call-of-dookie

[call-of-dookie]

Historical Arranged Marriage AU - Simon Riley

Simon tends a small graveyard in the countryside in Victorian England. He lives alone in a tiny cottage near the back of the property with his dog. The only person that treats him normally is the local priest. Knowing that Simon is lonely, the priest suggests he places a marriage proposal ad in the London newspapers.

Reluctantly he does, but most of the correspondence he receives are those only interested in the occult. That is until he receives a genuine offer. All he has of you are a simple photograph, your name, and a few key facts about your life. But he’s enamored. Excited for the first time in years. The proper documents are sent, signed by both parties, and approved by a lawyer in London.

He waits anxiously, spending the hours away from the graveyard to prepare his home for you. It’ll soon be your space, too. And when the day comes of your arrival, Simon is there at the train station, a bouquet of flowers in hand that he collected from his own garden.

[call-of-dookie]

I just know Price (probably Ghost too) would go feral at finding out if their (prospective) Missus is a virgin

oh yeah. for Price, it's def about the control. a lil bit of that toxic masculinity bleeding through. traditionalism. i also just think he's a perpetual leader so any opportunity to teach or lead is gonna rile him. especially if he gets the added bonus of teaching you what to like. he's also stupidly possessive so you being a virgin/inexperienced would stroke his ego so much. feed into that god-complex i keep giving him.

and if you weren't, he's either ignoring your entire sexual history or making you recount everything you've ever done and doing it better. and it feels like a punishment the entire time lmao

and Ghost. he'd be so gross about it. probs mocks you a bit, taunts you about "waiting" for him, but he'd preen over the idea of being the one and only. something just for him. all his. my unexplored headcanon is that he's never really had anything of his own before - and even when he was essentially "dead" everything he had was given up because it was too risky to tote it around. but now that he's older, has a stable team to fall back on (and Price keeps insisting on him getting rest instead of throwing himself recklessly into mission after mission), he can finally settle down a bit. have a house that isn't just a bed he barely sleeps in. relationships that aren't entirely transactional.

so the idea of being the "first/only" would feed into that unfettered desperation of an ever-hungry kid who wanted more than what was on his plate.

but he's also super weird so if you had any experience, he'd probably track down every person you ever fucked and engineer situations where they'd walk in/stumble on him fucking you better than they ever could. just totally normal boyfriend behaviour in his head.

[call-of-dookie]

At one point in time, John Price has uttered the words "Christ, that scared the tits off me."

And Simon Riley has immediately grabbed his tit and shook his head, uttering a very serious: "No, it didn't. Still there, still perky."

That day, they learned that John can swing significantly faster than Simon can duck.

[call-of-dookie]

Simon had been angry before, no question about that. But he had never been this angry. The moment the helicopter touched down, he grabbed your elbow and dragged you through the base, until you reached the building that was assigned to the 141. All the way, he ignored the concerned and annoyed shouts from the others. And you? You couldn't say anything to defend yourself. Not this time at least.

Simon had all the reasons to be angry, one could have. You were reckless, stubborn, almost got yourself killed in the process. And now you were bearing the consequences. So, you let him drag you through the base, ignoring the curious stares and the way his nails bit into your skin, even through the shirt you were wearing. 

As soon as you two stepped foot into the rec room, he pushed you inside, before stalking to you, glaring as if you were one of his enemies. But you knew better and you saw the worry and fear hidden behind the anger. 

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Price, Soap, and Gaz entered the room, looking worried. "Simon, calm down." Usually, Price's words would have worked. Would have gotten Simon to come to his senses. But you knew he was too far gone. 

"I wasn't thinking. I did what I had to, just like you taught me." You tried to square up to him, but the fire burning in his eyes made you back down. "I didn't fuckin' teach you to get yourself killed now, did I?" You sighed, frustrated, and glared right back at the giant in front of you. 

"You know what I mean. Don't act as if you wouldn't have done the sa-" He interrupted you, spit flying as he suddenly yelled. "That's not what this is about!" Your glare disappeared as your eyes widened in shock. He must have realized what he just did, taking a few steps back, his hand raking down his face. When he looked back at you, a quiet whisper that was your name, left his lips, but you stopped him.

"Fuck you, Simon." That seemed to get his anger going again. "Don't. You're on thin fucking ice right now, you understand?" Your eyes immediately found Soap's, who was already smirking. 

