#141 band au

[franabz]

★ Moth to a flame Band141!AU part 2

(part 1)

Ghost wasn't very sure why he was suddenly so drawn to the absolutely bonnie young woman on stage, but something about her was like a moth to a flame to him in ways he couldn't really understand.

Maybe it wad the way she seemed absolutely terrified, practically hitching with every step she took on stage in front of rows of (mostly drunken) bar patrons. You'd almost feel sorry for how she was practically shaking like a leaf as the stage manager handed off her own mic and her eyes nervously darted over the crowds with a tremble in her knees.

The lead vocalist, Vixen, didn't seem as amused as the rest though. She subtly took a step back and nudged you with her elbow, snapping you a "Don't fuck up" look that made you swallow thickly. One by one each member of the band got to their respective places, then Vixen's voice pitched into the mic through the speakers. "Thank you all for having us here tonight!" She grinned widely, obviously thinking highly of herself in the moment.

"How 'bout tae brunette? She looks like'a bonnie lass." Soap commented, resting his forearms over the wooden table as he nodded towards one of the other female band members, the bassist stage named Robin. "We're lookin' for a vocalist, not 'nother bassist." Price sighed, taking another drag of his cigar before tapping it against an ashtray to take a sip of his whiskey. Gaz and Ghost were mostly silent, simply observing the potential candidates. At least Gaz seemed alive in his thoughts, his brows raised slightly in curiosity as the music finally began. Ghost however, ever the stone-faced man, was completely unreadable, per usual.

An upbeat and funky rhythm sounded through the speakers as each band member performed their parts with practiced ease, everyone giving it their all. Vixen's captivating alto voice being the main focus. You did your best to stay on-par with the rest of the band, yet remained significantly quieter. Ghost kept his eyes trained on you with laser focus, seemingly keeping a mental note of every flat, shaky note you managed to spew out like he was some sort of critic. "She's good." Gaz uttered quietly while resting his chin in his palm, subtly head bobbing to the beat. "Ah dinnae ken... Ye can barely even hear 'er over the blonde." Soap gestured a hand towards Vixen, watching as she was blatantly trying to steal the spotlight over the other band members, her voice considerably louder than the instruments. Price simply watched with a critical eye. You could practically hear the gears moving in his head.

Little by little you finally started breaking from that timid shell you were curled in and your true colors began to shine, your captivating soprano vocals mixing with Vixen's alto tone rather nicely, though it was obvious she was still trying to overpower you. Nonetheless you delivered with such soulful grace that rang out in the ears of patrons even after the song ended. Almost like a siren drawing in unsuspecting victims.

Though Price didn't say anything, it was obvious his face said it all. "I have to talk to her."

"Soprano and baritone? Not a bad combo." Gaz chipped in. "Wot's what mean?" Ghost finally spoke up, gruffly scowling as he tapped his foot against the wooden flooring below.

"Bloody 'ell, pipe down." Price grunted, waving away his smoke as well as waving away the chatter of the boys.

The rest of the performance the boys were relatively quiet, each going through their own inner turmoil. Well, everyone but Soap. He couldn't care less who joined as long as they were a decent person. As the band finally finished and the final notes rang in the air, the band roared in applause and cheers, some drunken bar-goers even going as far as to throw catcalls. As soon as the band finished and Vixen began addressing the audience while the others began loading off stage— "Be right back." Price put out his cigar and took one last swig of his drink before weaving his way through crowds with a small occasional "S'cuse me" or "Pardon me" just to get a chance to talk with you.

Sure she was as timid as a butterfly, but nothing some good practice and encouragement couldn't fix.

As Price disappeared into the crowd, Soap stood up to head back towards the bar to order some more drinks, leaving just Ghost and Gaz.

"So, what'd ya think, Si?" He smirked, his eyes flickering back up to meet Ghost's own gaze. Ghost stayed silent for a moment, avoiding Gaz's gaze slightly. He actually did enjoy the performance, though he would never admit that out loud. "T'was fine." He replied quietly, tapping a blunt fingernail against his empty glass. "Fine? That's all you can say? The girl gotta voice of siren. Bloody captivating."

He leaned back in his booth, the slight sound of denim rubbing against leather could be heard over the distant bar chatter. "Only the first band n' Price already has his eyes on a bird." Ghost subtly eye-rolled and met Gaz's brown eyes for a second, before drifting his gaze away as his eyes roamed over the crowds again, trying to find the girl Price went to talk to.

Meanwhile with Price, he managed to stop you in your tracks with his usual straight to the point charm, one that made you cock a brow subtly.

"Hey- I jus' wanted to say you hav'a lovely singin' voice, mate. A true talent." Price smiled respectfully, tucking a hand into his jeans pocket as his gaze stayed trained over you. "Ah... Thank you, sir." You replied with a small sheepish chuckle, idly fiddling with a loose string on the hem of your jeans at the compliment. Price could notice your unease and chuckled gruffly, finding it a bit amusing how sheepish you were. "Don' worry, lass. I don't bite." He reassured, a small amused huff escaping his lips. "Look, I won't sugarcoat this. I thin ya 'ave true potential, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in a little meeting, eh?" He pulled a small business card from his pocket and held it out for you between his rough fingers.

You glanced down at the card and could feel your face warming at the offer. "A business offer? Hell- I could barely hold a steady note..." You thought to yourself, before quickly snapping out of your stray thoughts and swallowed thickly, hesitantly reaching for the card. "We're currently lookin' for a secondary singer 'nd thought you'd fit in nicely. All of my details're on the card." Price added, handing the card off to you before folding his arms over his chest, watching your reaction.

You accepted the card in shaky hands, your eyes roaming over the "141" label in jagged fonts. "Right... I'll think about it." You muttered, before placing the card into your own pocket and looking back up at the man, exhaling deeply to release some nerves. "Thank you." You added quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"F'course, lass. Hey, you have a true talent. We could use s'meone like you on our side." Price hummed, satisfaction crossing over his face at your acceptance.

You both respectfully bid farewells and went your separate ways, Price returning to the secluded booths and you being left to stand against the wall with your own thoughts. You couldn't lie, the offer was something that definitely caught your attention, but then again you were still technically in a band. Would they even notice if you left? You were barely even noticeable on stage anyways... Maybe if you—

"Y/N!" A familiar voice snapped you out of your inner turmoil, that of Vixen; better known as Crystal. "Where were you? We're packing up for the night." She sneered, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at you, almost silently judging you. "You're lucky you didn't completely blow it tonight. Everyone was too focused on me to care, anyways." Her comments definitely tugged at your gut, but you decided not to say anything about it.

"Right, sorry." You sighed, silently resenting Crystal for her constant jabs, though you couldn't say you didn't expect it. "Damn right you are. Now hurry up, Jayce is paying our tab." She stuck her nose up subtly, before turning on her heel to walk away. Your expression stiffened as she walked away, a small exhausted exhale leaving your lips.

You took one last look around the bar, your eyes falling over the booths where 141 was currently sitting, laughing it up and sharing drinks and smokes while other bands were loading on stage, before your eyes returned to the front of the bar where Crystal and the others were waiting. You patted the pocket that Price's business card was in and let out a controlled inhale, before slowly weaving through the crowds to get to them.

Though the thought of the offer hadn't left your mind yet.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Metal Band AU

Because its been rotting my brain :^)

Soap, drums/vocals shares lead vocals equally, how this man can drum and sing at the same time is beyond anyone else. Never wears a shirt.  He and Gaz banter back and forth on stage a bit. Managed to break his sticks every other show. Dumps bottles of water on himself mid-show to cool off (you can literally see the steam coming off of him). Surprisingly does most of the lyrical writing for the group.  He always does the little thank you speech and introduces everyone at the end. Jumps onto Ghost's back every time they leave stage. The larger man carries him dutifully. 

Gaz, rhythm guitar/ lead vocals. Can't stop moving around stage. Bouncing between the others. Is grinning the entire time. Fucks with Price and Ghost during their solos, flirtatiously leans on them, rubs their chest, hugs a leg dreamily.  Chatty, loves to start a pit. Mostly just throws in genuine “Thank yous’” between every song. Playfully shoos away Ghost away from his center stage like a little brat after Ghost’s solo. Plays the piano for the trademark ballad. Flirts with the crowd while on stage. 

Price, Bass/backing vocals. Sickening in how well he plays, not super energetic on stage, most of its pacing and occasionally propping a leg up on a speaker. Rarely talks, but does play a bit with the crowd. Pointing, giving cheeky winks or blowing kisses. Wanders over to Gaz mostly, giving him a playful kick or nudge. Smiling warmly. Will climb down himself to pass off his pick to a lovely fan. He is dressed wildly different than that overall vibe of the band. Usually a flannel and beanie. 

Ghost, lead guitar. Absolutely shreds. Where’s the same exact outfit every time. Keeps the balaclava and hood up the entire show. All the fans have the hots for him bc of it.  No one knows how the hood stays with all the headbanging. (it’s velcro)  Semi-frightening on stage. Never speaks. Unphased by Gaz wallowing on him. He and Price move around each other with grace. Fans have noticed that he's the most playful with Soap. They do a bit where they trade places during certain songs. Ghost pretends to be exasperated with the shorter scott trying to steal his guitar. (They actually do pretty well on the others instrument). Occasionally he’ll chunk his extra picks at Price from across stage to fuck with him.

