ficmashup

[ficmashup]

Well now I'm thinking about pegging Mr. Pretty Boy himself. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, how would he take it? I can see him becoming such the unexpected brat when taking your silicon cock.

Gaz takes it like it's his fucking job, forcing you down onto your back so he can bounce on your silicon cock. It's an odd power play feeling him grab your wrists off his hips and pin them by your head, looming over you and holding you in place as he pulls himself up and down your strap. He clicks his tongue and you go hot all over, his perfect, beautiful lips quirking into a sly smile that's almost immediately ruined by the way his eyes roll and his head drops against his chest.

"Mm, fuck" He hums, regaining some measure of control over himself before telling you: "Just as good a toy like this, eh doll?"

Because honestly what is a dom if not a brat that gets what they want? And pretty boy Gaz always gets what he wants, especially when what he wants is to show you the way his perfect cock smacks against his stomach when he leans back to press his palms to your thighs and give you a good view of your strap splitting him open.

[ficmashup]

Okay Pegging ghost is great, but hear me out-

Soap teaching you how to properly fuck Ghost.

Feeling Soap's hands slipping over your hips, toying with the straps of your harness as his voice purrs in your ear, "Just like that, not too rough" Soap kisses your shoulder, "wants to pretend ya like him." Ghost tries to glare over his shoulder at the comment but you thrust into him and it makes his lashes flutter. He keeps stuffing his face back into the pillows with a groan of pleasure.

Each stroke of your hips pushing into Ghost means Soap's cock is pulled out of you, and you keep pulling out too fast just to push your hips back onto Soap's thick length. Which means Ghost keeps making choked noises under you and you keep losing focus on what you're supposed to be doing. So Soap has to grip your hips and move you himself. Fucking Ghost with your strap while he fucks you. Pretty toy caught between the two of them, nothing but a dildo for one and a fleshlight for the other...

[ficmashup]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[ficmashup]

the way I start sweating reading about Knight!Ghost and Princess!Reader. Like I need this fic to survive. Gruff Ghost who can’t let his little wife disrespect him in public but never does more than put her over his knee and spank her?? And is so sweet to her otherwise, spoiling the shit out of her???

But like…what about Knight!Ghost and a bride gifted to him after a neighboring kingdom was defeated? He got to choose from a lineup and went with this little spitfire that stared defiantly at him and he was just like “yes this is mine now”

I’m sorry, I go just a little bit feral every time you post and grace us with your thoughts about all these different AUs

Knight!Ghost who’s never wanted a thing in his life, who’s worked and served since he was just a boy, maybe found wandering in the woods after the village he was raised in was burned to the ground and he was the only survivor, rescued by a nearby kingdom’s cavalry.

All he’s ever known is servitude and loyalty and his own internal code that he’s been following since he was a boy. Ghost has carved into something menacing and tough so that he would never have to endure what he did as a child. He’s become something nameless (maybe he doesn’t even remember Simon Riley, wouldn’t recognize that name if someone said it to his face because that was a lifetime and a family ago that was all burned to the ground).

All he knows is loam and dirt and blood and the smell of sweat behind his helmet. Up until his king magnanimously decides he’s worthy of a bride. And Ghost fiercely does not want to be responsible for a wife - he doesn’t want anyone apart from his king to feel like they have sovereignty over him, he doesn’t want someone to wait for him at home, he doesn’t want to disappoint someone when they find out he’s nothing but a cold hard shell of man that’s only good for fighting and killing.

And then he sees your face in the lineup, pretty and delicate. There’s a cut on your cheek from where someone threw you to the ground and it lights a fire in his belly. Suddenly all he can think about is being tied to you, keeping you warm and safe by the fire in his manor, pulling you into his chest at night under the heavy furs draped over his bed, twisting his fingers in your hair until he can pull you gently by the roots up onto your tiptoes so you can meet his lips.

“That one,” he grunts, nodding to where you’re standing still in the lineup, staring at him with distrust. “Her or no one.”

[ficmashup]

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

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

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

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

[ficmashup]

rotten work (additional thoughts)

warnings: +18 smut (MDNI), fingering, oral (f), p in v, past relationship trauma, safeword mention, slight noncon if you squint. no because despite me having absolutely zero intentions of continuing this, i still have some leftover thots that take place before soapgaz taking you to meet their “friends”;

about a good eight months into the… ‘relationship’ (the word still makes you grimace), they couldn’t understand why you were so averse to letting an orgasm roll over you. at least, not without permission.

“stop movin’ so much, baby.”

Johnny’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear. fingers plucked your nipples as he felt you try to scoot back into him when Gaz’s tongue rolled faster. your legs were hooked over Johnny’s. he kept you spread open for Kyle to eat your pussy without your interruptions. it worked, for the most part.

but you still had a hard time letting the heat build to a crest. every time you get too close to the edge, you try to back away from Kyle’s mouth to lessen the intensity of it. your whimpers were held in your throat as Johnny’s palm ran down your belly as he whispered little encouragements, little words to try and keep you still, keep you calm enough to let them give you what you need.

your legs tremble as you attempt to close them, but Johnny only widens his knees and thus doing the same to yours. a broken mewl spills from your mouth when his fingers trailed down to massage your throbbing clit while Kyle’s tongue licks the slick pouring out of your cunt. his fingers easily slide into the cut of you, curling around the soft spot that draws a shrill sound from you.

you take deep breaths. your nails dig into Johnny’s thighs when you try to scoot further back, only to be met with Johnny’s solid form behind you. the wet noises along with the moans you keep trying to hold back that fill the air.

so nowhere to go. nowhere to run. you’re trapped. between this vicious cycle of letting them steamroll you and running from the pleasure. walking the tightrope and trying not to fall over. thankfully, Kyle takes mercy on you and stops when he feels you try to move away from his mouth.

“why don’t ye sit back and relax, hm? let him work his magic.” it’s impossible not to shiver, not to melt into the voice of the man behind you. the muscles in your legs lax as brown eyes drift up to meet yours while his mouth latches onto your cunt once more. “ye’re doing so good fer us.”

it should be easy. a simple command to follow. just relax.

it’s not.

something in you keeps fighting when the sparks begin at the base of your spine. something long since lodged into your psyche when you try to reach for what is being offered. it pulls you back, reminds you that you’re missing a key component for you to earn the pleasure being handed to you on a silver platter.

your skin burns when you swallow what little pride you had left. you have to reveal this part of you to Kyle, to Johnny, the part you’ve been trying to hide. it was easy to do so when it was just a one night stand. but things had progressed way farther than that, thus you’re obligated to bear your neck to them for this.

“can i–” the words, you realize, bubble out like lava out of an active volcano. erupting before you can think of something else to say. “can i please cum?”

you reach for Kyle’s head, fingers rubbing his scalp in hopes that he’ll give you what you ask for. his eyes soften, but his tongue slides through your folds and bumps into Soap’s fingers.

your head falls back on a firm shoulder, “please, please, please–”

it’s pathetic the way you beg. you feel as though there’s no other choice but to beg. Although it doesn’t make you stop fighting against the wave that threatens to break you apart, it absolves you in a strange way that you can’t put into words.

“shh…” Johnny crones softly, pressing his lips on your cheek. “dinnae have tae beg, pretty bird. we’ll give ye what ye need. ye can have anything ye want, love. ye don’t even have tae ask.”

it’s all hands on you from there. Soap’s arms wrapping around you and pinning you to his body and Kyle pushing his hand against your belly. all to keep you from moving again. you feel squished, rightly trapped between them as you’re forced to take it but it’s fine. you got what you needed. his tongue loses the slow, methodical rhythm and changes paces for something faster, desperate to take you apart from the inside out. your clit swells around Johnny’s careless rubs, your pussy quivering and leaking all over Kyle’s face.

the tide breaks with a sharp cry from your lungs. once you gush into his mouth and lay back against Johnny, trembling, you close your eyes and breathe a sigh of relief.

that’s where you miss the brief glance they gave each other.

that’s where curiosity spikes.

even as much as they give you room to breathe, what happened that first time opened a door you can’t shut. because they’d just wedge a foot into the space and wretch your insides wide open.

