#John playing Its Been so Long

[fishiecomics]

There is something horribly horribly wrong with everyone in Beastlife /affectionate.

[good-beanswrites]

A drabble for an anon asking about the prisoners watching their music videos! This is focused on specifically Mikoto’s initial shock at seeing MeMe for the first time, but just know that Double comes with a whole new set of shocks as he truly listens to John for the first time ;-;

Mikoto was no criminal. 

He didn’t know how to break into locked rooms, or hack into complex prison security systems. He figured there was no way in hell he’d be able to see these so-called incriminating videos that the Warden was recording, and had resolved himself to an eternity of wondering what they could be. He was shocked when he didn’t need to do a single thing to gain access to them – Es simply adjusted the computer monitor and told him he could hit play when (and if) he wished. Then they left the room.

“A-are you sure?” he called, but they were already gone.

Mikoto blinked at the screen. It showed a stretched version of his apartment couch, near his bathroom wall, broken to reveal sky above. He thought he could spot his tarot cards at the bottom of the frame. Had Milgram broken into his home to film this? 

He scoffed, and hit play.

Distorted guitar started up. He flinched as his own face appeared for a moment – looking directly into the camera and making a wild expression he would never have made if someone was recording. His body tensed up more as he heard his own voice start to sing lyrics he’d never spoken before in his life. He wasn’t even a good singer, and here he was sounding like a professional. 

There were plenty of ways to accomplish all of this, of course. Software could mimic one’s voice, making him say anything these crazy reality hosts wanted. A team could easily add some digital effects to a stunt double and match his appearance perfectly. Knowing that didn’t make the experience any less unsettling.

He watched himself commit a nasty murder. He watched himself return home bloodied. But it was all ridiculous. How could Milgram even claim that this was him? He’d never raised a hand to anyone in his life. Were the other prisoners’ videos as outlandish as this one?

But then, a switch. 

The song shifted to a new melody. He appeared to wake up from his couch, and suddenly Mikoto got the sense that this was him.

He was struck with how familiar this new segment sounded. It simultaneously felt like a favorite song he must have played on loop not too long ago, and one that he’d never heard before. As it played, each new note and lyric felt right on the tip of his tongue. 

It ended as quickly as it began. The song returned to the heavy-metal-murder aesthetic it had started with, and once again he felt like he was watching a cheap copy of himself onscreen. He watched another murder, a shower scene (had the warden seen all that? How embarrassing…) and then he turned to his bathroom mirror.

At the same time as his musical counterpart, Mikoto leapt backwards in horror. 

His eyes remained glued to the screen. His hand flew up to grab the lower half of his face. It was fake, he told himself. AI and CGI and all that. It was fake. It had to be. 

Something deep inside of him said “no. That’s real. That’s me.”

Something else deep inside of him echoed the sentiment.

The video was less than four minutes of music, but by the end he was panting and tugging at his hair as if he’d endured hours of prison torture. He burst out of the room. He sucked in breath after breath. The melodies still played in his mind, lines repeating in his memory as he tried to put as much distance between himself and that little television screen.

He found the others in the common room. They gave him a knowing look, but somehow he knew his experience had been very different from their own. Es approached him.

They studied his expression for a moment. Thankfully, they didn’t ask anything stupid, like “how did it go?” or “what did you think?” 

Instead, they just told him, “if you ever want to watch it again, just let me know, I can get it set up for you.”

He would want to see it again. Of course, it would be better, then. He would take a moment to calm down. He’d watch it later and everything would be okay. He’d have a clearer mind. He’d pick out all the little camera tricks they used to make it. He’d be sure it was a fake, and laugh about how ridiculous he was being now. 

Of course. Of course. 

He nodded to Es, unable to produce any words. Es left him.

The rules in this prison never made any sense, but in this case, he was grateful. He wouldn’t need to figure out any snooping or hacking to get access to the video again. After all, he was no criminal.

… he wasn’t, was he?

[notquitecanon]

IRL Plug and Play || Poly!141 x Fem!Reader

Summary: Third part of my Search History series (based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal minds) , the dinner party. The culmination of a month of knowing the boy's browser histories. Not much of a summary, it's pretty much dirty from start to finish.

18+ NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Warning: Fem pronouns and genitals, alcohol consumption, alcohol used during sex, porn, emulating porn, group sex, unprotected sex, tagging dub con just to be on the safe side but not really if you read the other parts you get it, Oral (M & F recieiving), fingering, penetration (F receiving) , allusions to penetration (male recieving), inappropriate use of cigar ashes. Genuinely this is just me being gross about these men for almost 12,000 words, proceed with caution. Say it with me one more time- irl this would be workplace harassment and NOT sexy. However, these are fictional war criminals who ARE sexy so we’re forgiving it. 

Original Idea First Prev My Masterlist

made a lil header for the first time these are the vibes of reader and 141 :) (not Penelope's psychical description just her vibes)

pssst see how they're all on their mics in the pics?? its cuz your the voice in their ears :)

When you pulled into a parking spot on John Price’s street thirty minutes early, you automatically feel squirmy and a little foolish. Foolish because you’d convinced yourself that you were reading too much into things. So much so, that, somehow, the boys seeking out your porn twin had circled back around to you feeling like the unprofessional one. Squirming because you’d found the video they’d all watched more than once (more than three times) in the last days of their assignment. Barrack’s Bunny Get’s Gang Banged! 

 (Of course it was a military inspired orgy video, with four men and one woman that looked almost identical to you. Because, JFC, why wouldn’t it be? Was this actress in on the torment? Was she taking requests or was this some sort of cosmic joke where the punchline was your own sexual frustration?)  

Ok, how the hell were you not supposed to read into that? 

You hadn’t been able to watch it all the way through yet, having to pause and take breaks to calm yourself down. The thumbnail alone of your doppelgänger with four sets of hands and… other extremities... was enough to tempt you put your car back in drive and go back home. Because you weren’t sure you could look any of them in the eyes, and also for the third time in the last hour, you were second guessing your outfit. 

Because what the hell does one wear to the porn-party with their boss and superiors? (Ok, maybe you should start by stop calling it the ‘porn-party’, because outside of your own finding in their browser histories, they’d yet to mention any actual porn to you in real life, but what else were you supposed to call this?)

After leaving work, you’d spent a long time debating if you needed to change and, if so, into what, and would it be delusional to put on a matching set? Johnny did say he liked seeing something soft… And were your work clothes too stiff? Was the skirt too presumptuous after that video Kyle liked titled Easy Access ? And was it just you or did your work blouse look slightly too much like the one from the office-scene Price had bookmarked? And why the hell was this all you could think about? Strewing your clothes around your bedroom like a teenager before a party, different combinations and options littering your bed and dresser until you got frustrated with yourself and your closet. With a what the hell moment of ambivalence, you’d settled on something comfortable, but switched into a lacy bralette, lying to yourself that it was more comfortable than the one you’d worn to work, and if the lacy strap happened to coquettishly accent your shoulder when your sweater sleeve slipped down your arm? Well, if it wasn’t a Porn Party, then no one would notice, and if it was, well it’d be sure to draw some appreciative eyes. 

Your car was still cranked as you sat slightly down the block from Price’s house in your casual sweater and hidden matching set, anxiously killing time by alternating between tik tok, instagram, tumblr, and oh yes,  the Barracks Bunny Gets Gang Banged video that you’d been working through thirty seconds at a time because any longer had your overheating and threatening to leave a snail trail on your upholstery. So enthralled and flustered, you’d barely thought of the fact you were quietly playing porn over your car’s bluetooth system, you’d made it to the official halfway mark, and each time you’d switched out to a different app, the ‘break’ was short lived as you went back for more, one hand white knuckling your steering wheel as if this was a particularly good movie with a plot twist you just couldn’t miss. 

So enthralled, that a sudden knocking on your window startled you so bad that you half-tossed-half-dropped your phone with a sound that could only be described as a ’squawk’  as you slammed the mute button to your car’s stereo. It was as you were turning towards the knocker, that you realized you could 100% catch a public indecency charge for this, and somehow were still only half relieved to find Johnny leaning slightly down so he could meet your gaze through your driver-side window. He had his raincoat on, and a lit cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer as he looked in on you with a cheeky smile and raised brows. When you just stared up at him like a deer in headlights, mentally trying to figure out just how long he’d been there and if from that angle he could’ve seen your screen and how good was the sound proofing on your car…. As you ran those mental calculations, Johnny simply knocked again and this time added a downwards motion with his cigarette, requesting you to roll down the window. 

You’d never noticed how slow your windows descended as the two of you held eye contact (awkward on your side, delighted on his), until there was no longer a pane of glass between you. The cool, damp night breeze carried the scent of tobacco and some kind of Old Spice fragrance into your little car as you looked up at the Scotsman. He seem amused, but happy to see you, "Coming?" 

Your brain short circuited for a moment. Were you… cumming? You stared at him wide eyed, convinced you’d misheard him. 

"What?" Was all you managed to respond with, your brain still trying to scrub filthy, lewd images from between its lobes, like a community service volunteer cleaning graffiti off subway walls. Johnny’s eyebrows only raised higher with his signature, Can’t wait to tell Ghost about this look, as he took another deep puff of his cig. 

"Are ye coming inside, hen?" He clarified slowly with that shit eating grin after blowing his smoke away form you- what a gentleman, "Or are’ye planning to sit out here all night?" 

"Oh, right." You mumbled, resisting the urge to scrub your hands across your face to physically redirect your thoughts. Instead, you nodded and started gathering your things, "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming inside." 

"Good, Si was getting impatient." Johnny grinned, stepping back so you could open your car door after you fished your phone from the passenger floorboards and cut the engine. Si? You hadn’t head that nickname for Ghost before, hell, you still excusively called him Ghost to his face, because you’d not received permission for anything else. Simon was personal, Si… was intimate...  He watched you expectantly, snapping you out of your thoughts, and when you only responded in silent confusion, he reached inside the still open vehicle and tapped the buttons, "Window, bonnie, s'raining." 

Cheeks heating in mild embarrassment, you quickly cut the battery back on so you roll up the window and then get out. You’d always been a little scatter-brained, prone to being in your own little world, but this was getting excessive. Maybe all the porn really was melting your brain… With the windows up and double checking the car was off, you finally got out of the car. Johnny immediately took the plate of brownies out of your hand in the guise of gentlemanly conduct, but actually snuck one from under the plastic wrap before you could scold him.  

"Why so grim? Y’look like yer marching off to war." Johnny seemed pretty pleased with his own little joke, his free arm resting in the small of your back to guide you up Price’s porch step and into the house like you might run off down the street without his guidance. You were considering it anyways. 

"I don’t look grim." You shot him a look but didn’t shake off his arm, nor could you prevent the smile that was fighting at the corners of your mouth, snatching the brownies back from him before he could snag another, happy to have something to fidget with as you smoothed the plastic wrap back into place. 

"No, you most definitely do not." And there was the other sergeant, Kyle, holding the door open for the two of you. Smiling as charmingly as ever, Kyle was already taking the dish out of your hands only to hand the dessert back to Johnny to carry off somewhere else. Then, he was on you, "Glad you could make it, love. Don’t listen to Soap, you look beautiful.” “Hey! Dinnae say she couldn’t be grim and beautiful.” Soap called back, already on his way deeper into the house. 

"Such a shameless flirt." You scoffed just loud enough to drown out Johnny with your own teasing smile, a more usual routine amongst all the overthinking you’d been doing, as Gaz helped you out of your coat. Maybe you were imagining the sensuality, but you were not imagining how his touch lingered, and how his fingers grazed the fabric of your sweater as it was exposed. Hell, he was basically unwrapping your raincoat like it was the gift wrap on a present, "Don’t look half bad yourself, though." 

All the boys looked good in their civilian clothes, hell they’d all look good in anything (or nothing… Focus. Focus.). But Kyle? In his stylish and tailored clothes? He always looked he’d walked off a J. Crew magazine cover when he wasn’t on base. His burgundy sweater looked like something you wanted to rub your cheek against, soft and warm and it fit him like a glove. Gaz grinned at your little praise, not speeding up his maddeningly slow pace of peeling off your raincoat and adjusting your hair for you afterwards, which distracted you just enough that you didn’t notice the others watching his little show. One of his lingering fingers seemed to all together abandon it’s mission, instead tracing the arced lace strap of your (meticulously chosen) lace bralette strap that had fallen off your shoulder. You watched Kyle’s finger follow the flowery lace pattern for a moment before fixing back on your shoulder with an audible snap! that made you jump a little from the sting. 

This time you did see Johnny’s amused grin and slightly devious eyes as your own went wide and you let out a little yelp, snapping your eyes over your soldier at the sergeant. Gaz was quick to soothe the ouch, humming at you before you could get disgruntled while his warm palm cupped the curve of your shoulder and rubbed the slightly stinging skin softly. And if you were still reading into things (you were) you could swear it was just for him to have a reason to touch you more.

"Sorry, love, had to fix it, was bothering me." Was the only explanation offered for his actions. Once your jacket was off, Gaz hung it on the foyer hooks, it looking comically small and feminine between all four of theirs. You knew your brain was melted from all the porn when the visual immediately reminded you of the stupid video’s thumbnail picuture… the pretty, feminine actress with four huge actors surrounding her… Fortunately, Kyle tugging you further into the house pulled you out of your dirty-thought spiral. 

In the kitchen, John Price was waiting, marinating a platter of steaks. You couldn’t help the amused quirk of a smile at seeing the apron tied over his civilian clothes, an unlit cigar in the chest pocket for easy access. The captain smiled first to Gaz with an approving nod, and then to you with a teasing smirk, "Thought you’d sit out in your car all night." 

"I’m early." You defended yourself, cheeks now must be permanently stained into a flush with how easily they managed to fluster you. Gaz parked himself right beside you, leaning on the counter but standing so close that his shoulder was slotted slightly behind you, half his chest pressed to your back, distractingly proving your early guess that his sweater was, in fact, very soft.  It took the steam out of your vehement defense, "You said, eight. It’s 7:50." 

"Yeah, but you’ve been sitting out there since 7:30, love." Kyle chided. You wondered if it was the whiskey he was sipping that gave him the courage to puncuate his teasings with a slight pinch to your hip that made you squirm. His closeness kept you from slipping away as he shifted his attention to his captain, that easy going smile still on his face, "She brought brownies." 

"I know. Johnny’s already had two." Price smiled, slathering another steak with marinade and massaging it into the meat with tender but deliberate ministrations of his long fingers that, for a moment, made you jealous of a dead slab of beef. His eyes caught yours staring at his hands, chuckling as he cleared his throat, "We had something else in mind for dessert. Very sweet of you though." 

Something Price said made Kyle chuckle like it was some kind of inside joke, his fingers still on your hip, tracing little circles that were almost as distracting as… whatever the hell it was that Price was doing to the steaks. 

"Now, go off and relax. I’m about to cut onions and we don’t want to mess up that pretty make up." Price ordered, shooing you off towards his stocked bar cart, before adding quietly enough you thought you might have hallucinated it, "Not yet, anyways." 

__

Later, after you’d been supplied a drink and deposited on the couch with Ghost to watch what you were pretty sure was a rugby match (you were a little distracted by his warm arm draped over your shoulder, fingers tracing the same floral lace Gaz had). 

"Gonna have to make some more room, love." Kyle grinned, looking down at you, holding his drink in one hand and one of your brownies in the other. You looked around yourself, already sandwhiched between the armrest of the sofa and Ghost who hadn’t closed his legs even a fraction when Johnny’d led you to the couch originally. Wasn’t much room to make room with. 

"Oh, I can just-" you started, standing carefully as to not spill the drink Kyle had made for you. Before you could step away to claim the plush arm chair by the mantle (a safe distance from Simon’s thigh against yours and Kyle’s lingering touches), a strong arm wrapped around your middle and tugged you right back down. Instead of your original seat, however, it was Ghost who had pulled you side saddle into his lap, his other hand steadying the drink in yours. Gaz chuckled, taking the spot you had been sitting in, both men unbothered by your startled yelp. 

Despite the fact that Simon had forecully and silently pulled you onto his lap, when you gave him a bewildered look, he seemed not to even notice the fact you were sitting on him, his amber eyes focused on the fame playing even as his finger’s kneaded distracting little circles into the plushest part of your waist, his arm still wrapped around you like you might try and escape. And when you just blinked at him, his only offering was, "Tha’s Price’s chair." 

"Ye look comfy." Soap chided as he came around the corner with a beer and a lo-ball glass of some sort of whiskey, beer for himself and the (presumably) bourbon was given to Simon, both however, were offered to Simon, "Crack that for me, Si?" 

You watched, wide eyed and enamored, as he lifted his mask over his nose and used his teeth to crack the bottle open before taking a long swig and then handing it back to Johnny in exchange for the whiskey. You had a front row seat to the bob of his Adam’s apple, and the way a scar split the top corner of his lip vertically (you wondered if you would feel the scar if he was kissing you, focus, damnit, focus). Soap noticed your expression and the blush in your cheeks with a twinkle in his eyes, " ’s not nice to stare, bonnie." 

You stared a moment longer before forefully shaking yourself out of the stupor and taking a swig of your own drink, thankfully ice cold. The momentary pause allowed you to dip back into your usual well of sarcastic wit, offering the Scot a raised eyebrow, "You’re just jealous I’m not staring at you." 

Johnny only shrugged, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa, making his broad chest only seem broader, his grin showing just enough teeth to appear wolfish as his thigh pressed into Ghost’s and therefore the round of your ass, "Aye, maybe I am."  

"Ignore him, he’s been watching too much…" Simon started swirling then sipping his bourbon before tugging his mask down again afterwards. You knew the answer to his trail off and your internal body temp went up five degrees, alarm bells ringing in your brain. Johnny elbowed the taller man, so Simon only shrugged and finished lamely with, "stuff." 

Porn. He’s been watching a lot of porn. You all have.  I know that. You know that. We all know that. You brain chanting in time with those stupid circles he was rubbing on your hip as Johnny took the liberty of adjusting the hair off your shoulder, his voice a challenging chide,  "What’s that look for, bonnie? What’d you think he was gonna say?" 

Your mouth opened, and then closed, and you were saved from answering by Price coming into the living room, declaring the steaks were marinating so they had a while to just hang out. He gave Kyle a shoulder squeeze in passing, and offered you a warm smile before settling in his chair by the mantle. The chair you’d tried to escape to earlier. 

For a get-together planned around watching the game, it occurred to you that not a single eye was on the TV at the moment. Instead, you realized they were all on… you. Price in his chair, smoothing his beard. Simon still had you on his lap, amber eyes carefully scrutinizing your expression as you flicked your eyes over to Gaz, who was watching you- or rather the rise and fall of your chest as he pulled your legs into his lap- with a slightly cocked head, a small smile on his lips. And finally, Johnny, who’d not stopped fidgeting with your hair and the neckline of your sweater. 

Once again, you were uncharacteristically at a loss for words, squirming a bit on Simon’s lap as you tried to figure out what to say or if to say anything at all, because all that was coming to mind right now were two options. Are y’all trying to fuck me? and How’s the weather?. Both options made you want to crawl in a hole and stay there. 

"You’re quiet tonight, sweet, something on your mind?" Price raised his eyebrows, still smirking, knuckles tapping against the armrest, "Something you wanted to tell the boys, right? What we talked about in my office?" 

How were you supposed to broach the topic of their internet history, essentially admit to knowing about your XXX twin, while sitting on your superior's lap, having your hair played with, and your calves massaged through your leggings… 

"No, no. Just… enjoying my drink." You muttered, draining the rest of the beverage before leaning over to place the empty glass on the side table, which was a mistake because it just had you practically sprawled over the three men on the couch, "What game are we supposed to be watching tonight?" 

"Never mind that, hen." Johnny shrugged, clicking the TV off before tossing the remote to Price, "We’ve been into a… different form of entertainment lately." 

Yeah. I know. The problem is that I know. You thought to yourself, now not even able to pretend to watch the screen, forced to focus on all the hands and eyes on you. 

"Let’s stop dancing around it." Simon gruffed, resting his head against the back of the couch, his fingers trailing from your hip to the top of your thigh, "She’s not daft." 

"Lieutenant Riley, always the subtle one." Gaz rolled his eyes before sliding his eyes over to Price who gave him an affirmative nod, not unlike they would do in the field, and then his eyes were back on you, "So, we know you aren’t blind, love, sure you noticed something going on here." 

You weren’t sure if he was talking about what you’d dubbed the porn party or if he was just talking about the general bond between the men that went deeper than just elite squad, so you just nodded, hoping he would proceed with some more context clues… any keep rubbing his thumbs around your calf. It was not helping you focus. Kyle just grinned, his hands gently roaming up your shins to your knees and then back down, "Well, we’ve noticed something, too, love. You." 

"Me?" You parroted, half sincere half forced faux shock, that sent you further back into Johnny’s chest, the Scot who was still fiddling with your hair had also pressed his nose into the crown of your hair to smell whatever products you used. "Don’t sound so surprised, bonnie." He murmured into your hair before leaning past you to Simon, planting an open-mouthed, 

wet kiss against the larger man’s mask right beside your own face. Your mouth dried out despite just finishing your drink, tongue seeming too big for your mouth, eyes flicking rapidly between them and Gaz. You were beyond flustered, your stomach twisting in a both nerve wracking and enticing way. You didn’t know where to look, or if you should look, or look away. You didn’t want to look away, seeing Soap’s tongue find Simon’s mouth even through the cotton. Did they want the illusion of privacy and if so, how were you supposed to give them that when Simon was half groping you at the same time Johnny was lapping at his tongue 

through the balaclava? Johnny slid his eyes to you, barely breaking from Ghost, "S’alright, hen, don’t mind you watching us. After all, s’only fair." 

Your eyes widened, owlishly turning to Gaz though Simon kept you from slipping off his lap. Was that them telling you that they knew you knew? Was this some confession about finding your doppelgänger and watching enough of her content to pay off her car? He rolled his eyes at the other sergeant, his easy going smile returning when his eyes came back to you. 

"They’re so impatient." He chuckled with a what can you do shrug, as if they’d simply skipped to dessert (innuendo intended) instead of started sloppily making out with you in their lap. He quit massaging at your calves, instead using his middle and pointer fingers to trace patterns (you could swear it was a mimic of the lace pattern he’d traced earlier). Your eyes flicked over to Price, who was still just watching, leaned back in his chair, jutting his chin back to Gaz as if telling you to pay attention. Sheepishly, you turned back to Kyle, "So, we’ve… discovered this person online, and she looks… so much like you. Genuinely, love, it’s uncanny. And there’s this video she made that really caught our attention-" 

"She knows the one." "Aye, She’s seen it." 

Both Price and Johnny answered at the same time. Price, because you’d brought up the issue to him in his office. And Johnny… had apparently been standing outside your car longer than you thought and could see your screen. Your cheeks had to be glowing by now. Kyle’s smile just grew, flashing perfect white teeth at you as he leaned in closer, "Perfect, then we can skip that explanation. But once we saw it… well, it kind of got under our skin. You’ve gotten under our skin, love."  

Johnny and Simon hadn’t stopped though they had shifted and suddenly there lips were back and forth on each other, and also over your neck and shoulders as you tried fervently to keep your eyes on Gaz as he leaned closer, pulling the sleeve of your sweater off your shoulder to expose that lace strap again, "And, judging by how you’ve been acting lately, we’ve gotten under yours too." 

"Yeah. Yeah. That’s one way to put it." You admitted in a released breath, eyes flicked down to Simon who’d been kissing and sucking right at the curve of your shoulder for several long seconds, like if he wasn’t already under your skin, he’d supplant himself there personally. Johnny wasn’t going under your clothes, but his hands were tracing the line of your spine, finding the waistband of your leggings, nosing into your hair so he could kiss the shell of your ear. All while Kyle just kept that pretty grin on you, somehow putting you at ease and twisting your nerves even more. 

"And, truthfully, we could sit here talking about it all night, Or…"  And Kyle Garrick, with that unfairly, stupidly charming smile of his, made a veritable orgy sound as commonplace and sensible as going to the pub afterwork, and you found yourself dumbly nodding along to his easy words before you anxieties, logical and/or otherwise, could convince you that group sex with your coworkers was probably not the most professional way to spend a Friday night. But, damn, the sparkle in those pretty hazel-brown eyes was doing a good job of easing any worries that charming smile had missed… 

Price finally spoke up again, but stayed in his chair, "You're nodding, sweet, but we gotta hear it. Out loud. Do you want this?" 

When you looked over again, John Price was looking wholly the Captain he was. If you thought he was making a point to manspread in his office earlier in the day, now… Now he was just showing off. He looked like he was posing on a throne, legs spread, elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he settled in, watching the three soldiers and you on the couch.  Seemingly completely nonplussed by his subordinate employees’ heavy petting on his couch. 

Your internal reflection was swift. You were already getting felt up. If going into the office was going to be awkward on Monday, it was going to be awkward regardless of whether or not you cut it off at groping. You might as well let them relieve the nagging itch in the back of your mind while you were at it. So after another dumb nod, you found your voice again, "Yes. Yes. I want it. Please." 

"So polite." Johnny murmured, taking you verbal confirmation as permission to slip his hands underneath your clothes, mapping your bare skin, "And you’ll say something if it’s too much?" 

"Yeah, yeah." You nodded fervently, turning your head to try and catch one of their lips, the sweater had been stifling for the past hour, but now it was itching at your feverish skin. Johnny just smiled, helping you out of the thing. 

"Good girl." Simon nodded before his amber eyes lit up a bit, "Well, would you look at tha’." 

His fingers dipped under the lacy band of the bralette you were wearing. Johnny had already run his hands over the fabric while Kyle just whistled lowly. Price was the one who spoke up about it, "Did you put that on just for us, sweet?" 