[harveywritings92]

{BAND-AIDS au: Rocky and Gaz telling the guys about their time in primary School.]

Gaz: When I was in year 3, we hid all the chalk from the classroom and told the teacher that the principal, for some reason, had came down and taken all the chalk to his office for something. She left to get some more, and came back to us revealing the prank. She was genuinely delighted since she hadn't been successfully April fooled in a long time.

Rocky: Meanwhile in the next classroom over, a teacher was kicked in the balls by some Lil’shite named Jeremy screaming "APRIL FOOLS!" 

Soap, wincing: Damn.

Ghost, crossing his legs: Fuuuck...

Gaz: Yeah, We never saw Jeremy after that, I wonder what happened to him?

Rocky: Oh you didn’t hear?

Gaz: Hear what?

Rock: I heard my nan, talking about it wit’ yer mum. apparently Jeremy’s kicked the teacher in a bad way, that it fucked up his ability to have kids... 

Gaz: Are you for real?

Rocky, nods: Yeah, He sued Jeremy’s family, they had move out to Nova Scotia cos of the scandal and teacher’s family was harassing them.

Gaz: Oh shit...

[hostilecandle]

So I also drew Pirate Captain Price for my little Au ive been sitting on

[hallo-anon]

Its me again! Thank you for feeding me writing!! I love all the head canons and ideas! I might write a one shot about this if thats ok with you!

-Sune Anon

I would potentially cry

If you do, please tag me♥︎

[gloomwitchwrites]

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle’s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@marispunk @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @waves-against-a-cliff @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[succubusvalentine]

Ghost Metal AU

Warnings ~ Porn with plot, Degradation, Oral {M&F}, face fucking, rough sex, mating press, fingering, piercings {M}, spitting, PiV, aftercare.

Word Count ~ 3.2k

You stood at the barrier that separates the crowd and the stage, your body practically vibrating with excitement. You spent nearly eight hours outside in order to get a good spot at the barrier. Why? Because 141 was playing.

The 141.

Soap on drums, Gaz on bass, Price on guitar, and your favourite, Ghost on lead guitar and vocals.

When you first heard 141 on your friends playlist, you were immediately obsessed.The way Ghosts voice sounded was incredible. Deep and gravelly, with a clear British accent, a Manchester accent you later figured out after stalking the entire band online.

So, as soon as your friend told you that the band was coming to play in your hometown, you immediately got tickets. They cost a fortune, but if it meant being noticed by Ghost, you’d be more than willing to spend your entire life savings.

You spent all day trying to find the perfect outfit for the concert, something that would stand out but blend in. A little slutty but not too much to make the band think you were just a desperate groupie wanting to get fucked. No, well, yes. You did want to get fucked. But you didn’t want the band to assume you were a groupie. 

You could care less about the opening act. Some up and coming metal band you couldn’t even remember the name of. You just wanted 141 to come out, and while yes you knew the chances of being noticed by the band were miniscule, you still clung to a sliver of hope that sat in the forefront of your mind. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, the stage lights lit up, the crowd filling with screams and shouts, your own scream following along, just as loud, if not, slightly louder.

All of the band except Ghost was on stage, and then you heard loud thudding. Like loud, slow footsteps, the crowd eerily silent in anticipation, before a final stage light lit up, and Ghost was right in fucking front of you. 

He was huge. He had these black thick looking boots that were intimidating but didn’t actually add to his height. He was wearing these leather pants that weren’t skin tight but his thighs were so muscular the pants hugged them deliciously, a chunky belt with spikes on it. His chest was bare, and he had some scars on his chest, served in the military, you remember. The 141 was made entirely up of military friends who all got honourably discharged. When your eyes finally flittered up to Ghost’s face, they widened as you noticed Ghost’s eyes on you, wolfish smirk gracing his lips. Your heart practically lept into your throat, the beat of it quickening drastically.

“How are we doing tonight?” Ghost asked into the microphone in front of him, finally taking his eyes off you. The crowd screamed enthusiastically in response to his question. But then, you heard the telltale sound of Soap hitting his drumsticks together three times, indicating the start of the concert.

Throughout the concert, you kept making eye contact with Ghost, everytime it happened, your stomach twisted in excitement. The first few times it happened, you assumed it was pure coincidence, you convinced yourself of that. But when Ghost looked over at you for the fifth time of the night and winked, you clocked that it was no coincidence. That Ghost had actually taken interest in you. 

As the final song finishes, you can’t help the disappointment that surges within your chest, but it’s quickly extinguished when Ghost looks down at you once more, gesturing his head to backstage, and you feel your skimpy panties become rapidly damp at the anticipation for what would happen when you went backstage. 

Once the crowd had filtered out enough that you could move over to the backstage area, you saw three burly men whom you assumed were bodyguards, and a crowd of mostly women, all in scantily clad clothing.

You managed to push forward to where the bodyguards were standing, and your brows furrow when they don't let you pass. “Um, Ghost asked me to come back here?” you squeaked, to which the bodyguards chuckled mockingly.

“Oh, really?” One of the bodyguards spoke up, opening his mouth to say something mocking.

“Yes, really.” A deep voice spoke from behind the bodyguards, clearly startling them. And a bunch of the women beside you let out screams when Ghost stepped forward, his chest and abs still glistening with sweat. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re coming with me” he spoke, holding a hand out towards you.

Your brain blue screened for a moment, before you took his hand, some of the women and even men beside and behind you were whining and protesting. Begging Ghost to take them backstage instead of you. It lit a fire of confidence within you.

“Holy shit” you whispered as Ghost pulled you through the backstage area, and he chuckled at your awe. 

“You that impressed, swee’eart?” Ghost asked, and you nodded dumbly, too starstruck to utter another word.

When Ghost pulled you into the green room, your eyes filled with further awe. The room smelled distinctly of whatever cologne Ghost used, cigarettes, and slightly of leather. 

“Saw you staring at me, lovie” Ghost rumbled from behind you, and you turned, looking up at him, lashes fluttering a little. 

“Well ‘m sure that there was plenty of people staring at you, kinda the point of a concert. Stare at a bunch of sweaty guys for two and a half hours” you quipped, which seemed to be the right thing to say, because Ghost smiled in amusement down at you. 

“You make a fair point, lovie. But, you were the only one out there staring at me that caught my attention” Ghost hummed. Reaching up and gliding his thumb up your jaw, successfully running a shiver down your spine. 

You knew that Ghost wasn’t one to sleep with groupies, that was more Soap and sometimes Gaz’s area. Price had said something in an interview about Soap and Gaz being younger, him and Ghost being older so they didn’t really need to sleep around a lot.

“Can practically hear you thinking, love. You wondering why I’m choosing to sleep with you, even though I don't normally sleep with groupies?” Ghost asked.

“I’m not a groupie,” you protested stubbornly, crossing your arms. “And…maybe, yeah. I am curious why you chose me to sleep with” you murmured.

“I’m sorry for my assumption, sweet thing. But to answer your question, I picked you because I could tell there was something different about you” Ghost hummed, raising a brow when you burst into giggles. “What’s got you giggling like a madwoman?” He asked. 

“It’s like I’m in some wattpad story, reading a book in the crowd and you notice me because you can tell there's something different about me” you joke, making yourself giggle harder. 

“Watt…pad?” Ghost asked.

“Forget it, can we just get on to the fucking part, now? My panties are soaked” you say, which makes Ghost smile and lean down slightly, sliding his hand up your thigh under your skirt and to the skimpy thong you had on, his fingers gliding against the soaked gusset of your panties, making you whine from the too little stimulation it gave you. Ghost’s lips met yours, sloppy, messy, but utterly brain numbing in the best way possible. There was a slight clack of teeth as you caught up and responded to the kiss. Your tongues meet and the disgustingly wet sounds filled the green room.

“Christ, you are soaked f’me, aren’t you” Ghost growled as he pulled away from the kiss, he trails his fingers back up and grazing the waistband of your thong, before they slide under the waistband and swipe them through your folds, pussy drooling with need. 

“Uh huh” you whine, nodding your head as your hands grasp Ghost’s muscular biceps to stabilise yourself. Your knees slightly shaky, before you look up at him. “C-Can i suck your dick?” You asked hopefully, making Ghost smile smugly, and he nodded, unbuckling the chunky belt that held up his pants, your eyes trained on his rough, calloused fingers. They were so fucking thick that one could probably amount to two of your own. 

You dropped to your knees, you’d regret that move in the morning when you woke up with a bruise on each knee, but at the moment, you blocked out the pain as Ghost finally got the belt open, tugging his black boxer briefs down just enough for his thick and heavy cock to slap up against his pelvis, then it bobs in front of your face a little. Almost hypnotising you.

Ghost’s cock was long, you expected it to be due to his tall stature, it was around eight inches long, relatively thick too, it was the biggest you’ve ever taken, and you were slightly worried for your throat, but that would be tomorrow's worry. Your brain seemed to finally process the silver glinting along his cock, you’d heard about that piercing. Jason’s ladder? No, Jacob’s ladder. 