Soap, as you figured with little surprise, likes it when you run from his cock.

it scratches some primal itch in his brain when he pulls you back onto his thrusts. when he’s got you bent over the counter and curls his body over yours while you cry and claw at the counter, trying to hold on and take the onslaught of his lust.

“don’t run from me, bonnie. where are ye goin’, huh? does my cock not feel good? is that it?” he knows that’s not the reason. when he’s sure that you’re not in any pain, that that’s not the reason why you shift away, he grins and pushes in so deep, you can’t help but gasp. his cockhead presses so hotly against your cervix, it makes you go cross-eyed for a moment. it’s too much.

he groans when you tighten around his cock. like you don’t want to let go of him. for all your skittish nature, you sure like your hair getting pulled into his thrusts, giving you the proper fucking you deserve, sweet thing. he batters your cunt with a wild intent that surely knocks a few braincells loose.

a hand presses your cheek against the cool counter, making sure you watch Kyle as he slowly peels off his shirt. you’re pretty sure more slick pools out of you and lather’s Johnny’s shaft when you hear the sound of a belt clinking.

“feels good– feels so good, Johnny please–” you sound as wrecked as he made you feel. “please, please let me cum–”

he lets you. of course, he lets you. Johnny can’t help but bend his will when you beg so sweetly for him. he wouldn’t dare deny you what you need when you ask so sweetly.

he’s lost to the feeling of your cunt’s pulsing around him. the tremble of your body under his firm hands. his eyes roll back when you cum, when you trigger his high. the hot gush of his seed inside your pussy is the closest he’ll ever get to seeing heaven. he’ll do what it takes to reach that peak with you again and again and again.

poor sweet thing, Soap cooes softly as he strokes your hair and kisses the sweaty crown of your head. you take deep breaths, eyes fluttering as your mind shuts down. you were so wound tight today, so desperate to make a mess of his cock.

Gaz was no different.

it showed you that methodical side of him, that smart mind that likes to solve puzzles. he picks you apart and pries open the pieces of you that you hadn’t noticed were already fraying.

he might be worse because he wants to look at your face when he does so. he ignores Soap’s ‘i’m not done with ‘er yet, ye right bastard–’ and brings you over to your pull-out couch. the makeshift bed isn’t as comfortable as theirs but it’ll do.

you’re happy to lie down. what you don’t realize is that you’re laid right into Kyle’s trap and he’s savouring his meal. you only realize too late when he pries your legs apart and rubs the head of his cock all over your sticky folds before tapping your swollen clit. it earns him a hitched breath and your knees knocking against his sides.

he’s a goner when he presses in, your mouth falling open to let out the prettiest sound he’s ever heard all while looking into his eyes. he slides home in one single stroke and that’s all it takes for Kyle to know that he’s never giving this up.

slow and steady, at first. to keep you calm. keep you malleable and agreeable when he brings his lips to yours as you’re stretched open. you melt into his kisses every time, it makes him smile. it’s so easy to soften you up, so easy to love you. the squelch of your slick and Soap’s cum does little to embarrass you (this time), your hands going around Kyle’s neck as you open your mouth to let his tongue in.

“did you have fun, angel?” he asks between your lips.

“yeah…” you breathe into him.

“good.” he softly bites your bottom lip and licks into your mouth again, relishing the sweet whimper that you feed into his. your head lifts and tries to follow when he pulls away from the kiss, your eyes quietly pleading.

it makes something in his chest tighten when you look at him like that, when you want more but feel as though you can’t ask for something you will not receive. that silent plea fills him with grief for all the times he couldn’t be there to fulfil your every need, with rage for whoever denied you, for whoever hurt you.

how could anyone hurt you? how could anyone see this look and deny you whatever it is your heart desires? what fools.

“it’s okay, pretty girl. i’ll kiss you some more, don’t worry. m’not going anywhere.” a kiss to your nose. then your left cheek, then right. he moves up the bridge of your nose to your forehead.

his hands lace into yours and he holds them above his head to make sure he has you where he wants you. the slow roll of his hips has you heaving in deep breaths. he knows you can’t decide between opening your pretty eyes to watch him and looking away entirely because you fluctuate between the two options.

you’re wetter like this. realistically, it could be because of the mess Johnny left behind but Kyle knows better.

you like this.

the tender fucking that debilitates you far more than anything else. the terms of endearment whispered to your ear when your pussy struggles to accept the cock stretching you wide open. the sweet kisses in between when he rubs gentle circles around your achy nub.

you like this better. the intimacy of it all.

Kyle can’t help the hiss that slips out of his mouth when he picks up the rhythm, laying his forehead against yours. he feels your hands on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck. then down to squeeze his pecs and back up to his arms. the excitement of feeling you explore, taking more liberties, taking more, makes him shiver.

and it’s precisely the sort of thing that undoes you faster than you can comprehend. you don’t realize that an orgasm has crept up your spine until it’s right at your doorstep.

“w–ait, wait, Gaz, please–” the words stutter and slur out of your lips, hands trying to push at his chest as though that’ll stop the steady flow of his hips. “stop–”

hard to think when your cunt flutters around him. you don’t really want him to stop. what you want is for him to slow down so you can get your bearings.

“not your safeword, love.” he tells you. “if you want to stop, you’re going to have to say it.”

Soap isn’t helping either. not when he’s sitting back, watching with a hand stroking his cock. “are ya goin’ tae say it? i bet ye won’t dare.” 

but you couldn’t even if you tried.

you lose grip on your vocabulary faster than you can utter the words “orange” or “red” or before you could even begin to beg for permission to come when your eyes roll back into your head. the drop is terrifying. every nerve in your body seizing and firing a blinding hot wave into your system.

you can’t hear the praises they give you. can’t understand a single word that flows out of their mouths. blood roaring in your ears made it impossible to hear anything past your own ragged gasp, the descent to madness tearing through you in ways you never thought possible. all you could register while your brain was being fried were the constant, steadfast thrusts of his cock, knocking against that spot you can’t stand. his teeth on your neck, his skin denting under your fingertips and the heat of his body pouring into your own when a cold sweat breaks out from your skin.

the worst part was coming down to meet the consequences of those (involuntary) actions. the turbulent emotions that lingered long after your orgasm. you struggled to grasp what had happened just now.

you didn’t just cum. you squirted all over him.

a prospect that should’ve been a happy occasion for Johnny and Kyle, but you didn’t know that. you knew this would be the part where you were going to be chastised for taking what wasn’t explicitly given to you. you can already imagine what comes next; you being made to kneel for the rest of the week and made to pleasure them both while you were neglected.

they wondered what would’ve happened if they didn’t give you permission to cum. they didn’t like the result so much.

Kyle was the first to notice. your hands ripping away from his skin. now you’ve decided on not looking at him at all. your eyes clenched shut and the room falls dead silent upon hearing what they think was a small sniffle.

his blood runs cold when you hide your face in the crook of your elbow. something crawls under Kyle’s skin. the instinctual need to take his hands off of you before he does more harm than he already has takes over.

but you’re crying. you’re hurting and it hurts him because he did that.

“baby–” 

“lovie–” 

the bed dips. Johnny is by your side in an instant, equally as horrified as Kyle is. your sniffles break into a sob that cuts through them. makes Kyle flinch as he freezes where he is. he lets Johnny pull you from under him and slide you up into his arms.

“did i hurt you? what happened?” Kyle reaches his hand out to your cheek, but doesn’t dare touch you. he notices, belatedly, that he’s shaking. scared. he’s scared that he– “did i hurt you?”

the rapid shake of your head eases one of their fears. Kyle’s shoulders slump in relief. Johnny pries your hands away from your face and brings your mouth to his. it does little to stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. but it helps.

“ye alright, bonnie? still with us?” he murmurs softly when he pulls away, cupping your cheek when you attempt to hide from his gaze. when you don’t answer, he kisses you again and you just melt against him, letting him lay you back down.

“sorry–” you hiccup into his mouth, tears spilling into the pillow underneath your head. “i’m s– so sorry. i didn’t mean to–”

Johnny pulls away from the kiss to let you speak and you just devolve into a plethora of apologies. it hurts to watch. it hurts to listen to. nothing could’ve ever prepared them for your frightened gaze. looking at them like they’re going to hurt you like they’re going to take pleasure in it.

neither one of them wants to think about where you learned to appeal to the better nature of a monster with your tears and pleas like that.

