love you guys!

reader description: reader is an adult woman. no mention of race or size. her hair is briefly mentioned as ‘messy’ and fur ‘matted’. no mention of hair color or length. she also has scars. able bodied and doesn’t talk, but she will eventually.

It’s misty and wet when the boys (only Soap, Ghost never went to bed) wake in the morning. Furniture is strewn across porches, newspaper soggy on driveways, windshield wipers are propped up in piles of snow atop the car. The storm last night was not even near the calmest. It seemed to have a goal to ruin everyone’s day.

Ghost and Soap have their separate thoughts of worry about you. Soap, when he saw the harsh wind out the bathroom window when he was brushing his teeth. Ghost, when he stepped out of his apartment building for his morning jog and saw the mess the storm had left. It rains and snows frequently where they live, you should be fine, they try to reason with themselves.

And you were doing fine. You’d found sheets of metal in the trash to place over your temporary home for protection from the rain. Which was a few old cardboard boxes smushed together with ripped blankets and tattered rags. You had a full belly for the first time in months the night before, so you’d be okay without food for a bit.

But it’s not like you had someone telling you the weather, and you were underprepared. The wind is so harsh it causes the metal sheets to entirely crush your little home. You just narrowly throw yourself out when it comes crashing down, your knees scraping against the pavement.

You’re heartbroken. Devastated, as you stare at everything you once had been destroyed. But you can’t even feel it, can you? Not when the frost is biting at your nose, warning you of the need for shelter immediately.

You stand from the gravelly road on shaky legs, hugging your arms tight to your chest. The black hoodie is your thickest layer, and you put it on top while hoping it’d absorb some of the rain. Hail is beating at your face as you start to wander, looking for anything you might be able to use for shelter.

Boxes, piles of garbage, trash bags, anything. You come across a dumpster and you think you could slip in the gap between it and the concrete wall. You’ll still be cold, but it’ll protect you from the wind and rain. It fucking stinks. Hopefully you’ll be able to stand the smell.

You proceed, crouching to shift some trash bags stacked against the wall to hopefully slip between. The sound of a low rumble, different from the thunder, makes you stand once more. You turn, and your heart turns cold at the sight you’re met with.

There’s a snarling dog in front of you, hackles raised and legs bent low to the ground as it takes slow steps toward you. Saliva drips from its mouth and mixes with the rain and oil on the street.

The footsteps of the mutt mix with the tip taps of the rain, but your screams don’t.

Your escape is not swift nor scarless. It’s messy, but even after being attacked, you understand the animal. When cornered, everyone is an enemy. You think yourself more alike a pathetic dog than whatever part of you is hybrid.

There’s a nasty chunk taken out of your upper arm, but it’s not too deep. You’ll live.

This whole situation has left you unbelievably startled. You’re soaking wet and shaking, but not from the cold. Your tears are warm against the skin of your cheeks. You can feel scrapes and smears of warm blood on various spots of your body, but you can’t see any injuries other than the bite on your bicep you were currently pressing on with your opposite hand.

Your teeth dig into the split on your lower lip, nose bridge scrunched up from the pain. You’re tired. So tired. Now that the life-saving adrenaline has worn off, and you’re cold, alone, and wet, you only think of one place to go. The only familiar place you have left, really.

It’s a struggle up the stairs of the fire escape with how severely your legs are shaking. You’re worried it’s too late to be wandering so close to people. The storm had started around three in the morning, and after losing your home, searching for a new one, and being attacked, you’d now guess it was around five.

The men in the apartment woke up early, you knew that. But you couldn’t think too hard right now, not when you were so scared.

Your hands shake and slip on the slick surface of the window ledge. On the fourth try, you finally pry it open. You climb inside as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and sinking straight to the floor.

You leave smears of bloody fingertips on the edges of the window and drywall. Your back is against the wall, head slumped on your knees where you hug them to your chest. You wish your mind allowed you to sleep.