There were four bars running up his cock, he was cut, with a reddish tip, you assume he must’ve been hard for a while, and the precum that was oozing from his tip made your mouth water. You were also surprised at the neatly groomed dirty blonde pubic hair at the base of his cock. Ghost struck you as an untamed jungle kind of guy.

“You gonna do something or just keep starin’?” Ghost rumbled above you, effectively snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You lean forward, looking up at Ghost through your lashes as you licked his tip in short, repetitive strokes, getting a taste for the pre that was drooling slowly from his slit. It was slightly bitter, you assumed from Ghost smoking. Your eyes land on the veins going up the underside of his cock, and you trace the thickest vein up to the tip, then, you slowly take him deeper and deeper into your mouth. Swallowing around him to suppress a gag.

“Fuck, lovie. You’re a natural, huh? Taking my cock so well” Ghost groaned, his large right hand going to the crown of your head. Encouraging you to take more of him. Your tongue gliding over the cold silver balls, sending a shiver down the guitarist's spine.

You moan around his cock as you take him deeper, which makes Ghost moan, rough and deep. You wanted to hear more, so you suppressed another gag and took him down your throat. Your eyes threaten to flutter shut, but you force them to stay open, your eyes trailing from Ghost’s deliciously thick, dirty blonde happy trail to his pleasure filled face. 

“Good fucking girl” Ghost moaned deeply, “touch yourself for me. Rub that little clit of yours while you take my fat cock down your throat” he demanded, making him whine in need, but you listen. You hastily shove a hand down the front of your skirt, into your panties. You dip your fingers to your hole to wet your fingertips, before dragging them back up to circle your clit. A pathetic whine vibrating around Ghost’s cock. 

“That’s it, just like that. Sucking my cock like you were made for it” Ghost growled, his hips thrusting into your mouth. “Gonna let me fuck your face? Let me use your mouth like you’re nothing but a warm hole for me to use?” he asked, and you pulled off his cock, wiping the drool from your chin. 

“Please” you beg, slightly surprised at how raspy your voice had already become. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it as your mouth was full of cock again. Ghost thrusted his hips repetitively, groaning with almost every thrust. 

You felt saliva drip down your chin, as well as Ghost’s balls hitting the underside of your chin with each thrust forward. Your moans getting more frequent around Ghost’s cock as you get closer to coming. Your fingers rubbing clumsy circles over your clit.

A loud gasp falls from your lips as Ghost suddenly pulls his cock free from your mouth and you get pulled to your feet. Your eyes fill with visible confusion as you take your fingers out of your panties, only for Ghost to grab your wrist and lift your hand to take the digits wet with the evidence of your desire into his mouth.

Your thighs clenched together at the feeling of his tongue laving over your fingers, watching Ghost’s eyes threaten to roll back from the taste of you. Your fingers once wet with your arousal, now wet with his saliva. 

“God, I need to eat your pretty little pussy,” Ghost groaned, lifting you with ease and setting you down on the couch in the green room. He kneels down in front of you, and his thick fingers tug your skirt down, then he grasps the waistband of your thong and moves it upwards. 

You give Ghost a confused look before you moan as the tightened fabric of your thong grinds against your clit. Your hole clenching in need. “Please!” you beg, voice whiny and pathetic to your own ears, although you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

“Please what?” Ghost asked, his eyes having a mischievous glint to them. “You need to be specific with what you’re asking for,” he tells you, causing your cheeks to redden.

“Please…eat my pussy” you murmur, pouting down at him. Your words making Ghost break out into a wolfish grin. 

He lowers his head, the hands holding the waistband of your thong pull it down. They then grab your thighs, spreading them wide. 

Ghost spreads your folds with his index and middle finger, and leans forward, licking a broad stripe up your cunt to get a taste. Tangy, sweet, and slightly salty. It makes his mouth water, so much so that he pulls away for a moment to spit directly on your clit, which makes your thighs twitch, and a guttural groan comes from you. 

Your hands reach down and tangle in his blonde hair, you squeak when Ghost thrusts his tongue into your hole, then drags his tongue up to circle your sensitive and swollen clit. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby” Ghost groaned, burying his face further into your cunt. His mouth sucks on your folds, tongue thrusts inside you, licks his tongue over your clit. It all felt like too much and yet not enough at the same time. 

“G-Ghost, please! Fingers, need y’fingers so bad” you whine, your brain getting desperate and horny “wanna be full of your fingers! Please please please!” You beg, gasping sweetly when Ghost finally pushes two of his thick fingers inside you. 

The burn from the stretch of his stupidly big fingers was there, but the pleasure from his fingers curling up and stroking your g-spot overpowered it immensely. Ghost wasn’t afraid to be rough with his fingers, the wet squelching sounds of your pussy reacting to his touch made you blush, but it also made your clit throb in his mouth and walls clench around his fingers. 

You let out a frustrated whine as Ghost slows his fingers and tongue to a stop, before pulling away fully and standing up, looking down at you. 

“Need to feel you come on my cock, baby” Ghost growled, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs and hips as he spoke. You nodded your head, lips parting. 

“‘M on birth control,” you murmured, desperate to feel the piercings on his cock against your walls. “I promise, I’m on birth control,” you said, noting the suspicion in Ghost’s eyes. He had every reason to be suspicious. People try to baby trap celebrities all the time. 

“I’m gonna trust you, sweet girl, but tomorrow I’m gonna take you out to breakfast and also to get a plan B pill. Just in case” Ghost said softly, moving some of your sweat-damp hair from your forehead. 

You nodded in agreement, trying to brush off the breakfast comment, you weren’t convinced that you were that special.

Ghost lined himself up with your entrance, hooking your legs over his shoulders, making you slouch slightly on the couch. 

“Alright” Ghost whispered, slowly starting to thrust into your cunt “big stretch, baby” he drawled out, relishing in the gasps and whimpers of pleasure you gave him as his fat cock filled you, a deep moan ripping from your chest as his tip kissed your cervix. 

“So fucking big” you gasped, your nails digging into his back, panting a few times before sighing in ecstasy, becoming putty in Ghost’s arms. “Piercings feel so…so good” you whisper, eyes fluttering. The silver balls brushed up against your wall, making you whine, legs twitching on Ghost’s shoulders. 

“Atta girl, taking my cock to the hilt like you were made for it” Ghost groaned, cradling the back of your head with his large hand to make sure you wouldn’t hit your head awkwardly on the firm back of the couch. “You feel so good around me, so fucking tight and wet” he moaned. 

You gasped and clawed at Ghost’s back as he started thrusting. His thrusts getting faster and rougher with each jerk of his hips. Your pussy was sopping wet, every thrust caused a wet sound to emit from your hole.

Your brows furrowed in confusion when Ghost paused for a moment, a squeal coming from you as he practically folded you in half. Your eyes roll back with another gasp, then squeal as Ghosts thrusts get all that more intense. 

“Ghost-I-oh my God!” You cried out, frantically grabbing at his shoulder blades in pleasure. 

“Not Ghost, baby. Simon, use my name. Need to hear you scream my fucking name” Ghost growled, nipping at your neck.

“S-Simon!” You cried out, your eyes rolling back, your hips bucking up, which in turn made sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine. 

“That’s it” Ghost chuckled, thrusting deeply and harshly “you’re doing so well, so fucking well” he groaned, his balls slapping against your ass which each thrust forward. 

“My clit” you beg “please! Please rub my clit. So close, so so close!” you keened.

Ghost reached between you and rubbed your nub in small quick circles with his thumb, your pussy spasming around his cock. “Simon!” You screamed, your orgasm washing over you like a tsunami, starting in your cunt, and spreading like wildfire up your body and even through your fingertips. 

“Fuck!” Ghost cursed, his brows knitting together as his thrusts get desperate and sloppy “gonna fucking come, gonna come, fuck!” he growled, burying his cock to the hilt inside your still sensitive pussy, his seed coating your walls. Ghost thrusted a few times before pulling out, which in turn made you whine from overstimulation, grimacing at the feeling of Ghost’s cum dripping from your pussy.

“Here we go” Ghost murmured, cleaning up your pussy with some tissues he got from the coffee table in the room. His eyes flickering over your naked body, admiration in his eyes.

“Hardest i’ve ever come in my life” you giggled, smiling dumbly up at Ghost, who merely chuckles and shakes his head, kissing you gently.

Once you were tidied up, clit still throbbing a little, Ghost pulls you to lie down on top of him on the couch. his large hand stroking your spine gently, occasionally pressing kisses to your hairline while he praised you, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

[void-my-warranty]

141 rapid fire polls: Ghoap builder

[sevs-corner]

Yall what if— Tf 141: Actor AU!

WAHAHAHHAHAHA ANOTHER TIME BUT LIKE I’VE BEEN WATCHING THE ACTUAL ACTORS INTERVIEWS AND MAHN DO I WANNA MAKE A SLICE OF LIFE VERSION OR SMTH WHOLESOME FOR THE TF 141 GANG

Ok, brainrotting time go brrrrr

I can just imagine how Ghost and Soap are trying to make so many jokes during the “Alone” mission that it takes too long for the editing team to pick which one should make the cut so they decide to make a duck race of what they should put in

Gaz and Price actually doing the swimming mission and Gaz shrieking like a girly because a seaweed latched onto him- making cling onto Price who (unceremoniously) couldnt hold onto him and sunk

Graves trying so hard to be mean to Soap, but because the camera doesnt catch Soap face, he’s pouting and pulling the biggest dog eyes that it makes it impossible for Graves to be mean, making Ghost sigh and do it free of charge

You cannot tell me how Graves doesn’t make the funniest one liners while in the AC-130 (and even does the joke for fun too- and he also subsequently blames Smosh for the other plane jokes)

Ghost and Price makes the wackiest references in their dialogue with their duos that its impossible for them to not break character (assuming that they’ve been playing the OG games)

“Y’know I thought Soap would kill Shepherd.”

