priceoftheduchess

[priceoftheduchess]

i have baby fever so…

Single Dad!Simon Riley whose daughter is so sweet.

You, a sweet and humble hairdresser in your salon which you’ve bought and built from the ground yourself, having a walk-in appointment with a 6’4” hulking man, and his most precious angel. A black surgical mask covering his jaw, mouth and nose.

His little angel, who you learn to be Amelia, climbs into your chair with the cutest grunts of struggle and eventually a triumphant sigh. Her dad, in his effortlessly silky, gruff voice, explains that her hair is now down to her knees practically and he needs help. Her mother left when she was young and he’s only ever had one brother.

You chuckle softly and nod, and his daughter looks up at you after you explain that you’ll be trimming her gorgeous hair and demonstrating some simple braiding techniques to her father, and in the tiniest, cutest little Londoner accent:

“Thank you for helping my Daddy.” You nearly burst into tears at her shining hazel eyes and her big, toothy smile. You nod and begin sectioning her hair after placing a pink apron over her front. She beams to her Dad, “Look! She gave me pink!” He laughs and his eyes shine with pride. She’s so good at communicating, even though she barely looks five. She’s so adorably tiny, too.

At the end of the appointment, Simon has learned three different braid styles. He’s a natural, you assure him. You curl his daughter’s hair just before she leaves, and she does a little dance around the place in her princess dress. Her dad picks her up, and he smiles at you. Thanking you in that knee-weakening voice of his. He promises he’ll be back with any hair concerns, and he even tips you extra.

Before he leaves, his daughter points at you and asks if he can take you home. He responds, without missing a damn beat:

“Mm, only if she wants to come home with us.” He winks at you for good measure.

You think that maybe that idea isn’t so bad.

[priceoftheduchess]

chat… 1000 likes?!? should i do a milestone post of some sort?! send me ideas!!

i love you all so much and i will always be here to listen!! <3

[priceoftheduchess]

light as a feather; stiff as a board

part two

jaguar!simon x crow!oc

cw) goofy teenage simon, brief mention of wanking, author is bad at slow burn……. not proofread

Wren had gotten used to the expansive campus. There always seemed to be a building for everything. Broken tooth? Don’t worry, there’s a dental wing in the med-bay. Broken heart? On-sight psychiatrist down the hall from the water fountains. This place was ready for anything — but it was a government building, so who was surprised?

It was a campus in the middle of London, though, so it seemed as dreary as the damn rest of London. Foggy mornings and humid afternoons. Wren was glad she’d always dressed light, the mix of humidity and sunshine sticking to her skin like honey.

And that guy from the rec-room? She saw him everywhere. With friends he seemed to open a bit more, studying with them in the library and teasing them with paper balls — and daring them to try weird food combos in the mess hall, but even with all the schedule overlaps he had with Wren, he just wouldn’t… talk to her. It was just terse nods and sidelong glances.

But what Wren had no clue about was that Simon was trying his hardest to avoid her. Sitting on opposites sides of the mess hall, trying to switch his plans around, etcetera. But he saw her, no, he smelt her everywhere. All traces of her fucking lingered.

And Simon tried to act uninterested. From that first moment they met on the couch. Tried to act like he was sleeping and not casting glances her way, observing supple skin and dotted freckles. But he smelt her even then, too.

Vanilla and lavender some days, and flowers other days. No matter what perfume, body wash, shampoo — Hell, even toothpaste — she used, he would always smell her. And he tried his damndest to not linger around where he knew she’d been. He felt strange, like he was breaching some kind of trust — trust that had not even been set yet.

But that all came to a halt the second month into their training.

Wren had been doing great, adapting quickly and discovering new abilities she didn’t even know she had.

Her eyes began adjusting to nighttime better, and her senses heightened. Her wings were larger, she supposed, stronger somehow. All shit that she never knew before. And Simon saw it.

He noticed her, breaking from her shell and growing. She wasn’t that timid teenager who sat on the opposite side of the couch from him anymore, she was growing and learning. And he envied those who got to be by her side everyday. Those who played card games with her and got to feel her feathers when they wrapped an arm around her for a photo.

So, he approached her. In the worst way possible, perhaps. Despite Simon’s natural (quite literally killer) instincts on the field and onslaught of abilities… he was socially daft.

Wren was in the rec room that evening, dressed in comfy clothes and cozied up with some romance book that probably was not regulation. Her wings lazily spread out comfortably behind her. Simon loomed over her, just blinking down at her at first.

She was relaxed, he knew that. That was good. People were beat perceptive when relaxed. She looked up at him through dorky lenses — still furious that she needed glasses for reading. Heightened senses and yet, she couldn’t read text? Wow.

“Can I help you?” She asked, and Simon would’ve taken this as an insult if it were anyone else. Would’ve made it seem like he was being talked down to, but this was Wren. Wren was always kind and charming. She set her book aside, giving Simon her undivided attention. He felt nervous now.

“I want to eat you.” He said, leaving out some crucial details. Wren’s face contorted, furrowed brows and her lips turned inwards. She didn’t look mad. Just confused. Wait, what did he say?

“Straightforward. I like it.” Wren laughed softly, surprising herself just a bit. What the Hell happened to her? Two months ago she could barely approach anyone without her wings flapping wildly with anxiety. Now, she’s just been threatened (maybe?) and she’s pretty unfazed.

“No. Eat out.” He corrected, making everything worse. Wren made a strangled sort of noise — laughing? — oh! She thought he was funny. Wait, no, was she laughing at him?

“What are you asking me for?” Wren said after a moment of amused confusion. Simon stared down at her.

“Dinner.”

“Yes, what kind?”

“We can get takeaway.”

“So you don’t want to eat me out?” She clarified.

“No.” Simon said slowly, unsure. After a moment of deliberation, he decided it was a firm no. As far as his sexual expertise went, well… there was none. He was too bulky, too grabby, too toothy to have ever been intimate before. He was sure Wren could tell.

Actually, he was sure now that Wren knew everything about him. That’s why she was smiling at him like that. She felt bad, he was sure. She knew about his dad, his mom, and his brother. She knew. He couldn’t hide. She saw it all, using soft talons to peel away layers of skin and read trauma straight from bone. Oh, shit, is he still standing here?

“Do you want to sit with me?” She offered, lifting her blanket like an olive branch. Simon stilled. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and sat. He caught her wing under his hip as he sat and she yelped. Simon nearly dropped to his to beg for forgiveness before —

“Sorry, I should’ve moved my wing.” She rolled her eyes at herself. Simon shook his head and helped her adjust her wing to a comfortable position. He slung his arm over the back of the couch, leaning over to take a peek at her book. She slapped it shut, shaking her head. “No! You can’t read this.”

Simon raised a curious eyebrow, more comfortable as minutes passed. “‘N why not?”

“It’s a little… risqué. This part, anyway.” She explained, and Simon snorted. He took the book anyway, and Wren watched raptly as he read the lines.