Just last week, he showed you a stupid meme, where someone said "You're on thin ice", and the other person started tap dancing. And in that moment, you knew what you had to do, no matter the cost. So, you stood up straight and started to tap dance. Or at least tried to. First, you had no clue how to, so whatever it looked like, it must've been terrible. And second, before you even got three steps in, Simon's arm wrapped around your waist and he threw you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing.

"Hey!" Not reacting at all, he walked out of the rec room, once again ignoring the others calling after him. Although, it was only Price and Gaz calling. Soap was standing beside them, bent over laughing.

Before you knew it, Simon put you down again. But it wasn't gently, no. Instead, he just threw you onto, what you quickly realized was, his bed. And when you heard the lock click, you knew you were in for a night.

A/N: I love all of you, hope you know that! <3

[call-of-dookie]

yeehaw

[call-of-dookie]

BROKEN THINGS

PART 1 - John Price x Reader

Series Synopsis - Soap is killed in the mission to end Makarov, and in his death the men find out of a 'Secret Wife' Johnny had. While guilt of Soap's death was already eating at Price, the word of a widow strikes him even harder, and so he decided to seek out his wife and pay his dues for his fault in Soap's Death, and admit his guilt in aiding the broken woman before him.

"a break" is what John was told he needed. His job was complete with Makarov, and it left a stain on his heart. It was clear to everyone, laswell, what's left of task force 141, he wasn't handling his fuck up lightly, trudging the halls of base with a contemplating look and a dark aura surrounding him. It was his fault Johnny died. He chose not to kill Makarov when he had the chance, and now? One of his men was dead, one of the best of men at that, and in the sorrows of guilt for being responsible for Soaps death, John found himself slipping away.

He had spread Johnny's ashes in Scotland, the "home of his heart" Johnny claimed, and left his sadness on that bluff. Unfortunately, he has come to find out that sadness and guilt, are two completely different emotions. The silence of the mess hall, the silence of his men, and the Case Filing Meeting cracked his brain into a million shards, each a different emotion but with edges sharp as a blade, and covered in guilt.

"Alright boys, we've done this before, it's no different than any other time. You're each getting case files and filing the events of 'Makarov's Hunt', including Soaps death."

Laswell has been visiting the task force to complete there case filing and here it was. Every detail of the events leading up to, and soaps death itself were to be filed on paper, like taxes no one wants to pay. Details were to be discussed, evaluated, and jotted down for future reference, and to commence the death of 'John Soap MacTavish'.

In the case of a S.A.S. soldier dying, one who has been assigned to a Task Force, his information is purposely scarce. They are not to talk about personal relations, wives, husbands, family and children alike, in an attempt to protect their humanity.

Revealing such truths is forbidden for their family's safety, and their own, but once a soldier dies, it is his captains or subordinates responsibility to open their 'File of Humanity', as they call it, a manila folder containing all the soldier loves.

A tan-yellow folder slides across the table, reaching Price first. At the corner is written in Johnny's scribbly handwriting, "MacTavish Humanity" with a small doodle of a bar of soap sitting next to the ending. The sight of it let's a chuckle huff out of price, which quickly turns to dispair at the realization of what documents he's about to see. If there are any, marriage licenses, birth certificates, a list of living relatives and so much more.

The rest of the team gets a folder, each having an image of Johnny clipped to the left hand corner.

"Well...we all know what is about to happen, and how to handle it, yes? You will open the folder, read his service sheet first and fill out the information on your case filing. Once that commences, we will...discuss his death...personally", Laswell finishes.

So as on cue, the men open their folders to read the one pager of Johnny's enlistment, skills, and service before copying to their sheets.

The scene is painstakingly familiar for Price, deja vu of when Soaps file first came across his desk. He's a brilliant kid , 25 at the time and a specialist in demolitions and sniper, a unit for such a young man. He sports his usual mohawk as he did in that file years ago, and that shit eating grin on his face. Everything is as usual until they reach the bottom of the page. Service Sheets change slightly when added to 'Humanity Folders', now 3 small boxes are added to the bottom of the enlistment column.

Check 'YES' if you have children. [NO]

Check 'YES' if you are married. [YES]

No one has ever seen a man's face turn white that fast, expression dropping and eyes flooding black at the simple word 'yes'.