“Yeah nah mate, he died first.”

“SINCE WHEN???”

(Soap being so confused until he got the news and wailed)

Alejandro and Rudy would be the despicable duo of pranking people and inserting their own references in spanish, making the translation team snicker

The stunt coordinator would always sigh at how clumsy and clunky Soap and Gaz are (they’re new) but surprisingly Ghost too (but in this case he’s forgetful)

Like, he’d combat roll into a room instead of checking it with a flash band first— which the other actors take the opportunity to fake shoot him and Ghost acting along and dying

His final words always being directed to the dead Johnny of 2011 (which pisses off the current Johnny because both aren’t even DEAD)

Price is the captain in AND out of the set, asking for a coconut water but end up getting a coke and water from Simon

Farah and Alex are tied to the hip (they are BESTIES), and sometimes they get so used to being in character that the reflexive “yes ma’am” from Alex makes Farah laugh and act as if she was his boss

(Aka becomes the 2nd Price of the set)

Alex would also join into the shenanigans of Alejandro and Rudy (Graves would surprisingly join in sometimes, especially when it involves Soap) and dresses up as an extra to surprise ambush “the player” (aka pov of soap or gaz)

Making the set, a forever halloween jump-scare fiesta

(Anyways word vomit lol)

[franabz]

★ A fresh start Band141!AU

(part 4)

The days following your note of leave were completely silent, though you couldn't help but say you weren't surprised. You couldn't deny the twisting pain in your gut every time you stumbled across more posts about your former band and their newest member, your replacement. It always hurt to see how they were seemingly doing much better with "Sadie" than they were ever doing with you. They never once really gave you a second glance, simply seeing you as an extra burden to carry due to your stage fright, and always put that against you during gigs. It was about time for a fresh start.

"Is Y/N gonna freeze up again?" Followed by stupidly sickening snickers of agreement. You hated it.

Constantly overshadowed by your former bandmates, you were sick of it. Sick of being overcasted as just another voice, another unheard opinion, another burden.

After weeks of thoughtful consideration, you finally snatched up that 141 business card that had been collecting dust on your bedside table and walked over to your desk, plopping down in your chair with a heavy sigh and letting your eyes roam over the wording one last time, before finally biting the bullet and giving it a call, your hand subtly shaking in anxiety as your fingers dialed the number on the card.

You listened to the tone dial for a few moments, knee bouncing slightly in anticipation, feeling like every moment passing was hours.

"Price! Ye phone is ringin!'" Soap shouted from across the couch in Price's flat with Gaz. Price looked up from over the kitchen counter where he was currently nursing a cigar over an ash tray. As for Ghost, he was out doing god knows what. He was never the verbal guy. "Who is it?" John grunted, weary eyes flickering up to meet Soap's gaze with a small sigh. Soap glanced over at the phone once again. Gaz as well looked up curiously from his spot in the kitchen, downing a bottle of water while leaning against the counter. "Some unknown number." He replied, rolling to lay on his belly, and resting his chin in his palm. Price sighed again, setting his cigar down onto the ashtray on the counter and exhaling the smoke through his nose, before crossing the room to his phone and picking it up off the coffee table and bringing it to his ear. "Hello?" He placed a hand on his hip, glancing out the window as he listened to a familiar voice croak through the phone, immediately recognizing it as the young bird he met at the bar during the band night.

"Hey... Is this, uh... John Price?" You spoke sheepishly, twirling a strand of hair around your finger to try and take your mind off of the crippling fear of rejection despite barely even speaking to the guy properly. "It's me, Y/N... From the band night?" You added, gulping quietly.

Price leaned against the armrest of the couch beside him and glanced from Soap on the couch to Gaz in the kitchen, before nodding slightly and clearing his throat. "Yes ma'am, that'd be right." He replied respectfully. "I'm interested in your offer as a secondary vocalist and i'm wondering when would be a good time to... come in?" Your voice spoke through the phone once again, and by now Soap is already practically half way off the couch to put his ear against the other end of Price's phone, trying to pitch what was going on. As soon as he got a catch of who was on the other line, he couldn't help but let his smile grow wider. "Simon's gonnae be surprised..." He snickered, earning a small shove from Price as a warning.

"F'course. How does next Saturday sound?" Price hummed gruffly, pleased that he managed to get a call back after being convinced you would have forgotten or not given the offer much mind. Soap's smile widened as he heard faintly what was being said from the other end, mouthing "We got 'er!" to Gaz, earning a small smile from him as well. "Yeah... Next Saturday is fine. Thank you!" You replied, the relief in your voice slightly noticeable. You were just relieved you weren't outright turned down, and that eased your anxiety a bit.

"Perfect. I'll see ya then." Price grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling up slightly. You two exchanged goodbyes, Price texted you the address... And that was it.

You listened to the line go flat, letting go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding until now. That was it... right? You set your phone down against your desk with a small thud and simply sat in your own emotions for a few seconds. Today was Thursday... meaning two days to prepare. Had to make good first impression, of course, and make sure you looked presentable— but there wasn't a mental checklist without worries as well. What if i voice crack? What if my hands get clammy and I drop the mic? What if they don't like me?—

No. Get out of your head. You mentally scolded yourself as you finally pushed yourself off your desk, deciding to do what you did best and simply sit on it. It was always easier to make decisions on a clear head, as you always reminded yourself.

The days following the interview were grueling. Countless hours of preparation that frankly didn't even need to get done got done. Nothing could go wrong. The confirmation text the day of the interview threw an even deeper pit into your gut, fumbling your phone as you read the text, grabbing your car keys and purse before reaching for the front door to your apartment, and typing out a quick and short reply.

Thankfully the place wasn't too far from where you lived, which meant you didn't have to worry as much about sweating bullets through your perfectly ironed button-up during the drive even though lets face it: you'd probably still manage it either way in the state of balled up nerves you were in.

Don't worry... It's a fresh start.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with omegaverse splashed in!

Poly 141 x F!OC. Previous. Villagers

Pt. 2: Paloma Meets Price

Johnny and Kyle lied to him. 

Horrid little pack mates, he should have known something was up when the pair were unusually quiet during their weekly friday night at the inn. 

John knew their newcomer had just arrived a few days prior, not that he had a lot of hope for the poor sod. People have come and gone to town before. Young bucks who thought they could hack it with the sweat off their backs. Most came because of the allure of the peaceful countryside, but quickly left when they realized luxury was a limited resource. 

John had sat at the bar, whiskey in hand, something deep in his soul easing at seeing the townsfolk all inside, laughing and happy. They were a pseudo-pack of sorts, not everyone bonded, not like him and his boys, but he remained protective of them all the same. It was sheer fortune that he'd built the pack that he had, beautiful, strong and resourceful as they were. It was an absolute dream to have them all together, safe in their little village. He wasn't particularly keen on adding another, though he supposed it was inevitable. 

The town's economy had been struggling since the earthquake cut down on business. Perhaps a new face wouldn't hurt…

Johnny and Kyle’s laughter pulled his attention, the pair playing some sort of roleplaying game at a nearby table, the party bantering after defeating a band of monsters. 

“The goblin floats lazily down the river, slowly…like, comically slow, and you know it won't be long before the rest of his hoard realizes he's missing.” Alex narrates, looking amused, (and just a little tired) after overseeing yet another harrowing adventure, all while the boys giggle and high five.

“I LOOK AROUND” Soap blurts, bypassing any structure of the game. 

“You don't wanna take a short rest first?” Alex retorts sharply.

“I did not lose any health” Farah cuts in, arms crossed, pointedly looking at Soap.

“Rest mate, you've only got 1 health point left.” Gaz adds.

“Ach fine, I rest. Then, I look around.” Soap laments.

Alex smirks, “We're resting so you can start fresh next week, but before we go” he leans in, mischief in his eyes. “You see a stranger, you know anything about strangers, Mactavish? Garrick?” He looks between them suspiciously. 

And this is what really gets John's attention, makes him turn away from the bar inconspicuously. Even Farah turns, schmoozing in close to Alex to fix the pair of men with an additional suspicious gaze, eyes narrowed.

The alphas share a look, a silent conversation happening between the long time friends before they're both shrugging in unison. 

Both Alex and Farah throw up their hands.

“Come off it boys, we know you've talked to the newbie.” Laswell calls from behind the bar, her wife Madeline grinning over her shoulder. 

John feels just a bit sour. They didn't tell him, they'd met the newcomer. 

The pair hem and haw.

“They seem alright” Gaz says, noncommittal.

Soap nods, “Real busy, they've got their hands full out there, for sure.”

“That's a whole lotta nothing.” comes a gruff voice, Ghost perched near the fireplace. 