“Jesus, what is this?” That guy touched her what? He stuck his fingers where?! Is he even allowed to be reading this? He felt like his mom would pop over his shoulder any moment and scold him. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. So he scoffed softly and shook his head, a lazily grin helping his eyes squint — because maybe she couldn’t see the pain behind them if he was squinting.

“I told you!” She said, snatching the book back. Simon laughed lowly, a rumbling noise reminiscent of a jaguar’s growl.

“Nasty, nasty girl,” Simon said absentmindedly, looking at his phone — not noticing the side eye from the Wren at his words. He was too busy focusing on the ‘no new notifications’ screen to keep himself from sniffing her fucking neck. Her scent straight from the source. She smelt like the little bird she was. She smelt like prey. No. Simon wouldn’t let himself go there.

The two sat in the quiet room for the rest of the evening, basking in each other’s presence and just chatting randomly. Wren grew a liking to this boy, learning his name as Simon.

But of course Simon knew her. He knew her name, her smell, her smile. And all of it from a distance, like a fucking weirdo. From catching glances of her — feeling like he’s intruding on her own little private world. It was about 2200 before either of them moved from their little bubble.

“Will you be in the mess hall for breakfast tomorrow?” Wren asked Simon as she gathered her things, her fluffy blanket slung in the crook of her arm and her book snugged under her armpit. Simon nodded, standing and looming over her again.

He thanked any listening God for his height because the way Wren’s face looked as she looked up at him, eyes peaking through her eyelashes. Fuck. She had an iron grip on him and she wasn’t even reaching out yet. Yet. Yet is a good thought.

“I eat.” He nodded, like a soldier following an order. Wren giggled softly and nodded back.

“Good to know. See you tomorrow, Simon.”

Simon went home and shamefully wanked that night.

[priceoftheduchess]

thinking about being obsessive john price’s controversially young girlfriend.

cw) slight gore, breeding if you squint, soap being a charming bastard

you show up to base one day — tiniest little sundress sweeping around your thighs and your hair done in a curly updo finished with some tacky raspberry lipgloss. you’re a vision, waiting for john to see you.

but johnny catches you first, a strong arm wrapped firmly around your shoulder as he greets you in thick scottish tongue.

“bonnie little lass, aye? sweetest ting i done seen all dae, yah!” he grins, and his flirting honestly would’ve worked if not for… “you’re price’s stepdaughter, aye?”

you blanch. no! haha! no.

“no…” you say softly, slowly. almost like you’re unsure.

“dinnae know price had a sister,” he says, now standing with his hands on his hips.

“he doesn’t.”

“dinnae? who are ye?”

“his girlfriend.” you say, and soap is laughing. he’s sure now that you’ve somehow trespassed onto base.

“nae ye not. i ken better ‘an ‘at. ye look barely 20.”

“i am 20.” soap is confused at least, bewildered at most.

“ye ken that ye boyfriend is 47, yeh? pushin’ fif’y.” you nod and soap shrugs, his mouth hanging open as john saunters over — a firm hand pulling you to his side by your waist. he leaves a chapped-lip kiss (god forbid your boyfriend learns modern technology like chapstick) on your temple. he beams, like he’s a child showing off a new toy.

“ye bird?” soap says, looking between you and john. john nods.

“mm, beautiful, isn’t she?”

now, john seems composed on the outside. normal. sweet. gentle. loving.

but ever since he’s met you, he’s been drooling from the mouth — shiny teeth barred, waiting to dig into supple flesh. ready to tear at you like soft meat dissolving in his mouth. but he can’t be that way yet.

not until you’re wearing the shiny, 3ct ring he bought you and all round and big with his chunky babies. only then will he tear into gentle skin, and burrow himself into your bones.

[priceoftheduchess]

oh my god.

oh my god.

oh my god.

YAAAY MORE DEPRESSING EDITS YAAAY

Im way to sleep deprived for this

[priceoftheduchess]

hottest thing i’ve ever read

Watch me do this wrong. Prompt with Price/Soap cause I don't see that stuff enough. But our boy going with Papa bear for a undercover Op. And bonding and cute shit, and maybe biting somewhere. Bonus points if it's Price who bites first. 😁

Johnny falls through some ice on a mission. Price warms him up.

cw: fraternisation, oral sex, anal sex.

Don't fuck this up, Johnny.

Those had been L.T.'s words of advice when Johnny had stepped into the back of the C-17 that was dropping them off en route to its destination.

Fairly simple instructions, really. Johnny was a professional. He was part of the task force, had been selected for it based on his proficiency; Price saw something in him that was worth sharpening. But, for some reason, being selected on his own for a mission had given him the jitters something chronic.

The captain had chosen him because it was an urban operation based in Irkutsk, with potential added demo work for seasoning. Since they weren't technically at war with Russia, it was a delicate one. Their target was a terrorist cell, but accessing their compound still required a covert operation in a sovereign nation seeking any reason to feel slighted. Delicate. Johnny could do delicate.

"Papa bear, this is baby bear, how copy?" Johnny had asked as they'd tested Comms in the back of the aircraft.

"Rog. Keep it serious, sergeant. We need t' get this right."

Fuck. His first balls up and their boots hadn't even hit the ground yet. "Aye, sir. Ye comin' in clear."

Price had reached over and scuffed a hand over his hair and that had eased the tightness in Johnny's chest enough for him to get his head in the game.

The jump was flawless. They landed just outside the city proper and infiltrated through a network of maintenance tunnels. It was a three day op, with the first day planned for reconnaissance. They set up their nest in a tall block of flats undergoing repair following a fire, and Johnny took up spotter at his captain's side.

"This is strynge," Johnny said quietly through the Comms. The endless quiet was making his mind numb more than the cold.

"Eh?"

"Lookin' doon and no' seein' L.T.'s arse, sir."

"Somethin' wrong with my arse, sergeant?"

Johnny's eyes blew wide and he looked away from the scope to his captain lying prone at his side. His gaze swept down Price's broad back, curved up where he was propped on his elbows, down to what was, truly, a pretty nice arse. Not flat, sculpted well by the thigh straps, two round globes. "Naw, ye gotta bonnie arse, sir. Reckon ye'd twerk it well." The words just fell out of his stupid gob before he could stop them.

Price snorted. "Not sure I know what tha' is."

"Aye, right, forgo' ye older 'n the invention of WiFi."

"Watch it, MacTavish. The warm packs are in my Bergen."

"Och, sir. Ye leave yer man tae freeze his balls off over s'me banter. Baltic."

Johnny felt the chuckle against the side of his thigh because Price didn't bother switching on Comms for it. He shifted slightly, adjusting his hips, and Johnny's eyes strayed again. It really was a good bloody arse. Something about these officers and their glute routine that he needed to investigate. Johnny tried not to linger on what it would feel like if he gave it a squeeze, but his dick had other ideas. Thankfully, the cold and his aching knees soon saw off that awkward boner.