"Just in… just in case." You nodded in a breath, leaning back into Johnny as he started rolling your leggings down, exposing the complimentary lace waistband of your panties. Another round of appreciative comments and touches, Simon’s teeth nipping at the curve of your neck again. 

"Too good to us, love." Gaz shook his head, helping his fellow sergeant get your leggings all the way off and tossing them somewhere out of sight, pressing kisses to the top of your thighs, then your knees, and finally one too the inside of your ankle. " So you suspected all along. How’d you see the video?" 

"Go on, sweet, fill him in." Price prompted with that stupid little smirk, the one that tugged the corners of his beard up. The one that made you want to get on your knees and do anything to earn one of those approving nods. 

"I-I can see the websites y’all visit." You admitted breathlessly, watching as Kyle kissed his way back up your legs, how those eyes never broke contact with yours, "I have to clear them for security purposes. I’ve.. I’ve seen all the videos y’all’ve been sharing with each other." “

All of them. So 

that’s why you’ve been so quiet, bonnie?" Johnny hummed, a smile pressed into the base of your neck, watching Simon nip at your neck, teeth digging in harder every time, making you whimper which seemed to only egg Ghost on. 

"Flattered or offended?" Kyle asked, but his smile told you he already knew the answer. Because, with you sprawled over the laps of three men, if you were offended you had a funny way of showing it. 

"I should’ve been." You gulped after breaking off Johnny’s lips for a moment, adding on, "Offended."

"But you’re not?" Price prompted, head cocking to the side as he fiddled with lighting his cigar. 

No. For better or for worse, this roundabout workplace harassment approach had really worked on you. So you just shook your head, opening your mouth as Simon pulled his mask up and caught your lips, tongue domineering itself into your mouth almost instantly. 

"So cooperative, nice change of pace." One of them hummed, but you couldn’t place it, too focussed on the fingers kneading at your inner thighs, slowly working your legs open into a spread so your knee’s were hooked over each side of Simon’s wide spread legs, which exposed the dampened gusset of the deliberately chosen panties. 

"All right, deal’s a deal, Garrick," Simon all but growled into your mouth, your eyes fluttering open to see his amber eyes watching Kyle who was smirking like he’d just gotten away with something, "You get first taste. Warm ‘er up for us." 

Oh. Oh. Just diving right in. Though Gaz was ever the gentleman, charming through and through. 

"May I?" He asked softly, waiting with his fingers hooked in the lacy waistband as he sunk to his knees in front of you. Your breath picked up just from the sight, and it was only Simon holding you to him that kept you from leaning down and catching a kiss from Kyle as well. Since that wasn't an option, you jerked your head in a clumsy nod, punctuating with the cant of your hips towards him that just made him chuckle as your panties were discarded towards the same direction as your pants. 

"Please." You whined, the tone making all of the men snap their eyes up to you, the expressions all reading make her do it again. You didn’t even have time to adjust to the cold air on your exposed bits before Gaz’s hot mouth was covering the sensitive flesh, drawing a gasp as you threw yourself back into Simon’s chest. Ghost only hooked his chin over your shoulder, lazily watching as Gaz licked a flat stripe, first dipping into your entrance, teasing a bit as deep as he could get. Your clit got a little attention from his nose bumping it, make you breathe sharp breaths with little clipped moans. But when he withdrew and  traced his tongue  back up, finding your clit and slipping under the hood, your attempts at demure noises were nixed by a sudden and echoing moan. 

"That good? Yeah, Gaz’s pretty skilled with ‘is tongue." Johnny nodded, nuzzling at your other shoulder as he watched on too, palming himself through his jeans, "Meticulous thing he is." 

"How’s she taste, sergeant?" Price asked, adjusting himself as well. Kyle surfaced for only a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers when you whined in disappointment. 

"Better than the bloody brownies, that’s for certain." He hummed, his corners of his mouth glistening, eyes flicking up to you as he rested a cheek against the inside of your thigh. You tried to be offended at the diss to your baking skills, but as Kyle dove back in, a skillful swirl and lewd slurp killed any smart comment on your tongue, or rather on his. You weren’t sure if it was even possible to actually decipher, but you were certain he was spelling barrack’s bunny over your clit with his tongue, letter by unraveling letter. All four men seemed to delight in how your breathing sped up, how your head seemed so heavy to hold up that it flopped backwards into Simon’s shoulder. Kyle tolerated your hips rolling twice, but his chivalry ended the third time, reaching up and placing Simon’s hand at your waist to hold you still for him, while his hands kept your thighs from closing around his head. The message was clear. Anything you were getting would come from him and only him. You recalled how so many of his preferred videos revolved around control, pleasure dom, a term you had had to google. All you could do was stare down between your legs and watch him devour you. 

"If she tastes half as good as she looks…" Johnny trailed off, catching the corner of your mouth for a short kiss, his fingers tracing the lace pattern right over your perked nipples, at least Simon was lenient enough to let you arch your chest into the touch, "Right treat you are, hen." 

Your first climax was a quick thing, a full body clench and vulgar moan clawing its way out of your throat, your thighs trembling around Kyle as he licked and slurped his way through your high, collected anything you put out for him. His movements only slowing when your body relaxed back against Ghost. He gave your pussy a comedically sweet kiss before sitting up, and it was only then that he pulled you down to him for your first real kiss from him. It was tender and sweet, with the appropriate amount of tongue, almost the kind of kiss you’d give on a really good first date, if it wasn’t for the fact you could taste your essence on him, your cum making his lips slippery against yours. 

"Called dibs on that weeks ago." He grinned, breaking the kiss to watch his fingers to dip between your legs, collect some more of your wetness and pop it in his mouth, eyes closing like he was savoring a fine wine.  You watched him with mouth agape and eyes half lidded, "Alright then, Tav, surprised you held yourself back this long, go on then."

Johnny’s smile was all teeth as he descended upon you, kissing any of your slick off your mouth that Kyle’d left behind like he was getting a sneak preview. Though, for someone so often ridiculed for being impatient, he was anal about this kiss. Making sure to try every angle of his mouth against yours, then repeating his tests with tongue, and then once more splitting your attention with Simon. Ghost played along for a while, letting his sergeant explore your lips and your chest before he nodded down to the floor when Kyle’d been. 

"Keep yourself busy, Johnny." Was the clipped order, as he took over kissing you, one large hand splayed along your face to keep you drawn to him, as if you might try to get away. He had nothing to worry about, the whiplash of switching partners and desires had you craving attention anywhere you could find it. You were already putty on his lap with Johnny taking over Kyle’s place between you legs. While it was still overwhelmingly pleasurable, his actions were more sloppy than Kyle’s. His strategy was to barrage your nerves as opposed to Kyle’s precision attacks. It still had you whining and squirming, which was enough to short circuit your focus. Johnny didn’t seem to mind you instinctively grinding into his face, in fact it only seemed to encourage him. Simon’s job was to keep you from melting off his lap, which he did while his kisses became harder and harder, sometimes biting at your bottom lip, "Now you just taste like his shitty beer, you’ll lemme fix that, won’t you, lovie?" 

When you nodded, he smiled, tugging the balaclava all the way off. You didn’t even have time to properly admire how handsome he was under the thing, didn’t have time to pepper those scars with kisses or wax poetic about how all his unconventional features played together harmoniously to make him exceedingly handsome. Before you could do any of that, he’d taken a sip of his bourbon, swallowing as he watched you watch him. 

"Open." He directed, nodding when you obediently dropped your mouth open. He tipped your head back at the same time as he took a longer draw of his bourbon, holding it in his mouth for a moment before pulling your lips up to his and kissing the liquor straight onto your tongue, burning off anything and anyone else. When he’d given you every last drop, he pulled back and manually shut your mouth, "Go on and swallow for me, don’t waste it. ’s hard to get this stuff ‘round here." 

Bourbon wasn’t often in your rotation for drinks, the taste smoky and sharp just like the man that had kissed it into your mouth, but one look into Simon’s eyes had you nodding again. As you forced yourself to swallow it, the burn going all the way into stomach, stoking the fires the men had started in you. After he watched your throat bob, he nodded approvingly. 

"Good fuckin’ girl." He praised which made the burning sting worth it, catching your lips in another punishing kiss when you moaned from Johnny’s sloppy slurping. Simon hummed, finding that your mouth now tasted like his preferred pour, "Much better." 

After kissing the taste of his bourbon off you, he pulled back for a moment just to watch you whine and grind against the sergeant between both sets of your legs. After a moment of appreciation for the garment against your skin, the bralette they’d all liked so much was roughly yanked down,  the straps down your shoulders while the cups and band bunched up under your now exposed breasts. Johnny was watching from the floor, his big blue eyes crinkling and lips pulling into a smile against you, while Simon ran his hands over your bare chest, stopping to squeeze and pinch when he pleased. “Johnny- 

Ghost-" You almost shrieked not sure who to call too or thank for the electric static in your nervous system, arching your chest up into his hands, and when the movement moved your hips away from Johnny, he just took your legs off Simon’s knees and hooked them over his shoulders, keeping you firmly in place, "

Shit." 

"Language, sweet." Price teasingly scolded from his chair, still stroking his beard from his arm chair. Gaz and Simon just chuckled when you pouted through another throaty moan. Simon was nudging your cheek with his nose, skimming his teeth across you jawline between kisses that trailed fown your neck, sucking marks that would stay for weeks, always finding his way back to what seemed to be his favorite spot in the curve of your neck. “Should’ve seen the Sergeants when they first found that video, acting like they’d won the fuckin' lottery. Been wanting you for months but tha’ really sealed the deal, lovie, couldn’t even get through the first quarter before this one was panting and rutting. Like it was the first time they’d ever seen a dirty video. Ain’t that right, Johny?”  It was the most you’d ever heard Simon talk in one go, every couple of words grunted and groaned out between kisses across any skin he could reach with you sitting back against him, breath hotly fanning along your neck as he went. And when he finished the thought, he reached down between your legs and fished the sergeant up by his mohawk, leaving both you and Johnny whine at the loss of contact. Simon just laughed coldly and gave Johnny a prompting jerk, much rougher than he’d been touching you, “You gonna answer us, Johnny?”  “Aye. Aye. Knew I had to get ma’ hands on ye.” Was all he managed before diving in for another taste of you, surfacing briefly again to relay a message up to Simon, half moaned half growled, 

"This cunt's like fucking silk, I’ll tell you, Lt.” Strong hands clenching into the plushest parts your thighs holding them around his face like he was 

hoping he’d suffocate down there, "Ye gotta get in here, ain’t nothing like it."

"You want that, sweetheart?" Simon hummed, moving from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, "Want me in you?"

"Fuck. Yes, fuck me." You rambled which just made them chuckle at you as one of your hands when into Johnny’s mohawk and the other palmed at your breasts. Johnny moaned when you tugged at his hair, sending subtle vibrations up with his tongue that almost sent you undone again. Simon easily pushed you down his legs, still supporting you with one hand as Johnny kept going, and freeing his erection with the other. Gaz and Johnny had worked hard to warm you up, to break you in for them, but Simon’s dick threatened to break you, period. He was just as thick as John, but almost as long as Kyle, cut, veiny, with a pretty pink tip. Como se dice, how you say… hung like a fucking horse.  

He must’ve seen your wide eyes, the subtle fear in your eyes that was chased away when Johnny drug his teeth over your clit with just enough pressure to make you choke on your own spit. Ghost reached down intermingling his fingers with your folds and Johnny’s tongue, "We’ll start easy. Just the tip, lovie. Johnny’ll handle the rest for now." 

They did just that. He held his hand out to Johnny, letting the man on his knees spit into his palm and then rubbed it against his dick, before pulling you back against him once more. Before he even attempted any sort of penetration, he slid his erection through your folds a couple of times just to collect some more slick,  "You are just like silk, Johnny was right." 

He grunted into your neck with another few slippery passes before reaching down as easing the tip into you. He was thick, enough so that it stung a bit as you tried to adjust. Despite his soft voice and unusually soft eyes, Simon’s control slipped, rutting a bit before you were ready. At you uncomfortable whine, Johnny mirrored the sound in disapproval of your upset, immediately going to remedy the hurt with his tongue, servicing both you and Simon with a flat lick up Simon’s exposed length and then up to your clit to help you relax. 

"Breathe for me, lovie." The Liutenant ordered, like he was trying to be gentle with you but his jaw was gritted, trying even harder not to snap his hips against yours and bully his too-big dick into your hole, "Try to relax for me." 

You were panting, cheeks puffing with your breaths, not sure if Johnny’s tongue was helping or just tensing you up more, but God, it felt good and you weren’t going to be the one to tell him to stop. Not yet at least. You got another inch in, which earned a kiss to your neck. 

" s’all I can take right now." You breathed, reaching back to support yourself against him. 

"Better than I did on my first go, eh, LT?" Johnny grinned up before kissing up the length of Simon’s cock that wasn't inside of you, flicking his tongue over the stretched rim of your entrance that was still trying to clench around the sudden intrusion, "She’s tryin’ so hard." 

By the look in his eyes, he wasn’t talking about you. The She in question was just your pussy. Simon nodded along, hissing curses into your hair. 

"Alright, lovie, alright, no more for now." He gritted out, " ‘m gonna move now, just try and stay loose as you can for me." 

Humming in agreement, you tried to let yourself be pliant against him, feeling his hips rock, the in and out of his movements pleasurable enough to draw out a keening moan despite the less than comfortable stretch. His lips were at your neck again as he continued his thrusts, slightly steadier, growing more confident. And then it was his teeth, nipping between sucks, though his words were still growled, "That’s it, doing so good for me, for us." 

Your mistake was losing yourself in the feeling, letting your hips rock because it shattered what little control Ghost had at the moment. He sunk in another few inches, teetering between painful and pleasurable, making you cry out, nails digging into his forearms as a tear slipped down your cheek. The dig of your nails only urged him on, the nip of your teeth turning into a full bite, enough to break skin just slightly. However, the moment your cry was one of actual discomfort instead of pleasure, he withdrew completely, kissing over where he’d bitten, "Sorry, sorry, lovie, got too rough, too quick with you." 

He slowly eased you off of him, nudging Johnny off as well, still kissing at the spot he’d bitten too harshly, fingers kneading comfort into your hips and then your thigh, "Y'alright? Need to stop?" 

You took a breath, let the initial shock of the stretch and the bite fade away, let him swipe the rogue tear off your cheek, let your body readjust…. and then shook your head, signalling you wanted to keep going, pulling him by the back of the neck down to you again for a kiss. Johnny was still at your knees, massaging your thighs, watching Simon deepen the kiss as much as you’d let him, and then pushing a little further, his fingers flexing hard into you again making you wince just a little. Honestly, you could’ve endured that, hell with another couple of kisses, you could’ve enjoyed it. But this time, he cut himself off, pulling back with a slew of curses that’d send a sailor to confession. 

"Fuck, ‘m sorry, sweetheart, I’ve never been good at taking it slow." Simon growled, jaw still clenched so hard you were afraid he’d crack a tooth., thumbs easing the irritated skin he’d clenched just slightly too hard, "You’re just too perfect, can’t keep my head on straight."

Ghost stopped to think for a moment, breathing hot and heaving against you skin, before flicking his eyes down to Soap who’d stopped massaging your thighs in favor of featherlight kisses where his stubble had chafed you. You’d seen this before, the internet called it cuteness aggression. 

"Price." He called, nodding to his Captain, a signal to take over. John nodded, and after meeting your still lust glazed expression, ascertaining you were alright, seemed rather amused by the tag-in.  It seemed, despite the civilian clothes  and whatever intimacy was shared amongst the group, rank hierarchy was still firmly present, because when Captain Price finally rose from his arm chair, the sergeants and Lieutenant wordlessly moved out of his way, presenting you along the way for him as his belt buckle jingled being loosened and discarded. 

Still, despite his evident imposition, his strength was gentle as he peeled you off his lieutenant who stood, manhandling Johnny off with him to the chair. Half dazed and panting, you were grateful for his patience as he asked with only a little teasing, "Can you stand for me, Sweet, just a little?" 

And when your legs were still jelly and trembling, he just chuckled, leaking cigar smoke into your mussed hair, "That’s alright, Sweet, you just let me lay you out all pretty." 

With that, you were bent over the arm of your boss’s sofa, callous hands traced slowly down your spine and then paused at your hips, massaging your flanks much as he had his cuts of steak. Price massaged his way from your hips, over and around your ass, and then worked from outwards to the inner most part of your thighs. Finally, he dragged a flat palm up your exposed sex, and when you looked over your shoulder, he was licking his tongue across that same hand, a deep rumbling growl shaking you to your core as you watched him taste not only you, but also notes of his boys, "Sweeter than fuckin’ sugar, love. Fuckin’ perfect." 

You just stared at him with wide eyes, limply spread over the arm rest, hips instinctively pressing back into him to find more touch, more friction, more him. Words failed, only high pitched whines made it out. Which made Johnny, off to the side, chuckle. 

"Think this is the longest I’ve ever seen her quiet." The scot chided, watching with great interest as Price took another swipe through your folds, coating his cock in whatever (whoever’s) bodily fluids he collected there. 

"Maybe you should take some notes, mutt." Simon gruffed, taking a fistful of the sergeant’s Mohawk and tugging it rather harshly backwards, exposing Johnny’s throat that his teeth descended upon almost immediately. Some time between being between our legs and being in Simon’s lap, Johnny’s shirt had disappeared, his jeans still on but unbuckled and Simon was fishing his erection out. 

"Ignore ‘em." Price chuckled down to you, physically redirecting your attention by giving your clit a bit of attention as he eased himself slowly in, all the way to his base, "Y’feel even better than you taste, sweet thing, y’know that?" 

You didn’t know that, but you’d take the compliment, if you remembered it, or your own name by the end of… whatever this was. He gave one slow and steady thrust, almost like an experiment, one hand holding your hips in place, the other holding his cigar up to his lips. 

"Dessert before dinner, how about that, lads?" 

There was a moment of recall to his earlier words, "Already had something else in mind for dessert" echoed with what he just said in your fuzzy mind. You had been dessert all along, and judging by the ravenous eyes with varying degrees of satiation,  the 141 intended to eat their fill, your online look-a-like was simply a taste test. A momentary taste of vindication on your tongue- you hadn’t been reading too far into things or fluffing your own ego, this was premeditated, and your matching set wasn’t presumptuous. Still, that only lasted a singular breath, the smug vindication was phsycially forced out of you with a rough snap of his hips, the first of many from the demanding, almost brutal, pace John set for himself. 

"There’s a girl, you just take it for me," He grunted between thrusts, seemingly pleased with your little cries and moans, "Just like that, sweet, you’ll be taking Simon’s cock in no time."  

John Price’s couch was not picked out with ‘being bent over the side’ in mind. Or perhaps, you were just a bit softer than the other’s that had had the pleasure of being bent over the arm like John had you at that moment. Taking mercy upon your ribs, or perhaps just for his own selfish purposes, Kyle slotted himself underneath your front and sat you up against his chest, throwing your arms over his shoulders. While John still had your hips over the couch arm, Gaz had pulled you chest up to his, his lips finding your lips, your cheek, jaw, and breasts as he went. 

"Poor sweet thing" Kyle cooed, his perfect pearly teeth nipping at your ear while is chest steadied you against Price’s onslaught that pushed a thought our of your mind with each quick, but deep, thrust, "Didn’t know what you were walking into, did you? And now look at what a mess we made you?" 

You couldn’t tell if Kyle was mocking you or praising you, kind words and little digs were both dipped in that sugary sweet tone that just made you nod up at him with wide eyes and a pouted lip. One of this thumbs reached up and swiped a mascara laden tear out from under your eye, the same thumb dipping into your mouth and holding it open in the pornographic O-shape after Price drew a vulgar moan out with a particularly deep thrust that also managed to scoot the sofa a couple of inches. Gaz didn’t even waver, just laughed a bit as he held you steady, "Mean, innit he?" 

Another moan blocked the chance at a snappy reply, not that you had the current brain power to make one. The sergeant just took the chance to swallow your noises with his mouth over yours, kissing you and biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. With what little fortitude you had, you grabbed the collar of that soft sweater and hauled him right back up to your mouth. It was aggressive kissing. Tongue and teeth and nails, sloppy and  dirty, your noses bumping together from the force of Price’s thrusting. 

When Price adjusted your hips, it forced you onto your tip toes to maintain the angle. And while the new angle provided incentive and reward in the way of relentless pounding of that delicious spongy spot inside you, that fact only made it harder for your already shaking legs to support you. 

"Hold her fast, Sergeant." Was the grunted order as he gave your ass a smack, like he was punishing you for the indiscretion of already having you legs fucked out from under your from the other men in his living room. Honestly, How dare you? Kyle took orders beautifully. The best multitasker on the squad, as he not only, held you at that perfect angle for his Captain, but also, trailed wet, hot kisses down to your chest, locking onto one of your nipples with devious precision, only sucking harder when you cried out. 

" ‘m gonna cum-!" It was strangled and whined into Kyle’s shoulder still fisting the collar of his shirt while your other hand posed serious risk of shredding the upholstery. 

"You gonna cum on me, sweet? Go ahead, but I’m not stopping." Price chuckled through his warning, leaning over your head and pulling Gaz in by the back of his neck for a sloppy kiss of his own. 

"Go on then. Give it to him." Kule urged in that sickly sweet tone, "The captain’s working so hard back there for you, least you could do is let ‘im feel how pretty you fall apart." 

Another moan, a garbled cry of both of their names mashed together when they pushed you over the edge in tandem with a well timed deep thrust and light smack to your clit from Price at the same time that Gaz tweaked both of your nipples.. 

"You feel that Cap? That flutter?" Gaz called, talking (literally) over your head as you sagged, twitching against him, unlatching from the hickey he was sucking into your collarbone, "That’s fuckin’ magic, that is." 

"Flutter? She’s wringing me dry in there." Price groaned, his pace only slowed by the vice like grip your core had as your eyes rolled back, "Sweet’s cunt’s practically swallowing me, bloody hell, greedy thing, aren’t you?"

The only reprieve you had was Price leaning forward so his warm chest pressed to your back, his big hands circling your clit like it might encourage you loosen back up for him so he could resume his movements, "C’mon, love, you gonna answer me?" 

"Yes…" You drawled, flopping your head over so you could meet his eyes over your shoulder, that signature mirthful smile twitching the corners of his beard of as he tweaked the little bundle of nerves to correct you. With a little cry, you answered once more, "Yes, sir." 

"Atta girl." Price nodded approvingly as he took a long draw of his cigar his pinkie shaking off little bits of ash onto your raised posterior (which should’ve made you feel degraded, or maybe it did which is why it made your eyes flutter again), both at the answer and at the relaxing of your muscles allowing him to build his pace back up.  

"Hear that, love?"  Kyle’s attention returned down to you when your face dropped back down into the curve of his shoulder, "what a good pussy, taking us all so well, and she just keeps wanting more." 

"More?" You croaked out through another moan, panting and trying to count the stars dotting your vision, not sure if you were requesting or parroting in disbelief. Though with a clearer mind, you wouldn’t have been so shocked. Price had barely stuttered in getting his rhythm back up to it’s pace, riding you all the way through your orgasm. 

"Told you, ‘m not fucking stopping." Price growled with another smack to the round of your ass. Something between a moan and a cry crawled out of your throat, but tapping our hadn’t once occurred to you. 

"You can take it, love, bet you can even give us another big finish, yeah?" Kyle encouraged. It occurred to you the Gaz had now coaxed you through two orgasms, and really hadn’t even asked for anything in return from you. And while you were sure, between the four of you, someone would throw him a bone(r), you decided to take that cross upon yourself, reaching down between him and yourself and wrapping around his dick. From what you could tell, he was on the leaner side, but he was the longest in the group, slightly curved. Which gave you plenty of room to rub and squeeze, from base to his tip where you thumbed the slit, spreading the precum back down as you followed the vein on the underside. Kyle tried to chuckle through a moan, "Bloody hell, love." 

Jerking off took on a new meaning as your movements, meant to be languid and smooth, turned jerky and choppy with the force of Price’s increasing speed, his rythym stuttering as he chased his own release. Kyle leaned down using one of his free hands to roll a nipple in his fingers, catching the other in his mouth as you continued to pump him. Between the two of them, it didn’t take long to come close to the edge once more, and you didn’t even have time to be proud of bring both of them over with you in tandem as your third orgasm tore through you, leaving all three of you dazed and breathless. You were vaguely aware of Gaz’s cum on you chest, kind of feeling the warm, sticky trail it left as it leaked down your front while John gave a few more lazy strokes as he softened inside of you. Though Gaz twitched hard again just watching your eyes roll back, and when Price was finally done, he gave your thighs a gentle, almost proud squeeze, watching his spend leak out for a moment before gently collecting you upright once more. With a sweet forehead kiss that contrasted so heavily from the cigar ashes and ass slaps, he gave your cheek a little pat, "Still with me, sweet?" 

"Mmmhm." You nodded, eyes only half opned as Gaz sat up behind you and sucked kisses across the back of your shoulders. You’d be wearing turtle necks for weeks. John’s attention shifted over to Simon, who you now realized had been watching the show with the darkest eyes you’d ever seen with poor Johnny taking the brunt of whatever storm Ghost had brewing. Your eyes fluttered watching the liutenant’s hand tighten around Johnny’s throat. Despite the tears on the Scot’s face, he didn’t appear to be too upset with his current predicament, in fact giving you a groan through a watery smile as Simon’s other hand tightened even more around Johnny’s leaking dick. 