It’s only maybe an hour later when you see a light turn on in the other room. But you don’t- can’t fucking move. You’re paralyzed. Even as footsteps approach, even as the kitchen light turns on.

One of the men, the one you hadn’t had encounters with yet, sleepily steps into the kitchen. He’s tanner than the other one, shorter too. He’s got a funky, overgrown hairstyle. Maybe a mohawk in desperate need of a haircut?

He reminds you of the sun. If it were a rowdy, messy guy who had a guilty pleasure in reality TV.

He makes it to the cabinets, the coffee machine, and the fridge before he notices you. Or, the fingerprints. There’s a mug currently being filled by an automatic machine by the time he catches red on his window. His feet stutter to a stop, a frown starting as his lips before his eyes lower to you.

His expression softens, eyebrows raising in surprise at the sight of you. Bloody, clutching your injured bicep, shaking, and soaking wet. Your eyes are wet and surrounded by puffy, pink skin. Your hair clings to your face, the way your clothes do with your body.

“Hi there, sweet thing.” he coos, stepping a few feet away to pull his coffee out of the beeping machine. “Looks like someone’s had a rough night, huh?” He places the mug on the counter before he slowly sinks to sit against the cabinet across from you.

You stare. He’s got weird hair and an even weirder accent. He’s weird. It takes so much energy to even blink, you can’t believe you’re still conscious. You’re terrified, your heart pounding in your chest and ears, but all you can do is stare.

He slowly nods, “Yeah, figured. You must be cold. Mind if I grab ya a blanket? ‘ah can turn the heat up, too.”

All he gets is a blink in response. He stands, slow and measured even as his knees click. “Sit tight,” he urges. You don’t move. He walks out of your sight for a few moments, coming back with a blue wool blanket.

He approaches until he’s a few feet away, spreading out the blanket like wings and tossing it over you as best he can with the distance. It lands on your knees, not nearly high enough for your liking. Your icy fingers twitch. You slowly grip the end of the fabric to pull up to your collarbones.

His lips twitch into a frown at the sight. He wants to swaddle you, surround you in soft blankets and shiny things like a crow would with its mate. Wants to run you a warm bath, and give you another meal. Hot, this time.

But he can be patient. He doesn’t want to scare you off.

“Do ye want somethin’ to eat? Are you here because you’re hungry?” he asks, crouching to sit on the floor against the opposite counter once more. He sighs as he gets nothing in response besides a twitch of your eyebrow and the movement of your throat swallowing.

“Maybe I could get ya something for that arm? If y’let me see, I can help.” he tries to assure you the best he can, but he doesn’t exactly want to be attacked for trying to help. This is his first interaction with you, and it’s already not going great. He gives you a sad smile, and you notice a muscle twitch near his forehead. The crinkle in his skin leads to a star-shaped scar on his temple. You wonder where it’s from.

Soap’s head turns as he hears a clinking noise from the apartment hallway before the door opens. It’s the man you’ve seen before, dressed in joggers and a dark black hoodie, which you think might’ve been grey before it got soaked from the rain.

He locks the door behind him, slips off his shoes, and steps further into the home. He doesn’t notice you immediately either, but much quicker than Soap did. His steps slow once he reaches the kitchen counter, eyes flickering over Soap on the floor, to the bloody window, to you.

His eyes scan you, flicking up to the fingerprints on the window, and the bloody hand clutching your upper arm. Your wet skin and clothes. The way you tremble, the blanket Soap must’ve placed over you.

Soap stands to join him where he’s staring at you. “I found her like this when I came out for coffee this morning. She hasnae moved or talked.” Soap informs, giving you a concerned glance before refocusing on the other man.

All you do is observe as they talk about you. It feels like the cold has settled into your bones at this point, and you have a permanent brain freeze. You haven’t moved in so long, that you think you might actually turn into a statue if you don’t die from infection.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“She can’t stay like tha’. Gonna get hypothermia if she stays wet for any longer.” He digs into the pocket of his hoodie to drop his keys in some weird, wicker woven bowl before he starts towards you. You stiffen, fingers turning into fists against the blankets.

