#and I love putting Kyle through hell

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Ok yeah I’m gonna break my own heart doing a part 3 to TWITR like y’all thought No Strings Attached was a heart wrenching sequel? Just wait

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

If you liked this would you Buy my a Coffee?

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

[rookiesbookies]

The boys catch their ladies reading smut, originally this had the books I was basing this on in them but I hadn't got the time to read the books so I remove the book titles and authors. I hope you enjoy <3

Price: Yeah, she’s younger than him. This book is like 100% just breeding kinks. So she was reading this book about a man breeding his young woman and being super obsessive and clinging… while sitting in their living room… with her fuzzy, super obsessive, newlywed husband. “What are ya readin love?” He said, swiftly snatching the book from her grasp as he sat down on the couch next to her. He kicked his feet up on the couch and laid so his back was against her shins under the blanket she was bundled in. “Nothing important! But you really should give it back!” She panicked, reaching for it. “Holy bloody Jesus, love. This is a casual read for you?” “... yeah.” He wiggled his eyebrows while looking up to see her. She put a hand in his face and took her book back. “You almost made me lose my page.”

Soap: Being bent over and defiled by a hot Scotsman in a kilt? Oh hell yeah. How could you refuse?

“Jesus, Bonnie, why are ye readin about this shit when ya could get the real thing with me?” He chuckled, flipping through the book she had poorly hidden in her nightstand. “My kilt is in the closet, give me less than 10 minutes to get me socks and straps on and I’ll rock yer world harder than some words on a page ever could. You’ll see, donnae worry.”

He did indeed rock your world harder than pages ever good.

You claim and cry that you want to finish it for the plot, he says you can only read “that filth” when he’s away on deployment.

Says its a waste if you have a real heavy, hairy, and thick Scotsman at your disposal on the daily.

Ghost: Reading a story about a man whose face was painted like death and has charm that causes hormonal riots? Sounds exactly like her Simon. She lay on their shared bed as he packed up for their walk to the park. Her legs kicked up in the air as she read. 

He raised an eyebrow at what could have her so giddy so he effortlessly snatched the book and was met with a nasty surprise when he looked over the words. “Take it you’d rather stay home than go to the park,” he mumbled with a smirk before bending down to kneel in front of her now with a red face. 

“No- no I think a walk in the park will be fine.” She nervously chuckled.

Konig: Hot giant caveman dragging a woman away to have his way with her? Basic Konig when he comes back from missions.

Grabbing his sweet girl and pulling her into the dark cave that is their bedroom, only letting either out once he’s had his way with her and showing her just how much he’s missed her.

His face was red flushed as he read over her shoulder though.

“Oh meine gut, Schatz."

The scream she let out even made him fall back.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He pressed a kiss to her temple in apology. 

“This book made me horny, can we fuck?” She asked straight up, knowing Konig preferred her blunt. She didn’t need to ask him twice.

Gaz Hot british guy? Her standards were so low for her choices in literature as long as it was someone she could imagine her Kyle as. Hmmm easy.

So when she was leading her walk with her audio book in her headphones she was more than busy. When he got a hold of one of her airpods while at the gym and she forgot he had the other one, he looked over at her with wide eyes. He texted her, “I didn’t realize you were interested in being folded like that.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

secret baby trope with tf141? 😌😌

Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.

I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst

Word Count: 2.3k

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

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.

He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and that’s exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.

Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.

It’s bloody fucking brilliant.

Kyle isn’t attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why he’s splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. It’s mostly for background noise. Kyle isn’t really paying attention to it.

With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people he’s had it off with but never took anything further.

He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.

They just happen upon him. Kyle doesn’t drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.

You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex he’s ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw you—over a year now—that Kyle has thought about what could have been.

You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didn’t follow through. He would regret it, but things can’t be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.

Kyle’s thumb hovers above the screen.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But he does. Because why not?

Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesn’t usually give a shit about what’s happening in people’s lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If you’re not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.

You don’t have him blocked on anything—thank fuck—and Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.

Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.

Just three—no—four months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.

Your…son.

Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.

He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyle’s heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

“Fucking hell,” groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you contact him?

The very thought of you not reaching out doesn’t sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.

“Fuck,” says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.

He finds Simon’s number and taps the call button.

It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesn’t think that he’ll answer. But he does.

“Kyle,” comes Simon’s gruff voice.

Kyle sighs. “I need you to track someone down for me.”

John Price

John doesn’t like cutting off contact with people.

He likes to keep in touch, even if it’s just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people he’s able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.

Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.

Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. He’s prone to it since he’s never in one place. Always moving around.

John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesn’t seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when he’s constantly called away.

He chews it over while sitting in his office. It’s late, and there isn’t anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to him—a time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isn’t certain, and it’s hardly enough to go on.

Sighing, deciding he’d rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.

John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.

If this doesn’t work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.

He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.

Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isn’t an issue. He has enough.

John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. He’ll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.

“You have the wrong number, bud.”

The man’s southern drawl irks John. “You sure?”

“Yeah I’m fucking sure. Quit calling.”

John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isn’t recent.

“Fuck,” mutters John, running his hand through his hair.

This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he can’t do that unless he’s on scheduled leave. That’s months away.

And each month is fucking agony.

When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someone’s door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.

But fuck it. He’s here.

Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears it—the turn of a deadbolt.

The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.

“John,” you breathe.

He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. You’re—oh shit.

“Is that—”

“Yours?”

Fuck.

John glances up into your eyes and swallows.

You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“It is,” you confirm.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shouldn’t. Really—it’s fucked up. Wrong.

But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way he’s letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.

Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldn’t make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.

But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.

Sure, you’re not truly his now, but you’ll come back to him. He’ll make sure of it.

In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.

It’s where he first learned you were pregnant.

You know, and haven’t told him. Haven’t reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.

You are fucking pregnant. With his child.

It’s growing in your belly.

Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.

It’s fucking painful watching you like this.

He’s stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.

But you’ve broken it off before, and came back eventually.

Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.

He has to play this right.

He has to.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you think you’ll ever find your woman again?”

Johnny grins behind his pint glass. “If she’s here,” he replies.

The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. It’s refreshing since it’s so bloody hot outside.

Johnny didn’t think he’d ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missions—a way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.

He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnny’s eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charm—melting like butter over fresh toast.

That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnny’s hotel room. But the two of you didn’t have sex. It wasn’t until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.

Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasn’t a moment after that Johnny didn’t have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.

But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.

Eventually, you didn’t talk to Johnny at all.

He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didn’t hear a thing—and he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesn’t exactly like it.

It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you left—and if he’s being entirely honest with himself—he still fucking likes you.

Maybe you’ll be here. Maybe you won’t.

Kyle is with him this time. A guy’s trip. Price isn’t one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.

“We could try that pub again,” suggests Kyle. “See if she’s there.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Did she live here?” asks Kyle.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Sure did.”

Kyle bobs his head. “We’ll find her.”

The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. It’s hot, but it’s a beautiful fucking day.

Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.

Is that?

No. Can’t be.

His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. It’s you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You haven’t changed all that much. Not really.

There is another woman with you—a friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.

But that isn’t what has Johnny’s attention.

You’ve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.

“What is it?” asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.

“That’s her,” murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.

You don’t see him. You’re chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.

“Oh fuck,” says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.

“Is that?”

“It fucking is.”

“She’s fucking pregnant.”

Johnny swallows. “Aye.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.

But that doesn’t sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you sooner—not finding out like this.

You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friend’s arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.

You’re staring right at Johnny.

And he’s staring back.

taglist:

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

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

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@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[beloveds-embrace]

So glad you asked for more roommates cause I’ve been brooding over it for the last 2 seconds since you asked.

Now just see the vision rq, it’s still kinda early into her moving in but yk they still want her BAD anyways she brings home a guy thinking they were gonna and now she just has four military men questioning and intimidating her tinder date…

I love writing for the roommate au sm so i am always happy for shared thoughts! 🙂‍↕️💕

Roommate au masterlist

The date had started innocently enough- or at least, you thought so.

It wasn’t like you were expecting the boys to be home. They’d mentioned a late training session, and with how demanding their schedules were, you figured you had the apartment to yourself for the evening. So, when your Tinder match, Matt, suggested coming over to watch a movie, you agreed. What harm could it do? Maybe it’d even turn to more. Hell, you hoped it’d turn to more.

Matt was nice enough, you supposed. Decent-looking, polite, and he hadn’t said anything off-putting yet. But as the two of you settled on the couch, popcorn in hand and the glow of the TV filling the room, your front door clicked open.

Your could practically feel a ball drop in your stomach.

The sight of Price stepping through the door, his shoulders hulking under his coat, was enough to send your nerves spiraling. He stopped mid-step, sharp eyes locking onto you and your date.

Behind him, Simon followed, pulling down his hood, but balaclava not yet removed. Johnny and Kyle weren’t far behind, their conversation halting as they took in the scene.

The air turned thick, tension palpable as four pairs of eyes honed in on Matt, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable by the second. You honestly couldn’t blame him.

“Didn’t know we were having company,” Price said, his tone low and deceptively calm as he shut the door behind him.

Your voice caught in your throat. Honest to God, you felt like you were a soldier who’d fucked up in front of him. He just had that Vibe. “I… I thought you guys wouldn’t be home until later.”

“And who’s this?” Soap asked, his smile wide as he nodded toward Matt. It didn’t feel friendly and even you could tell.

Matt shifted nervously, offering a small, awkward wave. “Uh, hi. I’m Matt. Nice to meet you guys.”

The silence that followed could’ve cut glass.

“Matt,” Simon repeated, his voice flat, his imposing frame seeming to block out all the light in the room. To you, he’d never felt that scary before… more like a particularly grumpy giant whose toes were always freezing. “And what exactly are you doing here, Matt?”

“I- I’m just hanging out with her,” Matt stammered, looking at you for reassurance. “A date.”

Kyle crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, though his eyes never left Matt. “Funny. We don’t remember her mentioning anything about a date.” He almost spat the word out.

You shot to your feet, hands up in a placating gesture. “Guys, seriously, it’s not a big deal. We were just going to watch a movie-”

“And you thought bringing a stranger into the house without telling us was a good idea?” Price cut in, his tone clipped.

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that…

Matt’s eyes widened. “I’m not- I mean, I’m not dangerous or anything.”

“Oh, aye? That right, then?” Soap drawled, stepping closer, his easy smile taking on a sharp, menacing edge. “And how d’ye reckon we’re meant to trust ye, Matt? Could be anyone. A thief, a creep, someone tryin’ tae take advantage of her.”

“I- … what?” Matt looked at you again, desperation in his eyes and voice.

“Relax, Johnny, it’s-” you tried, but your voice wavered under the weight of their combined stares.