"Got it all out of your system, Lieutenant?" Price asked with a raised brow, both him and Gaz still keeping you upright with gently roaming hands. Simon gave both his hands another squeeze making Johnny pant. 

"I’m solid." He nodded, surprisingly tender as he released Johnny, the sergeant stumbling off his lap.  Simon rose behind him, both men approaching the couch. You weren’t positive what ‘it’ was or why it needed to be out of Simon’s system, but Gaz nodded and pressed one last sweet kiss to the curve of you shoulder before letting Simon slide into his place. The largest of the men simply laid down on the couch, taking up most of the three-seater, efficently pulling you backwards so you straddled his lap facing away from him. 

"Nice and slow for me, lovie." Simon directed, lining himself up with your entrance after bumping your clit with his tip. Thank god for his strong hands guiding your hips down at the pace he set. Though Price had thoroughly broken you in, and you’d already partially taken Simon once, you still tensed up nervously but set your jaw with determination to do it again and get all of it from this new angle. With your back to his face, you had a front row set to the others watching hungrily. Kyle was leaning back against Price’s chest, the older man reaching around to palm the sergeant’s erection as Gaz pressed his back to Price’s front, grinding backwards. But Johnny, poor Johnny, with his cock almost purpled by Simon’s earlier teasing, rocking on his heels like he was just waiting for permission to join in, sapphire eyes bouncing between Simon’s face, your face, and the stretch of you pussy around Simon’s cock- like he couldn’t decide who was most jealous of. 

Inch after deliciously painful inch, Simon helped you ease yourself down until your ass was flush with his hips. From this angle, though Simon could still rut up against you, the pace was all your decision, making it harder for him to lose control again. With your hands braced against his tree-trunk thighs. Simon gave you a minute to adjust, to pant and try to focus your eyes. The soldier underneath you grunted, fingers flexing on your waist as he adjusted himself making you whimper and almost fall forward. 

"Si-" Johnny whined, his hands twitching forward like he wanted to help you, or maybe just touch you, his cock leaking down his leg. Simon’s voice was not as gentle to his sergeant, a gruff order. 

"No’ yet."  Before returning his attention to you, voice softening slightly, "Take your time, sweetheart, move when you want, I want you to feel good." 

Giving a jerky nod, you gave an experimental wiggle that nestled him somehow even deeper. Your moan was lodged in your throat as your eyes shut, but the movement earned a deep groan and hiss from Simon. With a deep breath, you managed to move past the acclimation stage so the actual pleasure started building again, which felt like crossing the finish line of a marathon. Next, a roll of your hips that genuinely blurred out your vision, feeling so good that our body instinctively did it again to chase the feeling. And then again, and again- head falling forward and then rolling back. 

"That’s it, lovie, find your rhythm." Simon tried to prain but it sounded more like a growl as his hands flexed again into the softest parts of your waist, his long fingers spanning so far that they kneaded into the plushness of your stomach, "Fuckin' hell." 

"Si-" Johnny whined again, drawing the clipped nickname into two syllables, this time his twitching fingers finding purchase in the arm of the sofa you’d been bent over earlier. If you weren’t so focused on Simon’s cock rearranging your internal organs, you might’ve heard the ominous creak of the fabric under his strength. When your eyes fluttered open, they locked onto Johnny’s bright blues, darkened to a stormy hue with impatient want. His Scottish brogue thickening deeply, "Ah keened you’d be better than the lass in the fuckin’ videos, so fuckin’ sweet and pretty-" 

"Alright." Simon gruffed  before his voice softened down again, "Go on, sweetheart, show the mutt some love, won’t you? He won’t shut up until you do." 

Even though the permission had been given to you, Johnny was immediately upon you. Much like Gaz, Johnny took up the job of supporting your upper body as Simon had your hips firmly in his grasp. With one knee pressed into the couch cushion, he hugged your chest to his, his hands groping and feel any part of you he could get his hands on like it was the first time he’d touched you or any other soft and pretty thing. Unlike Gaz, his mouth on your started out aggressive and when you would moan, he’d mirror the noises, groaning them right back onto your tongue. 

"And soft. Ye sound better too." Johnny groaned when Simon suddenly rutted against your rocking, leaving you crying out and digging your nails into Johnny’s shoulders. With strong but surprisingly gentle grip, your fingers were removed from his shoulders. Johnny led one of your hands in an exploratory trail down his chest, following the path of thick, dark body hair, past his abs, until he wrapped your hand around his cock which twitched even at your slightest touch. 

"So fucking soft, bonnie," he breathed, coaxing your hand into movement while kissing your other palm, before looking over to Simon, "Not a callous on her hands, Lt, dinnae even think about that." 

Simon merely grunted in acknowledgement of Johnny’s discovery, seeing as his focus was an entirely different part of your anatomy. The larger man seemed content letting his sergeant be the vocal one, sometimes rewarding you with a hiss or a strangled groan. He’d given up on letting you control the pace now that you were acclimated and half bouncing against him, rutting and grinding against you in time with your own rolling and rocking as you sped up. It was only natural for your hand on Johnny’s cock to speed up as well. 

"Sweetheart, why don’t you show him something even softer than your hands? He went through a lot for you, after all." He didn’t give you time to ask what that was supposed to mean, but you figured it had something to do the vicious series of bites and hickies on the man’s neck. You could tell Simon was moving because his cock was shifting angle inside of you, making you gasp. One of his large hands splayed against the small of your back, pressing you firmly forward and down. A sudden thrust as he applied pressure to your back made you go boneless, letting the men push your cheek first into Johnny’s stomach and then down to where your hand was still pumping Johnny’s cock. 

"Look at that, a multitasker. ’s why she’s such a good analyst for us." Gaz chided from the sidelines like he was commentating on a sports match, watching as you were stroking Johnny, holding your cheek against him while trying to catch your breath from Simon’s thrusts. Johnny helped guide himself into your mouth. It wasn’t so much length as the girth, even thicker than Price, that stretched your jaw uncomfortably. But the way that Johnny moaned sinfully above you when your nose pressed into the dark curls at his base, the way he all but melted over you like butter, encouraged to breathe through your nose and keep going. 

"Steaming Jesus, Si, I cannae last like this-" Johnny moaned, seemingly not even noticing how loud he was. Simon only laughed lowly, reaching around your thighs to dip between them, circling your clit. Your thighs were trembling, moans getting louder and less restrained, nothing about this was restrained anymore. 

"That’s alright, Johnny, neither will she, will you, lovie?" He asked with another deep thrust, "feel ‘ow she’s shaking?"  

You were shaking your head still with a mouthful of Johnny’s cock, because you weren’t going to last much longer, eyes rolling and fluttering, landing on the arm chair again where Gaz being treated as well, both him and John watching appreciatevly as Ghost and Soap had you in lopsided Eiffel tower. You were pulling out any trick for Johnny that you managed to remember between Simon’s thrusts, swirling tongue and bobbing heads. But what did him in was actually Simon’s doing. When Simon rolled his hips into you just right, hitting every good spot and giving your clit a swipe, your eyes crossed and you moaned, practically screaming around Johnny’s member, the vibrations and look on your face enough to finish him. His hand tightened in your hair, hips snapping, pushing your nose into his pelvis, and holding you there as he came with what some might call a battle cry.  After everything Simon had put him through earlier, he was pent up, leaving him cumming. and cumming, and cumming, until you had to swat at his thigh because you couldn’t take anymore. 

You swallowed what you could, taking a couple more spurts to your face and chest before Johnny crumbled onto the couch against you, kissing the taste of himself right off your tongue as Simon continued his thrusts, getting incrementally faster and harder as you proved you could handle it. The scot took over the praising and encouragement as his superior fell back into the quiet grunting and groaning against you, though you could barely make out any of the words as you approached your fourth finish. For the first time in your life you understood the phrase "fucked stupid". You were somewhat sure you were rambling gibberish accolades to the men, cries of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ’thank you’ intermingled with moans and curses that put your over the top XXX twin’s to shame. 

"C’mon, sweetheart, one more f’ me." Simon growled out, switching positions so quickly and effeciently that you didn’t even realize it until you body was pressed face down into the couch cushion, Simon still behind you, drilling into you with a pace that put mechanized machinery to shame. You weren’t even sure how you were taking it just that you were and if he stopped you might start crying, "I know you’re close, just lemme have it-" 

Johnny was back on his knees in front of the couch, catching your nipple in his mouth. And you turned your head towards John and Kyle, locked in their own encounter, and then it just snapped. Your orgasm not just washing over you, but a tidal wave crashing over you and frying every nerve a long the way. For a moment your vision whited out, the only thing you were aware of was Simon’s strokes slowing and working you through it. With your body practically vibrating with overstimulation, you let your unseeing eyes roam to to the cieling fan and let your mind wander as you floated somewhere above reality for a bit, enjoying the electric feelings between each neuron firing. Every noise and sight becoming background information as overstimulation fuzzed it all out except the aftershocks and twinges in your core. 

You weren’t sure how long it was before you came back to yourself, but you heard Johnny’s voice first, "C’mon, bonnie, float back down to us."

"There she is." Kyle cooed in tandem with the other sergeant while your cheek, "Lost you for a bit there. Alright?" 

You were more than alright, body more sated than it’d been in years, still thrumming and twitching with the aftershocks, so you just nodded slowly, trying to focus your eyes in on one thing at a time, voice slightly slurred with nothing to do with the drinks, " ‘m alright." 

"Was worried I broke you." That was Simon, who’s lap your head was in. You only offered a dopey smile and a lazily blink.

"You might’ve, but I’m ok, more than ok." You sighed with a dry laugh, turning your head so your cheek pressed to his thigh, though you noticed he’d slipped his sweats back on. 

"Si’s gotta work on being gentle, we don’t make him practice enough." Johnny teased, running soothing hands along your sides. Suddenly, a cup of water with a straw was placed in front of your face, and when you looked up it was Price holding it down to you before Kyle took it and held it steady for you. 

"Never see you complaining about it, McTavish." John teased right back, trading off the cup so he could smooth hair off your sweaty forehead, "Take as long as you need, sweet, y’did good for us. So good." 

His praise nestled deeply, right between your ribs, making you smile softly as Kyle coaxed the straw into your mouth, letting you sip on the water as he ran a caring thumb over the apple of your cheek.

— 

You must’ve dozed off, because when you woke up, you were still on the couch, but everyone else had moved around you liked you simply always been nestled amongst them. The thought made your lips curl in a dopey grin as you looked around them. Half upright and wrapped in someone’s hoodie, you were laying against Price’s chest, head tipped back into his shoulder as he worked around a plate filled for two, the atmosphere was cozy now, the electric  frantic tension from earlier had morphed into something warm and intimate. 

“Evening. Hungry?” His chest rumbled as he held the plate closer to your field of view. Two very juicy ribeyes, baked potatoes, green vegetable- the stereotypical macho man plate. John seemed all too proud of himself when you opened your mouth to accept a fork of perfectly cut bite-size steak, laughing when you hummed in approval, “There we go, sweet, worked up an appetite, yeah?” 

“Really? Thought we already stuffed ‘er pretty good.” Kyle teased, still gently swiping warm rags over your body, wiping away any evidence that wasn’t etched or sucked semipermanently into your skin, occasionally following his ministrations with gentle kisses and soft praises, “Feel ok, love? Need anything?” 

When you shook your head, gently squeezing his wrist in gratitude, he only smiled, giving you a tender kiss to the forehead before retrieving his own plate and sitting on the opposite side of Price, claiming the captain’s other shoulder for his own head.

Johnny was in the same boat as you, though whatever the hell Simon had done to him made his attention to you look like princess treatment, having obviously reigned himself in with you. Was that what Ghost was getting out of his system before coming back to you? Still, the scot didn’t seem to have many complaints after Simon sat him down between your legs on the couch, letting the sergeant lay facedown against the softest part of your stomach, where he’d nuzzled the hoodie out of the way so he could rest against your bare skin. It was then you noticed that you and Johnny were the only ones still in a state of undress which if your mind wasn’t moving at a snail’s pace, you might’ve tried to read into. 

Like you, he seemed half asleep and fucked out, a couple more bites around his neck that hadn’t been there the last time he’d been touching you. Soap’s mohawk gave you something to gently fidget with as Price nudged another bite against your lips. Simon took his seat on the floor, leaned back against the base of the couch with his head tipped back against the curve of your hip. One of his arms wrapped around the leg that Johnny had dangling off the couch, massaging gentle circles into the mans calf muscle. His other other arm was propped on his knee so he could catch your wrist where it flopped down on his shoulder. He was tender as he ran his ungloved hand over yours, massaging your fingers and comparing them to his much larger hands, murmuring himself, “No callouses.” 

“Told you, Si.” Johnny sighed almost dreamily into your bare stomach, leaning into your fingers in his hair. With the rest of the men doting on you and Johnny, Simon didn’t even retaliate or tease something back, just snickering quietly and fondly, offering straw topped water bottle to the sergeant. 

Another bite of food was offered to you, along with water, and something struck you funny, drawing a quiet chuckle out of you as you turned your face into Price’s neck to stifle the noise. It drew the group’s eyes, clearly waiting for you to divulge. “C’mon, hen, share with the class.” Johnny prompted with grin, always down for a laugh, propping his chin up on your belly so he could look at you through the valley of your cleavage, eyes shining like you’d hung the moon. 

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours?” Price rose his eyebrows, cutting another bite of meat for you. 

“Nothing, it’s dumb.” You snicker a little more, earning a expectant but amiable tug to your fingers from Simon, “It’s just all a little backwards, s’all.” 

“Backwards?” The liutenant parroted in that deep Manc accent, making you giggle a bit more, nodding against Price.

“I let y’all fuck me every which way from Tuesday, and you didn’t even buy me dinner first.”  You mused, ironically before taking another bite of one of the best steaks you’d ever had, which could be an effect of the post-sex endorphin rush, or maybe John was just a grill master. “Our apologies, sweet thing.” John rolled his eyes playfully, his apology deeply sarcastic as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“In our defense, dinner and a very nice bottle of wine were on the agenda before, but some people,” Gaz’s eyes flicked over to Johnny and Simon who didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Simon was stone faced as usual, still playing with and kissing at your fingers while Johnny just smiled into your belly, “got impatient.” 

“Hey, the first time Simon fucked me all I got was the drink mix and wet nap from his MRE.” Johnny whined which only made you laugh harder. 

“Y’didn’t ask for anything else.” Simon shrugged tilting his head to press an uncharacteristically romantic kiss to the curve of the Scot’s knee. “ ’sides, I got your mouth on her didn’t I? think I made up for it.”  And before you could question if Simon was really the one to orchestrate all of this, Price quieted you with a bite of potato while Gaz leaned over to distract you with his lips on your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

  And for the first time since you’d seen their search histories, you weren’t worried about much of anything other than when this might happen again.

 ____ 

me, who doesn’t ever really write smut: yes i will enjoy writing a fivesome with at least ten hands, five mouths, ten arms, and four penises to keep up with. 

Y’all should see the notesapp where I had to like draw out stick figures to see if what I was writing was anatomically possible. I feel like this has gotten me on some kind of watchlist. 

Taglist in Comments because there were too many of y'all!! Thanks to anyone who has commented, liked, and reblogged! Whenever I'm feeling uninspired, I just scroll through y'alls comments and they make me smile so so much!!!

[writersdrug]

I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader

I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex

He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?

Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.

"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."

Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?

He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.

"Feelin' alright, there?"

Simon grunts. "Long day."

Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."

That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.

Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.

"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.

"Sir."

Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.

"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."

Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.

He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."

With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-

For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.

And that damn bra is still in his room.

He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?

He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…

He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?

He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.

So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.

He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.

He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.

He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?

He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-

It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-

He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.

His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.

He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.

He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.  

He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Dead on main. No trick only treat.

~~Сhildhood friends and deals~~

The Justice League has to summon a ghost from another dimension to address the threat. They don’t know what price the Ghost King will take but there’s little time to bargain. Another spirit threatening them has already seized all the computers on their base. John doesn’t know what else to offer. A summoned ghost starts to look bored. Gold, jewelry? A favor from a member of the League? Like the Ruler of All Dead needs it. No one dares to make another offer, and the King is in no hurry to set out his demands. Maybe try to pull off a soul sale scam?

Suddenly, Red Hood breaks into the hall, walks up to Phantom and shakes his shoulder vigorously. Red Hood: You, get Technus out of here right now. I need access to the files and fast. Phantom: That’s rude, dude. Where did you grow up? in the cave? No "hello, no how are you, Danny", really? Red Hood: I’ll pay the usual price. Phantom: Deal.

What is the price? John sees Batman and gets in his way. The usual price, his guy said. Means Jay was already out of the deal alive and well. This hyperprotective bat would only piss off the ruler if he interfered.

The King quickly deals with his subordinate using a thermos and remains to watch working Hood. Red Hood: What do you want? I’m busy. Danny: You and I have a contract~ Red Hood: All right, all right. Jay throws M&Ms right in the face of the ghost. But king doesn’t look angry. He opens the package and starts sorting the candies by color. Phantom quickly eats up all the green ones and passes the red ones to Hood. Jason takes them without any questions.

Strange. John has never seen a summoned creature share its reward with a human. And the son of a bat looks too comfortable with it. Wait, since when do super-powered beings think that candy is a decent wage?John makes one of the most likely deductions using his experience. Constantine: Batsy, how long has your son been sleeping with the King of Ghosts? Batman: He…what?!

~~~~~~~

Dick *knocking at the door*: Little Wing, you hate ectoplasm and everything what is neon green, so why? He’s dangerous! Jason who turned on the music to not listen to his crazy family: ~He’s poison but tasty~

Dick: NoOOoo

~~~~~~

Jason: And now everyone thinks that I sold my virginity to you for a bargain or something, because interdimensional creatures like you aren’t supposed to help for nothing. Like you’re playing favorites. I’m gonna fucking kill John. Danny: Well, I wouldn’t say no to that. Jason: What? Danny: I mean, to k-kill John, yeah. How dare he.. Jason: Omg, you’re still so terrible liar, Fenton.

Danny: Sorry :(

Jason: No. Say it again.

~~~~Twelve years ago~~~~ Maddie wasn’t thrilled to learn that Danny was trying to make friends with Todd’s son. Their neighbor was terrible. And his son was definitely a street rat and probably a juvenile delinquent. Maddie: Danny, honey, there’s got to be a reason this boy is talking to you. Even kids from the crime alley are always looking for a bargain they can make or a fool they can fool. Danny: But Jason is so cool! He knows so much about books and alleys and.. Maddie: But you don’t want to be a fool, do you? Danny: Okay, Mom, I get it.

So, if Danny wants a cool friend, he’s got to offer a bargain.

He didn’t have a lot of pocket money for every month but Jason needed it more anyway. And his lunch that Jack was picking for him was big enough for two and only bitten on Tuesdays. Nice. Jason: Do I understand correctly? You will pay me and give me food, and I, what? Protect you from bullies? Danny: No! I’m not weak, I don’t need to be protected. Just..maybe we could sit together at lunch and walk each other home sometimes? Jason: Nay Danny: But why? You want something else? Jason: Money’s fine but your homemade food is…strange. Danny: I can bring sweets if you want. Jason: Deal. 3 pop tarts for a joint lunch, a party size bag of M&Ms if you waste my time out of school.

~~~~

Sometimes they share sweets when they hang out but more often Jayson takes them home to save in case his parents have money problems. Sweets have a long shelf life stored and he may not be afraid to poison himself. Over time, candy becomes their currency and a secret language for all occasions. Need help without unnecessary questions? M&Ms. Problems with learning? Skittles. The question is about family? Snickers. There will be a serious conversation? Pop Tarts.

Jason: One snickers and a pack of gum. Danny: Yeah, Jason? What do you want? Jason: My mom wants to meet my friend. Come to lunch on Sunday. Danny: Okay, you managed to pay for my expensive services. Jason:…and you just lost the gum from the deal.

~~~~~~

Jason threw a package at Danny: Three pop tarts. We need to talk. Danny: All right? Jason: Why are you avoiding me all week?! Danny: Well, it’s just..you’re Wayne now. Jason. Still Todd. And what about that? Danny: You can hang out with the cooler guys now, I didn’t want to embarrass you. Jason: Bullshit! I’m still the street rat, and you’re trying to avoid our contract. me. And I don’t even need money from you anymore. What the hell? I thought you are my friend. Danny: And I am!

~~~~~~

Robin: What’s a schoolboy doing in an alley at night? Danny: Um, I…nothing? Don’t tell my parents, Mr. Robin sir. Robin: It will cost you so many Chunky Bars, you have no idea. Danny:...Jason? Jason: N-no. Danny: Damn yes. What are you doing in green shorts on the street at night?! Jason: Cosplay. Danny: Oh yeah? Then I’m just your hallucination. Don’t hesitate to ghost me. I’m going home, Disgrace In Pixie Boots, bye. Jason: fu%&c$#u

[i-put-the-hot-in-psychotic]

John Price sucking on your nipples and playing with your breasts after having been deployed on a mission for God knows how long, thinking about the provoking photos of your glorious tits you’d send him driving him insane.

He buries his head in between them, flicking your nipple with his tongue just slightly as he pushes them into his mouth. Groans settle in his throat as he softly squeezes them, soft flesh pushing in-between his fingers. Both breasts given the same love as slowly kneading the other breast that its not currently in his mouth.

His cock so stiff, leaking precum just the idea of wanting to breed you, to have your tits full of milk so he can suckle on them any time of day, makes him rut against your leg. His beard softly scratching your skin as his lips never leave your breasts as he endlessly keeps his lips around them occasionally sucking whilst in his sleep.

[gghostwriter]

Whispered Truths

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your weekly reading club with boyfriend, Spencer Reid, has never been as sweet and life-changing as this night Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 0.8k a/n: This is actually a request from @bloodredrubyrose and I really liked how this came out. I also used my favorite piece of fiction here as a prop so I hope you like it! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Couples, no matter how new or old, tend to create personalized dates as a way to strengthen the relationship. Some go on hikes together, some go on travels, while some stay in the comfort of their homes—under a blanket with a chosen book on hand.

You and Spencer definitely fall under the latter category. It was quite obvious from the first meeting that literature would be one of the strongest bonding agents between you and him. After all, it was how you were brought together—crashing into one another at the library with books and miscellaneous items scattered on the tiled floor. A few shy glances and bewitching dates later, you found yourself spending your Saturday nights in the presence of your boyfriend of six months, hosting an exclusive reading club with just two members, you and him.

“I never thought of it that way,” your left hand paving an aimless path through Spencer’s curly hair while the other held the book up high.

The pitter patters of the rain outside softly echoed through the walls. You were propped up on the loveseat sofa, his head resting on your lap as he looked upwards in question in regards to your statement.

“Never thought of which?” His voice low and soft, striking a resemblance to how he gazed at you oh so lovingly. As if you were the most riveting piece if art he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“How water played a big symbol throughout the whole book. It was really focused on during the first chapters but I—I just never quite connected the dots,” you clarified, bring the book to a close.

It was your choice for the week, East of Eden by John Steinbeck—a modern classic and had been your favorite work of literature since high school. Spencer had lent his copy to you last week and you vice versa—both turning brown from age, pages about to fall apart from its binding, annotations scribbled on the margins and any lengthy self reflections written on various notebook pages sandwiched in between.

“Your explanation on the empty pages at the end—how water is capable of bringing both life and death. Water being essential for the crops but at the same time, drowned victims. It’s such a poignant note that I think I just fell more in love with Steinbeck’s writing,” you added. “It also made me realize how water in his novel represents the dual capacity of the human soul for good and evil. How we are all filled with conundrums and contradictions and what makes us different from the other species on Earth is our ability to choose whether we are good or evil—” Spencer had sat up and leaned in, interrupting your musings. “—what?” You breathed out as his lips hovered on yours.

The once cozy atmosphere quickly charged with tension and desire that seemed to ooze out of Spencer. There was little space in between and you had no doubt that from the outside looking in, it looked like he was kissing you but he was not, rather a sliver of air was still given space to pass through. So close but so far.

You studied his features up close. How his long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings beating against the wind as his molten, darkened, hazel eyes flickered between your lips and eyes. How his nose lightly caressed yours in an endless Eskimo kiss. How his cheeks stained into a lighter shade of red. And how his pink tongue peeked out to wet his pillowy lips. 

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered as if it was some kind of national secret that he now felt right to expose.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was the first time he had said it. His love for you had been conveyed with every touch, with every action, and with every silence but this was the first time he had put it into words.

His lips caressed yours—the pressure almost non-existent. A ghost of a kiss to gauge your reaction and consent.

“I love you,” he repeated a little louder this time, eyes locking into the very depths of your soul. “You and your mind have enchanted me since the beginning—so beautiful, so captivating.”

The butterflies set free in your stomach caused you to viscerally shiver in reaction.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

A smile graced his face and it was bright and as blinding as the sun, like it had finally decided to stop hiding behind the clouds and show itself in all of its glory.

He leaned in once more. The pressure from his lips now heavier and headier, trying to stamp his everlasting mark on you and in between all these kisses were whispers of his utter devotion and adoration until there was no more space—until you both became one on his loveseat sofa.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[lotvsflwrr]

Oh you sweet, poisonous thing

summary: just Arthur yearning and being jealous of reader and Javier. Enjoy😽

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

content: fluff, jealousy, a hint of angst maybe ?? idk

wc: 1,8k

a/n: *taps into the mic* heyy,,, how y’all doing *voice echoes, crickets can be heard in the distance* so i kinda disappeared from tumblr ik. I went through a rough period and I thought a lot about what to do with this account. I lost all motivation to write for a while ngl, but after some thinking i decided that no matter what I’ll keep writing and posting here. After all this was and still is my little safe space where i can just forget about my life and post silly things about cowboys sooo yeah have some Arthur yearning because we should bring back yearning in 2025. ok i yapped enough bah byee

The cracking sound of the campfire travels softly in the center of camp, casting long, flickering shadows that stretch and shift over the familiar faces of the gang, dancing on their features to the sound of the soft music leaving Javier’s guitar.