“Woah, woah, what’re ye doin’?” Soap quickly steps up with him, a hand on his arm and expression concerned.

Ghost’s face is blank as Soap stops him, but you notice a twitch on his lip. “I’m going to help her. What, you think she’s got fleas or somethin’?”

Soap scoffs, “How? ‘Cause she’s just gonna let ya touch her? She’s never even let any o’ us willingly see her, much less talk or touch.”

Ghost gives him a long look you can’t decipher, and huffs before he shrugs his hand off his arm and walks up to you. “What d’you think she came ‘ere for? She wants help and that’s wha’ she’s gonna get.”

He reaches down to grab you by your uninjured bicep and elbow, pulling you up to stand. He’s not the most gentle, but he’s not too rough. You stumble, legs shaky and stiff. You feel like rigor mortis is already settling into your muscles, even if you’re still alive.

“Simon,” Soap hisses, and you learn one of the men’s names. You try to step back toward the window, feet fumbling, but Simon nabs you back with a hand on your nape.

He doesn’t respond to Soap, one hand on your shoulder and another on the back of your neck as he guides you to walk in front of him.

The steps are forced and heavy like you’re some newborn calf who was learning how to walk. He guides you to the bathroom where he opens the door and walks you inside. You think your brain might’ve turned offline briefly, and came back on once you realized you were in danger (you aren’t). You don’t know what’s going on, and don’t remember how exactly you got here. What are you missing?

“You’ll be alright, love. We’ll take good care of you.” Soap tries to soothe, keeping up with the hulking man holding you. You glance at him, expression a little pinched. You’re still by the door and can see the living room through the hallway. You could still run. You’re faster than they are. Why are you trying to leave, again?

“Over ‘ere, Kitty.” the man you now know as Simon, says. He leans over the tub to start the faucet. Your eyes flick back to him but you barely blink. He sighs heavily and stands back to his full height. He takes a step and you take two backward, but he just grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards the bath.

His hand goes to the back of your neck again, forcibly shifting your gaze to look up at him. “Did ya freeze up there in tha’ little head of yours, too?” he huffs, lightly flicking your forehead with his free hand. You scrunch your nose, trying to pull away from him.

“No. You need a bath. You’re filthy and freezing.” he grumbled, pulling you to stand at the edge of the tub.

“Do y’need me to undress you?” he asks, keeping his face level with yours. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why you aren’t running when they are practically in your face and telling you they’re going to strip your clothes off.

“Si, fuckin’ ease up a bit, alright? She’s clearly startled. Let’s leave her to get undressed.” Soap butts in, stepping further into the bathroom and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Is tha’ what you want? Do y’need me to leave? I’ll leave if I know you’re going to get in.”

You sniffle, the only noise you’d made during this entire time. Your lower lip wobbles. You refuse to make eye contact. The blood on your arm has mostly dried at this point but your hand is still clutching it. Your other hand is fisting the blanket around your shoulders, feet like stone on the ground. If they both left, you think you probably would’ve looked for the nearest window so you don’t have a response to that.

“Alright,” he huffs, straightening next to you. He grabs your cold hands, pressing them to his shoulders and shaping them into a grip. The blanket falls and you shiver. “I’m going to undress you. You can squeeze if I touch somethin’ you don’t like, or I hurt ya. Understand? Squeeze if you understand me.”

Your gaze flicks up to him momentarily, but you can’t read anything behind his eyes. Your fingers flex to the best of your ability, and you think you’re squeezing, but your hand is too numb for you to be sure.

The blood on your hands transfers to the black fabric of his hoodie, but doesn’t show.

“Good,” he nods, kicking the blanket out of the way from where it gathered at your feet. His fingers slip under the hem of your layers, bringing your- his, ripped hoodie above your head, as well as your thinner layers, gaze only briefly wandering over your body. He seems to focus more on the scars than your chest.