“We’re just looking out for her,” Kyle said, his tone deceptively smooth as he grabbed a chair and spun it around to sit on it backward. “You understand, don’t you? We are her roommates.”

Simon didn’t say much- he didn’t have to. The way he loomed was enough to make Matt visibly sweat.

Price, meanwhile, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are she let you in? She’s trusting. Sweet. Too sweet, if you ask me. Makes her a target for the wrong sort of people.”

“I- I’d never hurt her, sir-” Matt stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

Price’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. He looked unimpressed, more than anything else. “Good. Because if you did…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

“Okay!” you blurted, stepping between them. You gave up; you knew this date has gone to shit. “That’s enough. Matt was just leaving.”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. He practically bolted for the door, not even stammering a quick goodbye before disappearing into the night.

As the door clicked shut, you turned to face them, your cheeks burning. “What the hell was that?”

“…you can do much better than him.” Kyle huffed, drawing you to sit down beside him on the couch even as you pouted glared. “Much, much better. Ain’t that right, John?”

Price nodded, sighing. “He was trembling like a leaf, love. Men like him? Not worth your time.”

Simon simply stood there, his eyes fixed on you. “Next time,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let us know before you bring someone here.”

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. “…You’re all impossible.”

Though by the end of the night, you still found yourself between Johnny and Kyle, and finished the movie anyways, date forgotten.

[bagofshinyrocks]

The Whole Bakery

Prompt: How will the boys respond to an S/O who slaps their ass out of nowhere? [Requested by @airghostlyfox]

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: expletives; lightly suggestive content

There he was. Making his morning cup of coffee. Comfortable sleep clothes and sluggish movement. Your handsome partner. 

He had finally freed himself from the blanket web and your comfortable arms, with the intent to go through most of his “honey-do” list that weekend.

And he was so unaware.

That your arm was winding up for a powerful smack to his ass.

John Price

The sound was not as impressive due to his sweatpants, but the way he jerked and slowly put down the things in his hands was reward enough. He did not appreciate it. And he did not turn around.

“Luv,” he said in an even tone. “What the hell was that?”

You rubbed the offended cheek with the same hand, deciding against pinching, as he would win any fight you started. 

“My darling John. Your ass is just so wonderful, I can’t help myself.” 

Both hands gently squeezed his ass. And you pressed an apologetic kiss between his bare shoulder blades.

“You’ve got the whole bakery right here, bubba.” Gentle pats. Still no movement of his neck. “All these buns.”

Finally, he turned around.

He was trying very hard not to smile. Trying not to encourage you. But goddamn, did you look pleased with yourself. Strong arms wrapped around your middle, pressing you to his chest.

“You are-” Kiss. “Such a flirt.” Kiss. “And absolutely shameless.”

You kissed him back and lazily threw your arms over his shoulders.

Behind you, his arm raised itself and smacked your ass as hard as he possibly could. You folded into him with a yelp.

“GOD FUCKIN–!”

Simon Riley

The moment your hand left his cheek, he had turned on you and grabbed you under the armpits.

“Uh oh” was all you had the chance to say before he dragged you off to the nearest wall. He was smiling, but it was the smile that meant you were still in trouble. You chuckled nervously as he settled you against the wall, caging you in and leaning in close.

“You are a cheeky one,” he purred.

“Yessir.”

“Any particular reason we’re playful this morning?”

You wriggled your arms out of his grip, and settled your hands over his ass again. He let you, one of his fingers tapping your nose.

“Well, if you must know, Simon,” you said, adopting a matter-of-fact tone. “It is because your ass is just so delicious looking.”

He snorted at your blunt words and hid his eyes with his hand.

“Bloody hell.”

“I mean, just look at it, lover.” You firmly gripped his ass, squeezing ever so slightly. “All this cake.”

He sighed, but he was still laughing. You’re adorable. He loves you.

Kyle Garrick

You didn’t smack too, too hard. A peace offering for walking around in his boxers and nothing else. Your favorite outfit on him.

But he still jumped and gave you a dirty look.

“It is 8 in the morning, you shit.”

You turned him back around and massaged his ass, humming a cheerful tune. “I’m just gonna knead this yummy dough, don’t mind me.”

“You a cat? Making biscuits?”

You giggled and kissed the back of his neck.

“Oh, have you got some biscuits on you, loverboy.”

He couldn’t help but laugh into his cup, turning himself around and pulling you into his embrace. Soft, coffee-flavored kisses. Then his arms snaking lower, and his own hands settling on your ass.

“I think that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“Sweeter than ‘I love you’?”

He squeezed your ass and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

“Mm,” he sighed into your mouth. “Tied for first.”

You pulled back and narrowed your eyes.

“What? Oh, right. I love you, too, baby.”

Johnny MacTavish

Of all the boys, he has no right to complain. A chronic ass-slapper. Repeat offender groper. Can’t sleep without one hand one you, be it your arm, your stomach, or your leg.

He was singing some song to himself, dancing a little. Background noise that kept him from hearing you until it was too late.

“Steaming bloody-”

You hit him too hard. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You ducked out of his grasp and started pleading for forgiveness.

“Baby, I’m sorry, that was harder than I meant. I’m sorry. I’m sor- shit.”

A mad scramble around the kitchen island. Never had you run away from your bare-chested Scotsman so quickly.

“Get your arse back here!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Fuck you mean-” He vaulted over the island and you screamed. Like a bird of prey, he grabbed you and dragged you to the couch, falling on top of you with all his weight.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you wheezed.

He smothered your face and neck in kisses, and accepted your apology. He would get you back later. With less force but greater number of ass slaps. You were sure of it.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2023 Dec 12

[gothghostiie]

cw: glory hole, handjob, Oral (reader giving), deepthroat, spouse!reader, gn!reader

The boys have been.. frisky. on edge. and Price noticed. they're pent up, not able to go home, very little to no privacy due to missions and just a lot to do frankly. the tension grows and Price knows he has to do something. so he calls his spouse.

nobody even notices when you come on base. the boys don't realise, of course john helps you sneak in. it's not really hard to sneak past the three of them, they're so up in their heads these days. john sounded desperate on the phone. He was genuinely worried about them, and what kinda spouse would you be if you refused to help your husband? so now you're there, sitting in his lap in his office while he explains what he wants you to do, caressing you all over and placing gentle kisses on your skin.

"you don't have to, by any means love. but if you want to.." he trails off, his eyes wandering over your face, nothing but love for you in his eyes. "I'd set it up, they won't even know it's you. 'less you want them to, that is." he gives your ass a squeeze, making you chuckle. he watches you closely as you think, before giving him a nod.

"okay. I'll do it." he smiles brightly, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"you're so good to me." he hums. "get comfy in here, I'll organise everything." he sits you on the small couch that he's fucked you on countless times by now before heading out. the boys wonder what the hell he's doing, why on earth he's clearing out the supply closet by his office - and more importantly why the fuck he's drilling into the door with that hole saw.

"he's finally gone mad." soap mutters as they watch him from afar, no matter how much they have to do, theyll always have time to question what the hell the old man is doing. Price glances over at them and chuckles, shaking his head as he smoothes the edges and tapes them over with duct tape.

"go get washed up you muppets. can smell you from here." he orders, if theyre gonna be using you they better be clean. "now!" the three men huff but decide to humor him, going to the communal showers. all three of them are tense and pent up, balls looking full and heavy. price almost wishes he could watch them, but he pushes the thought down. instead starts lining the closet with some pillows and blankets; puts a few more because the ones that come on the bunks aren't very soft. he puts a few bottles of water, some towels too, and a plushie he got on his last mission, that he meant to give to you once he got back home. no time like the present.

ge gets back to you, giving you some spare sweatpants and a shirt so you dont get yours dirty, doting all over you to make sure you're fully okay. even carries you to the closet and sets you down inside, kissing your head. "safeword?"

"red. orange if I need a break." he smiles lovingly and caresses your face.

"good. i love you."

"I love you, john." with that he gently closes the door and locks it. you have a spare key to get yourself out, but he doesn't need his boys to try and open the door. once he makes sure you're settled, he radioes them. he knows one of them always has their walkie talkie or in ear on them.

"Muppets. Get your arses over here, now. don't keep us waiting." the boys look puzzled. us? they know they have to go find out. so they go, finding price with his arms crossed next to the closet. they look at him like he's crazy.

"Cap, what's going on?" Kyle asks, price smirks.

"Lads, I've noticed youve been.. pent up, recently. i get it, i truly do. you lot are young and still full of energy, eh?" he teases, the boys frown in confusion. "anyway.. got a little something for ya. to help you relax." he knocks on the door - the boys freeze as they see your mouth through the small hole. its just big enough for each of them to get their cock through while keeping you hidden. Price chuckles, sticking his fingers through the hole, demonstrating as you suckle his thick fingers. "go ahead. don't be shy now." they hesitate, before Soap steps forward.

"is that..?"

"a glory hole, yes." Soap gulps softly. he's seen this happen in porn but this? he looks at price who gives him another nod before unzipping his jeans, already rocking a semi. he blushes slightly as the others snicker, scowling as he slowly shoves his cock through the hole. he waits impatiently, heart racing - before he feels your hands wrap around his cock, stroking him. he gasps, hips already trembling as he has to grip the door handle for supoort, it only gets worse when you wrap your lips around his thick tip. he grunts, leaning his forehead against the door. it doesn't take him long when you start bobbing your head, taking him all the way into your mouth, tongue running along his veins, suckling just enough for it to feel almost a little painful - just like he likes it. curses like a sailor when he cums, even louder when you swallow around his cock, only then letting him pull out once you do. he pants, trying to get himself dressed as he stumbles back.

Price chuckles. "you okay lad?" he pats soaps shoulder, then ruffles the sweaty mohawk, the man can only stare at the door in awe.

then kyle steps forward. he's a bit unsure still, even after seeing johnny get his soul sucked out, but he's definitely not letting that opportunity get to waste. getting his cock out and giving it a few strokes as he walks up to the door, shyly pushing a bit more than his tip through the hole, you chuckles softly. he feels his face heat up but holds still, hand still wrapped around the base of his cock and pumping the back a bit, unintentionally squeezing when you run your tongue over his tip. swollen lips wrap around the head of his cock, sucking gently and using your tongue, essentially making out with it. the moan that escapes his lips is anything but manly, eyes shut tight as he bites his lip to hold more back. "christ- feels fucking incredible.." he hisses, you smile around his cock, it makes him chuckle. he pushes in a tiny bit more, you double your effort when you taste the precum on your tongue; soon enough followed by his actual cum. he groans, riding out his orgasm until he's spent, letting you milk him for all he's worth. pulls back with a semi, some cum still dribbling from it as he smiles in satisfaction.

price rubs his back gently, whispering a word of praise to him that almost makes him wanna use the glory hole again right away.

but ghost is already in front of the door, eying the hole quietly for a good minute before he speaks up. "put your mouth to the hole. and open wide." he orders in a quiet tone, not wanting to scare you away. you swallow the water in your mouth and do as you're told, wishing you could see his pretty face right now. simon unzips his pants, his cock hard and heavy in his hand as he pushes through the hole and into your mouth, until his pelvis meets the door. he groans, knowing hes deep in your throat, the soft gagging confirming it. "hold still f'me, yea?" he mutters, before finally moving his hips, thrusting at a slow pace for now. he moans softly, the sound full of relief and pleasure, it's rare to see him like this. his hips soon speed up, making the door rattle slightly by the force of his muscular hips slamming against it, in and out of your poor throat. you gag softly, gasping for breath but not pulling back, you know how badly he needs this - and you really want to keep hearing those sweet moans, even if it's not for much longer. he holds out the longest, hold still when he finally releases in your throat. his eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back, making prices semi twitch slightly. only when you pull back to gasp for air he pulls away too, stepping away and dressing up.

its quiet between the four for a moment before kyle finally speaks up. "Cap?"

price looks at him, making a soft "hm?" sound.