It had been a rare, uneventful day—the kind where, surprisingly, nothing went wrong, and the world seemed to hold its breath afraid to burst the serene and quiet bubble that engulfed all round the camp. The stillness settled over the gang’s members like a balm, soothing old wounds and lifting everyone’s spirits. By evening, an easy carefree air had taken root, boosted by a few shared drinks and Javier’s guitar.

You sit near the fire, sandwiched between Karen and John, the blonde slouched lazily at your side, her cheeks flushed from the too many whiskey glasses she downed. Javier is in a contagious good mood, sitting on the ground near John strumming another lively tune as he leans toward you, his bronze skin glowing in the campfire’s light and he’s grinning like at you like the charmer he is.

“Why don’t you sing with me, cariño,” he says, his voice playfully teasing. A chorus of groans and exaggerated complaints come from around the campfire, the gang all too eager to tease you about the first and fortunately the last time you sang around the campfire in Horseshoe Overlook after you had too many to drink. You remember waking up the morning after with a terrible headache and the sweet memory of laughter shared around the warmth of the campfire.

You laugh at their reaction, shaking your head. “I think I’ll save everyone’s ears this time, thank you.”

Javier chuckles and with that resumes playing, his voice low and smooth. His energy is infectious, pulling easy smiles and a few soft laughs from everyone. But in the back of your mind, you can feel that there’s a subtle shift in the air—a pull, a presence that tugs at your attention like a ping you can’t ignore. It’s faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it grows stronger, undeniable, familiar. You glance toward the edge of camp, and as suspected there he is.

He’s leaning against one of the wooden posts near the horses, half swallowed by the shadows, the dim firelight barely reaching the brim of his worn hat. His broad shoulders are hunched, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s trying to protect himself, to keep something away though you’re not sure he even knows what it is. His aqua eyes are sharp even in the shadows, and they’re fixed directly on you.

As the weight of his gaze settles over you like a heavy fog, thick and tangible, despite the distance between you, a shiver runs down your spine. Your chest tightens, as if the very air around him has thickened with unspoken things.

You’ve known him long enough to feel a quiet storm building in the depths of his quiet, unshakable composure. It’s not indifference nor anger. It’s something else—something raw and unspoken but you can’t, and maybe won’t, put a name on it.

When Javier nudges you playfully, you force yourself to focus back on him, offering him a smile that you hope conceals the tension swirling inside of you. Still, the weight of Arthur’s gaze doesn’t leave you, not even as the evening stretches on.

As the night deepens, the fire crackles low. One by one, people begin to drift off, leaving just you, Tilly, Lenny, Javier, and Karen around the fire. Tilly, who had joined your little circle a few hours earlier, is lively chatting with Lenny about some gossip she’d overheard in town, her voice bright with excitement seemingly unphased by the late hour. Meanwhile, Karen has fallen asleep with her head resting on your shoulder, undoubtedly drooling a bit on your blouse. This leaves you and Javier alone, the conversation between you two flowing easily, until he eventually sets his guitar aside with a stretch, breaking the comfortable atmosphere.

“Already going to bed ?” you tease, nudging him gently on the side. “Won’t you play me another song before you go to sleep ?”

He smirks, shaking his head with a wink.

“Tomorrow.” He promises winking at you. He stands up and disappears into the shadows of the night. After a few minutes Karen stirs awake, mumbling something about needing another drink before bed, lazily getting up on her feet, shuffling toward the camp’s supply.

After that it’s just you, Tilly and Lenny sitting near the dying fire. From your peripheral vision you can see the dark silhouette of Arthur sitting at the worn wooden round table under the tall tree in camp. You don’t look at him, not directly, but you feel his presence like a thread pulling between you. You sit there, looking at the fire contemplating if approaching him or calling it a night.

When you finally stand, your feet move before your mind can catch up with your actions. You carefully walk towards him, finding him hunched slightly over the table, his broad shoulders tense as he stares down into the nearly empty glass in his hand.

“Mind if I join you ?” you say pausing a few feet away. The sound of your voice softly filling the cold air around you both.

Arthur doesn’t immediately look up, his focus still fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. You nearly contemplate leaving when after a long moment, he tips his head in a slow, deliberate nod. “Suit yourself.”

You take a seat across from him, your hands folding in your lap playing with a few loose threads as you settle into the quiet. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The noise of the evening has faded away, leaving the camp wrapped in the soft rustle of trees and the distant sound of crickets.

“Tired ?” you finally ask, your voice hesitant, breaking the silence.

Arthur huffs a low breath, his eyes never leaving the glass. “Long day,” he mutters, a simple response that tells you nothing.

You nod, though his answer feels like a wall, a quick, easy way to avoid revealing something deeper. There’s something bothering him, and maybe it’s the alcohol in your system or maybe you simply care too much for him but you’re determined to find out what.

“Javier kept everyone entertained tonight,” you say lightly, your words casual, trying to spark a conversation, though you’re watching him closely.

Arthur’s grip on his glass tightens just enough for his knuckles to go pale against the clear glass. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone flat. “He’s good at that.”

The space between you feels heavier now, filled with something unspoken, a tension that neither of you acknowledges directly. You lean back in your chair, letting the silence settle between you, but you can’t ignore the flicker of his eyes as they meet yours, then quickly shift away like he’s afraid of what might show if he stares at yours too long.

“What’re you drinking ?” you ask after a moment, breaking the quiet.

“Whiskey.”

“‘S that the good whiskey Pearson’s been hiding, or the usual watered down crap ?”

Arthur’s lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, clearly fighting a smile. “Usual crap,” he murmurs. “Pearson ain’t that generous.”

You laugh softly, the sound easing some of the tension that’s built between you. But still, it lingers, just beneath the surface, like something you both know but can’t put into words.

“You seemed quiet tonight,” you say after a pause, studying him closely.

Arthur shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips, the movement slow, as if every motion is carefully measured.

“Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

You watch him, your gaze tracing the line of his jaw, his wet lips and the way his fingers absently trace the rim of his glass. He’s not being completely honest—that much you know, but you’ve learned to read between the spaces of his words.

“Or maybe you just didn’t like the company,” you offer, your tone playful but with an edge to it.

Arthur’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unmoving. “I didn’t say that,” he replies, his voice low, almost a growl.

He holds your gaze a beat longer than necessary, and you feel the weight of it settle deep in your chest, making your breath hitch. There’s something in his eyes, something raw, vulnerable that makes your heart stutter. You’re not sure if he sees how your composure falters, but he’s the first to look away, tipping his hat lower over his brow to shield his expression.

You’ve always hated when he does that—you’ve always hated the way he uses it to put a distance between you, but now more than ever you hate it because it feels like the wall between you is growing thicker and you’re not sure if you can get through anymore.

“You’re a hard man to figure out Arthur Morgan,” you say softly, the teasing edge gone from your voice. He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, it’s in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

You bite your lower lip in frustration but then you force yourself to swallow down your disappointment. The conversation shifts then, moving toward more trivial things like the weather, the horses, Pearson’s latest disaster with the stew. But even as you talk, you know that there’s another conversation happening in the spaces between words, in the glances you exchange, in both your body language, in the way the silence sometimes wraps itself around you both.

You don’t speak of it. You don’t name it. Neither of you can, but you know it’s there.

“Good night Arthur,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. You give him a sweet smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, before you stand, the weight of your own tiredness forcing you to seek the sweet embrace of your bed.

He doesn’t reply right away, just gives a slow tip of his hat. “Night.”

As you start to take a few steps away from the table, you feel his gaze on your back—steady, unwavering. It feels like it’s burning into your skin.

You glance over your shoulder, just once, and meet his eyes. For a moment, they’re distant, almost lost, like he’s somewhere far away in thought. But as your gaze lingers, you catch something else, something in the way his eyes soften, the barely perceptible softening of his eyebrows. It’s not a look of anger or frustration that he gives you, no, he’s looking at you with something deeper, something raw.

It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, a sweet warmth settling between your ribs. He doesn’t need to say anything, you can feel it in the glance between you—the weight of all the things neither of you will dare to speak aloud.

In that brief moment, you understand. And it’s enough to leave you walking away with butterflies storming in your stomach and the strange sense that you’ve just shared something deep, something fragile with him without ever needing to say a word.

[reasonsforhope]

"Environmental groups are claiming victory after Mitsubishi Chemical Group dropped plans for a $1.3 billion plant in the heart of Louisiana’s industrial corridor. 

In the works for more than a decade, the chemical manufacturing complex would have been the largest of its kind in the world, stretching across 77 acres in Geismar, a small community about 60 miles west of New Orleans. Tokyo-based Mitsubishi cited only economic factors when announcing the cancellation last week, but a recent report on the plant’s feasibility noted that growing community concern about air pollution could also hamper the project’s success. 

“The frontline communities are fighting back, causing delays, and that amounts to money being lost,” said Gail LeBoeuf with Inclusive Louisiana, an environmental group focused on the industrial corridor along the Mississippi River known as Cancer Alley.

The nonprofit group Beyond Petrochemical declared the project’s failure a “major victory for the health and safety of Louisianans.”

According to Mitsubishi, the plant could have produced up to 350,000 tons per year of methyl methacrylate, or MMA, a colorless liquid used in the manufacture of plastics and a host of consumer products, including TVs, paint, and nail polish.

The plant was expected to be a major polluter, releasing hundreds of tons per year of carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, volatile organic compounds, and other harmful chemicals, according to its permit information...

In July, a report on the plant’s viability warned that a global oversupply of MMA and fierce local opposition made the project a “bad bet.” 

Conducted by the Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis, the report said that credit agencies are paying more attention to “community sentiment” about petrochemical projects, particularly in Louisiana. In Geismar and other parts of Cancer Alley, there’s a “disproportionately heavy concentration of polluting industrial facilities” and Mitsubishi could become “entangled in a decades-long dispute involving issues of racial inequality and environmental justice,” the IEEFA report said. 

Geismar residents are surrounded by about a half-dozen large chemical facilities that emit harmful levels of air pollution. Of the more than 6,000 people who live within the 3 miles of the planned project site, about 40 percent are Black or Hispanic, and 20 percent are considered low-income, according to federal data. 

“The air here is already so dirty that the kids can’t play outside anymore,” said Pamela Ambeau, Ascension Parish resident and member of the group Rural Roots Louisiana.

The proposed plant is the latest in a string of failed industrial projects in Cancer Alley. Since 2019, local activism was instrumental in halting the development of two large plastics complexes in St. James Parish and a grain export terminal in St. John the Baptist Parish. All three projects would have been built in historically Black and rural communities."

-via Grist, January 16, 2025

[jjscrybaby]

just found your account and i love your writing! would you make an imagine where bff jj and bff reader are obsessed with eachother and the’re both confident and always flirts with each other and its so obvious the’re in love with each other. dont really have a plot in mind i just really love the trope and dynamic you know

bsf!jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (slight angst, don’t want to spoil it so no more warnings!!!)

thankyou angel!!! hope this is okay, i strayed a bit from the request but this came to mind :)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

The dynamic between you and JJ was confusing, not just for the two of you but for everyone that ever came across you. Your friends had gotten used to the flirting, the touching and the goo-goo eyes you’d give each other across the room. Your classmates didn’t understand what you were to each other, you’d say you were best friends but then you’d be sat in his lap with him kissing your neck for the majority of a kegger.

“Why don’t you just admit it?” You had the same conversation at least once a week. Sarah was adamant that you had feelings for the blonde, she also had a bet going with John B that you’d be the first to confess.

“Because that would be lying,” you replied with a smirk, you were teasing her and she knew it.

“No it wouldn’t!” Sarah exclaimed, watching as you snorted into your drink. She glared at you. You may be amused, but she’s far from it.

“Look, I know you love the idea of me and JJ getting married, having babies and being in love but it’s just not gonna happen,” you explained with a shrug.

She huffed, taking a sip from her glass of wine. You figured she’d be pouting for the next hour, so you were surprised when you saw a small smirk play on her lips. You raised an eyebrow at her, tilting your head to the side as you waited for her to say what she was thinking.

“What’s the look about, Cameron?” You asked after she’d been silent for too long.

“I was just thinking,” she said, now grinning from ear to ear as if she’d had an epiphany. “If you don’t like JJ, then you wouldn’t mind him going on a date. Right?”

“JJ doesn’t date,” you responded quickly. It wasn’t an excuse, really it wasn’t. JJ isn’t a commitment kind of guy, his longest relationship is with the milk in his fridge.

“Trust me, he’ll want to date this girl. She came to the shop the other day and he was pretty much drooling,” Sarah stated. It was an exaggeration, but you didn’t need to know that. Not if her plan was going to work.

“And you know her?” You questioned, brows furrowing. You took a long sip of your wine, the thought of JJ drooling over a girl made your stomach turn.

Sarah nodded her head. “We went to school together.”

“She’s a Kook?” You laughed, all anxiety leaving your body. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that Sare.”

“Are you saying you’re okay with it?” Sarah asked.

“It’s non of my business who or what JJ dates. I’m not his girlfriend,” you responded. You didn’t need to worry. He wouldn’t say yes, not to a date with a Kook; maybe not to a date with anyone.

“Great,” Sarah shrugged, smiling smugly at you.

JJ and John B didn’t come back in from the shop until after the sun had set, you assumed they’d closed up a couple hours ago and ended up smoking a joint together so they didn’t have to share with everyone.

You and Sarah were laid on the couch, watching a movie. John B walked in first, a goody grin on his face at the sight of his wife. “Hello, ladies.”

“Good shift?” Sarah asked, leaning up so he could press a peck to his lips.

For a split second you felt lonely, before JJ came bouncing into the room and jumped on top of you. You groaned, shoving at his waist. “Ouch, J!”

“Missed ya,” he grinned, pressing dramatic kisses all over your face. You could feel Sarah’s gaze on you, you had to fight the urge to turn around and punch her.

“JJ, I’ve got you a date for Saturday night,” Sarah stated. She’d texted the girl, Chloe, earlier. You’d pretended not to care when Chloe had responded and said yes.

“Huh?” You could feel him freeze above you, eyes narrowing at her.

“A date, never heard of one?” She teased. “It’s with the girl that came into the shop the other day, Chloe? I already asked her and she said yes so unless you can come up with a valid reason not to go then you’re going.”

A valid reason. There was a very big one right underneath him, but he couldn’t say that. He racked his brain, but nothing came to mind. “Uh, alright, I guess. But you can’t be mad at me if I never call her again.”

“I can and I will. But, I don’t think that’ll be an issue. You guys are quite similar, she loves surfing, smokes a shit ton of weed and she’s hot. What else could you want?” Sarah asked.

“So you think I’m hot?” JJ joked, making John B reach over and punch him in the bicep. He groaned, letting out a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. I guess she sounds alright. What d’you think?”

You looked up, he was staring right at you. His head was tilted. He was asking for your permission. That’s not what best friend’s are supposed to do. Best friend’s don’t ask for permission to date other people, and they definitely don’t feel physically sick just at the idea of it.

“Sounds fun,” you murmured, giving him a fake smile.

He nodded slowly, as if he didn’t fully believe you. “I guess I’m going on a date then.”

“Guess you are.”

———

Saturday night came around far too quickly for your liking. All week, ever since JJ had agreed to go on this date, it’s all you could think about. You’d laid awake staring at the ceiling wondering what your relationship would be like if he had a girlfriend. During your shift together on Wednesday, you watched as he texted back and forth with someone; you assumed Chloe. Was he really that excited about this date he had to text her?

He didn’t mention it, not until he came into your room and asked for your help on picking a shirt. You picked the uglier one, but he still managed to look perfect.

“How do I look?” He asked, giving you a smirk as he pulled the collar down.

“Like a new man,” you teased, but your tone wasn’t as energetic as usual. You felt like shit, you shouldn’t be praying on your best friend’s downfall, you should be happy for him. But you can’t bring yourself to find this good.

“Well, gotta look good to impress a Kook,” he shrugged.

If this date was with you, you wouldn’t care what he wore. He could dress in a bin-bag and you’d still find him gorgeous. Over the last week you’ve come to the horrible realisation that maybe Sarah’s right. Maybe you do have feelings for JJ.

“You alright?” He asked softly, sitting down on the bed next to you.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.

“You sure?” He didn’t look convinced, his hand rubbing your thigh gently. “Y’look upset. You want me to stay home? We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

“What? No, JJ, I’m fine, don’t be silly,” you laughed him off.

“It’s not silly if you need me,” he argued, other hand moving to stroke your hair. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, right?”

You nodded your head, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Go on, you’re gonna be late.”

“Will you text me if you need me?” He murmured, looking unsure. There was something going on in his head, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know what it was.

“Yeah, Jayj,” you reassured softly. “Have a good time, okay?”

“I will,” he smiled, kissing your temple. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You spent ten minutes moping in your bedroom before Sarah was storming in. “Are you going to admit it yet? Or are you going to sit in here all night crying?”

“I’m not crying,” you argued, glaring at her. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but you needed someone to be mad at and she was in the closest vicinity.

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question this time, it was a statement, and you didn’t deny it. “Get dressed, we’re gonna go get drunk.”

“What?” You sighed.

“You heard me. Put on something cute, put on a smile and get ready to get plastered. I’m sorry I set him up, and the way I’ll apologise is by getting you out of this funk,” Sarah ordered.

There was no use arguing with Sarah Cameron, you’d learnt that a long time ago. So, you forced yourself out of bed and put on a dress. John B didn’t say much when he drove the two of you to a sea-food restaurant on the pier, he just gave you a smile as you got out the Twinkie.

She lead you inside, it only took a few seconds for you to spot him. He was staring right at you, a gentle smile on his face. The most shocking part? There was no girl sat opposite him.

“What’s going on?” You asked, turning to look at Sarah.

“Have a good date,” she murmured, kissing your cheek before turning around and heading back out the door.

“Wha— Sarah!” You tried calling after her, you were sure you could hear her giggling.

JJ slowly stood up and walked towards you, stopping only a few inches away. He was grinning, you were utterly confused. “What the fuck is going on? Where’s Chloe?”

“Sarah never texted Chloe,” he said softly. “You think she’s a damn idiot? As if I’d ever go on a date with anyone but you.”

“I’m so confused right now,” you huffed. “You lied to me!”

There were people starting to stare at the two of you. JJ took your waist and lead you outside, giving the pair of you some privacy. “I wasn’t lying… At first. I thought she really did set me up, and I said yeah to be polite. I was gonna pretend to be sick or somethin’.”

“And then?”

“When you went to bed, she told me the real plan. I go on a ‘date’, she gets you here and we surprise you. I nearly blew it all off earlier, you looked upset and I never want to be the reason you’re upset,” JJ explained, letting out a sigh.

“What about all the texting? When we were on shift, you were constantly smiling at your phone,” you accused.

He smiled sheepishly, looking at the ground. “Sarah and John B were pretty excited about all this, they made a groupchat. My phones been blowing up all week.”

“What’s it called?” You murmured.

“Operation lovebirds,” he stated, making you giggle quietly.

“That’s stupid.”

“Yep.”

It was silent for a moment, him looking at you and you looking around as if someone was going to jump out with a camera and yell gotcha! You just had one more question, but it was probably the most important.

“Why are we on a date, JJ?” You asked quietly, finally making eye contact with him. “Why did you set all this up? Why do you have a groupchat?”

He gulped, letting out a deep breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, forehead leaning against yours. “Because I love you.” You were sort of expecting that, but your heart still fluttered in your chest. “And not as a best friend, I’ve been in love with you since you gave me your teddy bear ‘cause I told you I didn’t have any.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, but a smile made its way onto your face. “I love you.”

“I know.” Tears ran down your face. The one thing JJ had never been sure of was that people cared about him, but with you he didn’t have to think twice. He wiped your tears, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t gotta cry about it.”

“Shut up or I’m going home,” you warned, he chucked again.

He leant down, lips brushing against yours before he pulled you into him and stole the first kiss. You gasped against his mouth, but within seconds you were melting into his embrace and the smell of marijuana and his cologne.

“Most people kiss after the date,” you murmured against his lips, his arms squeezing you tightly.

“Yeah, well, most people also don’t take twelve years to admit how they feel.”

[the-californicationist]

Bone Deep

AO3 Link -- MDNI -- TW: emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex

Your husband, John Price, has fallen into a pattern of behavior that seems to be moving him farther and farther away from you. But, you refuse to play second fiddle for long. 

You were drenched. It had been raining in such a way that made you think the Lord had gone back on his promise. Perhaps the rainbow had been painted just to placate you. Perhaps, you thought as you wrung out your hair on the porch, you would be drowned after all. 

It sure felt that way. Work had mounted up to the point of a fever-pitch. You had three projects due and one to revise. Not to mention, your husband had been home and yet almost fully invisible. 

John Price was back on something like leave, but he was never around. You saw evidence of his presence all over your floor and table and furniture. Socks, dirty plates, dead tablets, scraps of paper with Russian names scribbled on them... He was hunting Makarov in your kitchen and your hallway and your bathroom, and he was leaving that trail of breadcrumbs both literally and figuratively all over your house. 

You’d gone to bed alone for two nights in a row, and as you nearly tumbled over a pair of his sneakers in the foyer, caked in wet mud, you decided that it would not be three. 

“John?” You called out.

There was no reply, but a pale blue light shone under his office door. 

You popped open the latch and saw him hunched over the computer screen. 

“John.”

“Hm?” He responded, but he didn’t turn around. 

“John!”

“What?” He roared, spinning in his chair and glowering at you, shaming you for interrupting him.

“Okay,” you nodded, resigned. 

It would be a cold day in hell before you accepted that tone from anyone. You’d gone in there expecting to have a rational conversation, but your husband had raised his voice to you like you’d been a naughty dog. 

And you were absolutely not going to take that sort of treatment.

You made it to your bedroom in a quick three strides, pulling your overnight bag from under the bed. You shot your best friend, Cana, an SOS text. She lived two hours away, but you didn’t mind. You’d drive all night through the rain if it meant getting out of this prison that you used to call a home. 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but you had boundaries. Clear ones. And he knew he had crossed them. He just didn’t care. 

You started to pack as you fumed, tossing in a few days worth of clothes, your toiletry bag, the essentials. Then, the bedroom door clanged open, its handle slamming into the railing on the wall. 

“What’s this?” John waved a hand over your bag. 

“When I married you, I married a partner, not a ghost. The only reason I know you’re home is because you leave your fucking laundry for me to finish all over my floor. I’m not going to clean up after you like some maid. Then, you raise your tone at me, disrespecting me? No. When you’re ready to be my husband again, you know my number.”

He scoffed,

“All this bloody drama over some dirty socks?”

You stared at him in a way that told him just how serious you were. The silence between you stretched on for eons, expanding in all directions. You smiled, 

“You know it’s not the socks.”

The look in his eyes said: yes, I know it’s not the socks. But, his pride wouldn’t let him say the quiet part out loud. 

So, you left. 

Starting up the car was hard. Backing out of the driveway was harder. But, every mile you drove simply steeled your resolve. You knew his work was important, but you were important, too. You’d always be his wife, but you needed some space. 

You texted your boss when you made it to Cana’s house; you were taking a few days off. A night of tears and comforting hugs (and strong margaritas) passed, then a morning. Then, a night… and in the middle of it, you saw your phone light up. Despite the million other notifications you received every day, you knew it was him.

John: hey

You: hey

John: can i call

You: one sec

You sneaked out of bed, untangling yourself from Cana’s lanky arms, and lugged your phone out to the front porch. You were about to curl up on her big patio chair when you were stopped in your tracks at the sight of a big black truck idling in the driveway.

You sighed, standing there staring at your husband. He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab. As he approached you, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs like a wide-eyed disciple, you noticed that his blue irises were ringed in pink, bloodshot and puffy. He hadn’t shaven, and he looked pale. 

But, even though you were still hurt, and even though he looked a little worse for wear, it was hard to ignore the carnal ache in your belly when you watched the muscles bulge and flex in his immense forearms as he crossed his arms in front of himself. The way his chest stretched out his black tee shirt, a tuft of fur peeking out of the crew neckline, the sleeves struggling to contain his round biceps. The way he chewed his full bottom lip when he had something important to say. It was enough to test your resolve.  

“Hey,” you said in a small voice, holding your arms around your body for comfort. 

Suddenly, those sharp eyes focused on you with rapt attention, and he stared right at you, speaking in a low, gravelly purr, trying to keep his voice down,

“I’ve been a proper arse.”

You tried to hold back a smirk. He continued,

“I took advantage of you. I’ve been hunting this fuckin’ bastard for so many years, and I’ve got him cornered. It’s all I can think about. Every night I think if only I was a little quicker, or maybe just bloody braver, I could stop him from killing more innocent people. I let him into our house. Into your life. And I shouldn’t have let my work come between us,” John’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, hooking his thumb into his jeans pocket, “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still waiting for his next step. Being sorry was only part of it. 

“When you come home tomorrow, it’ll be different. I’m gonna pull my weight again. You have my word that I’ll only work when you work, and when you’re home,” he squared his shoulders, rocking his hips forward, nervous energy coursing through his body, “I’ll be home with you. I promise.”

You nodded, shifting your weight, staring down at your feet. Then, he called your attention with a caught breath and words that hurt you bone deep,

“You are coming home, right?”