“it’s okay. ye’re alright, bonnie.” Johnny’s thumbs wipe the tears that streaked down your cheeks.

and Kyle’s hand gently grips your shoulder to bring your attention to him. he speaks softly, trying to reassure you as best as he can, “you’re not in any trouble, baby. why are you apologizing?”

it takes you a while for the sobs to stop wrecking through your chest. Johnny holds you through all of it. Kyle’s hand keeps rubbing your back. not once did they pull you back under and restart another round with you being on knife’s edge.

“bonnie…” says Johnny. “ye have tae tell us what’s wrong.”

you sniffled, blinking up at them with bleary eyes. “i–i came without permission.”

“darling, hey...” Kyle grasps your hand. his thumb rubs against your knuckles before he presses his lips there. you open your palm for him to lay his cheek there. the vibrations of his voice soothe your bones as he asks, “why would you need our permission?”

but that was the question that caught you off guard. your eyes shift between the two of them in wonder.

“is that why ye keep runnin’ from us?” Johnny adds, “we just want ye tae feel good, lovie, is all.”

you pout, finally understanding. “m’sorry…”

you had it all wrong. all this time, you thought… you thought things would be the same. that you were just another pastime. just filling the role of a plaything in another couple’s life.

it never occurred that they don’t play their games twenty-four-seven. that their focus has always been you. not the other way around. you are at the center of this. you are the one they revolve around.

you’d been so sure you were going to get punished for orgasming without permission. so sure that Kyle was going to pull out and bend over while Johnny brought his belt. so so sure–

the memories are so vivid for a moment. Simon’s hand at the back of your neck as he holds you down while John makes you count. you’d been so out of it that day, you couldn’t get past seven. and then you had to start over.

you snap out of that vision when Johnny’s arms uncoil from your body. you nearly panic at losing the contact, but he coos, “let’s get ye all cleaned up, alright?”

but you still look to Kyle. still hoping that he knows. If he doesn’t, you’ll let him know that he did nothing wrong. that the sudden shift in your emotions wasn’t his fault.

“Kyle–” you grab his hand. Johnny stops pulling you off the bed and lets you speak. “you didn’t… you didn’t hurt me. i’m sorry for scaring you–”

“shh…” he leans over and kisses you, effectively silencing you. “it’s okay– it’s okay, angel. we’ll talk about it in the morning, alright?”

you’re too exhausted to argue. falling back into their arms was easier. you let them cradle you in their embrace, content will allowing them to let their hold curl around your bones and keep you there.

Johnny runs a bubble bath for you and has fun drawing a few giggles out of you as he plays with his tactical rubber duck. it was a miracle that he didn’t try to fuck you in the bathtub, a favourite hobby of his, but you didn’t tell him that.

when you slowly wake up at night, you realize that it was their game plan all along. for Johnny to crack you open, to take a sledgehammer to your defences while Kyle slips right into the cracks and scrambles what's left of you.

ingenious, really. you would be against it if they weren’t so gentle with you in the end.

actually, you know what? i take it back, i might have a few more installments in me so buckle the fuck up🙂

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[ficmashup]

rotten work

thought about this a while ago, i just hadn't had the time nor the energy to put it into a coherent thingy until now (@mikichko don't think i forgot about this) warnings: +18 smut (mdni), angst, safeword mention, hints of misogyny.

priceghost being your very strict doms to the point where it's actually suffocating. what was supposed to be where you hand over control to someone else and let them take the reigns started to feel like a collar tightening and tightening until you couldn't breathe anymore.

maybe you're not entirely comfortable with choking or anal or being called degrading names while getting fucked within an inch of your life and you just push through whatever they demand from you as their sub because you just want to be good. because you like having their attention since it's the only constant thing you've had in recent years. because you don't want them to leave you like everyone else does.

you've been their good girl. but that title is slowly slipping away more and more each day because your faith in them falters. punishments come more often. rewards don't really feel like rewards anymore but you cling to them because it's better than the alternative, it's better than getting absolutely nothing at all.

you think that maybe it's because John and Simon are each very intense individuals on their own and they've grown so used to each other long before you came along that they can't see that you're not built like them (mentally and emotionally).

perhaps that explains why you always dread anything that has to do with spanking because it hurts more than it brings you pleasure. Simon is used to getting called a fucking slut by Price but you've never had a good experience with that name due to past experiences. John is used to the tight collar being put around his neck. so tight that he's having to take deep breaths each time and his face is flushed with trying to get enough oxygen to his brain and it brings him pleasure. they're both used to the impact play which often leaves deep welts and bruises that give are concerning to look at but it gets them off.

sure, it gets you off sometimes but it doesn't mean that those kinks are your go-to. it doesn't even mean you like them. but you go with it because this is the only stability you've had in a while. you go with it, despite them being so rough with you, despite them believing that "you can take it", that you're strong enough to take it. you go with it because their attention is the most you've ever held on your hands from someone.

yet it starts to slip away.

you can't keep up with them. you're starting to break. nights spent with a collar around your neck while Price got lavished with affection because you forgot to call Ghost "sir" in your haze of pleasure were some of the worst. nights spent with you sucking both their cocks and choking on them but still not being good enough to be rewarded. ruined orgasms because you either cry too much or are not crying enough.

you think you might be developing an acute sense of claustrophobia after being put in one of those dog cages for a few hours. you start to dread having their hands near your neck of your face because you've been smacked or choked too hard.

your safeword gets used more and more often until they start to feel like you're just coping out of their games or punishments but you're not, you're really not. they don't say it out loud when they back off but the disappointment is there in their eyes. their expectation for you to do better, to be better, not being met. it. fucking. stings.

you no longer feel at ease around them because the rules become increasingly constricting and you just can't seem to please either one of them.

so when you're finally tossed to the side, for being inadequate, for not being perfectly submissive with your quiet resistance to how you felt around them and their ways, you find yourself hitting rock bottom.

somehow, it doesn't come as a surprise to you. in fact, you laugh a little when you cry about the breakup every time. you've always been last place when it comes to everyone else. your parents neglected you. you were never once the favourite sibling, cousin, niece or granddaughter. never the favourite friend. never even the best friend. your past boyfriends, all three of them, either cheated or admitted to wanting to cheat.

the only thing you were only ever truly good at was being a last resort.

that feeling, that fact. you figure that's how you ended up with John and Simon. when you first came to them, you hoped to feel wanted and loved for being a good girl, for following orders. but you knew— deep down, you weren't there because they actually needed you or even wanted you for the long term because they were just bored and wanted something interesting to do besides themselves. one year with them was more than you could've hoped for at least.

yet it still hurt to be left behind. again. it still hurt to be the odd one out. the inadequate one. the one who can't seem to belong anywhere.

being reminded of all that while having to pick up the pieces was like trying to pick up shards of glass in complete darkness.

meeting Soap and Gaz was by complete accident. you didn't even know who they were or who they were associated with.

but meeting them... fuck. you don't even know.

they were all over you since day one.

you didn't even have to do anything besides be at the wrong place and the wrong time (in the literal sense: you went to the wrong pub a day early to meet up with your friends) before they sweet talked you into their bed for that one night. it probably didn't even mean anything to them, so you didn't take it seriously.

but by god, for the first time in a very long while, you were the center of someone's universe.

having to bite back tears prickling your eyes as Soap kissed you everywhere like he had nothing else left to do in this world besides this was a monumental task. you try not to flinch when Gaz pressed his lips on the center of your palm, staring at him with wide eyes and watching him hum into your skin.

the fondness in Soap's eyes was quite jarring to face head on. Gaz tracing little shapes on your skin post coitus made you squirm. hell, you didn't even expect them to want you to stay post coitus. let alone drag you back to bed for mandatory cuddles. and that's only after giving you the mandatory aftercare package.

"sorry, love. this is a non-negotiable."