"who the hell is in there?'

[quarterlifekitty]

I love your weaknesses posts🥹✨do you have any thoughts about the guys and massages (full body, shoulders, hands, etc)? could be receiving or giving them

I personally feel like Kyle would be so into them in general, meanwhile Johnny would try to be handsy or silly with them

Machveil I hope you know that I would blow up a fucking building for you if only you would ask me to

Weaknesses part 7: massages

I think Gaz is super into anything relaxing, aromatic, therapeutic. Loves candles, baths with special scented soaps and salts, massages. Anything that inspires slow, tantric intimacy. And also I think he is the king of treating himself and self care. Generally he’s more into giving, but he likes to trade massages too. He always sets the scene for you, lighting the aforementioned candles, putting on music, dimming the lights. And he’s really good at giving them. Because of course he is.

Soap is the fucking naughty masseuse and we all know it ok. He basically gives massages the way they do in porn where it’s just an extended pretense to sex where he can feel you up. Like he does try to give you a real massage for all of 3 minutes (if I’m being generous) before it’s basically just spanking you and reaching between your thighs. And if you decide to return the favor? He’s not going to shut up about getting a happy ending. Not for the entire time.

Ghost isn’t all the comfortable giving massages because he can see the blood on his hands at the edges of his vision all the time, like a cataract born of sin and violence unbridled n stuff. But he loves receiving them! You know he’s tense as fuck back there man. Doesn’t know how to relax himself, needs someone to force him to relax. You sitting straddled on him while you rub his back does it for him.

Price likes both. Plays a little into the housewife kink. Likes you to rub his shoulders after a long day, kneading into him and just trying to help him unwind like a good, sweet, considerate girl. And in return, this man is rubbing your feet and I’m not gonna apologize for saying it. Especially if you’re pregnant. Then it’s happening like every fuckin day.

While Gaz gives very sensual massages, König is gonna give you a massage that hurts like hell but fixes your entire life. Massages are one of the few things I think he’ll actually indulge in and pay for from a professional. Dude has a lot of muscles that go through a lot of grief. I think his height and his age also make him a little more prone to aches and pains. That said, he will love whatever kind of massage you give him, but it’s more of the thought that counts, cause you’re not hardcore enough to break his back the way he usually gets it done. He will literally lay down and let you walk on him.

Nikolai also loves a massage as an act of service. Just shows you’re thinking about him and his comfort, which he finds to be very sweet. He’s partial to a hand massage— he does a lot of work that strains his grip and fine motor muscles, so it feels good to take off the gloves and have you press between his knuckles and knead the meat of his palms. The massages he gives are a bit between therapeutic and foreplay. He uses the opportunity to edge you, is what I’m saying.

[soaps-mohawk]

Good Friends Share Their Toys

Kyletober Day 10: Bukakke

Summary: It’s routine now. Your owners’ friends come over for dinner and then fuck you stupid.

Pairing: Poly 141 x Samoyed hybrid!reader

Word Count: 2,273 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, hybrids, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v sex, heat cycles, hints of breeding kinks, rough sex, bukakke, lots of cum, spanking (it's like twice), Johnny and his love of tits, reader has some features described since she's a hybrid, language

A/N: You're getting a special poly treat this time. Gotta show all the boys some love at least once this month (mostly just because I had this one written up before I decided on Kyletober and it's just too good not to share)

MASTERLIST

A gentle hand rubs your ear, a low groan rumbling in your chest from the pleasure as fingers press into the base where it connects to your head. It feels good, your mind beginning to float away thanks to the pleasant sensation. You don’t want it to stop, your head continuing to lean into the hand as it starts to pull away. 

A sharp tug on your tail brings you back. 

You yelp, your hips bucking forward to try and escape while it tucks between your legs. Chuckles erupt around you, warm hands spreading your ass cheeks. 

“C’mon sweetheart, lift that tail back up. Let them see your pretty cunt.” 

You do as your owner says, lifting your tail until it’s curled up, the fluffy tip brushing against your lower back. It’s his hand that’s in your hair, rubbing at your ears. You’re bent over the kitchen table, ass on display for his two friends. It’s a routine now. Every weekend they come over and have dinner, drink a few beers, then fuck you stupid.

Your owner just wants to share his cute little hybrid with them. 

You can hardly complain. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon breathes as Kyle, your owner’s boyfriend, spreads your cheeks, putting your drooling pussy on display. “Needy little thing.” 

“She’s always wet this time of year.” Kyle says. ��Humping our legs like the needy pup she is.” 

“Screamin’ Jesus.” Johnny breathes, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. You know it’s him based on his touch. You know them all by touch and scent. 

A needy whine pushes past your lips as his fingers press against your clit, your hips pushing back against his hand. You’re desperate for some kind of relief after the hour you’ve sat waiting in anticipation for this moment leaking all over your thighs and the cute little skirt your owner dressed you in. 

That skirt is now on the floor, along with your shirt. You rarely bother with constricting undergarments, usually only when you leave the house with your owners. They hardly complain, especially when your skirt lifts up when you stretch. 

“Let me see her tits.” Johnny says, pulling his hand away from your throbbing core. 

You let out a whine of indignation until a gentle tug on your collar redirects your focus. You push yourself up, following the guiding hands until you’re perched on the edge of the table, naked before them except for your collar. It’s pink, like most of your belongings. It’s the perfect color for you, your owner had said. Matches your fluffy white hair. 

Johnny groans as you sit on display for him, his hands immediately going for your breasts. Johnny loves your breasts. Says so every time he sees them. 

“Fuckin’ love yer tits, pup.” He says, his hands cupping them. 

You let out a gasp as his thumbs flick over your sensitive nipples, more slick seeping out of you to coat your thighs. You gasp again as fingers tug at your collar, your owner entering your peripheral. 

“Be polite and say thank you.” He says. 

“Thank you, Johnny.” You whine as his mouth closes around one of your nipples, suckling it with his lips. 

Johnny groans around your nipple, switching between circling the sensitive bud with his tongue and suckling on it. You can smell the arousal in the air, thick and musky from the four men. Johnny’s erection brushes your thigh as he switches breasts, giving the other the same treatment. 

“Ye ever considered breeding her.” He asks, his fingers dipping between your legs again. They drag through the soft curls before they reach your slit, pushing up against your clit.  

“Why, you wanna be greedy and drink her milk?” Simon asks. 

Johnny groans around your nipple, two of his fingers pressing against your hole. You’re more than ready for him, your body opening up to the two thick digits as they press inside of you. 

“You sure you’re not a hybrid?” Kyle asks, his fingers trailing your spine as you arch your back, pressing your hips against Johnny’s hand. 

“His mum always jokes there was a hybrid somewhere in their family line.” Simon says. “Needy little mutt.” 

Your hips jerk and you let out a high pitched moan as Johnny’s fingers push against that spot inside of you. Johnny curses against your breast, suckling on your nipple as he moves his fingers slowly in and out of you. You’re soaking his hand, slick dribbling out of you and coating his skin from the torturously slow pace. He’s always softer, more careful than Simon. 

“Fucking sweet cunt.” Johnny groans as he pulls his fingers from inside you, bringing them to his mouth to lick your juices off. You let out a whine as you watch his tongue wrap around his fingers. You want that tongue inside of you, but you know that’s for Kyle later after Johnny and Simon have left. 

“Cannae fuckin’ stand it anymore.” Johnny says, hastily undoing his belt and dropping his pants. His cock is hard and standing at attention, making your pussy flutter in anticipation. 

Your tail is wagging as he steps up to you, a smile tugging at your lips from excitement. He lets out another curse as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips. His head pushes against your hole, your hips pushing down to try and slip him inside of you. The neediness is almost too much to bear as your pussy clenches in anticipation.

He takes his time, pushing his cock into you, rocking his hips slowly, inch by inch. His hands hold your hips steady as you try to push down on him, trying to take him all in one go. You can, you’ve done it before. Your body is begging to be bred, and it’s ready and waiting. They can’t breed you though. Your owner won’t let them. You’re his sweet, precious puppy. He’s far too possessive to allow just anyone to pump you full of pups. 

Johnny’s hips jerk as you squeeze around him, pushing his cock fully inside of you. Your head falls back with a moan at the stretch, the ache beneath your skin finally being relieved from the way Johnny’s cock fills you up. 

“Bloody hell.” Simon groans, shifting to watch Johnny’s hips push up against yours. 

Johnny’s arms hold you up as he begins thrusting into you, pushing your breasts up against his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he braces a hand behind you on the table. His thrusts are slow but deep, hips dragging against your clit. You let out little whines and moans, pressing the side of your head against his. 

“Fucking Christ.” He breathes, his fingers dig into your side, his hips grinding against you. 

You wrap your legs around him as he pulls you closer to the edge of the table, bracing yourself as his hands drop to your ass, using your body as leverage as he thrusts desperately into you. His musky scent fills your nose, making your pussy clench needily. Your body is begging to be bred, begging to be fucked, begging for any relief from the torturous heat pulsing between your thighs. 

You tighten your legs around him, pushing him closer to your body. It’s not enough, it’s never enough this time of year. 

He lets out a string of curses as he forces himself away, untangling your body from around him. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock, trying to stop himself from cumming too soon.

You let out a pathetic sounding whimper, a glob of slick dripping out of you and sliding down your ass onto the table. Johnny watches it go, letting out a whimper himself as he desperately tries to keep himself from cumming.  

“Don’t want to waste that just yet.” Simon says, stepping past him and up to you. “Over.” He says, smacking your thigh. 