They called it a night when the temperature dropped and they observed no movement in the target building. The captain unrolled the sleeping bags and Johnny saw to the scran, boiling up two curries over the gas stove before folding it away. After they'd eaten, Johnny snuggled down in his bag and found it already toasty.

"Tuckin' me up all nice and warm, cap," Johnny said, his toes curling in contentment. "Ye do care."

"Don't know what Ghost has ya used to, but I ain't givin' you a kiss good night if that's what yer anglin' for."

"Not even a lil one fer sweet dreams? No tongues, promise."

"G'night, sergeant." He sounded... amused, and Johnny felt another knot of tightness in his chest ease.

The following day they conducted more recon, and then finally got what they'd come for. A big truck arrived and a group of bally-ed men started unloading what looked suspiciously like things that went boom. Price packed up their nest and they descended to extract.

It was going well. Johnny earned his nickname, cleaning house swiftly and efficiently at his captain's side. They reached the devices and Johnny confirmed they were currently unarmed, removing their ignitions while Price guarded the door. They just needed to collect a mobile phone containing details of the supply line and then they could call for exfil. It kind of went to shit from there.

They were spotted. Exchange of fire. Then two made a break for it on the back of quad bikes. Johnny and Price pursued them all the way out to Lake Baikal. It was still frozen over but, unknown to Johnny, it was coming to the end of the season and parts of it were beginning to thaw.

Price realised a fraction too late as the quad bikes skidded over it. "Soap, pull back!"

"'m nearly on 'em!"

"Soap!"

A thunderous crack. The ground disappearing beneath him. A million icy knives in his skin. The shock of cold punching the air from his lungs. Burning. Nothing.

...

So, so warm. Like floating in a cup of hot chocolate. Not that Johnny had ever floated in hot chocolate, but if he ever did, he'd imagine this is what it would be like.

His body ached in a way that made him feel heavy, sinking into a marshmallow - he was definitely in hot chocolate, had to be - and all he could smell was honest to fuck goodness. A deep musk that sat at the back of his mouth, made his insides feel all jiggly and keen. There was something soft against his nose and when he pushed forward, it tickled the rest of his face. There was give to it, like two pillows either side of a firm line.

So, so good. He wriggled closer and realised his entire body was against this brilliant smelling thing, with its soft fuzz and plush and firmness that held him tight. His hips ground forward and he borrowed, fingers finding their way to it, cupping around something soft that filled his hand when he cupped it and gave in a way that made him moan when he squeezed. His entire body tingled, his cock plumping. The cushion his face was buried in gave a little stutter.

"Sergeant, you with me?"

The voice rumbled through Johnny's face, drawing him out of the bone-deep warmth to the harder edges of reality. When his mind caught up and his eyes opened, he lifted his head away from... his captain's feckin' tits. "Uhm..."

"Easy, Johnny," Price said softly. "Just take it slow."

Johnny blinked up at that scruff of beard he could see and swallowed hard. It was about then that he realised he had a handful of Price's arse, and was grinding his hard cock against the front of his thighs. Well, L.T., this probably counted as fucking it up, didn't it?

"Sir, ah..."

"Ya fell in the lake," Price said. "Cold set in quick. Yer ok, everythin's warm and pink, nothin's gonna fall off."

Soap wriggled everything experimentally, from the tips of his toes to his ears. Everything was accounted for. He knew why he was naked, knew why the only thing he could feel on Price was his boxers, but that didn't help stifle the rush of arousal as his mind began to fully comprehend the fact that he was wrapped naked in his captain's big arms, hugged to his full, furry chest, tucked safely beneath his chin, and...

"Sir, ah... Ah'm sorry about..."

"Don't sweat it." Price's voice sounded thicker than it usually did and, upon further inspection via cataloguing all the sensations he did have, Johnny realised Price was also hard. His cock was off to the side, tucked to the right, Johnny noted. And it was full, hot, where it pressed to Johnny's belly.

"That beast ever ge' caught in yer thigh strap, sir?"

Price didn't answer immediately. Johnny thought maybe he had overstepped the socially acceptable boundaries that made sense to everyone else but him. I mean, was he meant to simply ignore his captain's giant throbbing schlong against him, or...?

"One or two awkward chubbies in my time, yeah."

Johnny grinned. "Worse 'an this?"

Another pause. "Yeah. Saw Captain Mac in the outside shower to deliver a field report. Had a minor crisis and an awakenin' all at the same time. Somethin' about him in the wilderness but in the buff."

"Yer own captain? Ye dog."

"Are we pretendin' you weren't humping my leg a moment ago?'

Johnny's mouth clicked shut. His eyes flicked up, and he wriggled a little more. "Weren't humpin'. Grindin', maybe."

"Mhm. Go back to sleep."

"Can't. Yer tits are righ' in mah face."

Price sighed and then, to Johnny's devastation, he rolled over in the sleeping bag so that Johnny was faced with his back.

It was a good back. Broad. Blocked out all light. That kinda thing. Johnny shuffled up so that he was lined up with the back of Price's neck and his nose could tuck against it. This also brought his cock in line with his captain's full, sculpted arse.

"Wha's yer gym routine for arse day?"

"I don't have an arse day, Johnny..."

"Ye mean this dump truck is genetics?"

"I'm gonna pretend the cold has addled your brain."

"Naw, sir. That'd be how good yer smell. Edible."

Price sighed. "Johnny..."

"Ah'm sorry, yer jus'... Fuck." Johnny slung his arm over Price's waist as the cold shivered in through the gap between them, and he pushed in close. The shaft of his cock sat perfectly in the clothed cleft of Price's arse, his balls nestling beneath the curve. He could feel his own wet tip against his belly, leaking desperately.

Some moments of quiet passed, but Johnny could feel Price seemingly getting warmer in his arms. He was moving and twitching more too, like he was fighting to stay still. Then, one of those weathered hands slid into Johnny's, intertwining their fingers. "Johnny, if we... it's against the law."

"So's jumpin' unannounced intae a sovereign country's quaint model city an' shootin' at arms dealers."

"Yeah," Price rumbled. He sounded tired despite the humour.

"Ah want tae break the law with ye, sir. Ah'm no' gonna lie." Johnny knew that he would break every law known to man if Price asked it of him, but this one he was quite eager to break himself if Price was willing to slip the leash.

A long pause followed. Johnny felt Price's body tense and relax, like he was waging an internal battle, and then... "Tell me what ya want."

Johnny swallowed, but still croaked when he talked. "Wanna put me dick in ye, sir, an' wan' yours in me too. Ah'd like tae suck it first, shove mah face in ye balls, see if it tastes as good as it smells."

"Fuck..."

Johnny chanced it. He trailed his hand down Price's belly, relishing the feel of soft hair beneath his palm, and wrapped his fingers around the rock hard length in Price's boxers.