You tried your honest best to fight the tears, but your body shuddered through a sob and you gasped in a sharp breath of air. He moved to hold you, to ascend the steps and repent, to be forgiven, but you held up your hand stopping him in his tracks,

“I won’t have you speaking to me like that, John. I won’t…” You thought about your words carefully, “I can’t be treated that way.”

“I understand, love. Believe me,” he chuckled, “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The way he rubbed his thumb across his sternum made your own chest hurt. He tried to approach you again, stepping up the wooden stairs, creaking under his weight, and he angled his chin up as if to kiss you. But, you stepped away, guarding your own heart for just a while longer. 

The hunger in his eyes followed you like smoke from a fire, warming you with its heat. 

“I’ll be home in the morning, John,” you said, turning to go back into the house. 

The next morning, as you packed, you thought about his promise. You hoped that you were heard. Truly heard and not just for a week of good behavior. You deserved to be respected, and you wouldn’t let your relationship with him become so one-sided again. 

When you pulled into your driveway, you expected to be greeted with the same dark, empty house. As you moved to pick your feet up over the usual mess of shoes, you discovered the foyer scrubbed to a high shine, and there was nothing to stumble upon. All the shoes were shoved into their little cubbies, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. The living room was bright, clean, and John was standing in the middle of it, waiting for you. He took your bags, and scooped you up into a long, tight hug. 

You thought he might try to kiss you, but he didn’t. He just held you against him, breathing in and out, not letting go. Your face was buried deep in his chest, and you could smell his aftershave mixing with the strong scent of his cigars, and a slight musk that was all him. You wanted to feel his fur against your cheek. 

Suddenly, he grabbed your chin in his hand, making you face him, and he said in a dark, warm tone, 

“I’m gonna be the me that you need me to be. From now on. I swear it.”

You felt his soft lips touch yours, kissing you chastely, then deeper, chasing your taste, finding your tongue, licking along its length, savoring your mouth like a treat, cherishing every suck and nip and bite. 

“I missed you, John,” you admitted, feeling hot tears staining your cheeks, not realizing you were crying. 

He wiped them from your temples, smearing them into your skin, cradling your head in his hands so carefully as if you were made of glass. 

“I’ve been away. But, I swear, love. I swear, I’m back. I swear…”

His lips met your wet cheek and took your tears with them. 

“I swear…” 

He kissed your neck, holding your head in his huge paw.

“I swear…” 

You ran your hands over his neck, encircling him, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He hooked his arms over his head and rucked the shirt off his back, tossing it on the couch. He pulled you into his lap as he sat down, sinking into the cushions, kissing you like you might disappear again. 

“I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me,” John growled darkly, his deep voice rumbling between kisses. 

“Forgiven,” you said, forcing him to look at you.

Then, he put his forehead to yours and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and simply rubbing your back, trailing his hands over your hips, pulling you in closer to him. 

Tentatively, as if testing the waters of a deep well, you rocked your hips against him, seeing if you could get him to take the bait. If you had your husband back, you wanted to seal that promise with more than just a kiss. 

He groaned,

“Mm, I don’t deserve that.”

You repeated the motion, feeling the twitch of his fat cock inside of his jeans, and you narrowed your eyes at him,

“Sex isn’t a reward. It’s our connection, and I need to feel you. I need my captain back.”

He smiled, nuzzling your jaw, peppering your skin with little, chirping kisses, 

“Pretty girl… I missed you so much. What was I thinking?”

You shrugged, playing coy as you slipped off your leggings and set to undoing his buttons, opening the fly of his jeans to see the shock of dark hair and the swollen prize nestled in it, 

“I dunno. Maybe you just needed a reminder?”

As you teased him at your entrance, letting his head play in your wet folds, you began to sink down onto his shaft, spearing yourself onto his length, rocking back and forth with a tantalizing rhythm. 

“Mmngh,” he sighed, his eyes staring, transfixed on where your bodies reconnected. 

Finally, after some effort, his girth was fully sheathed within you, warmed and cradled by your soft heat. You began to lift yourself on your knees up and down, dragging all the way to his rosy head and then sliding all the way back down to those brown curls, enjoying the faces he was making against his will. 

However, he didn’t put up with your performance for long. Before you knew it, you were laying on the couch with your knees on your chest, taking every inch of his cock as deep as it would go. He had a gentle curve that, in this position, rubbed exactly where it needed to, pulling you along from one orgasm to the next like you were a kite, fully at his mercy and high as hell. 

Your mind swam with murky, unintelligible thoughts, and he fucked you harder and harder, pounding himself into you like a machine. Sometimes you forgot his strength… and his stamina. 

You whined a bit, your timbre changing from other-worldly pleasure to mild discomfort, and he picked up on it like a hound. He slowed, inspecting you, looking for the broken pieces. 

“You alright, missus?” He said, kissing you, thrusting shallowly now, checking in with you.

“Can we sit?”

“C’mere.”

John pulled you into his lap and continued his efforts, rocking himself back and forth, holding your body like a toy. Then, he snaked his hand between you, giving your clit something firm to rub against, and you felt the tingles begin to build inside of your belly, a coil tightening, a dam under pressure, a firework ready to burst. 

He was facing you, so you began to kiss him in a slow, supple way, letting your mouth fall open and your lips meet his with the lightest touch. John matched your energy, getting lost in your ritual, sending out the tip of his tongue to play and taste you again. 

He pulled away and licked his fingers before returning them to your folds,

“Mmf-fuck. You are so bloody good.”

“I want you to come in me, baby,” you confessed, resting your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath. 

You saw the surprise dance through his expression. 

“You sure?”

You knew it wasn’t something you allowed very often. You’d been off of your birth control for a few months, trying to give your body a break from the hormones. And even though you weren’t trying for a baby, that was always a dream that you shared. For John, it was the ultimate dream. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, kissing his smiling mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growled darkly, gripping you around your waist, changing the angle to something wholly transcendent. How did he do it? How did he know where your body needed him to be? It was absurd. 

Everything was bright and glittering as you came around him, and you felt yourself squeezing his cock mercilessly, coming down his shaft in hot, thick coatings of creamy slick, unable to stop it from flooding out around him. 

He, too, was erupting. He gasped for air, grunting in loud, animalistic shouts, his whole face contorted into a pleasure-filled rage, pumping you full of his soft, warm cream, frothing it with his rough movements. 

Eventually, he flung his head back, holding you to him in a tight hug, his entire body moving and reacting without his input, fully on instinct. You held him back, clutching him against you like a lifeline.

You thought he would slip out of you once he was down from his high, but he didn’t. He simply held you to him, sweaty and desperate, letting himself soften inside of you. It was as if he didn’t want to leave. 

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you again, shuddering yet powerful. 

“It’s nice to have you home, John,” you smiled, letting his soft laughter warm your heart, basking in it like the sun. 

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 5

<-former chapter -AO3 link -next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.3k

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

MDNI. MDNI. Dead dove do not eat.

Authors note: do note there will be the use of prong collars in this. Just like all the other fucked up stuff in this, i don't support that irl, but this is fiction. On a different note, it will probably be at least a week before I can give you another chapter lol, shit is happening, my sinners and im holding on. Also thank u to all the nice asks and comments ive been sent. means a lot <33. ENJOY!

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You could only stay in the farmhouse for so long; even though you desperately wanted to stay inside, Price dragged you outside, talking about fresh air and enjoying nature. 

To you it was nothing but lies and the smell of animal shit.

There were no pavements, no cars flashing by, no advertisements or shops, no scents of food or sweets trying to lure you in. There were no hybrid clothes shops, where John would play dress up with you for his next party. Show him how the lingerie set he picked out looked against your tail.

He would make sure your nails were always perfect and manicured. Without the claws, he made sure you knew you were loved anyways, your nails adorned with expensive nail polish and gemstones. Anything that his Daisy, his princess, his darling, his puppy wanted, she always got.

Now you were here, following him into the stables, to see how far Nikolai - who had forced himself into your life - was with the tractor.

Warily looking out for the hybrids, staying close to your owner.

The stitches were gone and everything was healed all nicely - that didn’t mean that you wanted to start over and get more bites that would need stitches. Once was enough. Hopefully Price and Nikolai understood that too.

Also, you didn’t want to get fucked dumb by those mutts again; they didn’t deserve your pussy. Especially not Ghost or Gaz. Not really Soap either, he had just been nice because he had to. You were sure. They were nothing but stupid working dogs, who didn’t know how to behave.

Your owner, John Price, looked in love; he was watching Nik just as much as he was watching the tractor. The stress that had sometimes followed him home when you lived in the city was no longer visible. It had left his bones, made him happy and pliable, clearly blossoming in his new role as a farmer. You loved him but what the fuck were you supposed to do with this whole situation? Pretend to be happy?

You were a pet, so it wasn’t like you had any options. And your attempts at persuading him to move back to the city hadn’t gone well. Resisting your ever present urge to let him fuck you, would probably not do you any good. Earn you a spanking from both him and Nikolai. They might even throw you to the hounds.

One of those said hounds were getting closer to you, the hybrid making you tense up a little.

“You’re looking good, princess,” Gaz said casually, shooting you an awfully charming smile, his tail wagging while you tipped your ears backwards instead of replying.

“Feeling better?”

You didn’t reply, merely stared at the tractor, boring as it was. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away. He stepped closer to you, his dark gaze resting on you, while you stepped closer to John, growling as a warning.

“Behave,” Price said over his shoulder, clearly more interested in that Russian man of his, than your safety.

It only took another step and Gaz’s teeth a tad too close to you, to send you bolting out. Back inside it was then, you concluded, enough farming bullshit for today.

Only to meet Ghost in the way, his scarred face grinning smugly, ears tipping towards you.

“‘Ello pup.”

Nah, you weren’t fucking with that today. You managed to see the shadow of Soap before you bolted again.

Running still wasn’t your best talent; so though you knew it was stupid, you decided to do what you weren’t allowed to anyways. You crawled the wooden fence, ignoring the male hybrids' shouts and barks — as well as the fence’s slight squeak - and landed on the other side with a grunt. 

The corns were tall and you took a breath, looking over your shoulder, only to see a worried looking Soap being the closest.

He let out a concerned whimper.

“Dinnae lass,” he warned, a softness in his voice that you recognized from your moments inside.

You would deal with the consequences and the punishment that Price would give you for leaving the ground. It was better than getting your shoulders bitten to pieces - so you got up and rushed into the tall corn field. Abandoning the male hybrids.

Stupid. They were all stupid.

Maybe this should be your new go-to hiding spot. You could hear them bark aggressively but not getting nearer. They weren’t allowed to leave either. You felt your chest swell a little with pride over the idea. You wouldn't be gone for long, just until they lost interest in you.

It was several seconds before you stopped, panting with your tongue out. You couldn’t see the fence or the farm from all the corn by now, which finally meant some peace. Your tail wagged and your body relaxed, a soft wind playing with your fur for a moment, making the corn move around you, like waves in the ocean.

However, that peace didn’t last long.

“My my,” the voice almost appeared out of nowhere and you turned slowly, unsure but still afraid of what you would see, “what are you doing here, perrita? On my property?”

You knew Alejandro and Rodolfo had gotten a hybrid, but you had been too swept up in your own nightmare to ask about her; now, as she towered above you, seeming more wolf than dog, you would rather have one of the mutts on your own farm. A scared little whimper escaped you.

“You must be Price’s precious lapdog, no?” She asked, slowly moving in between the corn with ease, as she circled around you, fear making you stay still, “a little city puppy, forced to be out on a farm. How sad.”

There was no trace of sympathy in her voice. It took you a moment to swallow some spit and another moment to take a proper breath.

“I’ll go home again, I’m sorry.” You tried your best to seem submissive, leaning forward a little, tail tugged along your leg. You at least had your owner at the farm - but here? Here, with this new, wolf-like hybrid, you didn't have anyone. You weren’t even supposed to be here, weren’t allowed. Sure, you knew Alejandro and Rudy, but they also knew you weren’t supposed to be there.

“Hmmm,” she answered in a rumble, licking her teeth slowly, casually showing off her fangs, “what’s your name, perrita?”

She screamed danger. Her energy screamed ‘I can make worse wounds than them’ and you certainly didn’t feel like testing that. In fact, you would rather get as much distance between you and her as possible.

“D-Daisy.” It was the name Price had chosen, not that you were really called it. But you weren’t going to tell this hybrid woman who looked like she could swallow you whole, that you were usually called princess, pretty girl, puppy or sweetheart.

“I’m Valeria,” she replied, finally stopping her circling, only to step closer to you. She wasn’t really that tall, but her energy was as if she was,  she had strong arms and legs; scars littered her too, her hair short, ears big and tipped forward without a care in the world. Her collar was thick and sturdy, opposed to your own fancy one.

You almost wanted to point out that yours was prettier. That you were a lapdog, not one of the working ones, that you were not made to be played rough with. That you were no threat.

You could hear barking in the distance. Voices calling out for you. Even though you hadn’t met Valeria for more than a minute, you already knew you wanted to get a good distance between you and her.

“Uh nice to meet you, but I better get back home, sorry-“ you turned around quickly but before you could even think to bolt, strong arms were around you and the other dog hybrid pulled you close to her chest.

“Eres tan linda e ingenua,” she almost lovingly growled into your ear, and while you didn’t understand what she was saying, you were much more distracted by her tongue. She licked your cheek a couple of times, slow and wet strokes; you got the feeling that she might eat you raw without regret and you twisted a little in her grip, letting out a louder growl. She laughed, one of her hands pawing at your tit, claws sinking into the fabric. She smelled of danger and lust; like the mutts at home when they first got their dirty paws on you.

“I’m gonna enjoy me—“

“VALERIA!” Her name echoed through the fields, making both of you freeze. Like a warning rushing in between the corns, her name couldn’t be ignored.

She growled deeply, seeming annoyed with the disturbance, while you wanted to kiss whoever of your neighbors it was. She rolled her hips, humping your ass twice, before she was interrupted again.

“Valeria!” It was Alejandro, you realised then, who yelled once again, “ sé que la tienes! Let her go!”

With one deep sniff of you, while you whimpered, the wolf-looking hybrid finally let go of you.

“I won’t be as nice next time, perrita - now go, before I change my mind and take you from your boys.”

You didn’t need to be told that again and didn’t want to argue that they weren’t your boys - the moment she let go, you bolted towards the way you came. 

How they knew that she had gotten a hold of you wasn't clear, but it wasn’t like you were gonna turn around and ask Alejandro or Rudy.

The answer came to you anyways; one angry looking John Price stood with crossed arms, phone in hand. A grinning Nikolai next to him and three growling hybrids moving back and forth along the men and the fence. Every single one of them stilled and stared at you as you sheepishly walked to the fence, tail between your legs and ears tipped down.

You stood, just for a moment, with the fence in between you and the others. Considering staying there, as if that would be a good solution.

“Get your arse over here,” Price snapped, his voice stern and dark, as he put his phone in his pocket, marching towards you. 

You hastily and in a rather inexperienced manner, climbed the fence and got to the right side. Instantly, tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a whimper, almost ready to tell about the horrors you had just been through - only to bark loudly at the hybrids as they all charged towards you, hands touching you, only stopped by a sharp whistle. 

“Nyet,” Nikolai called harshly, “off her. Now.”

Soap and Gaz instantly let go, stepping back as John reached you, but Ghost didn’t move. His hand rested on your neck, pressing your collar against your skin, his nose almost fully pressed against your temple. 

“Let go.” Price’s voice was sharp and you let out a little whimper- not sure who of them you would rather deal with right now.

“She smells wrong,” Ghost replied, not moving, but his voice not as harsh as it could be, “smell of her.”

Her. You didn’t know whether Valeria would be in trouble over this or not. You had been the one to step into her territory anyways. She wasn't the one who had jumped a fence after all.

“We will fix that.” 

Ghost let out a grumble but after two seconds of staring at each other, the hybrid finally let go of you, earning himself a swift “Good boy.” 

Then Price grabbed into the ring in your collar and pulled, ignoring how you instantly broke into tears, excuses and explanations spilling from your lips like a waterfall, desperate to avoid punishment. You didn't want to stay with Valeria, but you didn’t want this either.

You were dragged past Nikolai who shared a short glance with Price - and they gave each other a short nod.

“C’mon boys,” Nikolai then called, the hybrids instantly moving to him, even though you could feel them staring at you, “we’re gonna join them.”

They were what? You cried harder, tugging at John’s arm, your owner ignoring your pleads and cries.

“I’m sorry sir, I got scared, I didn’t mean to run away,” you babbled, every second word followed by a small sob or whine, tail between your lets, almost making it hard to walk normally, “ they scared me, I was gonna come back, I’ll be good sir, I’ll behave! I wasn’t running away!”

There was no mercy from your owner, who just marched you towards the farmhouse that had almost become home by now.

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be a dog on a farm by now, surrounded by working hybrids, you would have laughed in their face. Loudly and impolitely.

You? Pretty lapdog living in the city out on a farm?

You weren’t even at the house yet, somehow crying harder because you felt so sorry for yourself in general. You were such a perfect lapdog, such a perfect being, forced to be out here, in the cold countryside. A tragedy.

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The prong collars looked like they would choke too and you wanted to scream merely at the sight.

“I’m not running the risk of having my darling all bitten to pieces again - this will hopefully help you to remember.”

None of them seemed too happy about it; you couldn’t blame them, you wouldn’t want those either, but you were horrified by the idea of getting bitten as harshly as they did last time. If both Price and Nik hadn’t been there, you doubted it would be possible to get the collars on them.

You were still crying yourself, from the shame of having jumped over the fence and creating chaos, only resulting in this.

The moment they were allowed, they were on you, ignoring your whimpering and fingers trying to push them off - Soap was the nicest, helping you get your clothes off instead of letting the others rip them, even if all of them were obsessed with your smell. Or well, with how you smelled of Valeria to be exact.

Soap licked your cheek and you growled at him, tipping your ears back, trying to push him away, fingers against his chest; but he didn’t move, only pressed himself closer, growling back to prove he was stronger than you - that you were supposed to be submitting to him.

“They shouldn’t be this aggressive,” you heard Price point out to Nikolai, but you were too distracted by Soap grinding his still clothed crotch against your poor, exposed cunt - you whined his name, but he didn’t stop. 

“Gonn’ mark ye, hen,” he promised in a murmur, teeth sinking into your jaw for just a moment - a warning tug in the leash made him let go almost instantly, instead licking the spot a couple of times, “gonn’ make ye smell all bonnie again.”

Both Gaz and Ghost were barking, but they were both held by the collars by Price and Nik, kneeling next to them, clearly antsy.

“-are working dogs-” it was hard to hear them, over your own mind buzzing so much, over the barks and the pleasure that you hated, “-hierachy is importa-”, one of Soap’s hands disappeared and a moment later, you heard his fly get tugged down, “show them where the line is, so–”

You howled in a high pitched tone as he forced his cock inside you, making you twist and try to push Soap okay. The stretch was intense, burning despite how wet you felt. “It's okay, bonnie lass,” Soap growled, forcing his cock a little deeper into you, nosing at your shoulder, near one of your scent glands, his hands moving to grab onto your thighs, “we’re nae gonna hurt ye.”

You both knew it was a lie - but you at least trusted Soap a little more than the two other mutts who were watching, knowing he could control himself. They were barely able to sit still, tongues out, almost drooling, while their eyes were dark in a way that reminded you of that time in the shed.

He forced his cock deeper, the knot finally reaching the opening of your poor, stretched cunt and you let out a sound at the fear of it sliding inside you. The scent of Soap was already beginning to overwhelm the scent that Valeria had left behind against your will - a part of you wished you had fought her more, had attempted to hurt her more.

The cry that left you was pained and afraid - his fangs almost having forced its way through your skin; you were only saved by John, who pulled Soap back by the collar, the prongs digging into the hybrid’s skin.

“Behave, boy,” John snarled while a mixture of a whine and a growl left Soap, as he helplessly pawed at the collar, “No breaking skin - already told you.”

“‘m sorry, sorry,” he promised, a pained tone to his voice, “dinnae mean tae.”

You doubted it was true; there was a darkness in the air despite the way your owner tried handling them.

He was let go off and the moment the prongs didn’t painfully dig into his skin, he was on you again, tongue on the indent he had left, his cock pressed into you again, his tail wagging.

“‘m sorry,” he barely managed to say in between his licks and moans, before his hands were back on you, his moaning louder, as he ignored your whines of slowing down. Your own hands grabbed onto his mohawk and ears, but the hybrid did nothing but moan even louder, moving his hips a little upwards and fuck - he hit the perfect spot, grinning like a feral hound when he noticed and heard your sounds.

You came against your will, crying out and spasming around him, his hands grabbing harder onto your thighs, claws teasing the skin.

He was panting and moaning like a hound, mounting you like there was nothing in his mind but the feeling of your cunt.

“Gonna fill ye up,” Soap promised, words barely escaping his mouth, drool dripping down on you; not like you cared, too gone yourself to really do so.

“DON'T knot her,” Price’s word cut through the air like a sharp knife, slicing into your mind; you wanted him to knot you, a part of you realized, no you needed him too - while another screamed in delight of not having to be stuck to him.

“Nnngh,” his hips were going so fast it almost hurt as they clashed against your skin, “please sir, please plea—“

“No.”

The hand that appeared made you shudder - and then a second later, Soap came, almost a guttural scream leaving him; you could feel Price’s fingers near your cock, stopping him from sliding his knot into you. 

“Later,” Price answered, then pulling Soap back by the collar and hair, your own hands slipping easily from him, “we don’t have the time to wait for all of you to knot her right now.”

The moment he was pulled away, you moved, whimpering and curling to the side, wincing as cum slid out from your pussy; it wasn’t John’s, you wanted it to be your owners. You barely had time to breathe before Nik released one of the others. Gaz pushed you onto your stomach - one hand on your neck to keep you down as you snarled.

“Wait,” you barked, ears tipping down “lemme breathe, for fucks sake—“

“Need you, puppy,” Gaz merely replied, grabbing onto your collar and tugging, his other hand pulling on your tail, ignoring your yelp, “gonna make it all okay again.”

“Nothing happened-“ you snarled, trying to make him let go, but you separately rose to your knees in order to levitate the pressure on your tail.

“Why did you smell like her then, huh?” He all but snarled, finally letting go of your collar, to push down his own pants, “stinking of her lust!”

You tried twisting to grip onto his ears to tug at them, hoping it would make him let go of you but he merely let go of you fully for a moment - your wrists were caught by his hands and he slammed them against the wooden floor.

“Be nice, собака,” Nik warned him, “I’m in no mood for broken bones.”

You barely heard him nor Gaz’ aggressive reply; you were too busy, having a realization. 

They were jealous ; you weren’t sure why it had taken you so fucking long to realize. The three mutts were jealous somebody else, somebody they didn’t know, had touched you and hadn’t you been so fucking upset, you might have laughed.

Instead, you felt a cock forcing its way into your cunt, making you howl in pleasure against your will; the slide was easier this time as Gaz fucked you, as you were already wet from the round with Soap - and now with his cum as well, Gaz fucked you almost smoothly. If not more aggressively than Soap had.

It didn’t take long before his teeth sank into your skin, the first two seconds it was nothing more than an extra grip, his cock roughly thrusting into you as if attempting to move your organs, his drool sliding along your skin, mixing with your sweat. His claws were digging into your skin slightly, but even more into the floor - while you were a mess, panting and attempting to growl in between your pathetic moans, barely able to see straight.

The pressure he bit you with changed quickly however and suddenly you were whining in pain, so loudly that you almost didn’t recognize your own voice.

Apparently Gaz had tried to bite Price in aggression over being ripped away from ‘his bitch’ as Nik called it, and you heard the harsh words and slaps, while you sank down a little, your tits pressed against the cold floor, your cunt empty. 

He was back as soon as he disappeared though, pulling you up again, only to almost instantly try to bite you again – halfway pulled away once more. You looked over your shoulder, seeing how the prong collar dug into his skin for a short moment until Price let go of him again.

The moment he was back, you turned however, using the moment to grab onto one of his long, dark ears and tug; it was almost a squeal that left Gaz and you heard both the hybrids bark and growl, Nik saying something – but it was the harsh spank from the leather leash that made you loosen your grip. 

“Behave, Princess,” John was squatting down next to you, strong hand on your pretty collar; it stood out so violently when compared to the others’ current prong collars, “or I’ll get you a collar too.”

“They’re mean!” you whimpered, giving him your best puppy eyes, before sending Gaz an angry look, as he was barely held back by John.

“Well you’re not quite playing nice either, eh?” There was a slight amusement in his voice but you didn’t get to comment on it, before he moved again.

Price gave Gaz more leash and the hybrid was instantly on you again, but this time Price didn’t let go of the metal ring in your own collar, keeping you in place, as if to remind you to behave; to remember he was right here, calling the shots.

“Yeah, Princess,” Gaz mocked, pushing into your cunt again with a moan, the movement in his hips exposing the fact that he was wagging his tail, “Behave.”

“Shut up!” you hissed angrily, a tug in the collar reminding you that Price was right there. 

Gaz’ hands were mostly on your hips - he nuzzled against your back and neck, licking your shoulders and in between your shoulder blades - he bit you a couple of times, but they were barely anything more than nips, a gentle tug on his collar reminding him to behave.

Then one of his hands moved, almost catching you off guard and making you whimper - it slid beneath your stomach, pawing at it for a moment, before it found its way to your cunt where the two of you were still connected, his thrusts still hard; he touched your clit without hesitation, snarling out words you could barely recognize. Mercilessly forcing you towards another orgasm.

Price let go of your collar and you let your head slumber down against the floor, wincing at the small pool of drool that had been created, hating how you pushed back against Gaz, the dual pleasure of his cock hitting that right spot and the fingers on your clit, so good you could barely breathe.