You yelp scrambling to turn back over and bend over the table. Your tail starts wagging again in excitement as Simon pulls your cheeks apart, staring down at your clenching pussy. His hand smacks against the sensitive skin, a near yowl leaving your lips as your hips buck against the table. More slick dribbles out, coating his hand as he pushes his fingers into you. 

“Fucking needy little bitch.” He says, his belt clinking as he undoes his pants. 

He presses his fingers as deep as they’ll go, his palm pushing against your ass. You moan, pushing back against his fingers in anticipation. You like how rough he is with you, such a contrast to how the other three treat you. You’re their little princess, but sometimes you want them to be rough with you. 

That’s why you like Simon so much. 

“Come on.” He says, tugging on your tail lightly until you push up onto your toes, pressing yourself further against the table. “Good girl.” 

You beam at the praise, tail brushing your lower back as it wags back and forth. Simon chuckles, dragging his hands up your arched back as the head of his cock pushes against your hole. You press back as he presses in, sliding into you easily thanks to Johnny stretching you out and your copious slick. 

Your clit is pushed up right against the edge of the table as he begins thrusting into you. His hips snap against your ass, driving you into the side of the table with every thrust. Your legs are already shaking from the pressure against your clit, the table creaking as he drives his body against yours. You're glad your owner reinforced it months ago during one of his handyman kicks. 

Simon’s hands press against your back, forcing you flat on the table. You turn your head, staring at your owner as he stands there watching. His pants are down around his knees, his cock in hand as he jerks it slowly, his eyes glued to where Simon’s hips push up against your ass. You can hear the wet sound of the other two jerking off as well, Johnny groaning quietly somewhere behind you. 

The wet squelch of your pussy nearly drowns them out, slick dribbling down your thighs as Simon pushes you closer and closer to the edge. 

You let out a whine as Simon pulls out of you, his hands gripping your hips to flip you around so you’re seated on the edge of the table again. He thrusts back into you, keeping the same rough pace as before. His fingers hook under the front of your collar, holding your head straight so you’re looking up into his eyes. Those chocolate eyes stare down into your own dark ones, an almost possessive look in them. 

Your ears are plastered flat against your head as he continues to pound into you, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands grip Simon’s forearms as he thrusts wildly into you, his tip pushing up against that spot inside of you with every thrust in. 

“Please, please please!” You squeal, legs shaking uncontrollably as you get closer and closer to the edge. 

He doesn’t let up, he doesn’t slow down as he continues to hit that spot inside of you over and over, his eyes still locked with yours. 

Your body spasms as you cum, gushing around his cock. Your ears ring with the force of your orgasm, your eyes rolling back as you nearly fall back against the table. Simon’s arms hold you up, his cock still thrusting into you, dragging out your orgasm as much as he can. 

He finally pulls himself free of you, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. The hand gripping your collar guides you onto the floor. Your legs are still shaking from your orgasm as you drop to your knees, sitting back on your heels. 

You be a good girl and open your mouth for them, Simon and Johnny stepping up first. Simon’s tip presses right against your tongue and you can taste yourself right on his cock. He jerks his cock a couple of times before he cums, spilling into your mouth. He’s salty and musky on your tongue, rich just like his scent. Johnny is right next to him, his cock pushing against the side of your mouth as he eagerly spurts across your lips and into your mouth, finally getting his release. He’s salty and almost bitter, from all the fast food Simon says he eats. 

They take a few steps back, still pumping their cocks as your owner and his boyfriend take their places. Kyle gets to go first, pushing his cock against your tongue as he adds to the mixture already sitting on your tongue. He has a slightly sweet tang to him, the taste almost addicting. He’s had to pull you off his cock a few times from overstimulation because you tried sucking the soul out of him. Or at least that’s what he always says. 

Your owner is last, pushing his cock into your mouth as he cums, the musky and rich taste of him blending into the others. His taste isn’t all that different from Simon’s, more musky than rich. 

You sit there for a moment, holding their cum in your mouth before you close your lips, swallowing it down. The viscous cocktail slides down your throat, coating your taste buds with the blend of their scents and flavors. 

“Good girl.” Your owner praises you, petting your sweaty hair. “Such a good girl.” 

Your tail wags as you sit there, beaming from his praise. You are a good girl. Always their good girl. 

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[wizzdot]

*short fic alert* (fic under page break)

Hear me out. Is this….John Price?!

The 141 get home late from a mission, Johnny and Gaz go straight to the showers and Simon slinks off to wherever it is he winds down after a tough few days.

You have been sat on the proverbial bench for the past few weeks with a bullet wound to the shoulder. While rendered useless to the team, you decide to take up a new hobby. So far, the boys have been lab rats for the taste tests of whatever concoction you pull from the oven.

The burnt cookies (that you’d forgotten to put eggs in) that Kyle had whined about almost breaking his perfect teeth. Johnny managed to gobble them up and didn’t seem to understand what the problem was, leading Simon to joke that the man had no taste buds.

Or the time you accidentally used Salt instead of Sugar in the Victoria Sponge cake. Kyle subtlety threw his slice in the bin while you weren’t looking making sounds as if he had enjoyed in. Johnny ate it, making it look so delicious that you were getting confident that your baking skills were finally improving. Simon took a slice back to his room and in the privacy of his own bed, took a bite, and immediately spat it down the toilet. “Christ Almighty, that fuckin’ twat really doesn’t have taste buds” he cursed.

You perfect your skills over the next couple of weeks, with Johnny and Kyle remaining endlessly supportive of your new venture. But the entire time, John avoids your baking attempts.

“Need to watch my weight, love”

“Wish I could have a bite, but I’m on a diet, sweetheart”

“Can’t afford to pile on the pounds at my age, Dove”

They are John’s favourite excuses. You won’t admit it, but it makes you sad. You want to make all of your boys happy. Also, he isn’t even that old for gods sake.

Simon knows that the Captain is avoiding your god awful attempts. But even Simon notices that your skills are slowly improving. He keeps sneaking cupcakes and cookies into his room and this past week, especially, they’d been… alright. Well - apart from the horrifically deformed attempt of decorating a cake like Yoda. It looked like a slimy goblin with wonky eyes - but it tasted ok.

So picture this, they get home from a three day long mission. You’d missed your boys. You’d left your most recent cake on the kitchen counter before going to bed. You climb out from your bed when you hear their tired footsteps heading down the hall.

You poke your head out of the door. Johnny and Kyle come over and give you a soft hug. “Christ, you boys stink” you say. “Fuck off” Kyle laughs, before stripping himself of his shirt “gonna hop straight in the shower anyway. See you in the mornin’, yeah?” he asks. I nod and watch as he leaves towards his room.

Johnny stands, watching Kyle retreat. “I smell even worse than him, hen” he says, trying to shove your head into his armpit. You fight him off and shoo him down the hall.

Simon walks past and gives a small nod, “you might want to go and see Price. He made a beeline for the kitchen” he grumbles, continuing on his way casually.

That comment puts you on edge. Is John hurt? Is he looking for you? You quickly slide on your fluffy slippers and shuffle down to the kitchen as quickly as you can.

The scene that greets you is the last thing you expect to see. The Captain, in a wide stance, leaning one hand on the counter, devouring your Cake (the best one you’d baked so far!!!) with just a single fork. He’d polished off at least half of it, showing no signs of slowing down.

You can’t help but giggle at the scene. “Is it good…?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Love. It’s delicious”

The blush that erupts over your cheeks is immense.

“That was supposed to be shared..” you mumble.

“Not in a sharing mood” he says through a mouthful of cake.

“It’s rude to chew with your mouth open, Captain” you joke.

“Teach me some manners then, sweetheart” he teases, stabbing the fork into the top of the remaining quarter of cake before crowding into your personal space.

“Cakes almost as sweet as you” he whispers into your left ear before leaving the kitchen with a smug smile as you stand frozen in place.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten something!” He mentions from down the hall before turning back and snatching the cake box from the counter. He pauses on his way out, pecking you on the cheek and heading to his office as if that was totally normal behaviour.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t stand touching the spot that he’d kissed for half an hour after he’d left.

Your phone interrupts your frozen state. It’s a text from the group chat.

………..

Johnny: “Kyle, d’ya think Cap told her how he feels yet?”

………

Johnny: “c’mon ya cunt, don’t ignore my message. I know your out the shower I can hear you laughin through the wall”

………

Simon’s voice bellows throughout the hallway “wrong fuckin’ chat, you moron” followed by Kyle cackling and Johnny swearing loudly.

You’re still standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in shock, when the door to John’s office opens.

“Guess you saw that, eh?” he asks, sheepishly.

You nod your head, zoning in on a piece of icing on the corner of his mouth. As if on instinct, you reach up and wipe it with your finger, sticking it into your mouth, before freezing again, realising what you’d just done.

Johns eyes follow your finger, hungrily.

“If you wanted to taste it, you could’ve just asked, love”

[mistydeyes]

a surprise house guest

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summary: The last thing Gaz expected to see in your shared flat was a baby in your arms and a mess in the kitchen, what have you gotten yourself into?

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!roommate!reader

warnings: swearing

a/n: hehe gaz roommate babysitting fluff! sidenote i've been babysitting and ngl kids are lil cuties like ahh

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Gaz's relaxed and warm morning in his mountain of blankets was soon interrupted by the loud clanging around in your shared kitchen. He groaned as he tousled his messy hair and tried to look for his phone. "Jesus, 7 am, really Y/N?" he muttered as the bright screen of his phone lit up the room. He wondered what trouble you had gotten into while he was away.

You had been his roommate for about a year now but it felt even shorter due to him consistently being called away on duty and your busy work schedule. You were friendly, sure, and on occasion a bit flirtatious but at the end of the day, you were just another facet of his life. You were just someone to collect the mail, take care of the dust, and occasionally make sure his room wasn't crawling with bugs. You had somehow managed to accomplish such while doing it so attractively. Wait what was he saying, you were his roommate after all. Just a young professional needing a place and not caring about his infrequent stays. But on the other hand, you were his age and he always had suspected you might fancy him when you joked about sharing a one-bedroom apartment for "the benefits." His thoughts were interrupted by a loud "FUCK" and crashing emanating from the hallway. He hurriedly ripped off the sheets and ran down the hall to assess what was going on.

The last thing he expected was to see you, baby bottle in hand, and a baby on your hip. "Jesus!" you jumped as he emerged into the kitchen, "when the hell did you get home?" He relaxed, seeing that the kitchen wasn't on fire and you weren't fighting some early morning burglar. "Last night," he replied before returning to looking at the baby. He looked at it as if it was an alien, "was I really gone that long?" he asked almost afraid to hear the response. It took you a minute to process his question but you quickly covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. "Oh my god, no, no, he isn't mine," you said through laughs that made your sides hurt. "my kid sister dropped him off this morning. I agreed to help out and look after him for the day." With that, the baby cooed and tried to reach to hold your hand as you relented and looked back at Gaz. "I would have definitely cleared this with you, but I didn't expect you back so early," you sighed as you tried to calm the small bundle trying to put your fingers in his mouth. You took a brief look around the kitchen and noticed how much of a mess you had caused trying to prepare some milk, "I promise I'll clean up once I've set him down."