John finally cuts in, his own god damned curiosity too much to bear. He feels a bit like a teenager, wants to know every detail, what they're like, what was their name, what did they look like, designation, etc. He reels it back instead.

“Are they going to stick around is what I want to know.” he grouses, taking another swig. If he were watching a little more closely, he would have seen the playful glint in both of his alpha's eyes. 

“Can't be sure.” Gaz replies, hiding a smile behind his drink.

“Maybe you should give ‘em a chat, Cap, see for yerself” Soap chimes in. “Not sure you two will jive though” he adds, staring absently into his mug. 

John wasn’t a tough man to get along with, just selective.

He huffs through his nose, finishes off his drink. It would have to wait. He'd already promised to help Nik with a few “projects” in the capital. Maybe the newcomer would be gone by the time he came back, that'd be one less problem to worry about.

~

He’d arrived back late monday evening, leaving Nik to unload his stock while he settled into a desk in the museum reception area, working through his portion of the collections paperwork and local donations. Desk work was never his favorite, but the peace and quiet of the old place, accompanied by the soft patter of rain against the large pane windows would be plenty to lull his weary mind to rest when the time came. He looked forward to crawling into one of his pack’s beds after a long weekend away. 

He’d settled in nicely, cigar in hand and hot evening tea, when the heavy wooden doors of the museum open, wind gently rustling the pages on his desk. He doesn’t look up right away, it’s probably Simon, coming by to check in. 

What he was not expecting however, was the soft round thing that tiptoes inside. Wet squeaky boots on marble as she blinks at him. She's a mess, dirt smeared on her sweet round cheeks and worn denim overalls, the soaked fabric hugging her soft tummy and wide hips, silvery hair tied back in messy twin braids dripping onto the floor. 

He stares. 

She stares. 

She’s the first to recover,  flashing him a sheepish smile, eyes bright behind big round glasses. His heart stutters just a bit. 

This was the newcomer?

“Hello! I’m sorry, I must have missed you earlier.” she chimes, seemingly unphased by her own disheveled appearance as she slips closer, slinging a heavy backpack from her shoulders with a soft grunt, the pickaxe at her back clanging noisily to the floor with the action.  

Who gave her a bloody pickaxe??

She slings out a hand and introduces herself, wrenching it back quickly to smear the remnant dirt from her hands onto her overalls before extending it again with an apologetic smile. 

It’s not often that John Price is dumbfounded, but it was certainly not every day that a big soft girl walks into his museum, especially not one like this. He didn't even realize he’d stood up, snuffling at the air like an old hound, trying to get just a whiff of the pretty thing. She’s an omega, he can feel it in his bones, something just on the edge of his biological periphery that makes his teeth ache. Her scent is nearly nonexistent under the earth and rain, but it’s there, sugary sweet like blueberry pancakes.  Something ugly preens in the back of his mind. 

Ah yes, this one is staying. 

“Are you alright, Captain?” 

He’s swift, snapping out of his thoughts to clamp his hand in hers. She’s cold to the touch, hands damp and freezing. Unacceptable. 

“Are you alright sweetheart? What have you been doing?” He rounds the desk, keeping her hand aloft, thumb rubbing at her skin in a weak attempt to warm her up as he looks her over. 

She had better not be doing what he thinks she was doing.

“Oh I’m peachy! Just doing a bit of mining, time just got away from me is all.” she laughs, nerves apparent in her soft english lilt. 

She was.

He bites back an exasperated huff, brows furrowed in displeasure as he scans her from head to toe. She goes still, nervous, like a pup as he comes closer. She’s filthy, but doesn’t appear to be injured, just…clumsy, the ass of her overalls covered in mud from where she’d apparently fallen, several times, but otherwise okay. His brain slows down just a little. 

“You were in the mines?” he asks incredulously, her hand slipping from his as she jumps back to life. “And who’d you learn ‘Captain’ from?”

“Yes!” she chirps, she’s beyond excited, dropping to her knees to root through her backpack, the sound of stones and tin clanking around in its confines. ”Soap and Gaz told me all about you, said you were always pretty busy, but I’d catch you eventually.” She pauses her rummaging, whipping back around to point at him ”They speak very highly of you by the way.” she tells him, as if the words were an important message she was tasked to bring to him. 

Of course. Conniving little shits, both of them. Trying to sell him false goods. He would have both of their heads later for hogging this pretty girl all to themselves. Telling lies. Though part of him was proud, they knew him all too well, at least well enough to know he had a big soft spot for pretty birds.

All he can do is hum, watching her with no small amount of confusion as she continues to root. It appears she’s never met a stranger, bulldozing over any social formalities unwittingly.  

“I’ve read mining used to be a big deal here, a great source of revenue.” she rambles giddily, “I didn’t think I would have much luck but look!” She yanks out an armful of dirt covered items, and bless her, Price doesn’t have the heart to tell her most of it is shit. Common coal and some exceptionally glittery rocks, but more importantly something else catches his eye, green and chitinous. 

“Is that a bloody bug?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah! Alex told me you all were looking to make some new collections, and I noticed you didn’t have much in the way of entomology. I thought it’d be a fun thing to start!”

Fun.

Price has spent years of his life, smashing these flying demons deep in the mines, and here she was catching them. As odd as she is, the pure passion in her eyes is incredibly endearing. It was already a miracle that the goofy thing had climbed down there on her own, come out with a bag full of rocks and a bug, all without being crushed, stung or bitten. 

He’d known the girl for a whole 10 minutes and already had his hands full.

He would need to have a serious talk with her about going down there again, but in the meantime he had no intention of crushing her spirit. She reminds him of Soap, brilliant and bright as a star, and it brings a fond smile to his lips. 

“Quite industrious aren’t you Miss Hadley? Looks like you’ve found quite a bit, I’ll take a better look at these in the morning” he explains, carefully placing her prizes in a bin for later, “I’ll have your payment for the donations sent later in the day. For now, It’s far too late for pretty girls to be out this late, you're soaked to the bone.” 

She blinks a bit, as if it just occurred to her, “Oh yes, didn’t think it would rain quite this hard all day.” she laughs a bit awkwardly, recollecting her soggy backpack. “I didn’t mean to disturb your evening.” she grabs her pickaxe (the one he was half tempted to hide and hope she forgot) before angling herself toward the door. 

John has to actively bite back the harsh no bubbling up his throat at her escape attempt. 

He’s never felt like such a muppet in his life. He needs to feed her, warm her up, but he has nothing here, just some granola bars and breakfast tea, no blanket, she was already shivering. 

He could bully her into his home if he really wanted to, it’s just down the road...strip her down and dry her off.

She’s halfway to the door when he breaks out of his thoughts, damn near sputtering like a drowning man. “Wait.” 

And much to his pleasure she stops on a dime, yielding easily to his voice. “Not going out there by yourself, absolutely not.” he huffs, stomping over to her, snagging his jacket from the rack beside the door and slinging it over her shoulders. He was being too much, he knows, opening the door for her and covering her with his umbrella as he ushers her to her home, taking the brunt of the rain just to keep her covered. He couldn’t help it, it was instinct, need. 

“This is very kind of you” Paloma tells him, voice grown timid, but she stops short, cold little hands giving his forearm a tug, “but we can at least share.” She presses in close, the pair now walking shoulder to shoulder in the cool summer rain. He has to clear his throat to stop the rumbling purr deep in his chest. 

“Too sweet for your own good” he murmurs, biting back a grin when she doesn’t hear him the first time. He changes tactics smoothly. 

“I said, what on earth were you doing down there?”

“Oh, just trying to give everything a go. I won’t know I like something until I give it a try right? Plus everyone here seems to need a hand, I’m just happy to help.” she smiles up at him. And John really thinks this sweet girl may stick around, not because he wants her too, but because she wants too, with a heart too big to fail. He decides he’ll help her with anything if she just asks. Hell, even if she doesn’t.

They chat idly the rest of the way, boots squelching on the muddy dirt path. He learns she’s quite the reader , and crafter, and a myriad of other things, having shoved her fingers into every pie she’s come across. He tells her about his past as a foreman, his stint in the military, his work with the museum since the earthquake, and it tickles him with how intently she listens, nodding along to his every word.  

Before he knows they’ve arrived, the soft glow of her porch lantern guiding them in, and part of him wishes she lived just a little farther away, if only to steal some extra time. 

He guides her up the steps, his hand in hers, standing dutifully as she fishes out her key and steps inside. Safe.

He’s only a little flustered when she shrugs off his jacket and swings it back over his shoulders, his height causing her to fumble a little. Shrouding him in petrichor and blueberry sugar.

“Right,” he coughs “You get warmed up, and lock this behind you, didn’t walk you home for something else to get you.” He taps at her door seriously. 

“Yes sir.” she chimes, and his stomach swoops. Fingers itching to dig into warm soft skin, he was being tested, he was certain of it. 

“John, lovie, call me John.”

“Okay John, be safe” she smiles, waving goodbye with a shy wiggle of her fingers. He has to make himself turn away,  waits to hear the click of her lock before trotting down her steps. 

John purrs the whole way home. 

[writer-fennec]

Why do I have so many fanfiction ideas and I don't post them here?!