Somehow, it had got even fatter, and Johnny felt the damp spot by his hip where Price had got wet. All that twitching, flushing, it had been his building arousal. Johnny squeezed it and ground his hips forward, pressing his shaft deeper between Price's arse cheeks, until he could feel the heat of Price's heavy balls pressed to his.

Price let him grind. Listened to Johnny's soft huff's and 'haa's' as he worked himself up against the soft cotton clothing Price's arse, feeling firm muscle and fat padding give against his length. "Oh, oh, sir. Want ye so bad, please."

"What happens in Irkutsk," Price murmured.

"..stays in Irkutsk," Johnny growled back.

Price shifted, pushing the waistband of his boxers down so that his cock could flop free of its confines and Johnny encircled it immediately. "Jesus, sir... it's feckin' gorgeous."

Price rumbled a chuckle. "Not had tha' feedback before."

Johnny sat up on his elbow just to see it in his hand. The sleeping bag made it difficult, and he ended up draping over Price's body, face tucked beneath the silk lining.

Johnny's mouth watered. Ruddy, fat; thick veins running down its length to the dark curls at the base. It was slightly thicker in the middle and curved up, but hung under its own weight. Captain was uncut, which meant Johnny got to watch his foreskin slide back and forth over his wet, sensitive crown. "Hng, fuck, wanna taste."

"Oi, bloody... Johnny!"

It wasn't the most elegant manoeuvre he had ever performed, but Johnny wriggled down the sleeping bag, clambering over and forcing Price onto his back to accommodate. He shoved Price's boxers down to his knees.

"Mm, aye, smells grand..." Johnny purred, stuffing his face into the crease of Price's thigh before mouthing over his heavy balls. The musk on the man, jesus wept. Johnny moaned wetly as he tongued sensitive flesh, his hips bucking at the air just above Price's face.

"Bloody 'ell, MacTavish," Price bit out, tilting his knees to the very limit of the sleeping bag so that Johnny could devour what he wanted. He was in a rush to get as much in his mouth as he could, like an insolent dog scoffing its meal before it could be snatched away. He ran his nose up velvet skin to the tip, lavishing sucking kisses on the way back down to Price's groin where he breathed him in again.

"Yer so fuckin'... Good, mm," Johnny slurred, lifting his face to suckle just behind Price's glans, tongue flicking out at Price's frenulum where his foreskin had pulled right back with the size of his erection.

It was hot and stuffy in the sleeping bag, and Johnny could feel the bite of the cold on his toes despite the fire, but he didn't care. The captain's hand was scruffed in his mohawk, urging him down, and his mouth was sucking on the tip of Johnny's cock. Johnny was hornier than he'd ever felt in his life...

Johnny sucked Price into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, laving his tongue, determined to give his captain the best head he'd ever had so he would come back for more in the future. He stroked what he couldn't take with one hand while popping himself up with the other, moaning and salivating like a bitch in heat., letting it dribble down Price's shaft along with his precum.

Price urged Johnny's hips down and Johnny spread his legs obediently, only to almost gag when he felt the head of his cock pop into his captain's throat. He lifted his chest to look back up to the mouth of the sleeping bag, and god damn whined in overwhelmed desperation as he watched his cock move in Price's throat, the scruff of his beard wet with saliva. The pleasure of it was too much, the tight, pulsing squeeze, the writhe of his tongue, the way he was still in perfect control. "Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck... sir, ah, ah'm gonna..."

Price pulled off, lapping one last long lick up Johnny's length before tapping his hip. "Get under me, Johnny. Gonna see if yer hole feels as good as yer mouth."

Shit, shit, shit. Johnny scurried to obey, probably kneed Price in the stomach and kicked him in the face in his desperation. His limbs still felt unwieldy and sluggish, his feet tingling when they returned to the warmth of the sleeping bag, but he got there.

Price urged him onto his front and, while Johnny absolutely wanted his legs bent up around his ears as Price pounded him into the sleeping mat, the logistics weren't quite logistic-ing. A nice, deep screw in downward dog would have to do. He'd live.

"Don't have any condoms, Johnny."

"Ah'm clean," Johnny said as Price reached over his back to a front pocket in his Bergen.

"I know, I've seen your medical," Price murmured, and Johnny watched as he fished out the medkit. "So am I."

"Didnae think ye'd be prepared fer a Grindr hook up on op, sir," Johnny said. He got a slap on the arse for that and yelped, biting into the material of the sleeping bag as the sting abated. Price straddled his thighs, and Johnny could feel that thick cock sitting in his cleft.

"Petroleum jelly," Price grunted. Johnny heard it squirt from his tube into the captain's palm and braced himself for the cold shock. It didn't come. The slick fingers that curled around his hole were warm.

"Ye such a gentleman," Johnny sighed, lifting his hips in what he hoped was an enticing way. It worked, Price's fingers slipped inside him, making a satisfying squelching noise as Johnny's body yielded.

"You let men rawdog you often?" Price asked, clearly marvelling at the way Johnny's body relaxed for him. Experience.

"N'aw, make 'em wrap up and chuck 'em if they whine 'bout it. 'm a good boy," Johnny said, gasping as Price's fingers crooked. "Feelin' naughty fer you, sir. Wanna feel ye cum inside me, have it leakin' oot tomorrow."

"You filthy little bastard," Price groaned, and Johnny could hear the heat and the want in his voice. Yeah, that's right, sir. Come get it. Just for you. All for you.

Price took his time working Johnny up, pressing out gently against his walls until he was satisfied Johnny was ready to take him. By the time he was lining his cock up, his knees braced either side of Johnny's thighs, Johnny was panting and gasping into his forearms. "C'mon, sir... Please, fill me up. Need it. Fuck."

The first thrust was snug. Johnny groaned as Price sheathed himself to the hilt. The slow, irresistible burn made his belly and lower back pull tight, and he breathed out slowly to get his muscles to relax. His reward was the hot weight of Price's balls against the back of his when he was fully seated, and the feral, heated growl that rumbled from his captain's chest.

Price leaned down and slipped a hand around Johnny's throat, stroking up to his jaw to turn him for a sloppy, poorly angled kiss that made every synapse in Johnny's brain fire at the same time. He could've nutted there and then, but he held on by his fingernails and only moaned through it.

"That feel good, baby bear?" Price asked slyly as he pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting their lips.

"Urgh, yer filthy old man," Johnny rasped back.

"Don't pretend," Price drew out a little way and thrust back in, punching another groan from Johnny's chest, "yer weren't desperate to call me daddy down those Comms."

"Fuck, fuck. Hng." Johnny hunched his head between his shoulders and then dropped to his chest so he could tilt his hips up a little more. "Wanna feel ye in my guts, fuck. C'mon. Hmm." Johnny turned his face into the sleeping bag to smother his noise as Price fucked into him hard again, firm enough to shunt his whole body against the sleeping mat.

"Naw, want t' hear that mouth of yours run off, no one will hear ya out here, Johnny, shout whatever you want, lad I... Mmm, I jus' need t' hear ya enjoyin' it."