"No worries," he replied as he made his way into the kitchen to make some coffee, "I was gonna say you look a little too good to have just given birth." You felt your face flush and before you could reply or even give him an introduction to your nephew, the bottle of formula was knocked out of your hands. "Oh for the love of God," you swore as you realized your tank top and pajama shorts were now stained with milk. Gaz couldn't help but laugh as he looked at you in such a state, it was clear you hadn't had time to get ready for the day as he took a good look at you. "Not funny, little man," you chided the baby before you looked at Gaz with a smirk. Before he could protest, you guided the baby into his arms and ran to your bedroom to get changed.

"Bloody hell, Y/N," he yelled after you, "what am I supposed to do?" "It's a baby, Kyle, I think you can handle it," you said through your partially opened door. He heard a few more clangs as you struggled to find something not soaked in milk. He looked back down to the bundle in his arms, "What's your name, little one?" He heard you laugh as you continued to rummage around. "Kyle for fucksake he's an infant, he can't talk," you shouted, "his name is Ben if you were wondering." Ben cooed at the sound of your voice and squirmed in Gaz's arms. "It's okay buddy, she'll be back in a moment," he tried to reassure him as he rocked his arms back and forth. The baby grew more impatient and began to let out a song of high-pitched cries. You emerged from the room, now in a different pair of shorts and a shirt. Without a second look, you rushed into the kitchen and began to clean up. "Take him to the living room," you said, exasperated, as Ben continued to wail. "You owe me one," Gaz called out and you could hear him trying to appease the now crying baby. You shook your head before going about tackling the mess in the kitchen. Once you finally finished and dried your hands on the hand towel, it was quiet except for some babbles from Ben.

"What do we have here?" you said as you walked up to the pair settled on the couch. Both turned to you, smiling like a pair of twins. You had to say Gaz looked rather handsome as the light streamed in from the window in your flat. An unshaven 5 o'clock shadow complimented his face nicely. "I got it handled," he said cockily as you sat on the couch next to him. "Sure you do," you replied and mocked his tone, your legs brushing against his as sat. You soon realized that the reason Ben had stopped crying was that he was now occupied by a small sealed bag of crisps. He was shaking it around proudly and slobbering all over the plastic. You turned your head to look at Gaz with a deadpan expression. "What?" he said defensively, "he likes it!" You let out a laugh as you crumbled back onto the couch and watched as Gaz held the baby on his lap. You couldn't deny, that once he got Ben to stop crying, he was a natural at this. You secretly envied the future, Mrs. Garrick. However, with Gaz's protective arm around the baby and you smiling right next to him, you looked like the perfect couple with a newborn. The moment quickly passed as you looked down at your hand. "Oh I have his bottle," you said and motioned for Gaz to pass you the baby. "Come here, love," you cooed and slowly rocked him in your arms. You set your feet on top of Gaz's lap and sang a soft little lullaby to calm the infant.

After watching the baby drink the formula at record speed, he was finally asleep in your arms. "Finally," you groaned as you watched his little eyelids flutter. You leaned back in the crook of the couch, making sure he was fast asleep before you looked back at Gaz. He had a sense of wonder and awe in his eyes as he looked up at you. You slowly moved Ben into the small lounger cushion your sister had brought and stretched out of exhaustion. "Thanks again," you whispered as you motioned for Gaz to follow you back to the kitchen, "I really appreciate it." He nodded in response and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes in a moment of peace. You stood next to him and placed your head against his arm. You could feel him slightly react to your action but soon relax as he looked down at you. To both of you, it felt oddly comfortable to be like this. "Welcome home, by the way," you said, finally acknowledging his return "Sorry about this whole mess." He smiled as you met eyes and then let out a low chuckle. "It's alright, I got caught up in watching you play Mummy today," he joked, slightly tussling your hair with his free hand. You blushed briefly at the compliment but you soon found yourself wrestling his arm to stop. You ended up placing it securely around your shoulders and held it in place to prevent any further assault.

"I'm serious," Gaz defended as he relaxed his confined arm, "you look like a natural with him. You looked up at him and decided to test the waters, just a tiny bit. "Oh really now?" you challenged, "something about this situation gives you baby fever?" Now Gaz was the one with a subtle blush on his cheeks as you smirked at his reaction. "Let's go on a date then, love, and find out," he blurted, seemingly without any hesitation. You tensed a bit as you processed what he was saying. "You asking me out now, Garrick?" you questioned, turning your body to look at him. "Maybe I am," he whispered, moving a piece of hair out of your face and moving his hand to cup your face. As time moved slowly, you stood on your tippy toes and moved closer to his lips. Just as the space was about to close, a shrieking cry filled the apartment. "I think he wants Daddy," you teased as you tried to hide your disappointment, "we'll talk about this after dinner?" As Kyle huffed away, you couldn't help but secretly thank your sister for the emergency nanny service.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

31 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 8

...

Peering down into the building from the adjacent rooftop, Soap sees you--his soulmate--through his sniper's scope. You. Here. On the wrong goddamn team again.

He mutters a curse into his radio.

You’re standing guard at your client’s back—a man who coasts under the radar as far as his criminal reputation is concerned, but a smuggler effective and dangerous enough to put him on the CIA’s hitlist. He’s hidden from view. Probably been told to stay away from windows for the night. You're obviously working security, outfitted to the nines as you would be on any job, rifle in hands, scanning the foyer for threats. You're unaware of 141’s snipers setting up on the rooftops outside.

Soap’s eyes darken. He doesn’t deal with internal conflict when he’s working. When things get complicated, he uncomplicates them. Right now, there are three thoughts in his head: 

One--he misses you.

Two--you blew him off to work for this scum.

And three--he needs to get his feet on the ground right now. You'll be lucky if all you get is an earful once he gets his hands on you.

He switches on his radio. "Got eyes on the target. LT, you in position yet?"

"Affirmative. In position," Ghost says, his voice gravelly and cold over the radio from his position on a neighboring rooftop. "Waiting on the signal."

Soap stares you down through his scope. His leather gloves creak and tighten around the handle of his rifle. It pisses him off how easy it would be to take the shot. If he were anyone else, you would be dead in moments. 

On the other hand, he could kill your client--your protectee--here and now. To hell with the mission parameters. It would be easy.

He sighs, flipping on his radio again. "Permission to infiltrate, Captain? Spotted a friendly inside."

Gaz's voice crackles over the radio instead. "Friendly this time, is she?" His tone makes it clear he’s spotted you too.

"Don't be jealous, Garrick."

"Positively green with envy, mate," Gaz replies, dry and sarcastic. "Too bad she’s not friendlier. Be helpful if you could actually get her to talk this time. Not to mention the other stunt you pulled."

Soap smirks and adjusts his scope to keep you in his sights. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

Gaz scoffs. "Plausible deniability is for paperwork."

"Aye. Maybe I’ll mention in my next report who tipped me off about her bein' our hostage, too."

There's a beat of static. "Got nothing to say about that."

Then Laswell's voice cuts in. "Kyle has a point. The building is locked down tight and it’s gonna be hard to get a clean shot. If she's with our target's security detail, that’s our ticket inside."

"And if she's not willing to help us out?" Price asks.

"Depends on how persuasive Soap is willing to be."

"I might've picked up a technique or two last time,” Soap says.

The radio crackles as Price takes in a deep breath and sighs it out through his nose. Somehow, he makes it sound stern.

"Intel is intel," Ghost says.

“Failing that, bribery’s always a solid bet for a merc,” Gaz adds. “If they don’t shoot you on sight.”

"Right, then," Price says. "Soap, regroup with Ghost. Prepare to infiltrate. Gaz and I will take overwatch. Ghost, keep on comms. We'll find you the main breaker switch. Soap, I need you to keep things quiet, you hear me? Mission objective is priority. Do not, under any circumstances, be seen."

Soap's blood is already pumping hot. He’s never loved overwatch. He’d rather be close to the action--get his feet on the ground. Get his hands on you. "Copy, Captain. Ghost, I'm aimin' for the north corner. Meet me in five."

…

You mill about at your post, feeling twitchy and unsatisfied. This job is, on first glance, the same as any. Your PMC hired you and a few other mercs out to act as bodyguards for a man with more money than morals, if the size and clientele of this gathering is anything to go by. 

You shift your weight, scanning the overdressed crowd for threats. You wouldn’t hate it if this party were cancelled early.

"Stand up straight," your teammate snaps. "You're working. Act like it."

You scowl, but say nothing.

"Don't make that face at me," he says, bite in his tone. Horangi. Like he’s so patient. He's on just as short a leash as you, and it's pissing him off just as much. The difference is he has the seniority to take it out on you. 

"I don't know how you do this without feeling like a caged animal," you mutter.

His eyes follow a woman in a tight red dress as she passes by. Obviously, he knows what he'd rather be doing.

"A cage with a paycheck," he replies. "Some things you learn to tolerate."

You scan the room again. Your protectee is still here. That's good. You're hoping he takes his sweet time before he goes downstairs to start the so-called afterparty. 

You glance at Horangi again. "You know where the cargo is? Downstairs?"

"Last I heard. I got the east wing of this floor," he says. If the idea of that cargo is bothering him, he hides it well. He’s a good merc and he does what he’s told, like it or not.

You were a good merc, too, up until three weeks ago. Worrying about what rich idiots get up to isn't what you should be doing. You're supposed to keep the client happy. It's not your fault he can’t party without doing illegal shit.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to check on it."

Horangi’s eyes narrow, flicking to you. "No, you’re not. Stay put."

"Fine. I'm going to the bathroom, then."

"Fine," Horangi snaps. "Go to the bathroom, and make sure you come right back. And don’t talk to anybody."

You walk away, rifle in hand, making your way into the back hall. You pass into the dim sconce light and swear you see something through the enormous glass windows as you walk by them. But there’s nothing there.

The lights flicker once. A beat. Just long enough for you to notice before they even out again. 

You pause at a flicker of movement near the side door up ahead. You have a split second to wonder why there’d be nobody securing the side door before the lights go out.

When you turn and head back for the foyer, you stop short. Down the hall, where you just came from, looms a familiar shape. The white skull on his mask pops out of the shadows. 

You don't make it back to the foyer.

Before you have a chance to react, your body armor is yanked hard from the back. You're pulled backward into an adjacent room and shoved hard against the wall. You expect the bite of steel against your neck or your temple, but it never comes. 

“Quiet, now."

You register Soap's familiar accent before your eyes adjust to the dark. "Johnny?"