"fer yer troubles."

both of them take turns pecking your lips before spending their time taking care of you. massaging oils into your sore thighs, then moving down to your calves and feet (you had to stop giggling long enough to very lightly kick Soap in the face for tickling you). rubbing your back and neck. you had to slap Gaz's hands away from your tits before he gave into any temptations about taking you for a forth (fifth? you lost count) round.

they were playful. kept the conversation light. threw jokes around that made you laugh and slap their shoulders.

right from the go, they let you touch them. maping out your fingers all over miles of skin. they let you pull their hair and let you call them anything that wasn't sir. didn't deny you physical affection, didn't deny you giving it either. each touch caress was steady, as it should be, but never lacked a gentleness that you've been denied of in so long.

not one derogatory nickname slipped from their mouths. at least, they were never directed at you. but even if Gaz called Soap his whiny little slut or Soap called Gaz a fucking brat, it was said in a playful manner. you could feel the affection lacing each word.

to them, you were either princess, bonnie, love, lovie or baby. or a variation of such.

it made you ache. painfully so. it came so easily to them. taking care of you, pleasing you. loving you.

it wasn't rotten work to them. it was natural, like blinking, like breathing. like they can't help but flood you with everything they have just because they can and want to. not because it was a game to them. not because they wanted you to earn it.

they just... took you as you are. they didn't need to mold you into something for their pleasure. but rather, molded themselves and fit right into the pieces in your chest. and they fit perfectly.

they didn't force you to look at them. even as much as they wanted to. only coaxed you to, with sweet words.

"are you gonna let me see those pretty eyes, dove?" gaz plants kisses all over your face while he's got you in missionary. you'd preferred to bury your face in the pillow instead of bear the brunt of his gaze.

he doesn't grip your chin and grit out some threat about leaving you hanging if you don't keep watching him. doesn't make you look into his eyes while he makes a mess of your cunt. instead, he waits patiently for you to give him your gaze. he waits for you to risk one look and that's all it takes for him to lock you in. you're trapped now.

held hostage as he spreads your pussy open with his cock and makes you drip all over the sheets.

Soap was equally as kind.

he makes you ride him. grits out praises when you leak all over his thighs, even when you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"bonnie..." Soap drawls, groaning as your hips come to a slow pace. "i'd love fer ye to watch me come."

you're sure he does. so you oblige. lift your head, allow your eyes to meet his brightening smile before he holds your hands behind your back, thrusts upward and draws out all the noises you've been holding back.

the only reason you opened your eyes to look at them was because they asked so nicely. it's nothing like what John or Simon have put your through. it's a different kind of intense. it's sweeter, softer.

a kind of intense that melts your resolve, rather than rise your hackles up. makes something in your chest purr and keen, rather than making our grit your teeth and keep your eyes sharp.

somehow, it's a lot more terrifying that way. the way they lower your guard and tear down your walls without using brute force. they do it with such sweet words, with a gentle touch. something you never even knew could be afforded to you.

and you never even had to beg for it. which you think is the saddest part.

"we're having breakfast tomorrow..." Gaz murmurs lazily into your skin. he's on the brink of slumber, eyes droopy and hazy before he muzzles his face into your cheek and planting a wet kiss right there. "very big breakfast."

"aye." Soap concurs, just as sleepy. "big day ahead of us."

you try not to cry as you wait for them to fall asleep. as you wonder why your previous handlers couldn't give this to you instead. why no one ever has. because if Soap and Gaz could do it so easily, happily, even, why couldn't everyone else?

of course, you were gone before sunrise. leaving no note or any trace of your existence from their room besides your scent and memories of you on their tongues.

it was a one time thing. you figure you'll save them the trouble of having to kick you out in the morning. you don't think that you had it in you to be dumped by anyone again in the near future so until you can gather the strength to put yourself through another round of testing your self worth and failing, you planned to stay out of anyone's bed for the time being.

except.

Johnny and Kyle didn't let you.

for two months, you thought you were doing fine. until they spotted you again at your usual bar and they went straight toward you. uncaring of anyone else who might have been with you.

"i thought we had fun, lovie? what happened?" Soap asks after he drags a chair from another table and sits next to you. Gaz take the space on the other side of you.

essentially caging you between them.

"i..." your milkshake was left abandoned. you glance between them. wondering how you're supposed to escape them this time. "i was under the impression that it was a one night stand."

"well, i'm sorry we gave you the wrong impression, dove, but what part of we're having a large breakfast tomorrow did you not understand?"

in your defense, you genuinely didn't think we meant all three of you.

the fact that they hunted you down for all of two months just to find you and finish what they started made you feel things you didn't want to feel. the little flutters in your belly did you no favours in trying not to let them coax you back to their bed.

and they managed in doing so anyway. even as much as you stammered out weak excuses about needing to be somewhere tomorrow (it's a Friday. the only place you'll be tomorrow is home. in bed. doing absolute fuck-all).

all those excuses faded into nothing once they had you again. and again. and again. pulling you back to their mouths and arms when you tried to leave for the day. sinking you on their cocks when you tried to lie to them. for the entire weekend.

after that, flowers are sent to your place twice week, wishing you a lovely day or just because. letting you pick food to eat, movies to watch. calling you nearly every day when they weren't on deployment just to ask about your day. just to talk to you. just to hear your voice.

it's like they molded themselves right into your life and not the other way around. it was never like that with John and Simon. Kyle and Johnny orbited around you like you were the only star that exists in their universe.

it wasn't a few months in that it clicked that this was the princess treatment that everybody keeps talking about. the thought jolted you out of sleep one night and you spent the rest of it crying as you laughed.

you hadn't realized that they meant to keep you as part of their relationship. a crucial part. the final piece of their puzzle.

you only noted that when they mentioned that they wanted you to meet their friends. that maybe down the line, they'll take you to meet their families. you were apprehensive at the idea. you know, people being judgy about throuples and maybe even about you being in a relationship with two guys instead of one. but they reassured you that it's fine, so you'll take their word for it for now.

but as for friends, you can try. and you thought it would be fine. you were a little nervous about being introduced as their girlfriend to anyone, but you pushed passed those nerves.

you kept telling yourself that it was fine. that if anybody had a problem and had something to say, Johnny and Kyle will set them straight.

it was fine.

until it wasn't.

until you stepped into this big house and let Kyle shrug off your jacket and hang it on the rack. until Johnny took your hand while Kyle put his on the small of your back and they led you further into the house.

until you meet the familiar eyes of Simon staring back at you. and right behind him, John, with his lips slightly parted in quiet horror.

[ficmashup]

My Boys' Girl (18+)

Pairings: John Price / Simon "Ghost" Riley / Fem!Reader / Johnny "Soap" MacTavish Content Warnings: Voyeurism, mentioned exhibitionism, she/her pronouns used for reader Word Count: 1.1k A/N: Shorter fic this time-I've got a longer one in the works tho! Also-If anyone has any fic suggestions PLEASE tell me and i'll try my best xoxo

———————————————————————— “She wanted to show off for you, Cap.”

————————————————————————

John Price knew what his boys got up to in their spare time. He didn’t have to be told-he saw how they looked at each other, how they’d cuddled up to each other in the back of the van when they thought no one was looking, how they’d instantly look at each other at the mention of an “early finish.” He knew what they got up to. Not that he cared-he loved his lads like they were family. He’d shot enough evil glares at anyone who dared to criticize or gossip about the two. But what he didn’t know was how they’d managed to pick up you. The pretty little thing he’d seen clutching Johnny’s arm when they went to the pub, with the most beautiful eyes. He was happy for his lads-how they’d found home in each other, but God his eyes were drawn to you. Your perfect curves, your breasts (even if it made him feel like a dick), and your eyes. He could envision them looking up at him through those beautiful lashes, lips wrapped around his cock. 

He felt terrible about it. The lads obviously liked you a lot, and you’d been nothing but nice to him. And here he was-fantasizing about you. He’d often find himself getting off to you, wearing whatever tight little dress he’d seen you in. Cock in hand, imagining it was your mouth he was fucking. Nearly every night he’d flick through the selfies he’d gotten from MacTavish, nearly every photo including you. 

And then another notification came through-a photo, as usual. But it wasn’t the usual jokey selfie-which usually included you draped over the lads in some sort of way. This was different. This photo was…new. Evidently Ghost’s hands-based on the glove-tilting your face up by the chin, with your big, beautiful eyes staring into the camera. Eyes lidded every so slightly, with a blissed out look on your face. God you looked perfect. 