Oh, oh, fuck. Johnny was lost. Gone. No one ever wanted to hear him squeak. They all shoved his face into a pillow, clamped their hand over his mouth to muffle it. But Price wanted to hear him, one big hand cupping under his jaw to lift his head to make sure Price got what he wanted as he began a relentless pace.

"Haa, ash, oh fuck, sir, i's so deep, so good, sir, has, haa, ye-aye, ay fu--" Johnny blabbered as Price pounded into him, each hard, wet slap of his hips accompanied by a punch of burning pleasure, ticking like an IED at the core of Johnny's hips. The fact that the captain was just as noisy, feral snarls, growls, huffed "yeah, yeah" as he drilled Johnny's eager hole, just made it hotter.

Price paused only to shift his legs to the inside of Johnny's once he'd hollowed Johnny out for a while, forcing Johnny's knees out to the very brink of what the sleeping bag would allow. It was enough. The next thrust was so deep, Johnny wailed. It was like he was being bred, Price's prick burrowing into a womb that didn't even feckin' exist. "Sir, fuck, please, come in me--"

"Ya like knowin' ya.. mm, spread yer legs fer yer captain, like, hng, bleatin' sir as I fuck you?"

"Aye, aye, fuck, fuck--want ye t' wear the feckin boonie hat next time--fu-uhck!"

"Next time..." Price chuckled low in his throat and it was the sexiest sound Johnny had ever heard. His captain kissed his neck, his shoulders, pushed his face into the fluff of Johnny's mohawk. Genuine, whole hearted affection and lust.

Like this, his hips cocked, chest shoved into the sleeping mat, spine arched, Price was hitting that sweet spot that melted Johnny's brain every time. He could feel the captain getting close; faster pace, harder, his grip on Johnny's chin tightening, his noises more guttural.

Johnny reached beneath his hips to grab his cock and fisted himself furiously. "Sir, sir, fuck, si--sir!" It spread through him like the rolling fire of a detonation, with blooming heat that left a tingle in the air in its wake. Johnny moaned and whimpered loudly, his cock spasming in his grip as he emptied in a thick puddle beneath him, hole clutching around Price's cock.

Price didn't relent. Johnny felt his mouth against his shoulder and then the bite of his teeth, holding him in place for the last few grinding thrusts he needed. His grip would leave a mark, and Johnny moaned as he felt the flood of cum from Price's orgasm, thick ropes of it with each strong pulse as Price's balls emptied; so much that it spilled through the seal of their bodies to dribble down Johnny's thighs.

They laid panting for a moment, shoulders and chests heaving, and then slowly, Price pulled out, releasing Johnny to slump in a puddle of his own spend. A strong thumb pushed out against Johnny's arse cheek, and Price growled low in his throat. "Oh yeah, look a'tha'.. fuckin' wrecked that perfect little hole."

"Yeah, ye did," Johnny murmured. "Ah'd offer to return the favour, bu' 'm knackered." He paused. "Fer fuck sake, I jus' jizzed in mah own feckin' sleepin' bag."

Price leaned over him and Johnny was certain he got a kiss on the top of his head, nuzzled into his mohawk. "Close yer eyes, I'll clean up."

"Gettin' the full service. Should fall intae ice lakes more often."

"I'd rather yer don't."

Johnny sighed and closed his eyes. He only had to lift his hips when Price cleaned beneath them, spreading his legs for his captain's warm hands and the wipe that efficiently cleaned the evidence of their... well, indiscretion.

The next day, Price called for casevac. They had most of what they had come for. Just not the phone. "We wouldn't have caught 'em, sergeant. Even if you hadn't have fallen through. Don't go there," Price said in the back of the helo.

'There' was the relentless self-chastisement in the days that followed. Or, it would have been. All Johnny could think of was the sound of Price's voice as he had fucked into him, and the way his body had felt wrapped around his, the plush cushion of his arse and the scent of his sweat and arousal.

When Johnny got the "you up?" text at 3am one night two weeks later, he didn't even hesitate answering it. Slipping into his captain's bed, and then between his legs to fulfill the other half of his request from that night, was as good a medicine as any for the frustration of a partially failed mission.

[priceoftheduchess]

💜

Ghost's good little gf who's a bundle of sunshine, always so sweet and nice to everyone even the worst assholes.

Kill them with kindness, you said to him one day when he grumbled about it.

That's his explanation when Soap asked why the hell he engraved 'kindness' to his favorite gun. That's the gun's name, he simply replied.

[priceoftheduchess]

y’all seemed to enjoy this so i’m starting part two tonight! 🩷

Light as a Feather;

Stiff as a Board.

jaguar hybrid!simon x crow!hybrid

wc: 1.3k

warnings: swearing, no smut yet!, teenage simon is a meanie, parental abandonment, internalized prejudice

a/n: never written hybrid stuff before! but special thanks to @quarterlifekitty (i was that anon asking for help hehe heyyy….) and @crazyweirdnoodles for all of their advice and help! :P idk what this is but enjoy. prob gonna be a slow burn

Wren’s father had always been honest with her. There was a possibility that she was going to grow up, spread her wings and fly — only for them to be clipped by the people around her. She was born wailing, begging for relief instantaneously. Her father thought that maybe she was safe. Maybe she’d be spared of the consequences of his lineage. Maybe she could grow up to lead a normal life and leave her father and his birthright baggage behind.

But a shiny, black feather sprouted from the skin of her back when she was fourteen, and he knew he was fucked. Blood dripped softly from the new growth, and Wren was panicked. No amount of honesty could’ve prepared her for this. Her mother left, unable to handle the cruel reality of her half-blood daughter.

“No daughter of mine will spread wings and fly!” She’d cried out, packing her bag. Wren was disgruntled, confused and desperately clawing at the wall her mother had built so suddenly. Clawing with talons. Nails that were just too tough, too sharp, to be humane. No soft touches, or cooing voices anymore. It was like Wren had been dropped from the clouds onto cold, dingy concrete.

Wren’s father wrapped her in his arms, trying to tune out the rough sobs that lurched from Wren’s chest. He’d clipped his own wings years ago, scarring himself beyond repair just to fit into the box that had been built. The box that didn’t fit ‘people’ like him and Wren.

And even two years later, a few weeks before Wren’s seventeenth birthday, her father could see the effect all of it continued to have on her. Her wings were fully grown now. No more blood, or tearing of skin. It was a cruel cycle. Everyday seemed to be a battle for her. Watching her father struggle with his own grief sent her spiraling. To clip or not to clip? She stood at the bathroom counter with exhaustion in her eyes, and enough unbridled emotion to snap her fragile wings with her bare hands. But she wouldn’t. She never could.

And so her seventeenth birthday arrived, and her father rapped his knuckles softly against her bedroom door. He stood on the other side, bouncing on his feet anxiously. He rolled his shoulders, wincing softly as he felt his scars rub against the blades there. Never an easy feeling to get used to.