Check 'YES' if your spouse is living. [YES]

The air grew cold as of every body has read the exact same thing at once. 'Johnny, married?' they were all thinking. Not once had he mentioned this, not once had they seen a ring, but it unfortunately all adds up.

As much as Johnny loved his job, he was always the last to be on base, and the first to leave. Everytime they travelled somewhere outside of the UK he'd buy a small trinket, something without purpose but enough for the boys to notice. Even in Urzikstan the boys had seen him chatting with a small family, a mother and daughter whose father had been forced a slave by Russia during their battle for independence. Shortly after the men saw a small doll, the size of maybe 2 fingers tucked in his pocket, "A gift from the girl, traded her a drawing" he said with a smile. It came to a point that the men we're concerned he was just... touring the 141's battle grounds, but the fact that they had never seen any trinket since he got it starts to add up. Gifts. For a wife, at that.

Everyone's eyes met each other's as Price's theory seemed to be right, they had all read that at the same time. John "Soap" MacTavish died a married man, and instead of delivering their condolences to his wife, they spread his ashes in Scotland.

"Fucking hell" is what breaks the silence, a groan of dispair from Ghost. His eyes met Price picking up on the one dimension of darkness and guilt in his eyes.

"We spread his fucking ashes", Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick adds to the conversation. This one left Price with a hand on his head, tugging at his hair as he breathed shakily, sounding like a death rattle.

Laswell tapped the table lightly, getting John's attention from the other end of the table before their eyes meet.

"We know what we need to do."

[call-of-dookie]

Happiness Will Come To You.

[call-of-dookie]

BROKEN THINGS

PART 1 - John Price x Reader

Series Synopsis - Soap is killed in the mission to end Makarov, and in his death the men find out of a 'Secret Wife' Johnny had. While guilt of Soap's death was already eating at Price, the word of a widow strikes him even harder, and so he decided to seek out his wife and pay his dues for his fault in Soap's Death, and admit his guilt in aiding the broken woman before him.

"a break" is what John was told he needed. His job was complete with Makarov, and it left a stain on his heart. It was clear to everyone, laswell, what's left of task force 141, he wasn't handling his fuck up lightly, trudging the halls of base with a contemplating look and a dark aura surrounding him. It was his fault Johnny died. He chose not to kill Makarov when he had the chance, and now? One of his men was dead, one of the best of men at that, and in the sorrows of guilt for being responsible for Soaps death, John found himself slipping away.

He had spread Johnny's ashes in Scotland, the "home of his heart" Johnny claimed, and left his sadness on that bluff. Unfortunately, he has come to find out that sadness and guilt, are two completely different emotions. The silence of the mess hall, the silence of his men, and the Case Filing Meeting cracked his brain into a million shards, each a different emotion but with edges sharp as a blade, and covered in guilt.

"Alright boys, we've done this before, it's no different than any other time. You're each getting case files and filing the events of 'Makarov's Hunt', including Soaps death."

Laswell has been visiting the task force to complete there case filing and here it was. Every detail of the events leading up to, and soaps death itself were to be filed on paper, like taxes no one wants to pay. Details were to be discussed, evaluated, and jotted down for future reference, and to commence the death of 'John Soap MacTavish'.

In the case of a S.A.S. soldier dying, one who has been assigned to a Task Force, his information is purposely scarce. They are not to talk about personal relations, wives, husbands, family and children alike, in an attempt to protect their humanity.

Revealing such truths is forbidden for their family's safety, and their own, but once a soldier dies, it is his captains or subordinates responsibility to open their 'File of Humanity', as they call it, a manila folder containing all the soldier loves.

A tan-yellow folder slides across the table, reaching Price first. At the corner is written in Johnny's scribbly handwriting, "MacTavish Humanity" with a small doodle of a bar of soap sitting next to the ending. The sight of it let's a chuckle huff out of price, which quickly turns to dispair at the realization of what documents he's about to see. If there are any, marriage licenses, birth certificates, a list of living relatives and so much more.

The rest of the team gets a folder, each having an image of Johnny clipped to the left hand corner.

"Well...we all know what is about to happen, and how to handle it, yes? You will open the folder, read his service sheet first and fill out the information on your case filing. Once that commences, we will...discuss his death...personally", Laswell finishes.