He only shifts your grip briefly to let the articles of clothing fall to the floor before putting them back. He continues with your shirt, pants, and undergarments until you’re bare. Your eyes have fixed themselves on a wet patch on his shoulders, afraid that if you move he might go further than you’d like.

“In the bath now,” he confirms, and Soap reenters the conversation to help when Simon gestures for it. They move you like a doll. Simon moves your grip to the side of the tub, Soap moving one leg at a time into the bath. He guides you to sit, and you shiver violently at the temperature change.

Your teeth start clattering. Or maybe they had always been. Your hands hug your arms, crossed across your chest to give you some kind of modesty. It’s not much.

“Johnny. The door.”

Johnny, you learn, stands from his crouched position to close the bathroom door. Something he’d forgotten to in his rush to help. There’s something wet dripping down your face, and it takes you a moment to differentiate whether it’s tears or water dripping from your hair. You think it’s both.

You can vaguely hear some sort of conversation, but your mind seems to blur it out. When Johnny reenters your sight, he’s only in his boxers. You’d probably be taken aback by the amount of skin discoloration- scars, that were on his body if you didn’t have more important things to focus on. Like why he’s nearly naked and getting into the bath with you.

Whatever train of thought you had started conjuring immediately splutters to a stop. He steps into the bath behind you, and you cringe slightly at the thought of your previous wet clothes sticking to your skin.

One of your hands grips the side of the tub, looking to prepare for an easy escape. Johnny’s arm comes around you to grab your wrist and slip it from the edge, gathering both of them to press against your diaphragm in one of his larger ones.

You start to squirm, feet slipping against the tub in your search for momentum as he pulls you back against him. “Easy, lovely. You’re alright.” he coaxes into your ear, wrapping his free forearm around your collarbones and holding you in a loose chokehold as he leans against the back of the tub and takes you with him.

You don’t necessarily fight it, but by the way, your fingers curl into your palms and your breath hitches and stutters, you know they know you’re uncomfortable. Your throat chokes around a whimper as Simon steps around the tub back into your sight.

“Shhhh,” Johnny hushes, settling his chin in the crook of your shoulder. Simon had abandoned his hoodie, now in a black, athletic, tight-fitting shirt. The long sleeves were pushed up to his biceps, a wet clicking noise drawing your attention to his hands.

He was rubbing a plain bar of soap between his palms, slicking his hands before his attention turned towards you. He sets the bar on the side of the tub, reaching for your left foot first. He lifts it out of the water and holds it steady as his hands rub the filth off of you.

You’re already warming up by the time he finishes one leg and starts on the other, only wincing every once in a while when he brushes a scrape. The problem is, you think the cold was numbing your pain. Your temperature is rising and with it your pain.

Your bicep burns now, and tingles in some weird way. The only time you’re adjusted is for Simon to have a better angle to wash you. Johnny keeps you still, mumbling sweet things to you every once in a while. You think you’ve blocked him out at this point.

You’d winced and squirmed a little when he rinsed your wound with water. You didn’t have much of a choice. Your shoulders relax slightly as he finishes and steps away. He hasn’t touched your hair, tail, or ears yet, which only made you worried more for what’s to come. After a moment he returns with a black plastic bottle you can’t catch a good enough look to read.

You watch, wary as he uncaps the lid and holds your upper with his free hand. His hand tilts, spilling the clear liquid over your wound where it bubbles and turns white. You scream, throwing your head back and feeling Johnny flinch as your skull knocks against his chin.

“Fuckin’- easy, easy. We’re not trying to hurt you, calm down.” Johnny tries to soothe you while your squirming increases tenfold.

Johnny never releases you, only tightens his grip and throws a hairy, muscled leg over your hips when your kicking becomes a problem. You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears slipping down your newly clean cheeks as your lips part on a sob. It stings, it fucking stings. Why did they do that? What’s wrong with them?

You think you get lost in the white, tight pressure of your eyelids for a moment because when you come back, there’s white gauze and bandages wrapped around your upper arm. You’ve stopped moving. Your lips are parted to let out panicked pants and the whites of your eyes feel irritated.