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at that picture, his cock already stiffening in his trousers, until the next one came through. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the arm of the chair a lot tighter than he had previously. It was like he could feel all the blood in his body rushing down, as he caught sight of you in the photo. Ass up in the air, face down in the pillow. Ghost’s hands were clearly holding your hands behind your back, and your pussy was barely covered by the lacy piece of string you called a thong. 

“She wanted to show off for you Cap.” The text read, and Price sucked in a breath. His hand swiftly reached down to palm his now painfully hard cock through his trousers. He could just imagine slipping his fingers inside you-finding that sweet spot deep inside you that would make your toes curl. 

His fingers were pressing the call button before he knew what he was doing. 

“Evening Captain. To what do we owe the honor?” Johnny’s voice rang out, sounding slightly too amused with himself.

“Photos, MacTavish. What was up with that?” Price asked, his voice catching in his throat slightly at Johnny’s ever so evil chuckle.

Price swears he can hear the plot in Johnny’s head as he spoke, the soft rustling of the duvet giving away where exactly he was. “Why don’t I put her on the phone for you?” 

————————————————————————

You could barely think-but somehow managed to pull yourself together enough to take the phone off of Johnny. “He-Hey John!” You squeaked out, instantly covering your mouth to conceal the moan that dared to try to escape your lips. Ghost’s hands gripped your hips, fucking into you at such speed you wondered how his knees didn’t give out, with his cock hitting that sweet spongy part deep inside you. 

“Heard you wanted to show off for me, love?” His voice rumbled through the phone, dark and smooth like a good whiskey. That teasing tone, the soft chuckle in his words, it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Go on then. Talk to me.”

At that, Ghost picked up the pace, hands gripping the flesh of your hip so tight you were sure it would leave bruises. “Is he making you feel good, love? Making your legs shake?” You inhaled a strangled gasp, biting your lower lip slightly. 

“Asked you a question.” Ye-ah-” You whined, bucking your hips back against Ghost. Something about having Price on the phone, with Ghost fucking you like his life depended on it, and Johnny watching from the corner-it felt so dirty. But so good. “Need-need to cum-” 

“I know you do, love. Gonna cum for me?” Ghost’s hands found your clit, earning a string of moans out of you. “Yeah she is-can feel her squeezing around me. So fucking tight-and wet-” Ghost’s thrusts grew staggered, his hips slamming into yours. You didn’t care to be quiet anymore, there was no point. 

————————————————————————

John already knew what was going on. He’d known before he’d called. He knew when he called that you’d be on your back-but he hadn’t expected to be listening. It felt dirty. But God the way your sweet little moans had him gripping his aching cock, and his head tossed back over the chair. Bucking his hips up into his hand, imagining he was fucking your soft little cunt. “Gonna cum for me?” He’d asked-and the gasps and moans he got in return had him gasping for breath. 

“I know you need it, love.” He murmured into the phone, trying his hardest not to cum before you. “Be a good girl and cum for me.” He needed to hear you cum. To hear those gorgeous gasps as you came on his Lieutenant’s cock, imagining he was the one balls deep inside you. “Come on, love, cum for me.” 

And the shuddering moans he received was enough for him to spill over his hand. Panting heavily-he was barely aware enough to hear Ghost’s cursing gasps as he followed. 

“Enjoyed the show then, Captain?” Johnny’s voice was back, sounding equally out of breath as the rest of them. “Should’ve seen it in person-she played such a good girl when you got on the phone.” His words sent another shudder down his back.

“You knew then?” 

“Had a hunch. Couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.” Price groaned as his hand-the clean one-came up to cover his face. He’d been that obvious. The whole time. 

“Don’t worry lad-she’s already eager to see you again. I’m always down for a good show-and Simon’s pretty interested in seeing how she’d take both of you.”  Well shit. The next pub meet was going to go very well for him.

[ficmashup]

cat vibes from simon riley. you try to move his head or something and he looks at you like you've committed the worst crime in history

oh fr those arms that are wrapped around you will just get tighter if he thinks you're even thinking of getting up. he'll just scoot further up so his head is right on your chest, pinning you even more with his weight so you really can't move. any attempts to talk to him, push him off, or 'wake him up' will be met with a loud, overly exaggerated snore. wriggle too much or get too loud and you'll get some pretty intense stink-eye thrown your way.

(and don't even get me started on how much that man loves kneading at the fat on your hips, ass, and belly like a cat making biscuits. if he could purr, he would.)

[ficmashup]

Ghost used to hearing the higher pitched 'hihihi' thing girls do when wanting to sound cuter and more appealing for guys. And during training some idiot recruit fucks something open and he gets to hear your un-girl filtered voice as you absolutely drag the recruit through the dirt. Snarling and spitting and shouting, enough any mamas boy immediately sits down and has that look on their face.

I won’t write a full drabble for this one but I imagine it like this: Simon meets you in the military. It makes complete sense that you would fall for each other—you both understand the rigor of the job and the schedule, the inherent danger, the toll it takes mentally and physically. After dancing around each other for ages (though neither of you are dancing, it just happens that way, when two serious people have such busy and separate lives), you two finally move in together. 

Simon often marvels that you’re in the military at all. At night when you’re naked and spread out in your bed together on base, he runs his fingers over your skin and wonders at how soft you are. You are the slowest person to anger, even in the face of Simon’s eccentricities and poor communication habits. He’s never even heard you raise your voice, though after a change in your rank, you often come home with a throat that’s sore from shouting. 

I imagine him during a brief moment of downtime, smoking with Johnny or shooting the shit with Kyle when he hears some Private being taken to task nearby by his commanding officer. That sort of thing happens every other breath, so it doesn’t phase Simon—it takes the person he’s with to wince and remark, “The missus sounds like she's in a pleasant mood.” 

The—? And Simon turns and realizes it’s you. You’re the one ripping the Private a new one, your voice doing something smokey and furious (and judging by what he gleans of the conversation, your side of which can be heard crystal clear even from a distance you’re in the right to be). I imagine it would absolutely do something to him, something in his brain and something below the belt. It’s kind of fascinating to know that this side of you exists, but it isn’t for Simon. 

“She yell at you like that in bed?” Johnny or Kyle would wonder, watching closely the dumbfounded expression in Simon’s eyes and unable to help teasing him a little.

“Classified,” he’d mutter, not taking his eyes off of you.

[ficmashup]

Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-

Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…

Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[ficmashup]

Husband!Simon Riley that lurks behind you constantly. in your home, at the grocery store, at a bar - he’s just looming behind you. sometimes he just stands and stares at the back of your head, absolutely smitten that you’re his and he’s yours. he’s not the best with words, but he’s great at following behind you

Husband!Simon Riley that’s silently delighted when you lean against him. he’s sturdy, a wall of a man - he’s cracking a small smile under his mask when you lean into him. he’s wrapping his arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you glance around. he tried leaning against you once, he didn’t tell you and caught you off guard, almost sending you tumbling to the floor

Husband!Simon Riley that likes when you give him mundane tasks. he’s always been good about following through on orders, yours just happen to be less life-or-death than his job. he’ll do exactly what you tell him to do, no comments or complaints. you want him to fold laundry? he’s doing it how you showed him, folding shirts and pants the way you like. you want him to change a lightbulb? he’s already walking to the closet. you want him to give you a kiss? say less, he’s stalking towards you

Husband!Simon Riley that spritzes his clothes with your perfume/cologne. just a little, he likes that he can walk around alone but it still feels like you’re with him. it doesn’t matter what scent it is - floral, fruity, smokey, musky, he’d happily drown in the scent. sometimes he sprays his balaclava with it before he leaves on a deployment, the 141 silently side eyeing each other because they can smell Ghost coming before they can see him

[ficmashup]

it is proven that majority of women can’t orgasm from intercourse alone. So imagine reader who can’t make herself cum, no matter how she touches her swollen little bud.

it’s becoming more annoying as you keep trying, different speeds, pressures, and angles, but nothing seems to work for you! It’s gotten to the point where you’ve quite frankly given up on even touching yourself. You’ve tried for so long, yet always get nothing.

so imagine telling Simon when he asks you, oh so kindly when on deployment, to touch yourself with him to make you both feel good. The silence over the phone when you say you can’t.