You barely heard Price’s command of not knotting you, from the mere tsunami of pleasure that overtook your body as you came, a howl that barely made any sound, snapping of your teeth and the pawing at the floor. You tightened around his cock, the knot having been so close, oh so close to being forced into your over oversensitive cunt - but then it was pulled out of you, almost making you sob.

Cum spurted on top of your lower back and ass cheeks, before Gaz willingly went - you could hear the almost instant sound of him and Soap making out with each other. And there was only one person back, which meant you had to go now.

A hand grabbed onto your ankle, dragging you backwards as you managed to crawl forwards a few steps - you turned around, back on the floor, raising your opposite leg to kick Ghost in the face, but the other hybrid caught it easily; grinning at you, almost feral-like, lust heavy in the air. Sometimes you forgot they had been in the military for so long.

Leather connected to your skin once more, this time on your raised thigh, a whine leaving you, your eyes flickering to look up at John who stood with the leash curled in his hand, ready to spank you with it once more.

“behave,” John hissed at you, while Ghost chuckled. Idiot.

You didn’t have much time to argue, Ghost letting go of your ankles, just to grab onto your thighs and pull you closer; he was kneeling, almost pulling you into his lap, that feral grin still there, fangs exposed.

He leant over you much quicker than you had anticipated, ignoring your growling and snapping with teeth - one hand resting next to your head, the other pulling down his boxers, pants already open.

Was his cock this big last time? It was like you couldn’t remember the last time right now, you could barely think, in fact, your mind was overwhelmed with so many things. Pleasure, oversensitivity, pain and anger - his dick seemed inhumanely long.

“Not so snappy now, huh?” he crooned, voice low, his free hand grabbing onto your plush thigh, fingers digging into the fat, ears tipped towards you as he spoke, “cockdumb already?”

“nnngh,” you tried pushing at his clothed chest, twisting in his grip, but it was no use; it was like the cock inside you kept you from doing anything. Somehow you managed a small “shutup” and that was enough to set Ghost going.

“Gonna teach you to not go whoring again,” Ghost snarled against your skin, tongue sloppily leaving a wet trail of spit over one of your bouncing tits, simply ignoring your hands trying to push his face out of the way, a plethora of moans and small yaps leaving you as he didn’t stop fucking you with that monster cock of his. You knew you were being watched, both by your owner and his boyfriend, as well as the two other hybrids, it only added to the humiliation of being turned on.

“Belong to us,” his words were barely audible as he growled them, the wet sounds and rustling of his clothes seeming to overtake it, “not her.”

“I won’t, won’t go, won–” you were barely aware of the words slipping from your lips, the volume rising as you felt his teeth scrape against a spot on your shoulder over your right breast, “nonon, please, I wont–”

“Ghost–” Price’s warning was stern, the little tug in the prong collar making him grumble, licking over the spot a couple of times - your eyes met. 

Ghost’s eyes almost seemed like they wanted to own you too; as if it was no longer John who you bowed to, but the pack that you didn’t want, on a farm you didn’t want to be. His thrusts quickened and then his eyelids lowered together with his head – biting down into your skin.

Despite his fast attempt at breaking your skin, mauling your flesh into his, Price was quicker – pulling him back by the collar. He held an extra grip on his hair and you managed to look up, see through the tears.

It was like there was a flood in your ears, Price looking mad, Ghost’s ears tipping backwards as he spoke.

Fighting to get some air into your lungs, you panted and tried wiggling free. Ghost’s fingers merely dug deeper into your plush thigh even though he was currently pulled back by the prong collar, the tips of his claws pressing against your skin as a warning.

The moment he let go, Ghost was back at it, staring down at you with a dark smile, grunts and small moans even leaving him. It took a couple of moments before Price let him have enough leash to bend down over you again and this time Ghost growled into your ears instead of your skin. Licking your furry ears while you whimpered at the feeling and the words.

They owned you; were going to breed you, use you, keep Valeria away, and do whatever they needed to keep you. You were theirs. The moment you let us, he had panted, we will love you.

There was an odd feeling in your stomach, almost as if you were going to piss yourself, but with no mercy from any of the men, one of your hands dug into his short hair and the other grabbed onto his shoulder as you screamed.

It had been a while since you squirted and it took you by surprise, just as it did the others. There were several barks, voices but then Ghost was fucking you even harder than before, bordering on painful, forcing his mouth against yours. You came a second time, this time not squirting but it almost felt more intense.

Ghost came just a moment later, perhaps caught by surprise himself, but he made sure not to knot you. 

The world was spinning around you. There were teardrops in your lashes as you squinted up at the hybrid, who was still pushed inside you. Price’s hand petting him shortly on the head before pulling him back.

There was speech but you barely noticed - then strong hands pulled you up into a lap. The overpowering scent of leather and oil told you who it was and despite your slight hate for Nik, your tail wagged as he pulled you into his arms, cooing at you.

“Such a strong puppy,” he praised, one of his hands drying away some of your drool, caressing your cheek as he sat on the floor with you on his lap, cum no doubt dripping onto his clothes, “you deserve treat for being so good, da?”

Compared to the first time you had met Nikolai, you didn’t want to bite his hand anymore - he clearly didn’t fear you doing so either. You snuggled into his hand, nodding as you squinted up at him, a  small “uh-huh” leaving you.

His hand disappeared and then there was a faint rustling of plastic - even without seeing it, you smelled it. It was that mouthwatering scent that made you weak in your knees that first time and your nose instantly sniffed, almost trying to sit up further to get a look of where it was - to get it before the boys did. Nikolai laughed, letting out a “there you go, milaya,” letting you grab the piece of jerky from his finger, instantly sinking your teeth into it with a pleased sigh. Your tail wagging a little again as you heard Soap whining over not getting a piece.

You even had to take a bath with them afterwards. Your life was officially over - you made sure to tell Price that, who just huffed and rolled his eyes. Sure, you weren’t the biggest fan of showers, but you wanted the cum off and you wanted a bath in the tub… alone. That was your thing.

“- ‘nd they’re gonna use up my shampoo and my conditioner -” you continued overdramatically as Nik carried you in front of John, the russian man merely snorting at your pitiful complaining. 

“We’ll buy more-” John tried to point out, but to no avail, life might as well be over for you right now.

“- ‘nd my brushes - all my nice brushes!”

“I will be sure tae use yers, Mo ghràdh,” Soap happily proclaimed, sending you a wink, fully naked as he was, his usual collar back on, small red marks on his neck from where the prongs had been, “I will use theim the wrong way. Just fer ye.”

Gaz snickered and even Ghost let out a chuckle.

“Jooohn,” you whined, only struggling a little as Nik sat you down in the tub, the water already nice and warm, your poor body having needed this, “I’m gonna need new brushes.”

“I doubt that, Princess,” he cooed, petting your hair, “Now who wants to join in th–”

Soap was in the tub, sliding in behind you before John could even finish his question, happily ignoring your pout and growl.

“Dinnae be like that,” he crooned, “where is yer special shampoo?”

This day had been awful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Princess.”

You almost jumped as the voice called for you and you turned, squinting slightly in suspicion at the sight. Gaz stood in the doorway, all calmly, looking at you, playing a little with his gloves. He didn’t look aggressive and didn’t smell turned on; in fact, he looked pretty harmless, his tail wagging ever so slightly, ears turning towards you and an almost shy smile.

“What?” you asked, sitting up in the dog bed, crossing your arms, not caring about sounding nice, looking him over for a moment before adding, “you’re dragging in mud.”

He looked down at his shoes, letting out a little ‘oh’. They weren’t really supposed to be in here, so you didn’t really understand why Gaz stood there. You didn’t really care either.

The other might be beautiful, but he was still not one of your favorite people. 

“I - want to show you something,” he finally said, one of his charming smile appearing, though it was a little more careful this time, “Soap said you would probably like it.”

“What is it?” You didn’t sound too impressed.

“It's a surprise,” he smiled a little more.

“If it's your knots, then you can–”

“Jeez,” he rolled his eyes, as if they weren’t fucking you silly on the livingroom floor the other day, “it’s not. Nothing like that.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” he answered, wagging a little more than before, “Swear on my tail.”

"Hm. Where is it?”

“In the barn.”

You scrunched your nose at the mention of the barn, the idea of being stamped to death by a horse already scaring you.

“It’s nothing scary - I wouldn’t bring you if it was.”

You let out a sigh, before getting up - he went to the hallway again and you followed, stealing one of John’s jackets as well as a pair of his boots, before following Gaz outside. 

“Some air would do you good once in a while, ya’ know,” Gaz said after a few moments, “we’re not that bad all of the time, Princess.”

You huffed, wondering for a moment if you should just turn around and go back. “You haven’t really proved me otherwise.”

He let out a hum that almost sounded agreeable but opened one of the doors to the barn, ushering you inside.

“It’s all good, I promise,” he said once more and you reminded yourself, that if he tricked you, you were going to snap off his tail. Pretty as it was.

He steered you to a booth where you noticed the heat lamp at first, more than anything else - but then you saw them, letting out a little gasp.

Tiny baby goats, all snuggled together in the hay beneath the lamp. A few of the mothers stood nearby and one of them came to the door of the booth, sniffing at Gaz’ hand, before letting out a bleat - then turning around again.

“They’re adorable,” you whispered, looking back at the babies, some of them looking at you, others sleeping with no worries in the world. 

“Aren’t they?” Gaz asked with a smile, “They were born yesterday night. Come.”

You let out a scared sound as Gaz opened the door to the booth.

“Won’t the mothers attack us?” you didn’t like how Gaz chuckled to your genuine, fearful question but he shook his head.

“Nah, me ‘nd the others hang out with the animals all the time.” He explained, petting one of the mothers who came to greet him for a moment.

It was cute. You had to admit that, even with your limited love of the farm animals.

“But I don’t.” you pointed out, still standing in the door of the booth, afraid to step into the hay and join the other as he sat down next to the baby goats.

“No, but the mothers know I won’t let a predator near,” he explained gently, “Not at daytime and not during the night.”

“Oh.”

There was something special over this that you could not explain. You didn’t want to explain it. You sat down next to Gaz as he patted the spot, still a little unsure about the momma goats - but none of them battered an eye as Gaz took your hand and made you gently pet one of the babies.

“They’re so tiny,” you whispered, almost to yourself, for once not hating or fearing Gaz. At least for right now, you were just in a moment together with him, doing something that you hadn’t expected would be that nice.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Relight the fire - King! Price x Princess! Reader | NSFW

Synopsis: Growing up in the neighbouring kingdom, you and Price go a long way back, practically growing up together. From rambunctious kids who play together, to teenagers exploring each other. Now, a decade later, you finally reunite after your parents proposed an arranged marriage to the now king. His memory of you however is still coloured and he intends to relive it.

CW: fem! reader, arranged marriage, p in v, yearning, lots of kisses, sort of a quickie?

Word Count: 5499

Sitting in the carriage, your eyes were cast out at the roads passing by. Familiar but oh so foreign streets rolled across your view. Streets you remember running down, yet had changed so much in the last decade.

It had been a while since you’d last visited the kingdom of Onferon. When was the last time again? Glancing to the right, you saw your mother – the queen – seated beside her husband. They were the reason you were last here too. You must have been a teenager when you last travelled here, accompanying your parents for business. Or was it a young adult? You don’t remember. Either way, at least ten years must have passed at this point.

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Your father’s voice pulled you out of your reminiscing and you looked over at him, a questioning look on your face that made him smile gently.

“We’ve had communications with king Price. He’s eager to see you again.”

Right. King. It seemed so long ago now that the two of you were running around through the streets, evading the guards who were desperately chasing you, trying to keep an eye on you for a safety neither of you cared about. But now, that boy you knew was a king.

Knowing your father was waiting for an answer, you replied. “As I am him.” You spoke back, though the neutrality in your tone betrayed some of your inner thoughts. A lot of time passed. You weren’t getting any younger, neither was he. Which is why – to your brother’s dismay – you were here today.

An arranged marriage. Proposed and set up by your parents. With your history, they hoped that John Price would accept, strengthening your own kingdom in the process.

Not that you blamed your parents. What was needed was needed. With your brother in line for the throne, you knew there was only one way for you to go as princess.

Just then, the carriage passed through the gates onto the castle grounds, cobbled streets making way for lush green gardens and hedges.

“I don’t like this.” Your brother then murmured, much to the dismay of your parents.

“Hush now. Your sour attitude will compromise this all. The marriage isn’t finalised. King Price refused to do so until he saw her again.” Your mother motioned her hand at you, making your brother huff and cross his arms like a petulant child. “Behave.” She scolded – without effect.

Hearing her chastise him, your brother just grumbled and you playfully kicked his shin, making him hiss in pain before glaring at you.

Sitting up to retaliate, he was stopped by your father saying a stern “Enough!”.

Calming, both of you relaxed in your seats right as the carriage came to a stop.

With the doors opening, your mother shuffled close while the men got up to step out, her hands tenderly running over your dress, fixing a fold and tucking a hair back in place on your head.

“Remember.” She spoke softly. “Chin up, be calm, be good. It’ll be your actions who decide whether this arrangement happens or not. Answer his questions as truthful as is necessary.” With that, she smiled softly, her gloved hand gently rubbing your cheek before she too got out.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled your own gloves a little tighter up your arms before you got up from the seat and stepped out of the carriage, taking your brother’s offered hand to step down, your heals clicking on the stone walkway.

Before you, the castle towered over not just you but the entire kingdom, standing tall and proud. A pillar of the kingdom’s wealth and power. And before its doors, stood John Price.

Once you spotted him, you blinked once, your eyes shifting over his attire. A simple dark blue doublet with intricate embroidery – simple upon first glance yet hinting at wealth up close. Slowly, your gaze rose up to his face, his young visage now more weary with age, not to mention covered in intricately carved facial hair.

It took a moment too long for your eyes to look at his, finding that they’d been focused on you all along. Realising, you straightened up a little, following your parents upon their approach.

“Welcome, your majesties.” Price greeted, politely bowing his head, to which your family returned the greeting in kind, your head bowing as you sunk through your knees a bit. “Please come in, festivities have been arranged.” Price stepped aside then, the guards around you motioning you up.

Your parents were first to go, your brother and you following up the steps. There, Price led the way, walking through intricate halls and bustling staff as they ran around. Some stopped by him as he walked, hearing them out before quietly responding and sending them on their way, resuming the silent tour after.

“Your luggage is being arranged. You shall find it in your quarters.” Price smiles kindly after a moment, pausing in front of a set of double doors. As he smiled, his eyes crinkled, the corners of his mouth pulling his beard up with them, almost lighting up his face – an expression almost designed to draw you in.

You’d seen it plenty of times before. Though he seemed to have lost the cocky attitude he had before, that permanent smirk replaced with a genuine kindness that surprised you.

“Thank you.” Your father spoke and Price nodded, motioning them to pass through the doors as they were pulled open by guards.

“Many have arrived before you. Please feel free to enjoy yourselves for now. Dinner shall begin shortly.” Price spoke courteously before his eyes shifted to you. “I would like to invite you and your children to be seated by me when the time comes.”

“We would be happy to accept.” Your mother smiled and you silently took a deep breath in, feeling the man’s eyes focused on you, your hands neatly clasped at your middle, resting by your stomach.

“Sister.” Your brother then took your arm, narrowing his eyes at Price as he urged you past, the king just smiling to himself as he followed behind, being the last through the doors.

Inside, the ballroom was packed with nobility from all over the land, eating, drinking, dancing.

Quickly, your mother and father dispersed, going to mingle with the crowd. When your brother didn’t seem to move, your mother stepped back and grabbed his arm, yanking him away from you and along with her with an apologetic smile.

It wasn’t until king Price stepped up beside you on the left that you realised why. He’d been waiting to speak with you alone.

Looking over, you noticed his eyes flick upwards a second too late, his gaze now settling on your face. “Your highness.” He greets with a small smile, your fingers fidgeting slightly as the pressure placed on your shoulders mounts higher.

“Your majesty.” You greeted back, much more formal than his greeting was, even when you both used official titles. A detail that didn’t escape the man, his head tilting a little.

“It has been a while since we last spoke. You have aged beautifully.” Price started, turning to fully face you, his eyes now freely roaming down, appraising you sweetly.

“Indeed it has, and thank you. You too have changed much.” You spoke back, trying to put an easy smile on your face though it was a bit tense.

Seeing it, Price reached out, gently grabbing your gloved hand, pulling it up to press a soft kiss to the back of it, his eyes never straying from yours. “For the better, I hope?” He teased softly, his lips moving against the fabric of your glove before he pulled back a bit, still holding your hand. “Why so nervous, my princess?” He asked after a moment, stepping closer, looking down at you with gentle eyes, intelligent and perceptive.

“My apologies.” You stated softly, taking a soft breath in to try and settle the pressing feeling in your chest. Being nervous wasn’t going to convince him to accept the marriage.

Watching you take the breath, Price’s eyes softened a little, glancing around to see the busy ballroom, his head then turning back to you. “What say you we find a place less… crowded, where we can talk?”

You frowned a little at that. “But what of dinner?”

“Dinner won’t be for a while yet. We have time and they will wait.” He stated, his free hand sweeping out to guide your gaze to a door leading out of the ballroom. A gesture to follow.

“I-” You started, glancing back into the room, seeing people’s eyes on you. There was a general knowledge of what was going on, what could happen. And it didn’t help your nervousness. “I’d hate to make people wait.” You eventually murmured, making Price chuckle softly, his hand squeezing yours.

“Still the worrier you always have been.” He smiled. “The dinner is still being prepared. Half an hour extra on the slow roast won’t ruin it. Might even improve it.” He joked before turning to fully face you again, using his free hand to grab your other one, now holding both as he looked right into your eyes. “Besides, would it not be nice to announce the decision I’ve come to during dinner?” He asked with a little smile, a playful gleam in his eye as he squeezed your hands before turning to the side again, once more holding out his hand, waiting for you to accept his invitation and follow him.

Letting out a shaky breath, you nod and Price smiled, holding you tighter as he led you out of the side door into a long hallway.

“You really haven’t changed at all. Only got more beautiful.” The man murmured, looking forward as he walked.

His comment had your heart clenching a little, your heels padding along the carpet, your eyes on the back of his head. “How do you mean?”

At that, he turned to look back at you with a small grin. “I remember leading you like this before. You were oh so worried to make your parents wait. Or that other time where you didn’t want to cause trouble for the guards for losing us. Just like you’re now worrying about the guests.” He hummed, your heart starting to speed up as he so easily seemed to remember you and the past.

“That was-”

“Always for the same thing.” He interrupted you, taking a turn and leading you up a set of stairs, his arms moving behind his back to pass your hand from his right to his left. “A worry for others to hide your own nerves.”

That had you pause, your steps slowing and – sensing you were no longer following so easy – Price slowed, looking back at you.

“I-”

“Sweetheart.” His quiet voice made you look up, seeing him step down the stairs to be level with you before cupping your face. “Don’t worry, alright? It’ll be like old times. Just you and me.” He hummed lowly, a glint in his eyes as he brought your hand up and kissed the back of it again. “Be a good girl and follow, hm?”

Walking backwards up the stairs a few steps, Price led the way as you followed, a little dazed. Seeing you were, Price then pulled you a little closer once you reached the top of the staircase, his hand snaking around your waist.

Leading you down the hall, he turned left to a set of double doors, opening one and helping you step inside.

Immediately, nostalgia and memories hit, memories that made your cheeks slightly heat up as you surveyed his bedroom. It had matured, just like him. But the layout remained the same.

“Come here, love.” Price spoke, his hand around your waist shifting to your hip after locking the doors, pushing you back until you gently hit a sofa, sitting down while a fire roared in the fireplace.

Having you seated, he sat down beside you, letting out a relieved little breath as he opened the clasp by his neck, shaking out his hair a little. “There.” He grunted, getting comfortable as he sat back, his legs splaying out somewhat.

Looking over at him, you straightened up a little, clasping your hands together in your lap, knowing the talk that was coming.

Seeing it, Price chuckled softly, reaching out to pick up your hand, his fingers tracing the glove up your arm until he hooked into the edge of the fabric that rested past your elbow.

“You’re so tense, hm? Dressed all proper for today to make an impression.” His voice dropped to a lower frequency as he talked, his eyes reflecting the firelight as they followed the path of his finger.

Slowly, he shifted closer, his leg moving to sit against yours as he slowly started to push the fabric of the glove down your elbow, revealing more of your skin.

“Uh-” grasping the fabric, you looked at the man, feeling your cheeks heat up a little.

“The fire is lit and we’re eating after this. Surely these aren’t needed anymore?” Price asked, a faux kind of innocence accompanying his statement. When he felt your hold slack, he carefully pulled the glove down your arm, taking it off and humming softly as he grabbed your now bare hand. “Much better.” He murmured, bringing your hand up and gently kissing the back of it, causing you to feel the course hair of his beard gently rub against your skin.

Feeling it, a strange sort of nervousness swirled through your stomach, butterflies flitting about as you felt the hairs lift off your skin, before he gently turned your hand around, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist in a similar manner, causing your breath to quietly hitch.

“Yes. Much better.” Price concluded with a little smile. Leaning in to reach his arm over, he took off your other glove as well, laying them over the back of the couch. “It has been too long since we’ve been like this, sweetheart.” He spoke softly, his eyes slowly lifting back up to yours.

“How… How have you been?” You asked, not knowing where else to start.

Seeing it, Price shifted a little, that small smile still tugging at the corner of his lip as he shifted in his seat, leaning back. “I have been quite alright. A lot has happened since I last saw you. But I am happy to say that having you by my side still makes my day better.”

Letting out a relieved little breath, you sat up a bit, turning to him a little, accidentally pressing your legs tighter together, as Price didn’t move an inch – didn’t try to even.

“I must say, I’m surprised you remember me so. We saw each other only sparingly as kids.”

Huffing in amusement, Price leaned forward, his hand suddenly landing on your thigh, rubbing a bit. “Remember? Darling, I haven’t been able to forget you one day. However sparingly we saw each other, I cannot possibly forget our little outings, hm?”

At the mention of that, you felt your face instantly darken in blush, swallowing nervously.

Seeing it, a familiar smirk worked its way onto the brunet’s face, his hand slowly trailing higher up your thigh. Before he could however, you placed your hand over his, clearing your throat.

“Uhm, perhaps we should discuss the- the uhm, marriage.” You spoke, a chuff of amusement leaving the man.

“I see you after all these years and you want to discuss bureaucracy?” He questioned, though he acquiesced, his hold on your thigh loosening.

“We’re not teenagers anymore. There is a certain… etiquette.” You spoke, trying to stay firm, though when he leaned in, his free hand coming up to tilt your chin his way, you felt your jaw flutter in nervousness.

“There was always etiquette.” He murmured softly, his eyes carefully roaming across your face, an admiration in them that had your muscles slacking a little, your eyes turning more innocent upon his unguarded gaze. “Yet I remember as we ran down the garden, shaking guards just to get a moment alone.”

His voice was quiet, raspy as he spoke, his hand moving from your chin down to grasp the one you were using to stop his hand on your thigh. Slowly, as if scared to spook you, he let go of your leg, his hand coming up to slowly brush down your jaw, feeling the soft skin before he cradled the back of your head.

“I remember breaking every rule in the book just to have you under me.” He hummed, leaning close, his breath on your lips with every word he spoke. “Every visit to one another turning into sweaty bodies, every diplomatic outing shifted to be for us. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to feel you again.”

His murmured words had you let out a shaky breath, looking up to see his eyes half-lidded, feeling his hand on the back of your head scratch your scalp a bit.

“But… we can’t. Not until- until it’s all official. We’re grown up. You’re king.” You whispered and Price smiled, leaning his face in before he started to press deep, slow kisses to your neck, savouring every single one.

“My darling. I accepted the offer the moment your parents came with it.” He whispered against your throat, his teeth lightly raking over your skin, careful not to leave a mark.

“You did?”

Smiling, Price pressed a last kiss to your throat before he pulled back to look at you. “You think I’d lose the chance to finally make you mine? I told you back then, didn’t I?

You let out a shaky breath, a flash of a memory playing in your mind. The two of you right here in this room, younger, more stupid. Price – who was just John back then – above you, his hips rapidly moving against yours, your panted breaths mingling as teeth clacked, limbs entangled and innocence lost.

Whispered breaths of his claim. Those exact words falling from his lips back then as they did now. And fuck how you loved it then, treasuring every syllable.

Coming back to, you looked at the man before you. The king before you. Things were different. Both of you were, the circumstances were. And despite the heat you felt in your cheeks, you spoke. “That was- You can’t compare. We were just-”

“Just kids?” Price finished your sentence for you and shook his head. “Maybe to you, but not to me.” He spoke, his voice gaining an edge and you felt a panic rise.

“N-No, of course it wasn’t that to me either!”

“Then why so surprised now? Have you moved on?”

At his question, your eyes widened in shock. “No.”

“Fallen out of love?”

“No!”

“Then why so nervous, my darling?” Price whispered, his free hand snaking around your waist. “I told you I was one day going to make you mine all those years ago. And today is the day.”

Letting out a little breath, you looked up at him, seeing his eyes gaze down at you with practically devotion. To him, you were his morning breeze. The smell of rain. A flickering firelight in the winter.

“My king…” You whispered, unsure, your eyes flickering down.

Returning in kind, Price used the hand on your neck to quickly pull you in as he slanted his lips over yours, pulling you into a kiss that had your hands shoot out to cling to his clothing.

For not a single second did the king hold back, his hand around your waist tightening, pulling you close against himself as he moved his mouth against your own, pulling your head back and leaning further into the kiss.