“Kitty,” Simon speaks so suddenly that your eyes flick up to meet his. A few strands of hair fall in front of your face and you flinch when he smoothes them back. “Relax. We’re not tryin’ to hurt you. You need to cooperate. You hear me? Don’t bite.”

He uses a rough thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks before he uses that same hand to pry your jaw open, watching as your eyelashes flutter rapidly. He holds your mouth open and uses his free hand to drip a few drops of water into your mouth from a glass cup you have no idea where or when he got.

You stiffen, confused, watery eyes locked on his. He then puts the cup on the bathroom counter and places two small pills on your tongue. You have ample time to bite him. You don’t, reason unknown to you.

He then closes your mouth and watches you closely as he tells you, “Swallow.” You do and can see the way he stares to see if your throat bobs. “Open,” he urges, and this time you do it on your own. When he finds nothing, he praises you with a quiet “good girl.”

“Pain meds. They’ll help ya feel better,” he adds before you even think to ask. You think your brain has been put on a backtrack or something since you stepped into their house. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the pain. But now all you can think about is how they could help you every day. Maybe not. They’re too overbearing. Right.

Simon leans over to reach for a bottle labeled ‘shampoo’, but stops when Johnny speaks up. “Si, maybe let’s leave that for another day. Today has already been a lot.” He pauses, and stares, which he seems to do a lot. He grunts in response, leaning over to unplug the tub.

‘Another day’ completely goes over your head.

Your hair is.. well, it’s a mess. You’ve tried to keep it somewhat short so it doesn’t have so much upkeep, but it’s not like there’s a free barber at every corner. the matted fur on your tail and ears you… don’t even want to talk about it.

“I’m gonna let go now, alright?” Johnny says next to your ear, tone soft enough it doesn’t make you jump this time. You nod hesitantly, the first type of communication you’ve ever given to them. He slowly releases you and Simon reaches his hands out for you to grab. You do, slowly, letting him help you stand and step out of the tub.

Johnny lugs himself out of the tub, grabs a towel, and excuses himself from the room. Simon wraps you up in a fluffy, gray towel, rubbing and patting at your face and shoulders until you’re mostly dry. And you kind of just.. stand there. Johnny comes back a few moments later, clothed and dry now, holding a few articles of clothing in his hands.

“Got some clothes for ya,”

Your gaze turns towards him, and you shiver and cross your arms across your breasts once Simon lets the towel drop. He holds a few things up to your body to see what fits best. He dresses you in boxers, one layers of pants, a short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a long-sleeved shirt.

You almost wish they had something warmer. Or a raincoat, maybe? But beggars can’t be choosers, can they? At least the socks they tug onto your feet are warm and fuzzy.

You let them move you around like a puppet on strings. One man slipping your arms into the sleeves, one man pulling boxers up your hips. Once they finish, Simon heads over to your clothes.

You watch as Simon picks them from the floor, Johnny adjusting your new outfit to fit you more comfortably, and shoves them right in the bathroom trash.

Johnny watches the way your expression drops as you look at him and shoots Simon a look. “Sorry, lovely. These clothes are yours now.” He tries to placate, his eyes soft as he looks at you. You frown.

“Right,” Simon grunts, “Hoodie got all ripped up. The rest are beyond saving. You’ll wear this now.”

Johnny places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you out to the connected living room and kitchen. You’re disappointed, but you don’t think you can be mad when they’ve done all this for you. You have nothing from before. Maybe that’s okay.

“Ye ready to leave?” he asks, riffling through a cabinet in the kitchen. It takes a moment before you nod. “Think the storm is dying down. You can stay until it’s over, f’you want.”

You shake your head, subtly, instinctively, stepping towards the window. “That’s alrigh’, won’t make ya.” he smiles, showing you his palms up before he takes a step back.