Wren opened the door, rubbing sleep from her eyes and flapping her wings idly to straighten her feathers. She was a kinder, gentler vision of her mother. Big, round eyes that were a soft green color. Pale skin with freckles littering her face and arms. The other thing she got from her father was her crow-blood and her dark brown hair.

“Hm?” She asked, her voice raspy. Her father looked down at her once more, taking in the sight that he knew he might never see again.

“Happy birthday, Wren.” He smiled softly. He blinked a bit, his gaze distant and unsure. “I need to speak with you. Please get dressed and meet me at the table.” He nodded before turning away awkwardly and disappearing down the hall.

A nauseous feeling churned in her stomach as she slipped into a white, backless sundress and smoothed out her hair. Taking a large breath, she padded down the hall and found her father at the table — his finger anxiously tracing the rim of his mug.

“Dad?” She looked at him, her face twisted with worry.

“Wren.” He nodded, taking a moment before meeting her gaze. “I made coffee. You’ll probably want some.” He said cryptically, wincing as the back of the chair dug into the rough mounds in his back, left by at-home stitching of his wing scars.

“Okay, what the hell is going on? You’re never this… mysterious.” She snapped at him, her wings flapping a bit wildly as she got more upset.

“Control those damn things, Wren!” Her father snapped as things were flying off the dining table in front of her. “I don’t know why you act so uncivilized sometimes.” He scoffed. Wren knew he had some… internalized hatred for him and Wren’s kind, but he’d never taken it out like this. She stared at him blankly, her wings withdrawn at her back. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Sit down.” He ordered quietly.

She obliged, and he continued. “I signed you up for a program.”

“I know I’m not going to like this.” Wren said softly as her father slipped her a brochure.

Enlist Today! Hybrid-Friendly Military Training Program.

She scanned the rest of the brochure, her face growing angry.

“Oh, hell no! What is this? You fucking signed me up for some kind of draft?” Wren asked, absolutely astonished.

“Wren Elise, enough.” Her father gritted out. “Go make something of yourself. This town is no good for you, you know that! I clipped my wings because of this town, because of these prejudiced purebloods! Get the hell out of here before it’s too late. Go somewhere were we are tolerated. Somewhere were someone gives us the light of day.” She knew he had a point. She’d seen others like her — half-breeds, whether it be cat, dog, wolf, lion, whatever animal cursed their bloodline — living on the streets, losing jobs because of their lack of control over their lineage.

“Go somewhere where you don’t have to keep your wings tucked, goddamnit.” He finished his spiel. “Go pack your bags. The program starts next week.” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument. This was final. Wren was going to be at a strange camp with other hybrids. Other kinds like her. She walked back at her room, her footsteps soft.

***

Her father had dropped her off with a feigned neutrality, hugging her a bit too tight and giving her a ‘good-luck’ kiss to the temple before leaving. Unceremonious, like most things in her life.

Her room was barren. Barely a mattress, and an even sadder bedframe holding it up. She’d bet herself that it would fall apart within the week. She unpacked her clothes, hanging them up with some military-issued plastic hangers. No surprise that they were as flimsy as the rest of the place looked.

She began to explore. It was a large plot of land littered with warehouses, used for miscellaneous things. One was for training, a large warehouse bare except for some targets and dummies. One used as a medical wing. One used as a cafeteria or mess hall. One used for recreational activities. And one for barracks, with some offices at the back of this one.

She was walking around, her outfit simply another backless dress and some white slip on shoes. She’d also butchered one of her father’s old denim jackets before she left, allowing her space in the back to slip her wings in. She’d shrugged it on over the dress.

She returned to the recreational building, finding it mostly empty save for a few others. She rocked back and forth on her feet before walking to the couch, and plopping down. She looked to the other end, seeing a young blond man sitting with his bag between his legs, presumably sleeping. He was built, broad shoulders and legs. Large hands and soft, round spots covering his skin.

“Hi,” she said, lacking any ability to read the room.

He looked up, tired. His eyes were pure umber, and his gaze was skeptical. He grunted at her, his face expectant.

“I’m Wren,” she smiled softly, waving at him.

“Don’t care.” He shrugged, laying his head back and dozing off again.

At least he was honest..?

Wren nodded, leaning back and staring into the ceiling. Oh, boy, was she excited.

[priceoftheduchess]

this is adorable!

Maine Coon Cat!König living alone in his den, generally unbothered until Bunny!Reader shows up during a storm, seeking shelter under the overhang of his home. Wet, cold and with an injured leg, König takes pity on her and brings her inside.

MCCat!König who doesn't really have many veggies lying around, but he does have some fruit. He watches Bunny!Reader's cheeks grow chubby as she stuffs them with bananas and canned nectarines. Poor thing, she must have been starved. He gives her a can of strawberries as well, which she neatly tucks away in her raincoat. He does not question her about it.

MCCat!König who, after he feeds Bunny!Reader, carefully rolls up the fabric of her pants to inspect and disinfect the nasty cut on her calf, taking the opportunity to give a closer look to her as a whole. He finds himself enchanted with the long, fluffy ears that droop around the sides of her head. Even wet, they still look enticing, cotton-soft and he wants to brush them, rub his cheeks against them, kiss them, pull them, bite them-

MCCat!König who manages to make Bunny!Reader a little nest to sleep in out of spare pillows and blankets, the crackle of the flames dancing in the fireplace lulling her to sleep. He watches her for a while and nearly purrs with delight when she rolls over in her sleep and reveals the round little scut that he'd like to use as a stress ball.

MCCat!König whose big ears twitch as he hears the sound of his front door opening in the morning, knowing Bunny!Reader must have slipped out into the woods again and it makes his heart pang just a little before he resumes his everyday life.

MCCat!König who is absolutely flabbergasted when a week passes and there's a knock on his door behind which stands Bunny!Reader and her three little buns. Without a word, she ushers them inside before disappearing into the woods. He isn't sure what to do. He has half a mind to run after her, but he fears leaving the buns alone would give them an opportunity to cause mischief and he'd rather not come back and find his den on fire. He stays, letting them sit in his big lap and play with his tail that sometimes tickles them on their twitchy little noses, so similar to their mother's. They're very messy eaters too - they seem to love strawberries, little fingers and cheeks sticky with their juice.

MCCat!König who is equally relieved and enraged when Bunny!Reader finally shows up hours later with a satchel of herbs and veggies for her babies who are currently bundled up in the nest he reassembled. He is about to tell her off, inform her that he isn't a babysitter when she stands on her tiptoes and nuzzles his nose ever so gently, difusing his anger completely. He barely blinks before she's off to check on her buns, satisfied with the state she finds them in - alive, with full bellies and sleeping.

MCCat!König who slowly gets used to Bunny!Reader dropping off her kids at his doorstep and watching them for a day or two before she comes back and expresses her gratitude via soft gesture such as nuzzle or a cheek kiss.