Even back in your teenage years, John had never known restraint. And now, when he was king Price, he was still just as intense, his tongue practically begging for entrance as he held you close, rolling his body into you as he deepened the kiss, taking only small moments to suck air in before he was right back to kissing you like a man starved, pushing you back into the couch.

Pushing on his chest, you felt his hand go from the back of your head to rest on your throat, his thumb shifting up to push your chin higher as he then pulled back, panting softly, his pupils blown and eyes half-lidded.

“T-The dinner.” You panted softly and Price just smiled, leaning down to nose at your cheek, his lips pressing to the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve already instructed them to wait at least half an hour. We have plenty of time. Would be a shame to waste it with boring mingling, no?” He hummed, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Let me indulge in you, my queen, like I once did.”

Your stomach practically fluttered at his words, your breath coming out shaky as you looked up at him. “I-” You hesitated and Price groaned softly, climbing better onto the couch.

“Please. I’ve waited so long. I need you now, my love.” He whispered into your ear, his voice husky, almost breathless as he took your hand in his, entwining your fingers before bringing it up, kissing at the back of it again, his eyes shifting to yours. “I beg you now…”

His whispered words echoed in your mind, your teeth gently digging into your bottom lip as you weighed your options, feeling his weight pressing into you, heavier than you remember, his physique evolved, just like all of him did.

Waiting for your answer, Price sighed softly, closing his eyes as he pushed his forehead to yours, his hand on your waist squeezing softly.

And then you spoke the freeing words.

“Promise we won’t be late?”

Lifting his head, Price looked down at you, a smile spreading on his face as he gazed at you. “My dear, you will be seated by me at the table on time, even if I have to carry you there.” He assured, leaning into you slowly before kissing you again, your eyes closing this time as you pushed back into it.

Without hesitation, Price’s hands snaked down your body, firmly running over your ass before he got to your thighs where he hiked your legs up, a clear hint to hold on while your dress fell down to your hips.

Once your heels were kicked off and your legs crossed behind his back, Price shifted his hands under you and lifted, breaking the kiss to see where he was going around the couch before pushing you into his plush bed.

Stumbling a little near the end, his groin pushed into yours from how close you were and Price groaned in pleasure while you gasped softly, realising just how needy he really was.

Unbuckling his belt, Price tossed it aside before pushing your dress and petticoat up to your hips, his eyes landing on your delicate underwear, a wet spot forming on the fabric that had his chest heaving.

“Fuck me, darling.” He spoke, his left hand trailing from your knee, down your leg.

It almost tickled, how lightly the tips of his fingers trailed from your stockings down to and over your skin, travelling your inner thigh down until they met the juncture of your hips. There, he bypassed your underwear entirely, slipping two fingers into the waistband, pushing them down and running through your folds.

The clenching of his jaw was almost visible as he suppressed a groan, feeling how slick you were, his fingers trailing through the soft, velvety feeling of your folds, ghosting over your clit before going back down, repeating the path over and over, making your body heat up with every brush.

“John-”

“Sshh.” He soothed softly, his right hand gently gathering your wrists, moving to hold them above your head against a pillow, his face leaning down to start kissing along your exposed sternum, his teeth pulling on the loops holding your dress buttoned around your cleavage, making your breath stutter.

Pinned and at his mercy, you closed your eyes, relaxing your legs and letting them fall a little wider, creating more space for Price, his fingers dipping down, one slipping into you as he hummed. “Good girl…”

Creasing your brows together, you could feel his finger pump inside you, deeper and deeper until he was in to the knuckle, starting to gently thrust in and out, revelling in your wetness, the warmth of your channel.

Different from before, his finger felt so much thicker, though perhaps it was the time passed that warped your perception, having only had your own fingers to do what he once did. What he was doing again now.

Already feeling out of breath, you swallowed nervously as you felt him add a second finger, a strangled moan leaving you at the stretch, paired with his thumb gently laying onto your clit.

Hearing it, Price smiled, knowing he was in the right spot as he carefully started thrusting his fingers, letting that motion dictate the slow move of his thumb on your clit. A slow rock back and forth, more pressure and less in an addicting wave while his fingers filled and stretched you.

“So good for me, so patient.” Price coo’ed softly, leaning slow and steady before kissing you, the force of it pressing your head back into the pillow as his fingers sped up, thrusting faster into you, feeling your slick grow, your pussy more readily accepting, allowing the man to start to scissor the digits, opening you up more and more until he introduced a third finger. His hold on your wrists tightened before he slid it up to curl his fingers with yours, entwining the digits between both your hands, loosely holding. For more than loose was not needed. You’d stay, readily and eagerly, kissing back as you felt his tongue roll through your mouth, tasting and exploring once more.

When he curled his fingers inside you, you squeaked into his mouth, causing the brunet to chuckle against your lips, continuing the motion again and again, feeling your squirming increase, his body on top of yours the only thing keeping you in place. Though when your knee brushed past the bulge in his pants, he gasped into your mouth, pausing his movements as he felt you try to catch your breath, a whimper on your lips as the building pressure left when he froze.

“Little minx.” He whispered, a smile curling onto his face as he hummed into your skin, rubbing his beard into you softly. “Wanna mark you so bad. But I better hold off.” He murmured, his fingers instead slipping out of you, to your dismay. “Sssh, ssh. It’s okay.” He soothed, using the same hand to push your underwear down your hips and thighs, leaving them there a moment as he guided one leg up and out of the garment, letting the fabric hang where it was on your other leg, already forgotten as his hand yanked the loop out at the drawstrings of his leather pants.

Making quick work of pushing them down his thighs, he pushed his underwear down with it, his cock freed and heavy, almost throbbing as you looked down, feeling the flush on your face spread to your ears.

“I’ll take my time to worship you soon. For now, I just have to be inside you.” He groaned softly, lining up with you before glancing up, waiting for you to give the okay.

Touched, you bit your lip before nodding. Upon getting the okay, he rubbed his tip through your folds, sliding up to your clit and down once, twice as he gathered your slick on it before carefully pushing into your entrance.

Letting go of your lip, you looked down with a little gasp, seeing his length slowly sinking into you, a familiar full feeling spreading from your walls, all the way up your spine.

Price panted as he felt himself slip in so easily, having prepared you well. “There you go, taking me so well. Made for me.” He groaned out, his head thrown back as he rocked his hips, pushing deeper into you, intent to fully sink in.

“John-” You gasped, your fingers curling around his and a little moan left him that had your cunt clench.

“Yes, say it again.” He panted, his free hand holding your hip, pulling you down while he pushed deeper, almost fully inside.

“John.” You whined a little moan, so full, feeling him bottom out soon after, his balls resting against your ass as he paused, panting.

“Knew you could do it- Fuck, so good.” Price panted, his body pressing down on you, his chest to yours almost suffocating as he panted into your neck, so so tempted to bite down, mark you up. But he refrained.

Instead, he pulled back his hips before pushing back in, his cock slick with your fluids as he began to move, feeling how tightly your cunt was gripping him with every thrust, his pace starting slow and languid, though it quickly started picking up speed.

Panting, you looked down, seeing his length move out before disappearing into you, a dark smattering of hair running up to his navel as he rocked into you, a small bump visible by your stomach every time he pushed in, a moan leaving you as the tip of his cock hit a spongy spot deep inside you.

“I- ah-” You moaned, throwing your head back as your growing pleasure from before came rushing back and Price bit his lip, starting to speed up a bit more, pushing deep into you, intent on hitting that spot every time.

“My queen.” Price panted, not to address you, but possessive. A claim. You were his. His queen.

“I-” You panted, feeling a sheen of sweat start to gather at the back of your neck and by your lower back, embarrassment curling through you as so quickly you felt the pleasure grow.

Grunting with his thrusts, Price snapped his hips into you, hitting deep, pausing half a second before pulling out a repeating, not fast but deep. Hitting your sweet spot with every rock of his hips into you, his balls hitting into you with every move.

“Keep going-” You moaned, your breathing speeding up as Price began to kiss up and down your neck, his thrusts getting accompanied by groans as he felt his own pleasure grow.

Shifting his hold from your hip, the man lifted your leg up to hook over him, holding you there as he fucked into you, moaning as he hit even deeper, your own control of your noise slipping.

Every push in got a breathy moan from you, every pull out a gasp. Squeezing your hands once, the man then smashed his lips into yours while his now free hand roamed down to roll into your clit, his thumb gently moving back and forth, making you groan loudly into his mouth, the sound completely swallowed up by his greedy lips, his hips picking up speed as he started to feel his thoughts blur, blending together in a jumbled mess as he chased his high.

“Fuck, John-” You whimpered, a pressure building, an electric feeling shooting through your spine as your back started to arch, the kiss broken as Price panted into your skin, his hips snapping into you.

“There you go, come on. Cum for me.” He huffed, his thumb rolling circles onto your clit not letting up, persistent and unforgiving, a whimper leaving you as you threw your head back.

“Yes-!” You gasped, moaning out as the tight coil snapped, your walls clenching tight as you came undone.

Spasming around his cock, Price groaned out, fucking you through your orgasm as the heat in his belly spread through his whole body, chasing his high as he began to move faster, more desperate, clinging to you in desperation as he panted into you.

“Come on, come on-!” He gasped before snapping his hips into you, holding still as a low moan rolled from his lips, feeling his release hit him, pumping into you in quick spurts, his hips stuttering a few more times before he stilled inside you.

There, the two of you laid, panting into each other, breaths mingling as you tried to catch your breath, tightly holding onto one another, even as your leg slowly slipped down from his waist.

Panting, Price stayed there, his forehead pressed to yours as he could feel his seed begin to leak out around his cock still stuffed within you.

“That’s… dangerous.” You panted softly and Price chuckled softly, lifting his head away from yours to look down at you, his eyes soft and adoring.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll be married soon anyways.” He spoke as he caught his breath, smiling down at you before leaning in to kiss you.

- - - - - -

Trying to get back into writing a bit, sorry for my absence 😔✋. Hope you enjoyed! Comments and reblogs much appreciated, thank you for reading! <3

[narcoticv3nus]

Burning Desire ౨ৎ Simon “Ghost” Riley & John “Soap” MacTavish

Kinktober Day II: Threesome

summary: your boyfriend returns home after deployment, bringing home his other plus one. tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, praise, a bit of degradation, anal, double penetration, ghoap, dom!simon, switch!john, sub!reader, alcohol consumption, smoking, cursing, use of pet names, author attempts at accents wc: 4.6k a/n: i’m a little late, but i didn't expect it to be this long. i had also never written a threesome before, so bare with me. sorry if it's bad i panicked.

MASTERLIST

Simon: Coming home late.

The room is shrouded in darkness, with only the soft, bluish glow of the phone's screen cutting through the obscurity. As the familiar ping echoes through the room, you let out a tired groan and shift your weight, reaching out with one arm to find your phone. Your fingers dance over the surface of your nightstand, searching for the device as you roll over onto your side.

Another ping rings out.

Simon: Johnny is staying the night.

As you shifted onto your stomach, you reached for your phone to catch up on your notifications. Despite the late hour, you were undeterred. You’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend's unpredictable schedule and hold no resentment. Trust is the foundation of your relationship, and it goes both ways.

You: Okay. Drive safe.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, feeling the weight of the day's stress bearing down on you. Tossing your phone somewhere onto the rumpled sheets of the bed, you rolled over, pulling the comforter snugly around you, and allowed yourself to sink back into the welcoming embrace of sleep.

The room's quiet was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps approaching and keys jingling. The distinct click of the front door being forcefully shut filled the air, causing your eyes to snap open in surprise.

As you lay in bed, you could hear the lively chatter of the Scotsman echoing through the walls, emanating from the kitchen. The sound traveled through the house, reaching your ears before your boyfriend intervened and reminded him to lower his voice. Despite the hushed tones that followed, you were already awake.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat in your comfortable bed. As you shifted to the side, your bare feet touched the cold, smooth surface of the wooden floor, sending a shiver up your spine. With a reach, you turned on the lamp, and the previously enveloping darkness of your room was replaced by the gentle, warm embrace of its soft yellow light, casting comforting shadows on the walls.

As you walked out, the soft light from the kitchen illuminated the distinct figure of your boyfriend, Simon. He stood tall and broad, his presence commanding the space. His friend was busy unlacing his boots, sitting on one of your kitchen chairs, while Simon leaned casually against the counter, a faint smile playing on his lips as he engaged in conversation.

You cleared your throat, making your presence known as you observed them with narrow eyes.

They halted their conversation, both turning towards you like they had been caught discussing something that wasn't meant for your ears.

“It’s four in the morning.” You said with your arms folded over your chest, your jaw clenching as you watched both gazes fall to your chest before meeting your face.

“Could you be a little quieter?” You let out a deep sigh of frustration, feeling your chest tighten as you looked down at the pristine white tiles of your kitchen floor, now marred by the unmistakable pattern of dirt and grime left behind by a pair of rugged combat boots. The once immaculate surface now bore the imprint of someone's rugged footsteps, starkly contrasting the pristine environment you had meticulously maintained.

“Seriously, Simon? How many times have I told you–”

“I did miss you, sweetheart.” As your boyfriend approached you, a wistful sigh escaped his lips, indicating a mixture of longing and resignation. His steps were deliberate, almost as if he were lost in thought, paying no attention to the words you had spoken moments earlier.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” As he loomed above you, you couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and anticipation. You felt his presence as he leaned in, his hands finding their place on your hips and applying gentle pressure. His face drew closer to yours, and you turned your cheek to him, feeling the warmth of his lips as they made contact with your skin

“I'll clean up the mess, love,” he grumbled, dissatisfied with your reluctance of his affection.

“Good.” You let out a frustrated huff, feeling the weight of your annoyance as you turned to look up at him. As your eyes met him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of softening in your demeanor. The tension and frustration building inside your chest seemed to dwindle as you gazed up at him slowly.

"I missed you too," you replied softly, your heart racing as you met his intense gaze. His lips curled into a satisfied grin, revealing a hint of dimples before they slowly pressed against yours, sending a rush of warmth through your body. His hand gently held the back of your head, pulling you closer, trapping you against him in a tender yet passionate embrace.

As you pulled away, you couldn't help but look over Simon’s shoulder to the man sitting at your table with a sly grin, his pale eyes twinkling in humor.

You’ve met John before on many different occasions, some similar to nights like these when they stumbled into your home, sometimes drunk and chattering like a couple of girls over steaming gossip.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that they're a package deal. John, who Simon affectionately calls “Johnny,” is always one step behind him, yapping on and on about something or other. Those two are so different, but they make it work like the sun and the moon.

John had a charismatic way of flirting that seemed to charm everyone around him, including you. Despite Simon's usual protectiveness, he appeared to make an exception for John, allowing him to get closer to you than anyone else. However, it wasn't just you that John interacted with suggestively. There were moments when you noticed the way John looked at Simon, and it seemed to go beyond just friendly admiration. At times, you dismissed it, attributing it to John's flirtatious nature, but there were hints of something more beneath the surface.

“Hi John,” you greeted almost bashfully, embarrassed to be standing in front of him in your night clothes.

With a warm smile spreading across his face, John greeted you in a deep, smooth Scottish accent, "Hey, darlin'. Didnae mean to wake ye up. Hope we were nae too loud, eh?" He flashed a teasing grin towards Simon before turning his attention back to you, eyes scanning your body with a flicker of appreciation. He stood up, revealing his impressive frame adorned in a loose, sleeveless shirt and shorts, showcasing his tattooed arms.

“Well… I’m up now.” You answered, making your way into the kitchen and opening up a bottle of wine to pour yourself a glass before returning to sleep. “Might as well hang out for a little while.” You missed the shared glance between the other two as you brought the rim to your lips.

Chuckling lightly at your comment, John sauntered to the kitchen counter, leaning against it effortlessly. His eyes followed your movements intently, admiring the curves of your figure hidden beneath the loose fabric. As you sipped your wine, he couldn’t help but appreciate your beauty in the dim lighting.

You watched as Simon disappeared into your room, likely changing into something more comfortable as he got ready for bed. You didn't think much of it.

Your attention was redirected as John approached you, casually reaching for the wine bottle, pouring himself a generous glass, and raising it in a toast. "To us, eh?" He clinked his glass gently against yours, maintaining eye contact. "Simon's a lucky bloke to have ye," he said sincerely before siping. John traced his fingers along the rim of the glass, enjoying the sensation of the cool glass against his skin as he waited for your reaction. His free hand rested on the counter, only inches away from yours.

You felt your heart race as you glanced downward, acutely aware of his proximity before locking eyes with him. His piercing, icy blue eyes sent shivers down your spine and ignited warmth. "Thank you," you whispered, moistening your lips with the tip of your tongue, your voice barely above a breath.

You watched his eyes flicker downwards before meeting your eyes again, a knowing grin on his face. He reached up, rubbing his jaw as he looked down at you. You conversed for a few minutes, the tension in the air increasing as your body grew warmer with anticipation. You couldn't care less about the questions he was asking you, only entranced by the softness of his gaze and the sultry allure of his voice.

The room fell silent as Simon reentered, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you with a hint of knowing amusement. Despite the subtle flicker of emotion in his eyes, his expression remained stoic and unreadable, revealing nothing of his thoughts or intentions.

John raised his glass in a silent salute, acknowledging his presence without breaking eye contact with you. He took another slow sip of the wine, savoring the rich flavor while keeping his hand close to yours. Turning towards Simon, he asked, "What do ye say, mate? Another drink before we all turn in?" His voice was playful and suggestive.

The silence hung heavy in the air, but John never faltered, his easygoing demeanor masking the anticipation that surged beneath the surface. He set his glass down next to yours, his calloused hand brushing gently against your arm. With a sly grin, he continued, "Unless there's something else ye'd rather be doing?"

“I…" you whispered, your voice fading into the tense air as the two men fixed their gaze on you. You observed Simon approaching with confident strides, a hand resting lightly on John's back. He casually took the drink from John's hand, raising it to his lips, and savored the taste of the crimson liquid before running his tongue over his lips.

You watched as he handed the glass back to John, his hand sliding down his back before he made his way in front of you. His hands found your waist, his thumb idly drawing circles into your shirt before he hoisted you into the air and onto the countertop. You let out a yelp of surprise, lifting your cup into the air to prevent a spill.

“Simon! You–” he cut you off once more, taking the drink from your hand and setting it down beside you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I could've spilled that…” you murmured, his dark gaze silencing your protests.

Simon chose to ignore you as his hands drifted up and down your body, feeling you up before his hands descended to your thighs, parting them firmly yet gently.

“Wait… uhh…” you stammered, your voice coming out in a weak and shaky breath, anxiety bubbling in your stomach, knowing his best friend was watching.

John watched with hooded eyes as he moved in, enjoying your reaction to Simon’s assertiveness. His heart rate increased as the situation unfolded. Setting his glass down, John took a step closer, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your calf, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

His gaze shifted between you and Simon, drinking in your connection before finally focusing on your face. "It's okay, lass," he reassured you with a low whisper, his accent thick with desire. "We'll take care of ye." He let his hand trail up your leg, the touch gentle but possessive, as if claiming you for the night.

As you seemingly got lost in John’s gaze, you felt Simon’s hand cup your chin, redirecting your attention towards him as he leaned forward, catching your lips in another kiss, yet longer and more passionate, before his mouth descended towards your neck. Instinctively, you arched into him, your hands reaching up to entangle themselves in his hair, letting out soft gasps and airy whines.

With a lustful glint in his pale blue eyes, John followed suit. His rough fingers slowly worked their way under your shirt, exploring the soft skin of your lower back. He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear. "Feels good, eh?" he asked, the question barely audible yet loaded with anticipation.

You nodded your head, gasping as you felt Simon’s finger dip between your thighs, fingers diligently pressing against your clothed clit, feeling the dampness of your panties from your arousal.

John’s hands continued their exploration of your body, moving to caress the swell of your breast. In sync with Simon's rhythm, Soap pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, the contrast of his stubble against your smooth skin sending shivers down your spine.

Time passed slowly as both men continued groping your body, Simon’s fingers parting your panties to the side, sliding his fingers up and down your pussy, coating them in your juices before pressing them inside. You let out a shaky moan as John continued kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Simon's fingers slid in with barely any resistance despite being away for some time. “Simon…” you called his name, one hand clutching his bicep.

“I know, love,” he said, his voice guttural and thick with desire as his heavy gaze adorned you. It started off slow until his thick digits were twisting and curling inside you, pumping in and out in preparation for what was to come.

You could feel John’s breathing growing shallow and labored against your skin. He trailed his free hand down to the front of his pants, subtly adjusting himself; you couldn't help but think how uncomfortable it must feel. With a smoldering look, he whispered your name into your ear, “ye've got us both ready fer ye. Where would ye like us, lass?"

You suddenly remembered that you were still in your kitchen as Simon began to remove your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold air and causing your nipples to perk in response. As Simon’s eyes darkened, his hand reached up to cup your breast, squeezing with an appreciative groan. “Aye’ve missed these two,” he said bluntly.

“Wait,” you stammered, breath shaky and uneven with excitement and anticipation. “We should… go to the bedroom.”

You yelped as Simon lifted you, tossing your body over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. Your eyes met John’s before he shot you a wink as he followed close behind, shedding his shirt from his back revealing his muscular torso. Your eyes roamed the hairy expanse of John’s body. His stocky build was lined with scars and tattoos decorating across his skin.

Once you reached the dimly lit space, Simon gently lowered you onto the soft bed. He swiftly removed your shorts along with your underwear, revealing your arousal to their hungry gazes.

John reached forward, running a calloused thumb along your inner thigh, spreading your legs further apart, exposing your slick folds. “Ye’re absolutely breathtaking,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

“Thank you,” you replied breathlessly as Simon’s large hand traveled down your body.

John leaned in, letting his fingers trace over your thighs, savoring the softness of your skin. He moved his thumb teasingly over your clit, watching as your hips bucked slightly at the contact. His eyes locked onto yours, drinking in your reactions as Simon’s mouth closed around one of your nipples, eliciting another moan from you.

"Got a pretty voice, Bonnie," he murmured, increasing the pressure and speed of his ministrations. His other hand snaked its way behind your knee, encouraging you to spread your legs wider for him before he dipped his head between your legs, replacing his thumb with his tongue, lapping up the sweetness you offered. He groaned appreciatively, losing himself in your taste and texture. His fingers slid inside, curling and thrusting in tandem with his tongue, determined to bring you to the edge.

“She does,” Simon agreed, removing his shirt and unbuckling his belt as he shook off his pants. You watched in awe as his fist curled into John’s hair, shoving his face deeper, causing his nose to press into your clit, as you keened in response, your fingers entangled into the sheets beside you.

His fingers continued to explore you, finding that perfect spot that made you squirm and moan louder. As your body tensed, signaling your impending climax, John picked up the pace, his tongue swirling and flicking relentlessly. He continued to pleasure you, savoring each moan and twitch of your muscles. With each stroke of his tongue, you felt yourself growing closer and closer to orgasm.

“That's it, love," he encouraged, "Let it all go.” His arousal was evident, his trousers straining against his erection. Finally, with a loud cry, you came apart in his mouth, your hips bucking wildly. John held steady, drinking in every drop of your release, his fingers still inside you, gently massaging your G-spot as your orgasm subsided. He pulled away, a satisfied look on his face, only to find Simon watching him intently, his gaze filled with lust.

John licked his lips clean before moving up to kiss you deeply, sharing the taste of your pleasure between the two of you. After breaking the kiss, John’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at Simon. "Care to join in properly now, mate?" he asked, gesturing towards your still-quivering body.

He ran his hand up your torso, cupping one of your breasts tenderly, while his other hand reached down to stroke Simon’s hard length, showing that he was just as eager to pleasure him as he was to pleasure you. Your thighs threatened to squeeze as you watched, your gaze dancing between them both before Simon leaned forward, hand still curled in John’s hair, before tilting his head back and capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss.

Their tongues tangled together hungrily, hands roaming over each other's bodies as if trying to memorize every curve and contour. Breaking the kiss, John shifted his focus to Simon, taking his hard length in hand and beginning to stroke firmly. He looked up at Simon through his lashes, his gaze filled with heat.

With an encouraging nod from Simon, John leaned forward, pressing his lips around the head of his cock, teasing him with slow, deliberate licks before taking him fully into his mouth, making sure to maintain eye contact while pleasuring him. You gasped in shock as you watched, moaning at the sight of another man pleasing Simon in the same way you did. Have they done this before?

John grinned around his cock as he increased the pace of his strokes, his other hand fondling Simon’s balls with just the right amount of pressure. You loved the way Simon’s muscles flexed beneath his touch, the sounds of pleasure he made, and the pre-cum that coated John’s lips.

With a growl, Simon grabbed Soap’s head, pushing him down further, and Soap eagerly obliged, his arousal mounting with each thrust—the room filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin.

Feeling left out, you reached out towards Simon, grabbing his arm closest to you as leverage to lift yourself onto the ground. You rested your hand on his cheek, turning his face towards you as you leaned in to kiss him.

Simon chuckled deeply, struggling to return your kiss as he moaned against your lips. “Please,” you begged, your body squirming in desperation.

You looked down to see John releasing Simon’s cock with a wet pop as he grinned up at the both of you, a devilish gleam in his eyes. His gaze shifted between your hungry expression and Simon’s lust-filled face.

Breaking away from Simon’s embrace, John stood behind you, trapping you between them as he encircled your waist with his powerful arms and pulled you back against him. His erect manhood pressed firmly against your lower back as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Ye can have whatever ye want tonight, lass,” John promised, nibbling lightly on your lobe. His hands roamed over your curves, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, gently kneading them.

You moaned, your hands resting against Simon’s chest before he took your wrists into his hands, backing you both up until you felt John’s hands pulling you down onto his lap. He shifted backward and urged you along until Simon’s knees caused the bed to dip low.