They don’t say anything. They seem to go back to whatever they were doing before you. Soap grabs his cold coffee off the counter and pops it in the microwave, a few beeps sounding out as it turns on. Simon has carried his hoodie back out from the bathroom and placed it on the coat rack by the door.

It almost seems too natural. Practiced.

Your feet feel cold and heavy when you take another step towards the window. You swear they were warm just a moment ago.

While you blink away some blurriness from your vision, you’re hyper-aware of the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. Fuck, please don’t throw up, you urge.

When your gaze refocuses on the window, the rain looks like a watercolor painting. The muscles behind your eyes ache. Your foot is taking another step before you permit it.

Your newly socked feet cause you to slip slightly, one hand snapping out and you just barely have enough time to grip the cedge of the kitchen counter. Your head pounds.

“Och, easy, Kitty.” Johnny gentles, coming up behind you and placing his now cold hands on your shoulders. You don’t know when you got so hot. Feverish.

“Let’s go sit ya down with Simon, yeah?” he asks, but it’s not really a question as he already starts to guide you towards the couch where Simon is sat. You don’t remember seeing him walk that way.

Johnny sits you on the couch next to him, who lifts an arm to coax your head into his lap. He pets his hand over your head, his fingertips feeling the heat of your skin as he brushes against your cheeks.

He pushes your hair back from your face and you let your eyes fall shut solely because of the intense nausea taking over you. Your lips part to let out slow, harsh breaths.

“I don’t feel so good,” you moan, voice slurring, fingers curling into a fist against the fabric of Simon’s pants. The room feels like it’s spinning.

“I know, love.”

notes: sorry for the abrupt ending! also i don’t mind tagging people so go ahead and ask if u want!

Your fuzzy eyes are transfixed on the sight. Blurry from the vision in front of you and the cock inside of you. Watching the way Gaz slides his hand up, tightening and twisting around the head while Soap shudders and his upper body lurches forward. His hands turned into fists against the counter, head hanging between his shoulders as his chest heaved.

“Fuckin’ hell, Gaz…”

Gaz seems to notice your interest, his hand pumping twice more before lifting off. “You wanna try a go, love?” Your face is flushed with heat. Not from embarrassment. Arousal. You look over to see his chin on your shoulder, his heated gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. You nod.

He smiles, and your hand on Soap’s bicep slips down to support you against the counter once more. Gaz takes your dominant hand and slowly curls your fingers into a fist around the base of Soap’s cock. His fingers fit in between the gaps of yours. Soap’s lips purse as Gaz starts slowly dragging your hand up and down.

Maybe they’ve known for a while, Ghost once saw you skitter away down the ladder after being woken from a nightmare. He complains about it to Soap, scolding him for forgetting to lock the window, but he’d been doing it on purpose ever since he saw you in the alley behind their apartment, digging through trash and underfed. Hoping.

He convinces his LT to leave it unlocked and says that they can spare a piece of bread now and then. That you look so lost and sad, that’s the least they can do. You haven’t even stolen anything more than a few bites of left out food, he insists.

But you grow more confident, napping on their couch for a few hours during the night to keep warm, washing your face in their sink, licking their leftover plates clean. They pretend not to notice. Ghost, who used to sit on the couch and watch television when he couldn’t sleep, has switched to the chair in his office so as not to spook you.

Until one day you fish through the laundry bin in the bathroom, looking for a pair of socks that no one would notice missing. You’ve never stolen anything more than a bite or two of food from them but it’s getting colder. People lose socks all the time.

Your head snaps towards the door when you hear it creak open, seeing a pale, shirtless man with mussed hair pause in the doorway when he sees you. He grunts. You scramble, only grabbing a single sock in your process of shoving past him and bolting towards the window.

You don’t notice the way his eyes drift down your body to take in the healthy weight gained. He sighs, shaking his head and not bothering to close the door as he makes towards the toilet.

You don’t come back for a week and a half. Soap got worried on the fifth night, realizing you hadn’t stepped through the window in days. Your dirty fingerprints had been cleaned off the window on the second day and they hadn’t come back since.