MCCat!König who sometimes makes Bunny!Reader stay in the den with the buns to go on a veggie/herb hunt himself, just so she can spend some quality time with them. He can not pinpoint the exact moment he became so whipped for her.

MCCat!König who starts leaving the nest out permanently because he knows Bunny!Reader won't stop coming around and neither will her buns anytime soon (he'd miss them greatly if they did).

MCCat!König who lets Bunny!Reader sleep in the spare cot (that he built just for her) in his room until she decides one night that sleeping beside him would be more comfortable. He does not try to object this in the slightest, not when he can finally feel her fluffy ears against his face.

MCCat!König who regularly grooms the buns' hair and furry ears and Bunny!Reader's as well with his coarse tongue, thinking he's displaying dominance over her. He has no idea she thinks she is the one in charge by letting him groom her.

MCCat!König who's suddenly not alone anymore. The quiet days of his den are over as it's now filled with laughter and chattering of the three little buns who have began to call him "Papa". He never knew two simple syllables could bring him so much joy...and then there's Bunny!Reader, with her genius manipulative tactics that involve licks, kisses and adorable tiny stomps of her feet when she wants something done her way. He would not trade her for anything in the world.

MCCat!König who slowly starts thinking his den is too big for just the five of them...and that perhaps he and Bunny!Reader should start working on some kitten siblings for the buns.

[priceoftheduchess]

obsessed w bird hybrids rn!! please enjoy ❤︎

Johnny had heard of them all his life. Hybrids. Half-animal, half-humans, but he’d always just saved the thought for his silly little werewolf Halloween movies. He just couldn’t bring himself to actually believe that they were real. Until he was recruited into the SAS, and eventually TF141.

They were working on a mission that had ended up going beyond them. Beyond their human abilities. So, they started taking hybrid-only applicants to TF141.

Some were half-human, half-wolf. Some were half-human, half-lion. Some were half-human, half-reptile variants. But none of them were you.

You, a sweet little crow-hybrid. Expansive, dark brown wings with feathers that were soft to the touch, and luxurious in their feel sprouting from your back. Johnny was sure someone would’ve paid you millions to pluck feathers from your wings, with how gorgeous they looked.

But besides the wings, you were gorgeous. Pale skin with freckles littered everywhere, and soft, round eyes capable of stealing anyone’s heart. But especially Johnny’s — the ol’ sap. And your body, all soft edges and plush skin. Your nails were sharp, resembling talons, but you kept them tucked at your sides. Cute little thing.

And you were smart. Intelligent to a fucking T, and Johnny thought it was so hot.

TF141 did some trial training with you, and you passed like a champ. You were swift, fast-thinking on your feet, and just impressive.

You held an onslaught of talents that amazed Johnny. Night vision, mimicry, and even a fleeting use of psycho-metry that wowed them all. You read a memory from Kyle’s first birthday just from touching a scarf, for God’s sake!

Price noticed Johnny’s little crush right away. He kept Johnny on a short leash, praying and hoping that Johnny’s overbearing tendencies wouldn’t scare you away. But thankfully, they didn’t. You barely even noticed, you sweet bird.

Johnny spoke to you for the first time about a month after you were officially moved in, as overwhelming as it was for him to keep his distance and allow you time to adjust. He simply brushed your wing and apologized.

“Mm, sorry bonnie. Dinnae mean to brush ye wing,” he chuckled softly, pouring himself some coffee with shaky hands. He wasn’t even allowed to drink coffee anymore.

“Not a problem, Johnny. They’re a hazard sometimes.” You joked and smiled. He nodded and played it off, but his body was thrumming under the attention. He walked back to his room, half-chub at the thought of you just saying his name again.

He was hopelessly in love with you, birdy, and he was surprised that — for all the endless intelligence you had — you never caught his glances or picked up on all his touchiness.

Simple smoothing of your feathers, or grabbing your waist as he passed behind you, or reaching into the cabinet above you and invading your space. All of it. Little things. Little breadcrumbs he’d leave for his birdy.

[priceoftheduchess]

thinking about bf!simon who loves gaming. mario kart, skyrim, fallout, halo, etcetera. and his sweet little dove girlfriend!reader who loves knitting and crocheting. she has baskets of yarn and years’ worth of old needles she’s collected over her decade long hobby. she’s constantly doing it, but she loves doing it most while her and simon are relaxing in the living room.

and recently, simon has gotten into dark souls. so, here he is with his little dove, his fists shaking as he grips the controller and his jaw clenches as the ‘YOU DIED’ screen taunts him again. his baby doesn’t even notice, humming to the music she’s playing from her phone on the side table — and crocheting simon another jumper for their upcoming winter. simon is two in-game deaths away from real-life suicide attempt and attempted arson on his own console. but his dove catches his eye and pokes her tongue out at him, her way of a greeting. he’s still fuming when she speaks up.

“isn’t it so nice to relax like this together?”

relax?! how are you relaxing?! simon is actually fighting for his life, but he nods, his fists still shaking as his controller lets out a noise in protest.

“yes, dove. so relaxing.” he dies again.

‘YOU DIED.’

“oh, no, baby! it’s okay! second times a charm!” she comforts, kissing his cheek as she sees the death screen for the first time.

he nods, his eye twitching.

twelfth 2nd times a charm, dove. that’s right.

[priceoftheduchess]

I SECOND THIS MOTION

and he would be a cheeky bastard too and deny it later

“soap, i literally know what you’re doing, you do it everytime i reach over the table,”

“dinnae be so perverted, bonnie. dirty minded little lassie,” he’d tut at you, flipping the script and acting all disappointed like while you give him the blankest stare fucking ever.

soap the type of guy to pretend to give u backshots if u lean over a counter

[priceoftheduchess]

thinking about how my tf141 husband’s name in my phone would be “hubnasty” or “my little freak” and they would all be so out of touch and confused but supportive nonetheless at their silly little wife

[priceoftheduchess]

thinking about cbf!simon who is best friends with your parents. him and your mom sassily side-eye your new boyfriend, and he always calls your dad to complain about the new development in british politics (“damn tories”). he proposed to you in grade school and he’s still trying to hold true to being your husband but your silly little boyfriend is getting in the way! :( good thing you two break up and you find yourself crying in simon’s flat, and he makes you a bowl of ice cream while happily texting your mom.

[priceoftheduchess]

eek! i’m sorry this is smut (*-*)

cw: pegging AGHH

(1/2; john & simon)

John Price:

“John?” You ask innocently over some dinner, sitting on the couch with your husband as he pores over some bank statements. He hums curiously, his glasses perched on his nose.

“Have you ever been fucked?” You ask, and he slowly turns his head to meet your gaze.

“Me?” He asks, taking his glasses off completely. He’s a bit taken aback. You nod and he blinks slowly. “Can’t say I have.”

“What if we changed that?” You ask, and he’s even more intense in his gaze than he was before.

“What’re you sayin’, dove?” He asks, tucking the documents away into a folder and setting them on the table.