"That’s right," he says. He's still got that way of speaking that's almost a purr when he's being quiet.

It suddenly feels like a long time since you’ve felt the heat of his body, pinned tight between him and the wall the way you are. He’s coiled tight, all lithe muscle and restrained strength. His eyes glitter with that wild, predatory look. It’s decidedly dangerous and tantalizing.

"I missed you, darlin'. You're gonna make this simple, aye? I know you can," he says.

You swallow the immediate urge to comply. Holy hell, you forgot what that feels like. "You need to stop greeting me like this," you hiss.

"I'd love nothin' more than to greet you in a different way, but you've got to start makin'  smarter decisions first." He leans all the way in and presses his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, nuzzling you in his full tactical gear. 

You muffle a sigh. He makes a quiet, content sound. 

"Besides, I kinda like this way of greetin’ ya. You make this little noise."

The radio on his neck echoes to life. You hear a tinny voice come through, saying something about an objective.

His eyes shut tight as he listens, one hand pressed firmly against the wall beside you. He doesn't back away yet. He's been dreaming of this for too long--laying his head on you and letting the sound of your heartbeat drown out everything else. It just can't fucking happen yet.

You feel, rather than hear, his low, annoyed grumble as he replies. "No, I copy. Just keep your bloody heads on."

You concentrate, trying to make out the voices of his teammates. It sounds like Ghost's voice.

Soap groans, his fingers flexing and gloves squeaking against the wallpaper. “I’ll be there in a minute, LT.”

You shift slightly. "Why are you here?"

A muscle twitches in Soap's jaw, and he pulls back so he can look you in the eye. "Should be askin' you the same thing. You’re on guard detail for a bloody criminal."

"It's a complicated situation."

"Then uncomplicate it."

You open your mouth to reply, but Soap's radio crackles back to life. This time, you can make out the words.

"Target located." Ghost's voice.

"Attaboy." Price. "Get him isolated. Third floor, east windows."

“Won’t be that easy,” Ghost replies. “He’s surrounded by civilians. Security’s thick.”

You tense even as Soap begins to relax. You fist your hand in the collar of his tactical vest, trying not to sound frantic. "Do not kill him. Johnny, listen to me."

Soap's expression turns grim, and he looks down at your fingers. Then he reaches up to cover your hand with his. "I know he's your client, but there's a reason we're here. He smuggles weapons. Big weapons, and not to anyone friendly. Just take it easy and let us clean up."

"No, listen," you snap, pulling him a millimeter closer. "He has the cargo here. It's not weapons. It's people."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / [part 8] / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[cherie-doll]

uhh sweats 💧💧 no idea if you write for m!readers but maybe something like cod men x shorter boyfriend who really wants to top them 💧🙏 if you’re comfortable writing male x male pairings that is, since I know it’s not as popular in x reader writing spaces!! If not that’s okay too, have a great day/night 💕

i went through hell and back for you

⨯ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price has always taken the lead, thinking he can get more of a reaction out of you, but the flush that swept across his cheeks proved his point wrong. His winded breaths as he felt the shocks of pleasure jolt throughout his body like electricity, then suddenly tightening. You have this grown man gripping the bedsheets, toes curling, gruffy voice- AHRBHJBAJ

Simon honestly just needs to be shown that you CAN be in control of his reactions, to cause and provoke reactions from him. But as soon as you're pressing your forehead against his and discreetly trailing your hand from his chest down his shirt, slipping it under and feeling the warmth already pooling in his lower stomach, hiking his shirt up he's realized he's fallen right into your trap.

Johnny tends to be all bark no bite. When you say you wanna top him he gives you a look that trails you up and down, as if assessing you and narrowing his eyes, doubting you could make him cum faster than he makes you. It's almost embarrassing for him, when he's repositioning himself higher against the pillow, bracing the headrest above him for support. His eyes won't even meet yours, gaze flickering away; awkward and embittered but no doubt good, maybe he should've reconsidered.

You didn't even ask Kyle lmao. Just saw him sitting on the couch, manspreading on the couch; completely oblivious to what malicious intent you had. Without even giving it so much as a second thought, you pulled at the knot his strings on the waistband of his sweatpants. Before he knew what was going on you were already sinking into him, his head rolling back and as you grinded down on his hips, positioning yourself.

It was a late night making out session, cute and sloppy until Roach couldn't speak, his knees getting weak as you held him closer, skin pressing against one another. It only felt natural for him to wrap his legs around your waist, not knowing you were already brushing your hand against the waistband of his pants. His throat made a weird noise in surprise, something of a choked cry. A shudder he decided to just let ripple through his body as he followed the rhythm you set.

Alejandro lucked out. He loves the completely hazed look in your eyes, his own glistening as he felt himself being able to just follow your movements, however sloppy and desperate you were holding onto him he was quick to redirect your movement, guiding you. The beatific look on his face, making it seem like he was expecting this.

Rudy panicking, not understanding what you meant before you're already pulling him towards you. It was early morning and you woke up hard, his back muscles are just so tempting and upon seeing the shirt he put on before getting out of bed ride up, you saw the unbuttoned shorts he lazily pulled on you almost went feral. His arms above his head on the bed, just craning his neck as he watches you swiftly discard of his clothes, just accepting it.

Phillip is a brat that needs to be tamed, he's smirking and rolling his eyes at you giving an attitude just because since he thinks he's the bigger person he can just manhandle you however. Clearly, he must be taught the essence of pleasure, to fuse with you as his mouth runs dry, for once not being able to say a sly remark. Instead, gritting his teeth as he hisses in pleasure from how untrained he is at receiving the same treatment he's been handling you with.

Again, Makarov would require you to stroke that big ego of his, preferably when you've managed to press him against something like the counter or wall, and he's forced to look down at you, his eyes following your hand as you reach into his pants, the beads of sweat already forming on his hairline. You can FEEL him tense up, not used to being in the opposite position for once, as he doesn't know where to place his hands. Your name slipping through his lips as a series of curse words as well when you prod your tip in, teasing him, torturing him a little before slamming in.

Keegan is the type to want to do sex with his teeth and mouth, so while you're topping him you'll need to keep his mouth busy too. He adores lapping at your collarbones, sucking on them before he can bite in deep while you're slamming harder. It's sort of an alternative for him to keep from groaning too loudly because he's one hell of an animal.

König used to be so shy when it came to these things, not realizing he had an advantage due to his larger size. Now, he liked to slip his cock into you whenever he felt like it, he barely moved his hips, just using you as a sort of cock sleeve. Well, you had to fix that, right? Make his brain short-circuit and forget how things work, have him recognize the musky smell of his sweat and shakily glance at your face above him.

Horangi's small smile around his eyes, observing your deliberate movements, in no rush to get started. You wanted to test him, give him a taste of his own medicine, to get back at him for all the times he made you wait. Now, you want him to be unable to take his hands off of you, to split him open to the core and still make him desire more. For him to not be able to distinct the tears from his sweat, place his head on your shoulder and let his breath warm your ear with his ragged breaths, his lips inches away from your neck as he pants.

Nikto inhaling deeply, his eyes following you, wondering what you would do to him when you sat him down saying you wanted to try something out. He had come back from an exceedingly tiring day, his shoulders sore and ready to collapse into a deep sleep, but not before he got his release from all that pent up stress and frustration that comes with a hard day's work. He's so restrained during sex the most he'll do is grunt, you want more from him. You're insistent as you continue pressing his navel, knowing that's where he must feel the clawing. He's pained with elation, relishing in that pulsating tenderness when you pause, draw out and start all over again.

[lemonmaid]

Poly Task Force x Adopted Reader

Warnings: fluff, omegaverse, obv platonic, gender neutral

It was the middle of the night when John got the call that their pup was born.

Cue everyone stumbling out of bed, grabbing last minute items, re checking the car-seat for the hundredth time, and making sure they are dressed for first impressions.

Kyle is nervously tapping his leg, John is walking up and down the hallway, Johnny is fighting the urge to check with a nurse for the fifth time, Simon has his hands clenched as he goes through ciggerate withdraws (he made a commitment to stop smoking before you arrived).

Finally after only an hour, the nurses made the boys follow them into a room where they had set up for the pack bonding period.

The tears that feel when the boys held you for the first time, the heavy tears that fell when they started to do skin to skin scenting.

Let's make it clear, John is the pack alpha and Simon is the head omega. Johnny is also an omega and Kyle is the pack beta. It was Simon who said he wanted pups, but do a mission that happened a while back it made it nearly impossible to have pups of his own. Johnny said he didn't want to be pregnant, "lose his muscles and good looks".

The first few days in that room with you was heaven and hell, I mean, you were a baby you're supposed to cry and scream on the top of your lungs.

When they took you home, it seemed like all you needed was their scents instead of the hospital sanitation. They didn't want you sleeping by yourself but they knew the dangers of co-sleeping so they settled on having the bassinet next to the bed. They got you the fancy one,

They all made an agreement that since they are still in service that two will be shipped out and two will stay home with you, so you can grow up with structure.

Luckily Simon and John's terms were almost up, how convenient timing.

Now, Simon being head omega ment that he was kinda of your main parent (along with John). He was there for most of your firsts, when your teeth came in, when you started crawling, hell he was so proud that you called Johnny "Dada".

Simon and John were the "bad cops" even though they didn't want to, it just kinda happened. Johnny was always enabling you, Kyle was there as support for either team.

There was only a few times where Simon felt bad for being strict, when you were a toddler you had a problem like every other kid with hitting, you kept hitting poor John awake. Not wanting the bad behavior to continue, he scruffed you, causing a two hour tantrum that only stop when you cried yourself to sleep.

Simon felt really bad, but scruffing pups was normal, it just so happened it was the first time you were scruffed.

As you grew, your milky pup scent started to fade, Johnny was the first one to notice this when he did the laundry. He cried for days, hell he even put one of the shirts in a bag and wrapped it up. That's when the talks of having another pup in the house.

You were always smiling, always full of energy. You lit up the boys life, they couldn't have it any other way.

They love you so much.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiii, how about our fav 141 men with to a very clumsy reader? Like e.g. I'm someone who keeps accidentally bumping into people while walking because apparently I can't walk a straight line???

Is that something you'd write?:3

Is this something I'd write? Absolutely. This prompt is so cute and the perfect opportunity to write a few drabbles. Thank you for sending it in, and thank you for your patience as I work through all the requests.

Find the Imagines & What If Masterlist HERE

Content & Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, canon-typical cursing

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

John Price:

“I’m doing it.”

“No. You’re not.”

You raise the hammer.

“Put it down,” says Price pointing at the ground.

“I’m fully capable.”

“Yes,” admits Price, slowly. “But you always hurt yourself.”

Your husband isn’t wrong. Everything you’ve ever hung on the walls has resulted in a throbbing thumb.