You shivered as John’s hands glided down your sides, appreciating your softness and warmth with an appreciative hum. “God, ye’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his Scottish brogue thick with desire. He leaned back onto his elbows, supporting your weight with ease. As you settled on his lap, John shifted slightly, allowing his hardened length to slide between your legs. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, and you could feel his hips bucking up into you, teasing your entrance.

You watched Simon closely, his eyes never leaving your joined bodies. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned deeply, his eyes raking over your body. With a knowing smile, John leaned forward, capturing your lips once more as he slipped his hands between your legs, his fingers dancing along your inner thighs.

Simon leaned forward, yanking your face from John’s before sliding his tongue against yours, pressing his body against you before he abruptly pulled away, twisting your body around with your chest against John’s. Your breathing picked up as your eyes met his, your fingers sinking into the skin of his hairy chest. He chuckled at your expression, his large, warm, calloused hands dragging down your back before cupping your ass and squeezing.

You gasped as you heard the signature pop of a bottle opening before feeling the cool liquid slide against your puckered hole. You've done this before with Simon, but knowing you're going to be filled in two places at once has you shuddering violently.

“Hold still,” Simon’s voice cuts through the air as he holds you by your hips, halting your squirming. You whine, burying your face into John’s neck as you feel two thick digits push inside of you. You've never gotten used to the stretch, even as his fingers spread wider into a scissoring motion, pumping into you like he did before.

You hear John chuckle from above you, his hand petting your head gently as he bucks against you, continuing to catch against your hole before pulling back.

“Ready, lass?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He gripped your hips firmly, guiding you down onto his eager cock, his muscles flexing underneath you.

You held your breath as you slowly lowered yourself onto his erection, your wet heat clenching around him in a tight embrace. He let out a deep growl of pleasure as he filled you.

John wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you adjusted to the fullness inside you. His fingers trailed up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake before he gripped your shoulders firmly. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Just hold on, pretty,” John whispered, his voice husky with desire. He felt your body momentarily stiffen before you began to move, your hips rolling against him in a rhythm that made him groan. He reached up, gently tugging his fingers in your hair as he guided your head towards his. Your lips met in a searing kiss, your tongues dancing together as John moved his hips in tandem with your movements, driving himself deeper inside you.

Simon pulled his fingers out as he situated himself behind you, “Easy, love,” he reassured, sensing your tension as Simon prepared to enter you from behind, placing his hands on top of your ass before spreading them wide and spitting on his cock for good measure. He took himself in his hand, slapping the tip against your entrance before sliding inside, letting out a deep grunt as he slowly thrust forward, filling your ass inch by inch. As Simon pushed in, John focused on maintaining his rhythm. His hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.

You clutched John for dear life as Simon’s hand curled into your hair, pushing you forward as leverage to sheath himself fully inside you. You reached backward, holding the hand firmly on your head, your nails digging into his skin. “Thas’ it, sweetheart. You can take it.” Simon groaned, his gentle thrusts quickly turning rough.

“Fuck, ye’re so tight,” John whispered, his voice husky with desire. His eyes never left yours, watching the pleasure dance across your features, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. He reached up, tracing your jawline with his thumb before tilting your head back, exposing your neck for him to taste. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, eliciting a moan that punched from your chest.

“Ye like this, don’t ye?” he asked, his accent rolling over the words. He felt your body tighten around him, your breaths coming in ragged pants.

You nodded swiftly, words unable to form on your tongue as wanton moans spilled from your lips uncontrollably. You’ve never felt so full in your whole life.

You feel John’s grin against your neck as your body adjusts and accepts them. He pressed his lips to your skin, suckling gently, his hand finding its way to your breast, kneading it softly as Simon’s hips continued their relentless rhythm.

“That’s rieht, love,” he murmured, “Just let go.” You could feel your orgasm building, your inner walls contracting around them, your moans growing louder. He slid his other hand between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, teasing you. “Cum fur us,” he urged, his voice strained with restraint. You felt Simon’s grip tighten on your hip, his pace quickening, the headboard hitting the wall in a steady beat.

John’s movements were confident and practiced, each stroke sending electric sparks coursing through your body. Your moans grew louder, your breathing more erratic, as you neared your precipice. His thumb circled your clit faster, applying more pressure, his fingers dipping lower to gather your slickness. You felt Simon’s thrusts grow deeper, more urgent, and knew they were both close. John leaned forward, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as your orgasm began to build, your body tensing above him before you let out a silent scream as your release overtook you.

John let out a deep growl as he joined Simon in their mutual release, filling you. The sensation of their combined pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you spent and satiated. As they came down from the high, he kept his lips locked with yours, savoring the intimate connection. You felt Simon’s weight shift as he pulled out of you, allowing John to move closer, cradling you between them.

Your heavy breaths mingled in the quiet room, the only sounds being the distant thunderstorm outside and your racing hearts. Pulling away from the kiss, John pressed his forehead against yours, sweat glistening on his brow.

“Fuck that wos gud,” he breathed, his voice still husky with lust. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back as you heard Simon retreat into your bathroom. The signature sound of a faucet running echoed in your ears.

You were spent, slumping against John’s body as the heaviness in your eyelids soon overtook you. You whine at the sensation of Simon cleaning you up. The rough and wet texture of the hand towel against your sensitive bits had you leaning away.

“I know, I know,” Simon grunted, stilling your hips as he cleaned you. Once he finished, John repositioned you on the bed, pulling the covers over your spent body before kissing your cheek.

“Git sum sleep, hen.” he chuckled, his arm wrapped around your middle. Simon settled in next to you, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pant pockets, resting one between his teeth.

As the faint, lingering scent of cigarette smoke wafted through the air, you felt the warmth of a pair of hands gently tracing intricate patterns across your skin. The soft, rhythmic motion of the hands, combined with the soothing aroma, created a tranquil ambiance that gradually lulled you into a state of peaceful slumber.

main masterlist, rules

[starsofang]

Get Well Soon john price x f!reader word count: 4.3k tw: MDNI, NSFW, jealous price, possessiveness, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, just a bit nasty ngl

Jealousy was a disease, and John was its desired host that it ravaged with an unfurling blaze of smoldering flames that scorched through the bloodstream like injected venom. It simmered at the bones and left him scathed, dissipating into bitter ash that filled the air around him with the pungent scent of his own distaste.

In other words, John really fucking hated seeing you wrapped around Soap like a damn boa constricter ready to sink your fangs into him like a feast.

The whiskey he’d been sipping on with tedious sips was now thrown back into his throat, sliding down to his stomach and leaving him with an acidic aftertaste. The alcohol only coaxed the fire into an uproar, the tips of the flames flicking its red-hot tongue in the flesh of his skin and scalding him with third degree burns from the inside and out.

He tried focusing on the emptiness that stared back at him from the bottom of his glass, fingers coated in the icy condensation where he gripped around it with vice. It prickled his fingertips, the force of his grasp causing his knuckles to go white and veins to flex uncomfortably in the back of his hand.

But the grim sight of melting ice wasn’t nearly as intriguing as the sight of you, the woman who’s been gnawing your way through his skin and bone for the past however-the-fuck-long that John’s been tongue-tied over you, smiling like a cheshire while Soap maneuvered you around on the dance floor of the dimly lit club, dipping his fingertips in the fat of your hips.

Your hips swayed in earnest, Soap and you sharing a laugh as he tried to replicate your pace and ended up stumbling around like a damn fool. The spark of amusement that shimmered in your irises was so bright, John could see it from where he sat at the bar. It blinded him, like a flashbang being hurled his way without a single ounce of warning, causing his ears to ring and his eyes to blink away the dryness that dusted his retinas.

He shouldn’t be mad, really. You weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours.

Soap was simply livening the mood after a grueling mission was deemed a success. John was the one that offered to take you out, allowing you a night free of suffocating peril, yet here he was, moping like a child who’d just gotten his video games taken away.

He wasn’t a jealous man. He’d never taken an interest in a woman long enough for it to tread into that type of territory, and his work occupied him like a slave to commitment – commitment to the job, and never to a pretty woman deserving of much more than him.

Yet, you had somehow begun worming your way into his brain, molding it to the shape of you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you chewed your lip when deep in thought, the plush skin reddening under its abuse and clashing with the tone of your skin. Everything about you was hardwired into his brain, filed away and hidden in the depths of his thoughts.

It was selfish of him, he knew.

You were his subordinate – if he could call you that, really. You worked with Laswell, which meant you worked with him. A package deal, one he had no choice but to accept when it came down to it.

He was playing a dangerous game, allowing the churlish spur of envy to grab him by the throat and choke him into submission. It darkened his vision with spots of red rage, lighting with a flicker of flames that illuminated in the reflection of his pupils.

But John was a fond lover of games, given his track record of coaxing enemy intel out of the lips of grotty men through the bite of his threatening words and the sting of his knife into their mangy skin. He knew how to play to get what he wanted, what he needed, but you were a puzzle with thousands of pieces that he just couldn’t figure out how to complete.

He clung to you like a moth to a flame. A dog to its bone. A bullet to a wound.

You were his ecstasy that he could no longer deny, and he was slowly succumbing to the addiction. He got high off of the very being of you, injecting you into his veins with guilty pleasure.

And John didn't know how much longer he could starve himself from his fix.

Unable to watch the way Soap embraced you with a feverish warmth that had your expression melted into content gratification, he stood from the bar stool with a lick of virulent hostility, the legs scraping against the floor like nails to a chalkboard. Gaz spared him a worrying look, and when he went to open his mouth to ask if he was okay, John sent him a dismissive wave of his hand, muttering a gravelly ‘smoke break’ before taking off.

The chill of the night air smothered him with a relieving shiver down his spine, nipping his cheeks that were warmed from a mix of club smog and alcohol firing in his bloodstream. He was far from drunk, far from tipsy, but the burning desire he harbored for you made him feel the buzz of a high that hazed over all thoughts of calm serenities.

Leaning against the old brick of the club, he sifted a hand through the pocket of his jacket, fishing out a cigarette. Cigars were much more his taste, but unenjoyable when having to shove them in the bowels of a cramped pocket.

Lighting it up and taking a thick puff, the burn of smoke did nothing to calm the hideous monster that dared to rear its head against the fabrics of his heart. It was hungry, vengeful, baring its teeth in hopes of sinking them into flesh and bone, tearing its victim apart limb by measly limb.

The music boomed faintly from the closed door of the club, pounding vexing notes through his eardrums and tainting them with a distasteful noise.

John continued his routine of inhale and exhale, dipping into the dance of wispy smoke that surrounded him and basked his aura in musk and pungency. It swallowed him whole, enough so that he didn’t hear the whisk of the club door opening from beside him, and a familiar voice sparking fireworks in his mind.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, and John felt his shoulders tense with wavering remembrance of the way Soap wrapped his tattered arms around you, his lips leaned in close to your ear to speak with you over the loudness of the music, the way he was the reason you were giggling like schoolgirl off her rocker. “I didn’t see you at the bar. You feeling okay, Captain?”

The name left a tangy taste in his mouth. Bittersweet, souring.

“Thought I told you to call me John,” he grumbled with a ghost of a smile, tight and forced. It was more a grimace than a smile, as of course you would notice. Of course.

Keen eye, you had. It was one of the many traits John found himself falling into.

“John,” you corrected with a smile so bright, it practically laid out all of the stars in the sky in a shimmering blanket of wondrous light. “Why are you out here and not inside with the others?”

John had to hold back a lingering scoff that threatened to claw its way out of purgatory and fill the air with bitter irk.

“Got a bit stuffy in there, don’t you think?” he offered in place of spiteful words, but even at his attempt, the words came out clipped if your frown was anything to come by. “Needed a break.”

“You seemed bothered, Cap– John.”

“Mm.”

Your frown deepened and it only burdened him further. He didn’t want to be the reason for your upset, but that green little gremlin that coaxed him into anguished jealousy didn’t give two shits. It settled into his bones with enervating annoyance, paining him with ache.

“Don’t let me stop you from your fun with Soap,” he muttered dryly, uttering the words before he could stop himself.

Your eyebrows raised and you stared at him for a long moment, taking him in. His tense shoulders, tight lips pulled into a thin line, his firm grip on his cigarette that would’ve snapped it in half if he used an ounce more of strength.

“Something’s bothering you, sir,” you noted, and he gave you a taut smile.

“Look at that. Quite the brain on you.”

“No need to be rude about it, John.”

“Not being rude.”

“You are.”

John sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring when he deeply exhaled. His eyes bore into yours like frigid icicles ready to pierce into you. It was chilling to the bone, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine. John noticed.

“It’d be best if you head on inside,” he hummed, his tone quipped with a hint of warning.

“Really?” you asked in disbelief and he snorted.

“Really.”

John knew he was being unfair. His envy was eating at him from the inside, bubbling its way out in molten poison that burned in his mouth.

“Something is clearly bothering you, Captain. Is it a crime to check on you?” Your tone began matching his own sour one, biting into him like a feral dog with its hackles raised.

“What’s a crime is you saddlin’ up with Soap like he’s your bloody suitor,” he hissed, and there it was, the bitter taste of frothing temper seeping out of his lips like red-hot lava. It scalded him, leaving him with third degree burns on his tongue. “Lettin’ him have at you like a fuckin’ dove for the takin’.”

“What?” you breathed, eyebrows knitting together in bafflement. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m tryin’ t’say, what I’ve been wantin’ t’say, is that I don’t like the way he was touchin’ you,” he declared in earnest. He stood straight from where he was leaned against the wall, glowering down at you with a look that could’ve pinned you to the gravel beneath your foot. “I’ve been patient. I’ve kept my distance. But enough’s a fuckin’ ‘nough.”

You didn’t cower under his looming glare, nor did you take a step back like you should’ve. You remained firmly rooted in your spot next to him, eyes flickering between the scowl on his mouth to the fiery eyes that threatened to burst into explosion any second.

“You’re jealous, Captain,” you stated, quite obviously. It tickled the little monster that was nearly bursting out of his skin.

“Rightfully so,” he muttered. “I don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was yours to begin with, Captain.”

“John,” he reminded you. “I’d be happy to make you aware of it. Print it in that pretty head of yours so you won’t forget it.”

Warmth blossomed under your skin, spreading from head to toe and curling you into his burning embers. The words struck you like lightning, quick and sudden, leaving you dazed.

You could smell the faint cigarette smoke and whiskey in the fan of his breath as it settled over your face. You took it in, breathing through your nostrils and letting it settle to the core. It was musky and fragrant, stirring your brain into goopy mush.

“How’s that sound, sweetheart?” he mused, nearly sending you into an early grave. Fuck, you’d dig it yourself if it meant hearing those words on repeat.

“I–” You swallowed, mouth suddenly parched.

John stepped closer to you, a dangerous and brooding step. His frame towered over yours, head tilted down to ensure eye contact remained secured. He wouldn’t allow you to look away, wouldn’t allow you the chance to catch your breath. He knew what he was doing, knew what you were feeling.

“Just say the word,” he breathed, tickling your nose with his piquant scent. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you managed, voice less confident than it had been before when you let your frustration get the better of you. Submissive, willing.

John’s lips perked into a pleased smile, eyes brimming with amusement and risk. He was taking the leap off of a daunting cliff, diving headfirst in a pool of unknown and uncertainty. But oh, he was certain of this.

You tasted the poignant flavors that melted from his tongue on to yours when he sealed his offer with a kiss. It was demanding, stern, his mouth molding into yours in the shape of a promise.

He traveled the shape of your jaw, rough hand entangling itself in the feathers of your hair. Tugging, wrapping it in his grasp, luring you into him with a burning desire to mark what was his. It was fire mixing with gasoline, burning scriptures in your skin, burning his name.

John swallowed every gasp and groan, eager and greedy. He captured your bottom lip with teeth, sinking in with a grueling bite, carving his indents into the plush flesh. He barely allowed you to gather air in your lungs, and it left you feeling dizzy, untrusting of your own legs to keep you steady.

“Do me a favor, love,” he grunted in the midst of your kiss, pulling back only to get a glimpse of the glossy look in your eyes. “Go on and tell the boys you aren’t feelin’ well and I’m takin’ you home. Had too much to drink, so I’m gettin’ you to bed, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

Your breath was shaky when you released a sigh, and nodded in tenacity, practically scrambling back into the club like a dog with its tail between its legs.

John stayed true to his promise of taking you home and tucking you into bed – just not in the way the boys were told.

He was like a predator pouncing on its prey the moment you arrived at your humble abode. His hands explored every expanse of your body, shedding you until you were bare with a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom in its wake.

He was famished, like a man starved for weeks on end, and the only thing that would satiate him was ravishing you to the bone.

You thought after agreeing that you were John’s and he was yours, it would feed his burning anger warranted from jealousy. If anything, it was the opposite.

He was firm and demanding, determined to etch every part of him into the plains of your skin. His hands were skilled in the way he practically shoved you into the mattress, lips remaining locked into place on your own.

He was a man on a mission, and you knew John to be one to never fail to complete it.

“M’gonna show you exactly what’s botherin me,” he mumbled into your mouth. His voice was raspy and guttural, laced with an undeniable wisp of arousal. “Been botherin’ me for ages.”

True to his word, his lips, chapped with a sheen of your mixed saliva moistening them, trailed down the column of your neck. They were neither rough or soft kisses, but rather balanced and precise. Teeth nicked the sensitive skin, taking it between tender bites and nursing the hissing stings with the point of his tongue.

Marking his territory, just as promised.

“You never said anything,” you acknowledged through a breathy sigh, lips parted and hazy eyes pointed at the ceiling as he worked wonders on your jawline.

“Didn’t have the gall to, ‘til I saw you cozied up with Mactavish,” he grunted, and as if the thought passing by in remembrance settled into his brain, he bit down a bit harder on the spot where your neck and shoulder met.

John peppered his kisses down from your clavicle, creating a trail to your sternum. It tingled with a feverish burn, spotting your skin with a faint flush. One of his calloused hands slid up your side, prompting a shiver along the way, until it grasped the mounds on your chest in a possessive hold.

His tongue darted out to circle a perked nipple, teasing, mocking. You couldn’t hold back the pathetic whine, and the rumble of his smug chuckle vibrated your whole body. Offering mercy, he enveloped the entirety of your nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth along the sensitive bud and causing you to hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure – perfectly balanced, because John was a calculated man, and he never left a job unsatisfactory.

Your thighs rested limply on each side of his waist, and when he gave a particularly hard suck, they tightened around him, knees knocking into the thick of his ribcage. Instantaneously, his other hand that wasn’t occupied with holding your breast came to grab hold of your knee, carefully peeling it away from where it rested on the warmth of his skin, tugging you apart until you were spread and vulnerable.

That same hand slowly slipped down your knee, sweeping along your inner thigh and worshiping the smooth skin with a swipe of his fingertips. They were rough against your skin in comparison, and the sensation made you jolt.

They continued their downward exploration until you felt the subtle touch of a finger experimentally slide along your slit. You wanted to feel embarrassed by how wet you were from nothing more than kissing and him ravishing your breasts like he was feasting on a meal, but you couldn’t.

Judging from his muffled groan, he didn’t seem to mind it either.

“Fuckin’ soaked and I haven’t even touched you,” he observed, rearing his head back from your chest so he could gleam down at the sight of you spread out for him, glistening in the dim light of the room, forming a sheen over the tips of his fingers.

An embarrassed noise sounded in the back of your throat and you tilted your head to the side to avoid his smoldering gaze. He tutted, grabbing hold of you by the chin to force you to look back at him. His eyes were lit up with the same fire as before, yet this time, it burned brightly, illuminating his thirst for salvation.

“Don’t do that,” he said, tone dripping with the command of the leader he was and had always been. “You’re goin’ to look at me while I take you. Had no problem lookin’ at Soap when you danced with him, so you should have no problem lookin’ at me when I make you come on my tongue.”

You had to close your eyes to compose yourself, sucking in a sharp breath that pierced your lungs and filled your chest with an ache only he could soothe. They sent shocks through your body, lighting up like fireworks.

When John seemed satisfied that you’d listen, that you’d digested every word and command that slipped off his tongue, he let go of your chin, pleased to see you kept your promise of keeping your eyes on him.

He returned his attention to your silky cunt, dipping a finger in the slick that seemed never ending. His mouth was practically watering at the visual, and he was desperate for a taste.

John wasted no time in stooping down to be leveled with your cunt, breath fanning over it and causing you to squirm. He sent you a warning glare before poking out his tongue, gliding it over the sensitive nub before fully engulfing his mouth around it.

The sound you released was near inhuman, strangled and choked in surprise. His mouth was warm and inviting as he began devouring you, humming greedily at the tangy taste that smoothed over his tongue and filled his mouth.

It was intoxicating, addicting, surging through his bloodstream like a high he’d never come down from. Hazy, clouded. It disoriented him, smoothing over his mind with nothing but thoughts of consuming you until you were a puddled mess.

Your hand found its way in his hair, tangling in the mess of strands and tugging. Possessive in the way you pushed him deeper into your core, his nose digging into you as he inhaled the sweetness of your scent. The smell of you attracted him like hummingbirds to nectar, and he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck,” he breathed into you, and the gust of air mixed with warmth and a slight chill all at the same time had you whining. “Look at you. Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t bother to wait for your answer before diving right back into you. He didn’t want to hear words, he didn’t want to hear smugness. All he wanted was to hear those sweet sounds filter out of you, like a soothing song playing on repeat.

He became more possessive in the way he took you, the subtle tenderness he was showing before melting into filth. Your slick soaked into the coarse hairs of his beard, chin dripping with evidence of your arousal that only became more pungent the more he sucked and prodded.

“John,” you whimpered helplessly, and he rumbled with a satisfied noise, so you repeated his name. It became pleading, desperate, voice turning into a shaky mess that only sent his mouth into overdrive.

The ghost of a fingertip brushed along the rim of your entrance, and when you took a breath, he seized the opportunity to sink it into you, all the way to the knuckle. It curled into you, before pulling out then pumping back in. It became a dance, the way his finger fucked into you with curious ambition, and it had you pooling into a moaning mess, writhing from stimulation.

His eyes fluttered up to meet yours with his mouth still wrapped around your clit, and you nearly gushed just from the look of him alone – beads of sweat already dotting on his hairline, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes dark and sultry with intentions of ruining you. They locked on to yours and never left for a single moment, not even when he stretched you open with a second finger, then a third.

It was all so fucking much. You could barely think with him filling you, curving right into that sweet spot of serenity that had stars bursting in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, and to keep you still, he placed a thick arm over the plains of your stomach, holding you down while keeping the other occupied in the tightness of your cunt.

Too much, so much, all at once. It had your mind in the skies, floating on clouds of euphoria.

John seemed to map out your body language just from one taste of you on his tongue along, because when your stomach began to tighten and flex, legs trembling and quivering, he pulled his mouth away from you, fucking you with his fingers with a quickened pace.

“You goin’ to come, sweetheart? Hm?” he asked, and it felt as if he was teasing you. Mocking you, filled with overwhelmed smugness. “Goin’ to come from my mouth like I told you?”

You nodded vigorously, shameless in your own desperation. The squelch of his fingers dripping into your cunt with every shallow thrust was enough to leave you breathless. They filled you with a frantic need, shooing away the emptiness you once felt and submerging you in a febrile warmth.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, and it had you keening.

You attempted to lift your hips, pushing them in the direction of his mouth. He released a hearty chuckle, eyes crinkling from his bashful smile before he gave in to what you wanted, Mouth returning to your cunt, sinking into you like a feral animal, quenching his thirst and hunger.

You cried out, hand tightening in his hair. It was almost instant that you felt the coil of string ready to snap at any moment, tearing and tearing, bordering you on the edge of breaking apart.

His tongue flattened over your clit before circling his lips and giving it a hard suck, all while curling his fingers once more. That was enough to send you over the edge, your climax hitting you like a collapsing building, smothering you in its aftermath.

Your entire body shook, wetness gushing around his fingers as you clenched on them for dear life. You ground your hips subconsciously, fucking yourself on his fingers and riding out the seamless paradise and basking in the warm light. All thoughts blanked into nothing but your own ecstasy, and you selfishly drowned yourself in waves of rapture.

You were in heaven, you were one with the angels, singing godly praises with a halo over your head and a fluorescent glow that accumulated around you. This was what peace on Earth felt like, this was what it felt like to die and be reborn.

John’s voice was the gospel, embracing you with clarity and purpose, guiding you to the pearly gates to seek pursuit of happiness.

When John pulled away from you and carefully slipped his fingers out of you, he brought them up to your view, flaunting them with pride. His chin was soaked, glistening with sinful beauty, mangling itself in the hairs of his beard.

If you weren’t so high off of pleasure, you might’ve thought that John was God himself, smiling down at you from the clouds and showering you with loving conviction.

“See that, sweetheart?” he asked, referring to the sticky strings that stuck together when he parted his fingers. “That’s from me. And nobody’s goin’ to get a chance to taste you like I have. We clear on that?”

It was a silly thing for him to even state, given he had just taken you to oblivion, but you nodded anyway, going as far to even hum in dazed satisfaction when he brought his slick-covered fingers to your lips and you wiped them clean.

Jealousy was a disease, and you were the only thing that could cure John of the simmering rage that came with it. Now that he’d made it clear who you belonged to, the ugly monster returned to hibernation, and the sickening green that tainted his insides melted into worlds of color that only you could paint.

wrote this for my girly @ebodebo because i've been deprived of john and needed to write something for him asap, so i hope this met your needs (I need this man so badly it's unhealthy) <3

if you see any writing mistakes, mind you it’s 3am and i woke up to write this so no u didn’t