“What?”

“I just can’t. I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t work for me.”

“‘Ave ya-?”

“I’ve done everything, Simon! I can’t, okay?”

it was clear that this was something that you weren’t comfortable with talking about. It made you upset that you didn’t “function correctly” like other women. So the night Simon came home, he greeted you with a soft kiss. There wasn’t any harsh underlying emotion, just soft and sweet love. His large and calloused hands would cup your cheeks and look at your eyes, watching the slight confusion slip into your gaze.

now laying against his sturdier chest, looking at yourself in the mirror with him behind you, you knew what was happening. He gently pulled down your sleeping pants, taking his time to let his fingertips brush against every inch of your thighs, all the way down to your ankles. And soon enough, off came your panties too. He started by admiring the slight glistening of your slick right by your entrance, using his fingers to gently dip into the fluid that he loved. Dragging his fingers upwards, he brought his fingertips to the side of your clit, letting your slick be the lube for his fingers.

Simon looked at you through the mirror, keeping eye contact as his fingers pressed onto your clit. The gasp that left your lips was sudden, almost reaching down to grab his wrist, but stopping when he gave you a stern warning look. Everything felt different - his touch felt electrifying, while yours felt like watching paint dry. Why was it so different? Your eyes fluttered shut, head resting on his shoulder when he started speeding up his small circular motion. Your thighs spread a little more, shuddering when you felt a build up in your lower tummy. That burn you never felt unless you used a toy, the burn you got before you were clouded with euphoria; it was coming. You let out small squeaks and whimpers as your hips lifted and you came undone. Usually that’s when you’d stop, let your body just relax, but Simon kept a firm hand across your torso, using his leg to keep yours pinned down so he could still rub you till complete satisfaction.

once his movements slowed and he was panting along with you slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, looking at your eyes through the mirror again.

“I don’t care what time of day it is, if ye need t’cum, y’tell me and I’ll help, love. Alrigh’?”

you mustered a small nod, droopy eyes falling to the wet and sticky mess between your thighs, and the lovely hands that helped you along the way.

[ficmashup]

Ghost is Not a Good Man (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Intimate touching, hand on throat, she/her reader Word Count: 2.9k

Service Dog Johnny Part 18 (full part list here)

It’s one of those days where the front door lock is getting the best of you.

Your bag is falling off your shoulder, your index finger is encased in bandaids from cutting yourself on a box at work, and it doesnʼt help that you barely got any sleep the night before. You stop for a second to squint at your keys in the dim porch light, but by the time you’ve verified you have the right one and your frozen fingers manage to jam it into the deadbolt, the door opens on its own.

Simon just gives you a nod before wandering back through the shadowy house, apparently caught up in an important phone call. He must have just got home because his hair looks like it was squashed under a helmet all day before having a hand roughly raked through it.

He’s definitely annoyed by what he’s hearing. You can tell that much from the way he’s keeping his back to you, just standing there all tense beside the couch while you turn on a few lamps. Please don’t let it be a mission. Please let it be some work misunderstanding that will go away in twenty-four hours, and never end up affecting your home life. 

Naturally, you hover in the area for a bit and worry. You take off your shoes and hang up your coat, listening intently to each noncommittal, “Mm,” he does every so often, to show he’s listening. 

“Everything alright?” you press, when he finally pockets his phone.

He merely gives you that same acknowledging grunt, so apparently it’s going to be one of those days. He’s going to keep whatever-it-is bottled up inside, and you're going to try to not hurt your feelings about it.

It happens sometimes, you know that. There are a million things at work he’s literally not allowed to tell you about, and it’s okay for them to bother him from time to time. It’s not your job to make him happy for every second of his life. You couldnʼt do that even if you tried, so this weight of dread is just something you need to pretend isnʼt there, because itʼs not about you at all. 

“Want a snack?” you offer.

“Nah. Need a shower first.”

“Okay. I’m gonna change real quick.”

Disappointingly, Simon doesn’t join you in the bedroom. The house remains quiet and still while you remove your jewelry and get into some comfy clothes. You hurry through the naked phase, because it’s chilly and you can tell he’s forgotten his usual task of bumping up the thermostat when he gets home. 

When you wander back to the living room, you discover that your boyfriend has made no progress towards the shower. He’s just sitting there in his usual spot on the couch, zoned out and staring at the blank TV. 

Wait, no, he’s got his head tilted down. When you come closer, you see what you missed before – shallow, bloody scuffs on his hand. They’re not the kind of wounds you’d get in a fight, because only the thumb knuckles are roughed up, and also the inside of his wrist where a glove would end. 

“Simon?” you prompt, coming around the couch where he can see you. 

He tucks his wrist against his stomach. “Hey. Telly?”

“It’s easier to watch when it’s on,” you tease, perching yourself on the arm of the couch to nudge your hip up against his warm shoulder. 

“Mm.” He snags the remote and spreads himself out on the cushions, under the pretense that everything is perfectly fine, and you definitely don’t need to keep asking him questions.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Work.” His face has a heavy layer of boredom plastered across it, not sparing you a glance. “Usual.”

No, not usual. The usual injuries are mat burns and random bruises, and the occasional cut on his face. So you let the lie linger in the air for a few seconds, hoping he’ll change his mind about opening up. This behavior wouldn’t seem out of place to some people, but you know Simon. He’s abandoned his coming home routine, he doesn’t snacks, and he’s still not touching you, even though you’re sitting right next to him. And that’s weird. 

Leave it alone, his aggressively casual body language insists. I came home to escape this, don’t suffocate me. 

But you don’t want to suffocate him, you just want to be a part of him. You sit there for a minute, mentally flipping through every option you have that doesn't feel like self betrayal. Because this isn’t right. The superficial baseline you’ve maintained in other relationships feels like rejection, when it’s him. 

Impulsively you reach your hand out, sliding your fingertips up the back of his neck to press into those tired muscles. What do you need? Your fingers ask, in slow, steady movements. 

Your boyfriend finally rotates his head up to look at you, sacrificing his privacy for the eye contact he knows you want. Silence, his gaze answers, unwavering and dark. Control. 

His needs don’t contradict yours. You can give him silence, as long as he gives you back some connection. Two compromises for the sake of mutual comfort, it’s a fair trade.

So you get up and step around the arm of the couch, and Simon shifts himself like he’s expecting your ass in his lap. Yeah, you could go for that. You could press yourself into his chest and cuddle him for a little while, hoping it doesn’t feel like he’s doing you a favor the whole time. You'd be holding onto the idea that he wants it too, trying not to think about how he’s counting down the minutes until he can get rid of you and wallow in his feelings more comfortably. 

But you have a better idea. It’s a straight whim that has you lowering yourself to your knees on the carpet between his legs, tasting the way his attention abruptly locks onto you when he realizes what you’re doing. His legs flinch against your shoulders as you settle deeper into place, blinking up at him and softly resting your cheek against the inside of his thigh. 

It takes him a minute to consent to it. You can see the struggle in his eyes, realizing that he’s going to have to reject you if he wants to maintain that emotional wall he’s built. There’s something inside him that’s hurting, and you don’t need to know what it is, you just need him to stop hiding from you. 

Finally he lets out a breath, and you feel his hand stroking over the top of your head. There’s the beginnings of surrender in his eyes, as you run your own hand in a comforting press over the front of his shin. You’re not going to ask for anything, you’re not going to hurt him, you’re just going to stay here a moment and let his energy mingle with yours. It’ll be good for both of you. 

But then his eyes go dead, staring down at his hand as he samples the texture of your hair in his fingers. Because you know him, you know it’s a good thing. It’s the wall of pretense coming down. 

“I’m not a good man.” 

“I know.” You turn your face to give the inside seam of his jeans a little kiss.

He frowns. “You know?”

Your mouth twitches with your poorly suppressed smile. “I mean… No… of course you are, baby. You… uh… build schools… and save kittens every day, remember?”

You try to bite the finger that flicks your nose, but you’re not quite fast enough and can only manage to snap your teeth in the air. 