*takes a deep breath*

I have a Punk AU where the 141 is a metal band (with Poly 141) and I have a lot of concepts for that and I love and I don't have the paper where I wrote the notes so you are gonna be fed scrambles only

I have a Gladiator AU where Ghost and Gaz are gladiators while Soap and Price are dietyes (might add Nik and Roach too at this point)

I have a Hockey AU where the 141 gets a new player (obviously Soap) and they are a little enemies to friends to "this is awkwardly intimate but we are just friends I swear" to "*inhales aggressively* Oh SHIT! WE FUCKED! We fucked? What… Oh shit we fucked… *proceeds to have an ideological breackdown*" to lovers

I have a little what if Simon's family survived and his dad arill died? That is cute and good and "Oh wait, Tommy is dating a boy. Oh wait, she is actually a girl. Oh shit the girls parents throw her out of the house because they are transfobic. Tommy and his girlfriend see the Ghoap friendship. Oh, the Ghoap "friendship" become relationship because Tommy and his girlfriend had a great plan to make them get closer. Ghost has his "Oh shit I'm gay" moment while soap has his "FUCKING FINALLY YOU IDIOT!" moment.

I have the Viking AU that I'm writing for Vozart

I have a really weird diety AU where Ghost is a Human and the 141 are dietyes because I like the trope of "Ghost despite looking the weirdest is actually the most normal"

I have a universe fusion AU (?) Where 09 and 22 universe fuse in a weird way and it becomes universal clashing and other stuff

I have a body swap AU that is weirdly developed i side my head

Damn, I may have on obsession…

[fairyboygenius]

summer camp! au 141 & co with the loves of their lives (the girl they meet two weeks ago during staff week)

price/ranger john is infatuated with the office assistant- a cute post-grad who is one of five people who can drive the golf cart to pick up supplies. he’s suddenly using his radio more often than he ever has to call her & her boss (laswell’s wife) over to pick up more supplies after his trip to home depot. nikolai just sighs and laughs as he watches, knowing john’ll share if he asks nicely. their utility wedding bands brush as they chop wood. camp name: sunshine

ghost is in deep, passionate, (perhaps) unrequited love with his favorite lifeguard. he would never admit it but his favorite days are when they’re on the schedule together at the pool or on the lake. she’s a lifer- been going since she was 7 or 8- so she’s teaching him all the ins and outs. they’ve requested their nights off on the same night every week for the rest of the summer. camp name: sodapop

butch!gaz has been in love with his best friend since they started going to camp together at 11. she’s a counselor now- but they both love working with the littles, the most perceptive 7- and 8-year-olds you’ve ever met. the two of them can talk any child out of a bout of homesickness. the wedding’s next week. all the raccoons are invited. camp name: dove

butch!soap has a thing for the counselor who oversees the CITs in their hilltop lodge. that’s always her first choice of living accommodation- not just because soap prefers the older kids, not just because there’s air conditioning and flushing toilets, but because the CIT director sleeps in a tank top and tiny sleep shorts and has the cutest morning voice. they’ll get matching carabiners at a dollar tree and the kids (most of whom are queer themselves) know EXACTLY what’s going on between their counselor and the STEM specialist. there’s a sacrifice happening to the ghost in the lodge to encourage them to get over themselves. camp name: birdie

butch!alex always prefers being a counselor for horse camps. farah would be enough- they’ve been best friends since 9, only hooking up once before they decided it was too awkward- but alex is more focused on another wrangler, the only one who can saddle and bridle a horse perfectly in under ten minutes. farah is already planning a double wedding between them and her with her crush- the media specialist, hopping on and off the golf cart with her camera, sweet talking smiles out of even the shyest kids. camp names: scout & bunny

trans!alejandro runs the rock climbing wall. trans!rudy works in the nature center and coordinates hikes. they’re in love and terrible at hiding it

alejandro camp name- lucky (short for lucky stone)

rudy camp name- apollo

valeria has come over from a rival camp to help with arts and crafts. she helps run paint parties at the barn (markers on a horse, anyone?) and as such falls for a wrangler- alex’s girl’s best friend, a cute newcomer who can convince even the most afraid child to calm down and go for a pony ride.

valeria’s camp name: tie- dye

li’s camp name: bambi

[without-energy-always]

The fact i havent come across a 141 band au is CRIMINAL.

[gimme1margarita]

About

Early 20s. She/her | Of a hundred earths but not this one. | MDNI 18+

Writer・Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Avatar & Marvel enthusiast・*currently just a CoD fic writer*・Poetry & fantasy lover・Earning my freak badge via Ao3 one chapter at a time

I do NOT give permission for my work to be made into c.ai or any ai bots.

Masterlist

CALL OF DUTY

Johnny MacTavish

✳︎ Here, There And Everywhere | [COMPLETE] 67.4k w/c, Explicit (primarily plot/fluff) H.D firefighter!Soap x OC/Reader (phys: dark hair. Single mother).

Read chapter 1 on Tumblr the rest is out on Ao3 :)

Simon Riley

✳︎ Like a Tattoo | [Ongoing - priority] 60.1k w/c, Explicit (primarily plot/less fluff, more silly awkwardness) H.D/retired firefighter!Ghost x OC/Reader (BSF younger sister. Phys: big curly hair, curvy/soft.)

Blog here

Ruined Me | [Ongoing - slower updates] 15.3k w/c, Explicit (primarily plot) bodyguard!Ghost x OC/Reader (lead singer in a band. Phys: dyed blue hair.)

Blog here

John Price | incoming late April...

✳︎ Station 141 Part 3 ↓

"Rekindled" | Explicit (primarily plot & fluff, light smut & angst), H.D/retired firefighter!John Price x OC/Reader (divorcee with kids)

▷ Western au ↓

"From Stormrock to Windhaven" | Explicit (primarily plot/less fluff) outlaw!John Price x OC (the woman he's trying to smuggle across the mountains)

One shot Handyman!John Price x single mom

Kyle Garrick | loading...

✳︎ Station 141 Part 4 ↓

"How Not To Have A One Night Stand" | Explicit (fluff, smut, general silliness), firefighter!Gaz x OC/Reader (daycare worker, southern sweetheart)

Hockey player!Gaz x Photographer

Alejandro Vargas | loading...

▷ Western au, established relationship, fluff/smut, one shot

Series links

Station 141 [all my firefighter!141 fics, set in Rosewood, a fictional small town]

[gloomwitchwrites]

Remember that time I said last one? Oops...

What If 141...trying for baby. Rawr.

I remember when you said it would be your last one. And no "oops"! You know what you've done. And trying for baby? Are you trying to activate my breeding kink?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, established relationship, oral sex (male & female receiving), fertility treatment, dirty talk, breeding, creampie, arranged marriage, Viking AU, Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon (Ghost only), rough kissing, desk sex

Word Count: 4.6k

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: needs help obtaining a "sample" for fertility treatment. John "Soap" MacTavish: an arranged marriage Viking AU. Simon "Ghost" Riley: given to Ghost for "breeding" purposes, Post-Apocalypse AU (dubcon). John Price: ovulation leads to surprise sex at work.

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your foot tap tap taps against the linoleum floor.

Kyle is in another room—a private room. The reproductive endocrinologist you’re working with already ran your tests. Now it’s Kyle’s turn. They want a sample, but he’s been gone too long.

You’re no stranger to Kyle’s masturbation sessions. Rarely does he do it alone. He likes when you watch. But he never takes this long.

A buzzing comes from your purse. Retrieving your phone, you check the message.

It’s from Kyle.

I can’t do it.

Frowning, you stare at the text, confusing creeping in. Gripping the phone in your fist, you push up from your chair, and exit the small exam room.

“Excuse me,” you say, approaching the nurses station. “Can you tell me what room my husband is in. He’s collecting a…sample.”

The two nurses exchange a knowing look.

“All the way down the hall. Last door on the left,” one of them directs, pointing.

“Thank you.”

You try not to rush, but your feet carry you swiftly and with purpose. Following the nurse’s direction, you come to a stop right outside the correct door.

“Kyle?” you call out, knocking.

There’s a brief pause, but then the door opens, and your husband stands there, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry, love,” shrugs Kyle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I come in?”

He glances back into the room and then steps aside, holding the door open.

You step into the small space. It’s clinical and cold. There is one window on the opposite side of the room with the blinds down. Next to the window is a lounge chair that looks completely uncomfortable. Next to it is a table of magazines with partially-nude women on the front. Beside that is a row of video selections if the magazines don’t seem to do the trick.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. Kyle slumps into the chair, clearly defeated. You place your purse on the hook and then kneel beside him. “Talk to me.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I—can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

He nods toward his groin. “Doesn’t seem all that interested.”

Oh. Oh.

You glance around the room, and then turn back to him. “Let me help.”

The confusion on his face is entirely too funny. “Help me?”

Shifting on your knees, you settle between his legs. The confusion melts away, and Kyle leans back in the chair, his hips flexing slightly as he makes himself comfortable.

The front of his jeans is already loose, and it’s not difficult to ease them down a bit more. Your hand slips beneath the band of his boxer briefs. The moment your fingers wrap around him, Kyle softly groans, eyelids fluttering as you start to stroke him.

“Is the door locked?” he asks, voice already turning husky.

“Does that matter?” you counter. “Do you care that someone might walk in? That they’ll see me pleasuring my husband?”