But eventually, you get hungry. With how cold it is at night, you’ve been forced to spend less and less time searching through trash lest you freeze. You think about it for a few days, and decide there’s no point in not going back if you’re going freeze to death out here anyway.

You slip through the kitchen window on the eleventh day, shivering at the temperature change. You head straight for the fridge where they keep their leftovers, your shaky hand holding it open as your eyes quickly scan for something small to eat.

“There’s fish in the freezer. F’you want some.”

You nearly jolt out of your skin, the fridge door snapping shut as you suddenly whip around to find the location of the voice. You can feel the fur your tail puff up in fear as your back presses the cool doors. It’s the same man you saw that night. This time, he’s wearing a mask. And not a medical one.

The mask is black and embroidered with white skull markings. Or, more like grey skull markings. There’s dark brown stains on the fabric where the white is. Maybe the black, too. You can’t tell. It kind of looks like dried blood. No, it’s definitely just dirt.

Your ears are pricked, chest silently heaving as you stay frozen, staring at him. How did you not see him? Or hear him?

He looks like he just got home despite the fact it’s the middle of the night. It’s early, maybe three, or four in the morning. He’s still got shoes on where he sits on the couch. He holds a clear glass full of a gold liquid propped on his knee. There’s a duffle bag by his feet.

You just stand there, stuck in time for what feels like a week as you watch him. The only time he moves is to bring the glass up to his lips, pushing his mask up to the bridge of his nose to take a long sip. He would’ve moved by now if he wanted to hurt you. Right?

You swallow thickly, slowly turning to open the freezer. You look over your shoulder every few seconds, but he’s just sitting there, watching. Your eyes land on three saran-wrapped plates in the freezer. Huh. Maybe they had a guest over.

Two plates have various vegetables and sauces, while one looks plain. Just fish and something green that looks like a tiny tree. You grab it, closing the freezer and glancing at him for the millionth time. Still stayed the same. You slowly sink to sit on the kitchen floor, tail curling around the side of your leg protectively.

You watch him as you peel the wrap off, as you eat. He stares back. You pinch a cold piece of meat between your fingers, slowly bringing it up to your lips. And it’s fucking good. You don’t waste much time with your next few bites, try the little tree thing too. It’s not great, but it’s not horrible. You start wrapping the dish up again when you’re interrupted.

“It’s all f’you. Eat it.”

You pause, your eyes flicking back up to him. Your ears twitch. For you? Sounds like a trap. You should have a pretty good radar for danger. I mean, you live on the streets. You can feel your heart beat a little faster, but it tells you to continue. You waste no more time, greedily finishing the rest of the dish almost concerningly fast.

He watches and only adds more whiskey to his cup when it empties. You stand when you’re done, quietly placing the dish in the sink and discarding the wrap in the trash. You flinch when he abruptly stands, stepping closer towards your exit. His hands reach towards the bottom hem of his black hoodie, pulling it over his head.

You stay and watch, for some reason. Then he tosses it towards you, over the kitchen counter separating the two rooms. You startle, twitching back when the fabric falls to your feet. You look between him and the hoodie briefly, before crouching down to grab it.

Your footsteps are light and tentative as you step back towards the window, still watching him. You quickly slip out, practically running down the fire escape stairs until you’re back in the streets. Back in your little box hidden in the trash, with a few blankets to keep warm.

You replace your thin zip-up with his hoodie. You push the fabric of the collar up towards your nose when you slip it on, inhaling deeply. It smells like man. Like sweat and something coppery. Like burning firewood and grill char. Like it would be so easy to just slip into his bed and sleep into the late hours of the morning.

You sleep easier that night, even if it’s on cardboard and tattered blankets. And if you’re already wet when you slip your fingers between your thighs, it’s no one’s business but your own.

notes: i figured out how to do the ‘read more’ thing!! sorry my first post didn’t have that. again, written and edited on my phone. ty for the love btw 🫶 im trying to stay humble bc this is lowkey boosting my ego. tumblr tips appreciated.