“C’mon, John,” you set your dinner aside. You stand, gently gesturing for him to get up by tugging at his shirt. He obeys and follows you to the bedroom. You feel it: he’s tense, he’s hesitant, but he’s curious. The air in the bedroom is intimate as you instruct John to lay down slowly and undress himself. He is naked as the day he was born, per your instructions, as he lays down on his back.

“I might be too old for this. New tricks ‘n’ all.” He remarks from the bed as you stand in the closet, pulling the silicone toy to sit correctly on your pubic mound. It’s average size, and not too intimidating. But John sees you as you step out of the closet and he blanches. This is what you meant?!

“Never too old,” you smile as you climb into bed, nude yourself. You reach into the nightstand and pull out some lubricant — ignoring John’s soft onslaught of questions — and setting it aside for in a moment.

You lean over his body slow, feeling pride in being about to dominate such a large, powerful man. Even if only for tonight. Your hands traced his body slow, kissing at the expanse of his hairy chest and down to his hips, biting softly at his love handles. He’s already so blissed out, and you’ve barely even touched him. He’s half-chub now, and you feel that he’s ready. So you reach a free hand down to his hole, and open him up softly — adding fingers as you go.

John is torn. Between giving into this newfound pleasure and taking back his dignity. But he gives up on his pride quickly when the cold lube hits his hole. He shivers softly and looks up at you, pupils blown and lips parted softly. His whole body is so warm, he’s on fire. He’s looser now, and you slowly tease him with the silicone. He moans, already trying to spread himself more for you.

This is strange. John laid out beneath you, silently begging for more of what you’re teasing him with. You slip the tip in, and he’s already chasing the feeling, bucking his hips to try and bury you in. You shake your head, pressing a hand over his belly-button — holding him down.

“I gotta go slow, baby.” You explain, gently moving your hips back and forth, giving John time to loosen and open up.

After a moment of adjusting, you sink to the hilt and John is gone. He’s sure he’s died and gone to Heaven. He’s the hardest he’s probably ever been, and it’s leaking obscenely against his stomach and he’s stroking himself as you bully into his hole over and over again.

His little noises are new, but God, are they nice. “More,” he’d moan, bucking his hips for more friction. “Fuck,” he’d cry out. His back arched and his toes curled as you gave it to him like he gave it to you.

He’s panting, heaving and sweating and his face is so flushed and he has never looked hotter. He eventually comes with his spend landing all over his chest and his stomach, and he’s so blissed out as you go to rinse off the silicone.

You come back to bed after tucking the toy away, snuggling up to his side. “Wasn’t that nice?” You muse, and he nods. His voice is gruff as he responds.

“Very nice, luv. Fuck. We gotta do ‘at more often.” You giggle, going to respond before you hear a soft snoring. Can you blame him, dove? You wore him out six ways to Sunday.

Simon Riley:

He’s cleaning out you guy’s big, shared closet when he finds the box that the strap came in. He opens it, to find it still wrapped and unused — as if you’re saving it for something, no, someone — and dots start connecting in his head. He knows three things are true.

1) This thing is brand new, ordered behind his back.

2) He is the only man in your life. And has been for a while.

3) Your two-year anniversary is next week.

Jesus, fuck.

Is this the surprise you’ve been planning? The thing you’ve been dancing around? The thing he’s been teased about? He doesn’t know if he should toss this and hide it away or succumb to his curiosity.

I mean, you’ve never led him astray before.

Maybe this could be nice?

You come home from work, sauntering to the bedroom where he lays — watching some trashy reality show. (He will always deny that he was watching it.) You slip into some pyjamas and toss your work clothes in a corner before sliding into bed with him. He sighs, his hand finding purchase on your ass as he wraps his arm around you.

“I found something today.” He says, a hint of a smile in his voice. You already know by his tone.

“I bet you did.”

“So, you wan’a try ‘at, aye?” He asks and you nod. You’re a bit caught off guard by the way he’s already standing and undressing himself.

“You want to try it now?” You ask, sitting up.

“Want to give my bird whatever she wants.” He answers, and it feels so Simon. Like, he’s clinging to you like a life raft and if his last breath was spent underneath you — he’d be content. You nod, and retreat to grab the new toy from the closet. The prep is relatively easy, slipping it on over your thighs and securing it.

Simon is on the edge of the bed, half-chub, when you come back.

“On your hands and knees,” you order, trying to get used to the newfound authority you have. He looks at you — amused and surprised — before obeying.

You slot yourself behind him with a bottle of lube, prepping him with a few fingers. He’s grunting even at this.

He’s finally loose enough, so you align the toy and slip it in, burying ‘yourself’ to the hilt. He lets out a groan, and is already breathing heavily as he shoves his face into the pillow to muffle himself. You tug his hair back, tutting and freeing his face.

“Need to hear you, pretty boy,” you say, finding a steady rhythm and Simon is convinced he’s died and gone to Heaven, jerking himself dryly as you work behind him. He’s done in ten minutes flat, his face red and his body heaving.

“I have never,” he starts, shocked. “Never came that fast.” You giggle, tucking the toy back into the closet and shrugging.

“You always need to trust me.”

“Mm, you can lead me blind in the dark, luv, and I’d fookin’ trust you.” You giggle and Simon is asleep, his face buried in your tits, in barely any time at all.

[priceoftheduchess]

i second this motion

"you've already left kudos here. :)" ok and I'll leave some more. You got a problem? Because in my opinion, this work is so good and the author totally deserves it

[priceoftheduchess]

everyone give her a round of applause now.

A thotty thought about a Mr. John Price below, 18+, female!reader

Price is the type to casually cup your mound with his hand. 

You’re laying on the couch with him, back leaned against his chest, your ass perched on his thigh and legs slotted between his parted knees. And his hand is just pushing its way between your thighs, casually resting between your legs.

And it is casual for him, just as normal as wrapping his arm around your shoulder or rubbing his hand against your waist. It’s not intended to be a sexual touch (but it is a plus if you just so happen to get wet enough that he can feel the dampness through your clothes).

He’ll tell you it’s just because it’s a warm spot, his hand squished between your plush thighs, and maybe that’s part of it but you know it’s feeding his possessive nature to be able to have his hand over your most intimate area while the TV drones on and he nurses his whiskey with his free hand.

If you whine or gently push at his wrist because he's being such a tease, he’ll shush you and press his hand against you more, palm rounded against your clothed sex.

“Shhh, lemme hold ‘er.” His voice is a gruff sound in your ear as you shift a bit on his lap, trying to ignore the way his voice makes everything inside you flare with heat. He presses a ghost of a kiss to your temple before his warm, cigar-scented breath fans over you as he speaks again, “She’s mine, isn’t she?” He punctuates this with a gentle tap to your pussy.

You better give him the right answer to that or he’ll spend the rest of the night proving it.

Please don’t tell me you can tell I’ve never even held hands with a man romantically lol… baby's first smut fanfic