His softened cock begins to harden, and your words only spur him on. With another few strokes, Kyle is rock hard and throbbing. Adjusting your position, you release his cock, and then grab hold of his boxer brief, yanking them down until he’s free of it.

Kyle’s heavy lids open at the same moment your mouth suctions around the head. Tongue swirling around the crown, you take a bit more of him into your mouth. Retreating, you hollow your cheeks, suctioning until you come off him with a wet pop.

“How’s this?” you ask.

“Much better,” he replies, reaching for you.

Kyle’s hand finds the back of your head, and you grin as he urges you back.

Taking him into your mouth again, your throat him completely, bobbing up and down his cock with intention. You need him to come. Not in your mouth, but in the goddamn sample cup. If that means you need to suck him off to do it, you’ll happily do so.

While you’d love to give into to pleasing him utterly, you still have to focus on why you’re doing this. The cup is on the table beside him. The seal is unbroken. The lid still on.

Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck—hard—and then release him.

His breathing is heavy, and his thighs are tense. Kyle is close, and you’re not going to ruin this by having him come down your throat.

“The cup, Kyle.”

Kyle runs his hand over the top of his head, the lust-tinged haze retreating slightly as he reaches for it. He twists the lid, breaking the seal, and sets it aside, holding the plastic cup in a vice grip.

Returning to him, you throat him again, bringing your hand into the mix.

“Fuck,” whispers Kyle. Then, louder, “fuck.”

Saliva pools in your mouth and slips past your lips, dripping onto your hand as you continue your ministrations.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Back, love. Back off.”

You immediately release him, retreating.

Kyle grips his cock and aims it, bringing the cup in close. He strokes once. Twice. And then his entire body shakes as he explodes, emptying his release into the cup.

Wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, you push up to standing using the armrest of the chair. Kyle is smiling—almost smug.

“Did I help?” you tease, and his grin only widens.

John Price

"What's wrong?" John's voice is laced with concern. You rarely come to see him at work. "Everything okay? The guard at the front gate paged me. Said you were here.”

Whenever you’re around him, John’s entire demeanor changes. It doesn’t matter that he’s at work. You’re here, and that takes priority.

As he approaches, John reaches out with both hands. They seek, grabbing hold of your upper arms just above the elbow. He draws you close, his head tilting forward slightly as his gaze intensifies, focusing on you.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” you ask, briefly glancing over his shoulder.

There are members of his team lingering in the background. Though they talk quietly with each other, they keep glancing this way.

“Of course,” murmurs John. Placing one arm over your shoulders, he turns back to the rest of his team. “Give me a few minutes,” he says to them, before leading you away.

The entire walk to his office, John keeps one hand on you at all times. He doesn’t say much, only stopping to briefly address others that pass.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks again once the door is shut.

“Is it locked?”

John blinks. “Is what locked?”

You reach past him and fiddle with the handle. Frowning, John gently grasps your wrist and locks the door. “What—”

But the question never comes. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him to your lips, claiming his mouth in desperation. John groans softly, returning your kisses with equal enthusiasm. His hands fall upon your hips, squeezing, drawing you closer.

“You didn’t come just to kiss me,” murmurs John, retreating just enough to allow a sliver of space.

“No,” you breathe. “I’m ovulating.”

“Is that what your app says?" he teases.

You hum an agreement and John pushes in, guiding you backward toward his desk. You don't feel the wood until he lifts, and places you atop it. Leaning back, you spread your legs and present yourself.

“Open your present,” you tease, nodding toward the length of your body.

You came prepared. The large coat is made to go down to your knees, hiding everything when buttoned and tied. John reaches out. Tugging, he releases the band, and then he goes for the buttons, popping them open one by one.

He pushes the coat wide, and a growl escapes him. “You’ve been walking around base in nothing but a bloody coat?”

“And boots,” you add, kicking your feet.

Grabbing your thighs, John drags you to the edge of the desk. You greedily shimmy the coat off your shoulders.

His fingers explore, trailing over inner thigh to exposed pussy. One finger parts you, and then sinks in easily.

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans as he inserts another finger. “Already so wet for me.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you moan as John’s thumb rubs softly against your clit.

Another pump and then his fingers are gone. Through the haze, you watch as John undoes the front of his pants. He pushes them down just enough for his thick cock to spring free. Reaching for him, you stroke his cock, only for John to drag you close and align himself.

With one sharp thrust, John enters to the hilt. Keeping one hand on your right thigh, and the other planted firmly on the desk, John begins to thrust. It’s not a soft, gentle rhythm, but sharp and heavy. Every time your pelvis makes contact with his abdomen, the desk squeaks loudly.

“So fucking wet,” mutters John, his eyelids closing slightly as he gives in to the pleasure. “When I come home tonight, you better be naked. On your back. And in our bed.”

With your elbows propping you up, your head falls back in ecstasy as John returns his attention to your clit, circling it in soft strokes that send ripples of pleasure outward.

"I needed you," you groan.

"Greedy thing," purrs John, slipping an arm behind your back and lifting.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, one hand grasping his neck as John adjusts you into a new position. At this angle, you're held tightly against him. John firmly squeezes your ass with both hands.

He drives into you, the legs of the desk scraping against the carpet. A curling, buzzing sensation bubbles up, twisting low in your belly. The orgasm creeps up quickly, surging forward. Your nails dig into John's neck, and a throat moan escapes you.

John silences you with a kiss, swallowing that sound for himself, his hands gripping you so tightly you're sure he'll leave bruises behind.

With a low grunt, John holds you to him, sealing your bodies together. A warmth floods your pussy, his cum coating your insides.

"Think we made a baby?" teases John, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Not sure."

"Better try again then." He rocks his hips, and you whimper.

"You told your team you'd only be a few minutes."

He shrugs. "They can wait."

John "Soap" MacTavish

The youth of maidenhood is shed.

Your kransen is delicately wrapped in cloth and tucked away for a future daughter. The bridal crown you wore during the ceremony is still on your head. A delicate thing made of interwoven bands of silver; its shine slightly eclipsed by flakes of dried goat blood upon the metal. The droplets that landed on your face are long gone, cleaned by cold water and cloth.

Belly full from feasting, and skin buzzing with the consumption of mead, there is nothing left of the evening but the small dark of your new home, of the bedroom you will now share with your husband.

Anticipation is like a hidden viper. The women of your family told you all that would happen after, explained it in detail so that you would understand. You are eager to experience the good, but also know that your new husband might be completely inept.

You don't believe that to be the case though. During the ceremony he appeared calm and kind. He led but was not overbearing, and during the feast, he made sure your plate and glass were full before he even thought of himself. If that is how the marriage starts, then that must be what it is to come.

You hear your name, and you turn.

Your husband stands in the doorway, still in his wedding attire. He softly shuts the door behind him and finds the nearest chair, sinking down into it to remove his boots. Once off, he groans softly, standing again, removing the fur cape and draping it over the back of the chair.

He removes a few other articles of clothing until he's in nothing but his tunic and trousers. He saunters over, fingers lightly brushing against the hemline of your dressing gown.

"There is still blood on your face," you observe. "Let me wash it away."

"No," he says. "Reminds me of a good fight. I can imagine that you’re my war prize."

You laugh, and he smiles. In a way, you are a war prize. Your two clans have been feuding for years. This marriage is a way to make peace.

"Is being your wife not enough?" you tease.

"It is."

His fingers catch on the neckline, pulling the loose fabric over one shoulder. Leaning forward, he places a kiss between neck and shoulder. You shiver, one hand reaching out for him.

"We don't,” he begins but you shake your head.

"It's fine. I... want to."

He cradles your cheek in his palm. It is warm. Comforting. You sigh and lean into it.

The kiss is soft and delicate. There is nothing demanding in it. It is simple and pure. Even in this, he is not pushing. You follow his lead, giving a little more each time until you're reaching for him, hands pressing firmly against his chest.

He sighs, and then the gentle softness recedes, and the kisses deepen. Both of his hands hold your face. You are trapped but it feels wonderful. You give in, pressing your bodies together beside the fire, only understanding and learning these things about one another.

He removes the crown from your head, gently placing it aside.

The dress falls away and you are left bare. His gaze observers but it's brief. John's hands rest on your hips. They squeeze gently, guiding you backward. The soft furs brush that backs of your legs, and then John guides you down onto the bed, relishing every touch and kiss until you're breathless.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Will it always be like this?

John gives you one last kiss before pulling away, standing at full height, towering over you. He removes the last of his garment, his gaze never leaving your prone form. And you are unable to look away either, everything about him an enticing offer you don't wish to walk away from.

All muscle. All strength.

You reach out, grasping the one thing that now belongs to you. John groans softly as you make contact, wrapping your fingers around it. This is new to you, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do with it.

You gently stroke, thumb gracing the underside. John makes another small sound and you know you're on the right path. You sit up a bit, questioning whether you should taste him. The urge is too strong. You lean in, the tip of your tongue swirling over the head.

"No," he growls, grasping the back of your neck. "I won't last if you do that."

He guides you back and then starts to kneel, covering your body with his. You're on your back and he drapes himself across, hands roaming, exploring. His mouth descends, and then it is you making little sounds of pleasure.