“It’ll be different this time.”

Price shrugs. “Go on then.”

With tongue between teeth, you come down on the nail, striking thumb instead of metal. You turn to him, tears in your eyes.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Come here.”

“Don’t say ‘I told you so.’”

“Wouldn’t dare,” laughs Price, cradling your hand.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

“We need to—”

“The milk—”

“It’s—”

Simon tugs you to the right and you growl in frustration. “Stop pulling on me.”

Simon glances down and you know he’s smirking behind the black balaclava. “You don’t know how to walk in a straight fucking line.”

“What?”

He nods toward an elderly couple. “Nearly ran them down, love.”

You roll your eyes. You’re yanked backward against Simon’s chest. He places both hands on either side of you against the cart.

“Gotta protect the elderly.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter.

Simon presses his lips to the top of your head, grinning.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

“Let me see, love.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Kyle grabs your wrist and inspects the nasty slice. You were in the kitchen preparing dinner and the knife slipped.

“At least the knife wasn’t dull,” murmurs Kyle as he rinses the wound under cold water. He gently washes it with soap, drying it afterward.

“You need to be more careful,” he says softly.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time. I’m not interested in taking you to the hospital.”

Kyle rotates your wrist, covering the wound with a bandage, and places a soft kiss against the wrappings.

“All done.”

John "Soap" MacTavish:

“Can we—”

“Nope,” says John, shaking his head. “Focus.” He places his hands on your shoulders, urging you forward.

“You don’t need to do that.”

John twists you to the side as you almost collide with an antique tea set.

“Oh, aye. I do,” he mutters, gaze darting everywhere, looking for the next victim.

You’re the hazard. Last time the two of you went antique shopping, John had to hand over most of his cash because you kept knocking things over.

“They pack these places on purpose.”

He kisses the top of your head. “No. It’s just you, love.”

taglist:

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[the-californicationist]

Let's get you to 100, new gif addition and prompt ask!

Reader likes being controlled, even as she chafes against it, but there's only 1 person she wants to have that privilege.

You decide who, have fun writing lovely 😏

heyyy!! im backkkkkkk �� sorry for the wait! had to go on a bit of a hiatus, so thanks for being patient. and thank you so much for the ask!! sexy as hell babes omg. hope you like it. i went a little overboard on the word count sorry 🫣

TW: light bdsm and contol themes, rough sex

Soft Reins

His voice followed you down the wet sidewalk as you made your escape, striding in long reaching steps to put more distance between yourself and your apartment. 

“C’mon, bonnie! Ye cannae walk in this shite. It’s pissin’ down. Bonnie!”

You waved and smiled up at Soap as he hung over the balcony of your shared space, a deep frown pasted across his mouth as he tried to dodge the raindrops. 

Living with the boys, as you lovingly called them, was full of challenges. For one, they seemed to be oblivious to deep cleaning of any kind, and if you didn’t have the primary school style chore chart hanging on the fridge, your whole house would descend into chaos. The only exception was their captain, and his standards were thankfully on par with your own. 

But, even worse, they were nosey. They seemed to love to be in your business, always making excuses to join you on nights out, standing in an all-too-intimidating pack when you brought home dates from said outings. Even Price was not above casually bullying an unsuspecting potential someone. It was enough to drive a girl mad.

You never got a call back. Any bloke brave enough to follow you back to your place, flanked by your surly entourage, was only as courageous as he needed to be to get his dick wet. After that, he’d ghost you. There were plenty of eligible partners who had much less intimidating roommates. 

In the past year, the longest relationship you had was with a man who didn’t make it over to your house for nearly four months. You had gone through all sorts of trouble to keep the boys from finding out about him, and you guarded his address like it was the nuclear launch codes. You thought you were in the clear when the team had to leave for another deployment, but one morning — when you were wearing only your boyfriend’s tee shirt — they decided to come tromping back in, totally unannounced. 

It was all over, then. Back to the drawing board. 

Gaz was the worst offender by far. Once, when you had planned a spa date for yourself, you’d been treated to all sorts of services that you didn’t order. The staff kept insisting that it was complimentary, but you knew in your heart that it wasn’t. By the end of the visit, you were left fretting about the bill. But, when you walked up to the counter, you discovered that it had already been paid. 

 “Oh! Your mister called it in. Already paid.” The clerk’s smile was blinding in only the way a clerk’s smile could be.

“And who is the mister?” You smiled to yourself, not with much joy, shoving your credit card back into your wallet.

“Well, he said he was your mister. A Mr. Garrick?”

Of course. 

You had only to turn around to see his shining red Beamer revved and waiting to take you to lunch. Gaz’s sunglasses gleamed in the daylight as he grinned down at you, standing over his car, his elbows resting on the roof, smug as could be.

You met him in the parking lot, bags and bags of essential oils and spa creams, heavy in your hands.

“Kyle,” you said curtly, “What did you do?”

“Nothin’, babes. Get in. We’ve got a table at that sushi joint you like.”

You complained that Gaz was overstepping. You moaned about Soap being heavy-handed. You lost your temper when you found the fourteenth Air Tag that Ghost had sewn into the bottom of your trainers. It was too much. You hated feeling trapped, and you thrived in your independence. But, living with these men meant that your desire for freedom was directly at odds with their desire for control. 

It wasn’t their fault, really. That was who they were. They were good at their high-profile special operation world-saving careers because they were good at control. It was what made them great soldiers. 

But, one of them was far better at it than the others. 

Captain John Price didn’t follow you down the street. He didn’t chase you in his shadowy, blacked-out Evija. And he certainly didn’t need to hide trackers in your clothes. No; his control was insidious. It made your blood boil, and it had you questioning your every move. He had a way of making you think that what he wanted was what you wanted, and when you ultimately discovered his plans, you could only blame yourself. Price was the king of control, but that wasn’t the worst part. 

The worst part was that you liked it. 

You hadn’t been home for the holidays in years. Ever since lockdown, and your huge workload at your office, you just couldn’t find the time to make it back. International flights were hard to plan, expensive, and it seemed like something always came up. When you mentioned it off-handedly to Price, he’d comforted you, 

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll find the time this year.”

That was in June. By December, your boss had mysteriously found out that you had a full week of extra paid time off that you needed to take, and your credit card called you to let you know that your airline mileage points had doubled. It was as if everything in the universe had aligned so that you could make it back to your family. 

You’d told the boys over dinner one night, and they celebrated with you, happy for you to be able to finally live your dream. Then, Price had grabbed your phone, reading the email and going over the fine print. 

It grated on you, but you needed to learn how to pick your battles in this house. So, you waited for his approval, tight-lipped. 

“Double miles… ah, there’s a catch,” his voice rumbled in his chest, low and even. 

“What catch?” You panicked. Nothing could upset this perfect balance you’d achieved.

He pointed down to the conditions, and you read it for yourself as he told you,

“Says here they granted double miles for two tickets purchased.”

“Two? Who the fuck am I going to get to come to Saskatoon in December?” You sighed, head in your hands, trying to figure out how you were going to make it work.

“Well, the boys are heading up to check on MacTavish’s mum, but Kate’s got me on a leash. I can ask her to make me remote on this project, if you want.”

His tone wasn’t sly. It didn’t sound like he was hiding something. If anything, he sounded earnest, and it was such a kind gesture of friendship that he would be willing to join you in order to help you see your folks. 

But, that’s what wormed its way under your skin. You knew it was him. You just couldn’t prove it. Months of God knows what kind of backdoor, black-market dealing and manipulation, all orchestrated just to…

Just to what? Make you happy?

Inwardly, you struggled against your bindings, the invisible ropes he’d so carefully weaved just to have you come to him of your own free will, bent on your hands and knees, obedient and eager for your reward.

“Jonathan…” You started to resist, to rebel. Every time you started your sentence, you were stopped in your tracks by the cold, hard truth: He didn’t force you to do anything. You’d done it all of your own free will. 

That was how it had started. But, holy fuck had it escalated. 

Price was the perfect gentleman on your flight over, mysteriously charming his way into business class seats. He downloaded some of your favorite movies onto his iPad, even though you didn’t remember ever telling him that they were your favorites. He even snuck his way back to the flight attendants’ galley, laughing and joking with them, procuring you two extra desserts from the carts since you were such a fan. 

Then, he met your family, and he fit in perfectly. It was as if he was the missing member, a long lost kin, just waiting to be reunited into the fold. Your mother couldn’t figure out what had you so bothered. 

“About time you brought a good one home. Even your Uncle Billy likes him, and Billy —”

You rolled your eyes, 

“And Billy doesn’t like anyone, I know. I know.”

“Honey,” your mother looked at you with a sternness that she didn’t often muster, peering at you over her rose-rimmed glasses, “Why can’t you just let someone take care of you for a change? He’s a good man.”

A good man. 

John Price was a killer. No, he was worse. He was a CIA-funded, black ops, government-overthrowing war machine, capable of literal atrocities. You hadn’t heard much, but you’d heard enough. If any of these people knew how quickly he could turn a crowded room into an empty one, none of them would be looking so fondly at the way he snuggled with the dog or complimented your dad’s knife collection. 

But, that wasn’t why you protested, was it? If you were really being honest with yourself, the reason why you were so against letting Jonathan War Machine Price run your life was that it was yours to run. You didn’t need anyone’s help.

You didn’t need it.  

You could handle things on your own. 

You liked being able to spread your wings, fly your own path…

You were nobody’s puppet.

But, you were starting to like the way he was pulling your strings. When he would take the pressure of choice away from you, after you’d already been making a million other decisions at the end of a long day, it eased something inside of you in a way that nothing else could. It was like he was using those huge, rough palms to massage the hurt out of your head, to show you that it didn’t need to be such a battle, you didn’t need to keep fighting. He would do the fighting for you, and he was determined to show you that he was good at it. 

Even now, as you stomped through the rain, you knew what you were running from. You told yourself you were avoiding John, that you wouldn’t let him see you struggling to hold yourself together. After a much needed switch into a different position at work, the stress of your own expectations weighed heavy on you. But, you wanted them to. You wanted to know that you could still make it alone. You didn’t need John Price. 

But, you’re wearing the slicker he bought for you when yours got left in a cab.

So?

But, you smell like oud, saffron, and bergamot; the perfume oils he found for you at that local boutique you love. The same one he always compliments when he smells you wearing it. 

So?

But, you’re tired and wet and cold, and all you want is for him to tell you what you want.

So?! 

The soft, amber glow of a cigar stopped you in your tracks. A man was sitting on your bus stop bench, his arm slung over the back of the seat, his legs spread wide, taking up as much space as he liked. He was smoking slowly, enjoying every breath, savoring the flavors. Flavors you knew all too well: vanilla, licorice, sweet cedar, and whiskey. 

His sharp, blue eyes only met yours when you let out a labored sigh.