Simon laughs under his breath, his shoulders relaxing a little with how unserious you’ve made it sound. It is serious, obviously, but if he wants a formal heart-to-heart, he’ll have to open up first. 

You both know he’s got kills under his belt. Plenty of people in varying degrees of ‘deserved it’ have fallen prey to him in that bone mask he wears, but you don’t think he’s talking about that. He’s talking about something inside him, something that settled wrong in his heart today. He saw something about himself that scared him. Maybe it was something new, or maybe it was old and buried, but it violated his personal code in some way.

There’s nothing you can do about that. You can’t reach into his chest and dig it out, as much as you wish you could. All you have are your eyes, looking at him now like he isn’t a monster at all, and he never could be.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He tugs on a piece of your hair, hard enough to sting a little. 

“We’ve got things for steak and potatoes if you’d like to cook tonight,” you offer, rubbing your cheek against his leg.

“Yeah,” he whispers, caressing his thumb along your hairline. “I’ll do that.”

You should probably get up now. He’ll want to get started on dinner, and you got through the worst of it together. He’s present with you at this point, and maybe after you eat he’d let you make out with him, the way you used to before Johnny started coming over — all slow and relaxed, tangled in each other's arms until one of you got sleepy enough to tap out. He can’t do anything while you’re here on the floor, so you need to get up. 

It’s just… it’s difficult to pull yourself away. He’s so solid and warm, and he’s still looking at you through those smudgy, black-stained lashes. There’s affection in those dark eyes, and a bit of tiredness judging by the heavy way he blinks. He’d be the one to tap out tonight, you think, wandering your eyes down the low slump of his shoulders. You’d feel his lips go clumsy and his breathing start to slow, because it’s been a long day—

Okay, listen.

You’re not a pervert. 

It’s simply because it’s already so close to your face that you can’t help but notice something swelling in his pants. It's definitely there in your peripheral vision, so you tell yourself not to look directly, because you should have far more self control than that, but somehow you find your eyes flicking down to the zipper of his jeans—

Unnhh. It’s not as easy as you’d hoped, to pretend you don’t see it. Your guilty eyes fly back to Simon’s face, as fingers of heat start to crawl up your neck. This is sort of your fault. You’re the one who put your face down here to begin with, even though you really weren’t trying to start something.

“I… uhm. Need a shower,” he mutters.

“Okay, baby.” Is that code for him wanting you to get away from him? Or does he want something else? You’d totally suck him off like this.

“I’ve got cigarettes in my mouth, and fucking—” he makes a frustrated noise, shifting his hips a little— “dried sweat everywhere.”

“Mhmm.” Would, would, WOULD.

Simon releases a long exhale, scrubbing both hands over his face like he expects things will be different when he surfaces. 

Nope. You’re still here between his legs with hopeful eyes, and he’s still here bricked up and unshowered. That shouldn’t be a problem, right? You had normal, actual sex a few days ago, so couldn’t you just do that again? 

“Touch it,” he tells you at last, resting his hand again on the top of your head.

Oh, god. Your breath catches because you weren’t expecting that at all. He’s never let you touch it before, so this is… phew, this is new. This is something powerful, especially when he’s having a hard day and doubting himself. Your eyes automatically drop to the situation in his pants, and you wonder… does he want you to take it out? He didn’t say to suck it, he said to touch it, so… 

It’s so natural, it’s not even a thought to bring your hand up and cup him through his pants. You love him so much, it’s almost less work to give in to your mind’s instinctive need, and let him find pleasure in your touch. It’s like a long-held breath of relief, running your thumb over that neglected piece of him, hoping it feels good even through the layers of fabric. 

Your eyes fly upwards again for validation, and he meets them with a quiet, “Yeah.”

Simon’s hand slides up under your hair to lay heavy on your nape, finding whatever control he needs in that action. He wants you to touch. 

So you do.

You lean forward and press your lips to the bulge in his pants, savoring the audible inhale of breath somewhere above you. You close your eyes and nuzzle up against it, hard lines of denim pressing into your cheek as your fingers gently stroke. His body is tense against your shoulders, so you take your time with it, coaxing him into it with kisses and gentle rubs of your cheek. You can practically feel his heat radiating against your face as he grows painfully hard in his pants.

He was probably expecting just hands, but there’s something more intimate about your mouth. You’re letting your hot breath seep through the material and wash over him in a shameless promise of something else, whenever he’s ready to unzip. When you start to hear his breaths coming out with some low noises, you get a little more confident. You drag your tongue up that hard piece of denim, just to feel his hand tighten on the back of your neck. 

“Not a good day for that sort of thing,” he explains in a low warning. 

“Oh.” You pull back just far enough to peer up at his face. “Do you want me to stop?”

Simon’s eyes flutter a little as he stares down at you, his thumb running a delicious sweep against the vulnerable side of your throat. “No.”

“Okay.”

He wasn’t letting himself enjoy it before this. Because after that one little word, you feel him finally melt. His knees widen further, and his head falls back over the top of the couch as your mouth makes contact again. You start to slide another lick up the fabric, but you freeze when you feel his hand wrapping firmly around your neck.

“Do you—”

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, and you watch his throat roll as he swallows, loosening his grip a fraction. 

This is his choice. He’s holding you like this so he can close his eyes and still feel safe, and that’s the farthest thing from a problem in your mind. You both know he could snap your neck in about two seconds if he wanted to, but if you were afraid of him, you wouldn’t be rubbing your hand against his cock right now. 

You get a little more bold with it, mapping out his exact anatomy and locating the most sensitive spot to tease with your fingernails, working extra sensation through that thick wall of denim. 

There’s that breathy groan you were waiting for. You mouth at him and repeat the motion, enjoying the way his thumb tightens around your throat. Fuck, it pushes hot blood between your legs and makes you pray that he’ll let you get him off like this. You want to kill that part of him that’s afraid of his own pleasure, and just yank his pants down so he can cum in your mouth. 

But it’s not yours to kill, it’s his. Simon gasps, and jams his free hand down to shove yours away, effectively preventing what you were working so hard to accomplish. There's a sharp flash of disappointment, but you manage to hide it by the time he drags his head upright again to look at you. 

“Alright?” you ask, leaning back to give him space. 

“Mm. I’ll just, ahh…” He releases your neck like he forgot he was holding it.

He may drive you crazy with his self denying masochism, but fuck if he doesn’t look pretty with his chest heaving and his cock still hard. 

“Shower time?” you prompt.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go chop the potatoes.”

He adjusts the thermostat when he gets up, and then pats your ass on the way to his belated shower. You end up doing the prepping, and he does the cooking, while you both plow through so many snacks that you’re barely hungry when it’s dinner time. 

You were right, it’s him who loses steam first, making soft, sleepy noises into your mouth while his tongue slows against yours. You aren’t quite tired enough, so after you’ve rolled over in the dark, you grab your phone and search for something vaguely boring to get sleepy with. 

But for some reason, you pull up Johnny’s texts. You read the last one again, and it doesn’t have the same heaviness it did before. 

Hey, you type, trying to hold your eyes open enough to think clearly, I’m dragging Simon to the Christmas festival tomorrow night. Want to come?

You don’t expect anything of it. You go back to another app and just begin to scroll, when a text banner flashes on your phone, not thirty seconds later.

Yes

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

[ficmashup]

“Do not wear anything pretty,” Gaz insists.

“What? Why?” It’s not like you were planning on it. You have a pair of jeans wedged under your arm, and you’re currently searching through your shirts for something medium-cute.

Your boyfriend sighs on the other end of the line. “Wear a hoodie. Maybe one of mine, with the hood up.”

“What the fuck, Kyle? Are you embarrassed of me?”

“No, I… I just think it’s for the best.”

You frown, moving your phone closer to your ear so you can hear every change in his voice. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothin. Just wear the hoodie. Please, sweetheart.”

Fine.

You show up on base later in a stupid hoodie with the stupid hood up, bringing Kyle his stupid passkey that he stupidly forgot to grab this morning. He’s waiting for you at the front desk, so you don’t even have to check in.

You get a quick kiss and a fervent, “Thanks, really,” from your boyfriend, and then just as you’re opening your mouth to demand an explanation—

“AHH! Ahh! I fookin knew it!”