So as on cue, the men open their folders to read the one pager of Johnny's enlistment, skills, and service before copying to their sheets.

The scene is painstakingly familiar for Price, deja vu of when Soaps file first came across his desk. He's a brilliant kid , 25 at the time and a specialist in demolitions and sniper, a unit for such a young man. He sports his usual mohawk as he did in that file years ago, and that shit eating grin on his face. Everything is as usual until they reach the bottom of the page. Service Sheets change slightly when added to 'Humanity Folders', now 3 small boxes are added to the bottom of the enlistment column.

Check 'YES' if you have children. [NO]

Check 'YES' if you are married. [YES]

No one has ever seen a man's face turn white that fast, expression dropping and eyes flooding black at the simple word 'yes'.

Check 'YES' if your spouse is living. [YES]

The air grew cold as of every body has read the exact same thing at once. 'Johnny, married?' they were all thinking. Not once had he mentioned this, not once had they seen a ring, but it unfortunately all adds up.

As much as Johnny loved his job, he was always the last to be on base, and the first to leave. Everytime they travelled somewhere outside of the UK he'd buy a small trinket, something without purpose but enough for the boys to notice. Even in Urzikstan the boys had seen him chatting with a small family, a mother and daughter whose father had been forced a slave by Russia during their battle for independence. Shortly after the men saw a small doll, the size of maybe 2 fingers tucked in his pocket, "A gift from the girl, traded her a drawing" he said with a smile. It came to a point that the men we're concerned he was just... touring the 141's battle grounds, but the fact that they had never seen any trinket since he got it starts to add up. Gifts. For a wife, at that.

Everyone's eyes met each other's as Price's theory seemed to be right, they had all read that at the same time. John "Soap" MacTavish died a married man, and instead of delivering their condolences to his wife, they spread his ashes in Scotland.

"Fucking hell" is what breaks the silence, a groan of dispair from Ghost. His eyes met Price picking up on the one dimension of darkness and guilt in his eyes.

"We spread his fucking ashes", Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick adds to the conversation. This one left Price with a hand on his head, tugging at his hair as he breathed shakily, sounding like a death rattle.

Laswell tapped the table lightly, getting John's attention from the other end of the table before their eyes meet.

"We know what we need to do."

[call-of-dookie]

I am STARVING for Court Jester Johnny MacTavish. CW : biting, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, drool, PiV, dirty talk, forbidden relationship.

Obviously, you're the princess of your kingdom. A well liked one at that.

Your father had been pressuring you for months to marry a prince so that you would be able to take over the kingdom when he passed, but you hated all of the princes.

They were too snobby. Too obnoxious. Too...blegh.

But oh, Johnny. The hilarious jester of your court. The man that made your heart beat faster and faster every time you saw him. Every time you heard the telltale jingle of the bells from his cap and bells, you couldn't stop the giddy feeling creeping up your spine.

You swore Johnny knew what he was doing. How he dramatically bowed so that his face was inches from your panties if your dress wasn't in the way. How he would graze your waist and hips whenever he danced around you.

And you loved the stories he told you. Your parents never let you out of the kingdom, rarely even the palace. But Johnny told you tales of the outside world. And while you knew that perhaps not everything he said was true, you still adored his words.

It all came to a head when your parents held a ball for you to meet yet another prince. After a dance smelling the princes dreadful breath, you managed to slip away to the balcony. Leaning against the marble.

Johnny was kind enough to follow you. To make jokes about the prince. And this time, you didn't stop his hand from taking your arm. You didn't try and tell him that you couldn't be together because of your places in the court.

You were so sick of princes being shoved in front of you when all you wanted was your court jester. Johnny.

One kiss turned into two, two into three, until you were sneaking Johnny up to your chambers. Letting him strip you of your gown. Your hands smoothing up his now shirtless torso, trying to hide the surprise of a defined abdomen.

And of course Johnny had to be a biter. He mumbled something about how you were all his now, before sinking his teeth into your neck.

His hands were all over you. Like he'd been wanting this for years. Hungry to memorise every inch of your skin. Treating you like the finest china.

Johnnys head then dipped between your legs, making sure to bite and suck your inner thighs so you'd remember his touch for days on end.