"You can know me that way," he murmurs. "But first." His mouth descends and licks between your thighs, teasing and tasting until you're undone with pleasure, hips bucking off the bed and pressing against his mouth.

His hand glides over your stomach. "But first," he repeats. "We have a son to make."

He slides between your legs, guiding your legs wide. The head of him enters, and then there is a quiet sting that shudders through you.

"Breathe," he murmurs. "Relax."

You sigh, follow his instruction. The sting evaporates, and he retreats a bit before adding more. The stretch is tight but no longer painful. Each gentle thrusts gives you more before he's fully seated inside.

Your hands start at his waist and then explore to his back, down to just above his buttocks to ascend at his shoulders. John's forearms rest on either side of your head, his forehead coming to rest against your own. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, lips nearly touching as he rolls his hips, thrusting lightly.

"How long will it take?" he asks, rocking against, this time with a little more force. "If I keep you here, beneath me, full of my cock. How long?"

He thrusts again, and your whole body clings to him, the friction unbearably good. Your only response is a whimper.

His lips lightly brush over yours and then your chin.

"Should I tie you to this bed? Use the leathers that hold my armor together." He nips at your shoulder. "I can pretend you are my war prize."

"I am your war prize," you breathe, as he thrusts in earnest.

"Aye. You are. Separate clans. A marriage for peace. An enemy no longer."

Your arms tighten around him. You are pinned beneath him, unable to move, and yet completely willing in satiating both your desires.

You are lost to his movements, of the fullness, of the growing pleasure that is seconds from exploding outward. He rocks his hips forward, his pelvis pressing against that tender flesh.

You clench down, drowning in a wave that consumes.

You hear his inhalation, feel his muscles bunching under your hands, and then he's grinding forward, keeping still as he floods your womb with warmth.

But he does not pull out. Does not retreat. Instead, he kisses you softly, hips rocking before you feel that fullness blooming again.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The world is fractured. Broken.

And you have been thrust right into the thick of it. Taken by people unknown, signed off and given to a stranger.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

Your new...what? Husband? Minder?

He stands before you, arms at his sides, observing but not speaking. As if pulled directly from duty, he's still in his all-black fatigues. The weapons are gone. They rest on the small table in the kitchen area of the tiny apartment.

But you smell blood on him. Musk. The dirt and grime of the brutality that is now home to the last remaining humans.

"What?" you snap, his gaze unnerving.

The defensiveness is just an illusion—a coping mechanism.

Simon wears a black balaclava, and all you can make out about him are his eyes. They are deep pools of dark brown that reflect the light like whiskey in a clear bottle. He is tall too and solid muscle.

The idea of him pinning you to the bed, of his weight keeping you in place as he has his way with you, makes your pussy clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t feel that way—to think of him as anything but your captor.

"You understand what's happened?" he asks.

Yes.

"I'm to be your whore."

You notice the slight twitch at the corner of Simon's eye at the word.

"Neither of us wanted this," he replies slowly, his gaze just as languid as it surveys your body.

"Winning me over with your charm," you mutter.

Simon grunts, and then brushes past you into the bathroom. He shuts the door and seconds later you hear the shower running.

Making a run for it isn't an option. The moment you leave, they'll be after you. Would they take you away from Simon? Give you to someone else? Or would they just think you're too much trouble and a bullet would be a mercy.

Your thoughts race, and when Simon emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you're momentarily stunned into silence. It is not just his body that is hard but everything about him. And now, you have a clear view of his face. He is handsome. Pleasing to the eye even with the scars.

Maybe it won't be all bad.

"It's all yours." He nods toward the bathroom where steam slowly rolls out through the crack in the door.

You follow suit, washing away the stress of the day.

Emerging is the hard part. There are no clothes for you to change in to, but that's the point. You are to remain in this apartment, stay in his bed, and allow Simon to breed you until there's no doubt you carry his child.

All the lights are off except for one. The bedroom isn't a separate room but an area sectioned off by a large curtain. From behind the curtain is a dim glow. You head for it, towel wrapped around body like armor. You push it back only to find Simon reclining, the top sheet covering his lower-half as he reads from a folder.

The rings on the curtain clink and he glances up. Simon closes the folder and tosses it off to the side.

That needy feeling returns. You shouldn’t indulge it or yourself, but it is there, lingering beneath the surface.

For a time, there is only silence, the two of you simply staring at each other.

"Are you joining me?" Simon finally asks.

You sigh. "I have to."

"You do," he agrees. You don't move closer. "I won't hurt you."

"Very reassuring,” you mutter, clutching the towel tighter.

Simon runs his hand through his hair. “Either we do this or you’re given to someone else. Did they tell you that?”

“I know the expectation.”

Simon leans forward into a more seated position. “Then you know I can keep you safe.”

It’s not untrue. You are his now.

You gaze narrows. “You don’t even know me.”

"I know you're going to carry my son or daughter. And that bloody well fucking matters to me."

"Will I?"

"You will."

You clutch the towel to you tighter, unable to part with it. Simon’s gaze remains unmoved. It is an intensity that worms its way inside, slithering beneath your skin to curl around your ribs. Every bit of him is on full display. Your mind drifts—imagining what might be underneath the sheet.

It’s not what you want for yourself, but there are worse men in this compound. There are worse fates. He’s not particularly happy about the arrangement either, something the two of you have in common. But he’s not ugly, and hasn’t been brutish.

Simon sighs, and it sounds like defeat.

He reaches across himself, turning off the small light next to the bed, plunging the two of into darkness.

“Better?”

You grumble but drop the towel. In the dark, your nakedness feels less isolating. As you step up to the bed, you glimpse Simon’s shadow as he draws the bedding back to give you space to slip in.

The bedsheets are cold, and as your grab them to cover yourself and create space, Simon’s hand comes down on your waist, dragging you close to him.

Your hand darts out, pressing against his chest.

Simon gently grasps your wrist and guides your hand away from his chest. "Said I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur.

He smells clean and fresh, not like the dirt and blood from earlier. And yet, he feels dangerous, his hold an intense grip that teases surrender and tells you to give in.

What will he do with you?

Will he simply put you on your back?

Will you just have to take it?

Simon lightly squeezes, and then his hand descends, exploring. It lingers on your upper thigh, and then travels upward, learning the curve of your hip and angles of your arm. Simon cups one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

A little shudder follows that stroke. A sigh passes your lips and Simon shifts closer.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs.

Simons’ teeth graze the hardening peak, as you groan loudly, surprised at how your body reacts to him. Answering with a groan of his own, Simon’s other hand delves between your thighs.

Exploring your sex, Simon’s fingers part your pussy, navigating and learning as much as he can. One finger plays with your clit as another teases your entrance, swirling the slickness around that blooms there with each stroke.

“But I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

With that one admission, Simon rolls you onto your back. When he spreads your legs, he does not settle between. He drapes a leg over each of his shoulders, and then his mouth is on your pussy, licking ravenously. His large hands slide up your stomach to tenderly grasp and tease both breasts.

His mouth and hands are full of you, and there is only pleasure.

Simon is right.

He does not harm, but he is not gentle.

Each swirl and tease of his tongue is harsh, sending you quickly to your end. The orgasm is bright and bursting—consuming. Yet, Simon remains steadfast, tasting until the first becomes a second and your thighs shake against the sides of his head.

“They assigned you to me,” he growls, shifting position, settling his hips between your spread thighs. “Made it an order.” The head of his cock presses in, and in one movement, Simon slides home. “And I’ll follow that order.”

His breathing is ragged. Even in the dark, you notice the gentle swell of his chest as he takes in air. “But fuck,” he groans, testing with a steady roll of his hips. “I’m gonna make sure we both enjoy ourselves.”

Simon casts his full weight over you, and there is nothing left for you to do but cling to him. Your feet rest against the back of his calves, and your fingers dig into his lower back as Simon thrusts without mercy.

He is brutal in this—but it does not hurt. It’s only rough, and within you, some primal piece is fracturing, feeding into what he’s giving.

Simon’s hands descend to squeeze your ass. He holds firm, lifting your pelvis upward at the same moment he holds himself tightly to your body. Growling against your throat, he shudders, and you feel his release flood your pussy.

This one deed seals it.

You are forever his.

Even if you try to leave, he’s never letting you go.

Simon’s lips pause at the pulse in your throat. He lingers there and then lightly kisses the spot. It’s a tender, nearly intimate touch. He ascends to the line of your jaw, and then his lips are on yours in a gentle caress.

You part for him, and his tongue slides inside. With a low groan, Simon lightly thrusts, his hardness returning with each stroke. The kisses deepen, and Simon eases you back to the bed, his cock sliding out of your pussy.

“Simon,” you murmur, one hand stroking over his chest.

His hand goes around your throat while the other dips between your legs. He finds your pussy, two fingers pushing into the mess.

“Give me one more, love. Tonight. One more.”

Simon withdraws, and with one quick movement, he rolls you onto your stomach.

“Open,” he commands, and you do so.

His two fingers that were just in your pussy slide into your mouth. Guiding your legs wide, Simon enters you again. The stretch is perfect, and his thrusts only push your mouth further down his fingers.

His hand slips between your body and the bed, seeking until he finds what he's after. With a few quick swirls of Simon's fingers against your clit, you scream around the ones in your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

Your pussy squeezes around him and Simon moans his pleasure.

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