Some asshole with a mohawk is suddenly striding up to you, arms outstretched and beaming as if it’s Christmas morning.

“Christ, Soap,” Kyle groans, putting himself slightly between you and the oncoming threat, “will you just—“

“Ghost!” the man calls over his shoulder, undeterred. “Get your arse over here, Gaz finally brought that ‘friend’ to meet us!”

Kyle pulls you into his side, whispering, “I am so sorry.”

“The one from the photo?” rumbles a new voice. “Ahh, yeah, it is.”

Turns out he’s been hiding your existence from his coworkers all this time, but that didn’t stop them from glimpsing his phone background one day when he wasn’t paying attention. They’d been hounding him ever since.

[ficmashup]

Ok, not to disrespect ghost/step on his turf but...

Can goose pick me up too...? 😳🥵🫣

Of course my darling, you just have to ask.

You can just walk right up to her while she's setting up for the nightly haunted corn maze and ask if she'd pick you up. Which is easy enough, right? Except it's really not. You know her more from seeing her around town than really knowing her, and Goose is always with people which makes it hard to approach her. Plus she might be married? You're not sure, but you've seen the guy and he's... not someone you're particularly interested in messing with.

So it's probably good that after staring and looking away, staring and looking away, Goose finally walks over to ask if you need something. Another aspect of her that makes your heart pound in your chest. The way she settles her hand against the picnic table you've sat at, and leans over you, her head tipping to make sure she meets your eye, none of it is helping the cat that's got your tongue.

"You got somethin' I can help with, sugar?" In that damn accent that you can never quite place but slips so nicely over her tongue.

"Um," You eloquently start, "no."

"No?" She tilts her head to the side, "Starin' an awful lot for someone who don't need nothin'."

You shoulders raise to your ears, you can feel the churn of your stomach as butterflies heat your cheeks. "Just watching you work," You supply, "you're pretty strong."

She hums with a smile, "I am, could carry you around a little if you wanted a demonstration."

"Oh! No, no, you don't have to-" You change tactics as her smile grows, "I'm probably too heavy, and you look busy, and-"

"Stand up sweet thing," She steps back to wave you up and you hesitantly comply. She grabs your arm as soon as you're vertical, and in one single crouch/tug/lift you're hauled over her shoulders and off the ground. She bounces you once, to adjust the position and you giggle like a kid. "I pick up calves heavier than you, baby," She assures you, turning away from the table to start walking... somewhere, "Nothin' to it."

You believe her, she hardly seems to be breaking a sweat carrying you and with how firm her shoulders feel, you're starting to get a little dizzy. You really only feel the reality of your situation when she starts walking towards the farm house. You wiggle a little and she tightens her grip on you with a click of her tongue.

"None of that now," She reprimands stopping in front of a chicken coop.

You twist to look at the birds running around and spot the giant of a man that you'd always assumed was hers. Your eyes dart to the gold band hanging off his necklace. Definitely married then. He stands up with a chicken under his arm and tips his hat back.

"Wot's this?" He asks.

"Thought you might like a treat tonight, figured we could share." Goose tells him.

You regret staring so long, the way the big guy looks at you... you don't think you can handle both of them.

[ficmashup]

Fun idea cuz I love Mafia sandwich AU, everything reversed.

Reader is a baker or a cook at a restaurant/bakery, they love their little shop. They put their heart and soul into it, even though it’s not popular. A small mom and pop shop with a whole lot of love.

Unfortunately for reader there are four men (who definitely are in the mafia) LOVE their food and keep coming back for their food. No matter how many times they tell them they’re going to scare the normal customers. At first reader was horrified at these dangerous men coming in their shop, (probably doing a meeting or hiding) and timidly walked over to ask if they want anything to eat. They all stare at you for a full minute before the scary skull masked guy gruffs out “A sandwich.” And so you go make him one, and he pays you way too much for it. (Trying to give him change back he’ll glare at you.)

Now you fed them and they’ll never leave. The mohawk and pretty one always come by after a robbery or successful escape from the police. The skull guy always comes by later in the day to eat, he’s always has stained red patches on his clothes. The bearded guy comes by sometimes with the others, always paying you more than you need. (“No need to tell anyone we were here, Hm?”)

Your mom always warned you not to feed strays, they’ll never leave.

Ok but that's so cute and well deserving of its own au, but also here's what I think a true reverse au is for the mafia sandwich shop au:

You've just opened your own restaurant/bakery in a not great part of town. It's the only place you could scrape enough money together to rent, but it's yours and that's what matters. Except it's empty. You bake all your nice goods and make soup for the lunch rush but it all ends up going to waste. A month in and you're only making enough food for your own lunch and the few people that stumble in every week. It's only when you realize what part of town you've truly set up shop in that you realize what the problem is.

This is the Price family's turf, and you've neither paid your respect to the family, nor have you found yourself with any intention to do so.

So you resign yourself that you'll have to break your lease, and that your dream is dead. You have no intention of getting involved with organized crime, and that means the end of your business here. You're taking out your trash, mourning the fact you have to go back to a desk job, and you sort of accidentally throw your trash bag onto a man that's almost entirely covered in blood. He grunts and you rush to get the bag off of him.

"All that yours?" You ask tentatively.

"It's on me isn't it?" He growls.

Which is how you end up with a giant man in your kitchen, using up all the supplies in your meager first aid kit when you avoid asking any questions. He cuts a length of thread from your emergency sewing kit with his teeth and threads the needle that ends up plunged into the skin around the gash on his side.

"Quiet fucker aren't ya?" He asks and you sniff, slightly offended.

"Oh yeah lemme just start asking questions, I definitely want to know the answers to them." That gets a laugh out of him, a short huffed thing with a crooked smile to match.

"You got anything to eat?"

"This is a restaurant-"

"a dead one." He cuts you off with a grumble.

"Then starve." You deadpan, going to fix him a sandwich and some soup anyway.

He leaves pretty soon after he's done eating. Doesn't pay either. Not that you expected him to.

He's back the next day. At least you think it's him. The mask is sort of... intimidating, but you recognize the width of his shoulders and the way his eye twitches when he sets his hand on the counter. He shifts his weight off the injured side too quickly for you not to notice.

You make him a sandwich, you don't really have much else. He pays for it, and stuffs a wad of bills into your tip jar when you're not looking.

The amount would pay your rent for the month.

You wait for him to come in again so you can give it back but he doesn't show his face. Begrudgingly you use the money to keep the shop open. He comes in again with some other broad specimen in tow. You stare at the blue eyes and mohawk and silently place every quiche you made that morning into a bag for them. The masked guy orders a soup and sandwich. He doesn't even ask what either of them are.

They pay. Mask tips. You pretend you don't recognize the man from the news.

He comes back a third time. You know John Price, you'd be a fool not to, but you still smile amicably when the bell over your door rings for the four huge men that force their way inside. Price whistles at your neat little shop. Soap already has his face pressed against your pastry case. The mask shows the one you don't know, the pretty one, the printed menu.

"Only thing they got's a soup sandwich deal. Not bad." He tells him curtly.

"What's the soup?" The pretty one asks you.

"Uh, red pozole with pork shoulder." You supply. You've given up trying to cater to british tastes. You mostly cook for yourself these days since you're the only one eating it.

"Wot's the sandwich?" The mask asks.

"It's just some crusty bread with cheese."

The mask nods, his eyes narrowed on you. You blink at him. If he has something to say he can say it.

"We'll do that." He finally grunts.

"And a slice of cake." Soap chimes in.

"Surprised this place hasn't burned down," Price nods from the little table and chairs by the window, he almost sounds impressed.

"It's always been my dream to avoid insurance litigation over arson charges," You deadpan over the register.

"They're cheeky," Price tells the mask.

"I know." The mask responds, holding his card out to you.

"We should come here more often." The pretty one smiles taking a seat next to Price.

"Nice and quiet." Soap agrees.

"You know this is like, a restaurant, right?" You ask the mask. He shrugs, and puts next month's rent in your tip jar.

"What'd ya say last time? 'Bout askin' questions?"

"I'll let you know when the food's ready." You're already mourning your peace, but at least the dream is alive. Your mum will be so proud.