Johnnys mouth soon found your wet cunt. Your moans quickly filling the room. His tongue working you through two orgasms before he came back up and kissed you once more. Allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You should feel ashamed. Allowing your court jester to touch you like this, allowing him to thrust into you until you were practically drooling. But you couldn't feel ashamed. It was impossible. Not when Johnnys cock is stretching you so perfectly, when his voice was in your ear, normally telling you of Kingdom's he's ventured to, but was now whispering filthy things. His accent now more thick than it already was. Making everything even better.

"Fuck, ye feel so guid princess. So so guid. By the Gods, baby. How d'ye feel so good? So tight"

He was babbling, and you really couldn't complain. Not when his thumb dropped from your waist to your clit. The head of his cock brushing against that spongy spot inside you with every thrust. His breath hot against your neck, you swear you even feel a few drops of drool.

"Hou'd a jester like me end up i bed wi' the prettiest princess, huh?" Johnny growled, looking down at your fucked out expression. Grinning wolfishly when you try to respond, only for a long whorish moan to come out instead.

"can tell ye're close, princess. Come on, ye're almost thare. Come for me" Johnny demanded. Your eyes rolling back as you nod desperately.

Your nails clawed at Johnnys muscular back as the coil in your stomach snapped. Your orgasm spreading through your body like wildfire. Up your spine and to the tips of your fingers.

Johnny groaned as he pulled out, quickly wrapping a hand around his cock to finish himself off. Grinning as he watched his cum paint your lower abdomen.

You didn't know how you were supposed to tell your parents. But at the moment, you couldn't care less. Not when Johnny was gently cleaning you up before wrapping you in his arms. Pressing some sloppy kisses to your cheek and jaw, making you giggle tiredly.

It was his job to make you laugh, after all. And No one ever said he couldn't fuck you first.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[call-of-dookie]

fucking shy!simon for the first time

shy!simon who overthinks it to death. it’s not that he doesn’t want it, he does,. he wants it so badly the thought of your sweet, tight cunt keeps him up at night—but he gets stuck in his own head. he’s big and oafish, maybe a little dumb in this department, rough around the edges, and this is you. he’s terrified of messing it up, of ruining something he doesn’t even know how to name.

shy!simon who (when you finally, FINALLY corner him in the mess and drag him back to your quarters) hesitates every time his hands skim over your skin, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. and when you don’t, when you lean into him instead, he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours.

shy!simon who freezes the first time your tiny, warm hands slip under his shirt and skim over his bare skin. muscles tensing, breath catching, eyes squeezing shut like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. he’s shaking and he swears under his breath, cheeks burning, but he doesn’t stop you.

shy!simon who still asks, "you sure?" when his cock is lined up with your dripping hole, in this quiet, almost broken way, because some part of him still doesn’t believe this is real. and when you tell him—beg him "please just put it in", when you tug his chest flush to yours in instead of pushing him away, something in him finally gives.

shy!simon who starts off so damn careful, like he’s convinced he’ll hurt you if he’s not. you take him easily despite his girth because you just need him that badly, but despite that, he thrusts so slow and hesitant into you, like he’s waiting for some kind of sign to let go.

shy!simon who is absolutely weak for praise. tell him how good his cock feels , that you want him, that you've never been fucked this good before in your life (even though he's barely moving. he's just the perfect size) and he completely loses himself in you, lips letting loose as he babbles your name into the crooks of your neck, grip tightening around your waist and ass as he slobbers against your skin like he can't help it.

shy!simon who is completely gone, pussydrunk off you within minutes. whatever restraint he had disappears, replaced by something raw and aching. he’s still careful, still treating you like something worth holding onto, but now he’s just desperate with it, humping his cock into you until you're whining from overstimulation and until he cums deep inside your tummy with a shudder and wet eyelashes.

shy!simon who doesn’t say much after, but his hands never stop moving, tracing slow circles against your hips, fingers running through your hair. he might not be able to tell you how much he loves you yet, but the way his thumb brushes over your cheek says it all.

[call-of-dookie]

GOOD NEWS

I js finished writing the first chapter 😼

Should I post it??

here me out...

John Price x Reader but,

john feels overwhelming guilty for soaps death to a point of depression, and reader is Soaps widow dealing with the pain of losing her husband (and hs sweetheart btw)

[call-of-dookie]

here me out...

John Price x Reader but,

john feels overwhelming guilty for soaps death to a point of depression, and reader is Soaps widow dealing with the pain of losing her husband (and hs sweetheart btw)

[call-of-dookie]

Sgt Soap and Captain Soap sandwich 🤤

[call-of-dookie]

More Price's lil wife

You met the boys once and now you need more obviously

Had you known something in the house breaking meant big strong sexy handsome muscle burly men would come over you would have lived life a little differently. Knowing your husband only sent his team to you because he was out of town meant you had to wait again until he was separated from the rest of 141. A quick phone call to your husband that the fridge wasn’t working (hammer to whatever the pipes and wires on the back were). And an hour later you felt like you were watching Bay Watch or staring at a sexy fireman’s calendar when here comes Riley, MacTavish, and Garrick hoping out of a large truck and strutting down your sidewalk. Tight shirts. Wind blowing. Tools in their hands being tossed and caught one handed why is that sexy? 

“Heard a sweet thing needed some help.” You’re drooling

Aw man, one look at the fridge and they say you need a new one. Too damaged. All staring at you knowingly and the hammer on the counter you definitely forgot to hide. But since their already here, how about some lunch. Soap admits that other than the last meal you made them he had only been eating mess hall foods. “Think of you and your delicious food everytime im eating there.” Now that simply won’t do. When Price gets back you will be asking (demanding) for them to come over for dinner at least once a month (once a week). 

They didn't even make it back to the car when you ran back out. ‘Oh i forgot there's a hole in the garage. (Same hammer from before now covered in drywall.) The power went out. No idea what happened. Lil ol you def didn’t flick every switch until something happened. Easy fix. Wait wait the wifi isn’t working now (unplugged). However many hours later they leave and you get a text from your husband.

“You can just ask for them to come over. Stop breaking things my love.” oops

[call-of-dookie]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Mornings...

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the warmth.

Simon’s body was solid behind you, radiating heat like a human furnace, his arm draped heavily over your waist. His slow, steady breaths tickled the back of your neck, his chest rising and falling in a comforting rhythm.

You sighed softly, wiggling a little to stretch, but the moment you moved, his grip tightened.

“Mm… don’t,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, turning slightly to look at him. His mask was off - he only ever slept without it when he felt completely safe. His face was relaxed, his hair tousled from sleep, stubble dusting his jaw. His lips were slightly parted, and for once, there was no tension in his expression.

You reached up, tracing your fingers lightly over his cheek.

He made a low, content sound and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before tucking it against his chest. His eyes cracked open, still heavy with sleep. “Too early,” he murmured.

You chuckled. “It’s almost nine.”

He huffed. “Too early.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back against him, letting him pull you in even closer. His legs tangled with yours under the blankets, and he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

For a long moment, there was only warmth, the quiet hum of morning, and the steady beat of his heart against your back.

Then - soft lips pressed to your shoulder. A slow, lazy kiss. Then another. And another.

You shivered. “I thought you wanted to sleep?”

Simon smirked against your skin, his voice still thick with drowsiness. “Changed my mind.”

His fingers traced slow circles on your hip, his lips trailing up to your jaw. He kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering, teasing.

You turned to face him fully, smiling. “Good morning, Simon.”

His eyes softened. “Morning, love.”

And then, as the world outside slowly woke up, Simon kissed you - slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.

[call-of-dookie]

price talking you through it and it being shotgunning with him.

and how you’re sitting prettily on his lap, watching as he leans close, eyes fluttering when he taps your chin, and murmurs, “open up.”

you loll your tongue out just slightly, feeling intoxicated already as you watch john take a drag of his cigar, before he pulls it away and beckons you with a curl of his finger. you fall closer to him, humming, and giggling when he breathes the smoke into your mouth.

“inhale it slowly; envision yourself swallowing– there we go, darling,” john murmurs, his dark eyes even headier at how good you’re being for him.

“more?” he asks when you’re done.

you nod, a pretence of innocence in your silence, and john rumbles in his delight. it makes your core throb, and you don’t know how you look right now but however it is, it makes john croon, his rough palm cupping your jaw, with his thumb falling just underneath your bottom lip.

you give it a little lick, and john’s nose flares, desire burning bright under his skin.

soon, after this, he’ll devour you.

[call-of-dookie]

They do what they can