“What are you doing here, John?”

He took another drag, letting the ashes smolder, their warm glow making him look more and more like the Devil, a fallen man bathed in the light of a fire he lit all by himself. And damn proud of the blaze, too. 

“Just waitin’ for my ride,” he smiled in the way that a cat must smile at a mouse under its paw, “Do you wanna sit down, sweetheart?”

“No! I don’t wanna sit down,” you threw up your hands, “I want you to stop meddling in my life. You’re not allowed to keep making me feel like… like I need someone… some — Like I need someone’s fucking help. I don’t need anyone but me.”

His tone shifted in a sudden heat, like a flash in the pan, unexpected,

“Do you think I have any bloody help?”

Price let the question sink in before standing in front of you, his gaze never leaving your eyes. His voice was soft and gravelly, thick with smoke, and yet each and every word cut into you as sharp as a blade,

“Do you think anyone comes to help me when I’m deep in some bullshit, fuckin’ around in Rammaza? Just me, is it? By myself?”

“I don’t… no, I don’t know…” You hated how small your voice sounded in this tiny bus stop hut, the pounding rain drowning out your words. 

John looked at you as if he was waiting on you to find another answer, and then his face softened. He flung the cigar onto the pavement and crushed it out under his boot, smashing the tobacco into the cement without mercy. The object of his affection, once consumed, now snuffed out under his own power. 

His hands wrapped around your shoulders, caging you in, warm and safe from the wind blocked by his broad back. He sighed, his mouth drawing a tight line across his face, 

“Of course I need fuckin’ help. I have my men, and they have me. And I keep you here,” he jammed a finger hard into his chest, “Deep inside me, remindin’ me what I need to come home to. I’m not… meddling in your life, love. I’m trying to put you in mine. I thought…” 

He pulled away, sitting back down, looking up at you with a unique look on his face, 

“I thought that’s what you wanted. If I’m wrong,” he let out a dark, bitter chuff, “You need to tell me right now. ‘Cause all my plans have you in them.”

The rain made the plexiglass roof sound like it was shattering, over and over, the concussive slam of the storm created an oppressive din. He was waiting there, looking at you, asking for your next move. What was your plan?

“Am I wrong, sweetheart?”

You waited, trying to see how many steps ahead he was in front of you. If you said yes, if you said no; what decisions had already been made for you? Did he know what you were going to say before you did? And the real question: Why were you fighting so hard against something you wanted so badly?

You shook your head back and forth, just enough for him to see. HIs eyes lit up with hope and energy, a renewed flame.

“Then, come home with me. Quit bein’ so bloody hard on yourself. Let’s get you dry, love. C’mon.”

So, you obeyed. 

Nothing was more humbling than climbing into a squat little sports car when you were drenched to the bone. You curled yourself right into his cage, feeling silly for ever wanting to escape from it. Why were you pulling so hard against such soft reins? Couldn’t you see that he wanted to take care of you? To remove all of your barriers, to clear your path? You would be more powerful under his wing, soaring far beyond what you were capable of on your own. Why deny yourself a bite of the apple? It was ripe, the snake had promised, and sweet. 

He helped you up the stairs to your flat, walking you past his men as they gathered together in the kitchen, speechless, for once. None of them dared question their captain’s choices, and he had chosen you. More than that, it was clear that you had chosen him. 

Once you were in his room, behind a locked door, he held up a hand and stopped you in the entryway, shivering and dripping by the door. 

“Wait here.”

You waited. 

You waited some more. 

Just when you thought you would turn around and take yourself to bed, he returned dressed in a dry tee and a pair of running shorts. He carried two large, fluffy towels, and his face was set into a serious mask. All business. 

“Take off your clothes.”

You hesitated, looking at him to make sure you heard him correctly. 

He met your gaze, standing so close to you that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His chest was inches from your face, and you had to look up in order to meet his eyes.

“Take.”

He grabbed your phone out of your hand and dropped it on his entry table.

“Off.”

He rucked the jacket off of your back, peeling it down your arms and letting it fall to the ground with a wet slap.

“Your.” 

His fingers pulled the tie out of your ruined braid, letting the elastic roll onto his wrist. 

“Clothes.”

His hands went back to his side. It was up to you to do the rest. He wasn’t here to do everything for you. You were not his plaything. You had to choose to obey him. He wanted to watch you choose to follow his orders, not because you needed to, but because you wanted to.

Slowly, and a bit unsure, you began to shed your layers. You started with your shirt, almost knocking into him with your elbows since he was towering over you, standing in your space. Then, you writhed out of your jeans, peeling them off of your legs, kicking away your shoes in the process, stepping gingerly out of your socks, needing to hold onto his thick trunk for balance. 

Now, in just your bra and panties, you waited, hoping he’d hand you a towel. 

“What did I say?” He asked in a hushed tone, the timbre containing just enough warning to make your cheeks hot. 

“No, John. The boys are here in the kitchen!” You protested, whispering in a low hiss. 

This was beyond what you expected from him. You’d been keeping him at arm’s length, despite his constant pressure to be in your life. Sure, there had been moments of weakness. You’d shared a kiss, and you had let his hands wander when you watched a movie together on the sofa last weekend, but that was as far as things had gone. Stripping naked in the bright light of his apartment suite was something else entirely. Not to mention what sort of noises would seep out under his doorway if things got out of hand. 

“Stop,” he grabbed you by your face with both hands, making you look at him, “Stop fighting me. I am in this. All the way. The only time I wanna hear you tell me no is when you really mean it. If you say stop, I will immediately stop. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded. He released you and put his hands on his hips, impatient. 

So, you slid out of your bra, slowly letting the cups pull away from your breasts, the lace cold and damp on your skin as it joined your outfit on the floor. As you rolled your panties off of your hips, stepping out of them and shoving them under your jacket with your toe, you felt more than just naked. You felt vulnerable and a little scared. 

What would he say? What did he plan to do? You realized, with a chilly shudder, that you didn’t even know his personal preferences. He’d never even given you a cursory glance into his mind, and reading his thoughts was impossible with that serious poker face. Most men wore their thoughts right across their eyes, or some (like Soap) even muttered them aloud, unconcerned about any judgment or scrutiny. If a man wanted you, you’d know. They were an open book. 

But the captain was very hard to read. 

Suddenly, as you stood back up, warring with your own mind, you were surrounded in fuzzy, comforting warmth. He was drying you off, wiping your arms and legs with reverent care, squeezing the rain out of your hair, using the corner of the cloth to wipe your face, holding you in his arms when you felt weak, off-balance, exhausted. 

It seemed as if the more you relaxed into him, the more power you gave up, the more it began to stoke his fire. While you became soft and pliant, he shifted into a fierce protector, covering you with his hands, bracing you with his heavy bones.

Price wrapped your hair into a high bun with an unexpected level of skill, and he carefully stretched your hair tie around it. When he turned to face you, you caught him staring at your body, raking his eyes over your breasts and studying the curve of your mons. It was as if he was groping you with his eyes, and each swipe of his gaze felt like a lick from his warm tongue. It was enough of an invasion that you wanted to put your hands in front of yourself, to hide out of some sort of shame.  

But when you made a move to cover yourself, the look in his eyes was enough to make you stand with your hands at your sides, allowing yourself to be on full display for him and that ravenous glare. He hadn’t even needed to chastise you. His mere desire was enough of a correction. 

Then, almost like a reward, he wrapped the towel around you, letting you hold it tight to your chest. 

“Tell me what’s goin’ on inside that pretty head,” he commanded you, his voice quiet but firm. It was just a simple question, but you knew it was loaded. So, you brushed him off, tossing out cheap bait, wrapping the towel a little tighter around yourself, hoping he’d drop it. You shrugged,

“Just cold.”

His jaw set with a click, and that soft purr became a warning growl,

“That’s one,” he held up his finger, “The next lie will cost you that towel, pretty girl.”

You stared at him blankly, trying to find a way through this labyrinth he had — apparently — custom built for you, sending you down twists and turns and dead ends as if he knew exactly how you’d try to steal back some control. But every way out seemed like a worse fate than simply allowing yourself to trust him. Nevertheless, you tried again. 

“I am cold, and I’m tired. It’s been a long day, John,” you sighed, shifting towards him, trying your best to take back the lead to his strange dance, “C’mon, don’t you wanna take me to bed?”

You reached out a hand and snaked it under the hem of his shirt, exploring untouched skin, letting your nails scrape through a dark patch of thick hair, right above his waistband. Your fingers got as far as his navel before he snapped. 

The cold absence of him ripping the towel away from you felt worse than you expected it to. In fact, you hadn’t actually taken him seriously. You protested, indignant,

“Hey! What —-“

“You think this is the same game you’ve always played,” he snarled, throwing the towel away and shoving you to your knees, his hold crushing and cruel on the nape of your neck, “You think, because those lads will eat any scraps you throw to them,” he nodded behind you, gesturing toward his men only a thin wall away, “That I’ll be satisfied with a taste, hm?”

His tone was mocking, and there was an undercurrent of darkness that lingered between each word like a warning, like the red of a poisonous berry that shouldn’t be picked and yet sagged ripe and ready on its stem. 

“You always get your way with them, don’cha? You know that a bit of skin and a little attention will keep them on you for days. And they reward you for it. They text you at all hours of the fuckin’ night, beggin’ you for just one more look, one more bite,” his mouth was right next to your ear, bending over you, casting his shadows across your face, and all you could do was kneel there, fully under his control, unable to move against his immense strength, “But, that’s not what I want.”

Your eyes dared to slant over to the growing monster that pressed its warm body against his shorts, hanging heavy and stretching the fabric, and you dared to hiss at him, even in your compromised position, using his title like a knife, aiming to scrape him with it,

“Seems like you do, Captain.”

He smirked, you could feel his smile against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, and you could see his almost infernal expression out of the corner of your eye. Even though you were trying to get under his skin, it made you feel like you were playing right into his hand yet again, helpless to his will. 

He stood up, never letting go of his grip on your neck, pinching the muscle like you were a caught rabbit, his writhing prey. Then, with a force that made your stomach drop, Price shoved your cheek into the crotch of his shorts, bringing you face to face with the outline his swelling shaft. Your nose was buried in the fabric, and you could smell the soap of his detergent as well as the musk of his sex that throbbed underneath. 

Then, he rucked down his waistband to show himself to you, pressing his length along your cheek, the softness of his skin surprising you just as much as the size of his thick, hefty prick. 

He held your neck in one hand and his cock in the other as he began to stroke himself up and down, letting your temple  and cheekbone feel the slip of his velvet foreskin. You could hear soft, wet clicking sounds as he coated himself in his own fluid, using the clear, dripping pearls as lube. 

You tried to move your jaw to taste him, eager to know if the heady, intoxicating smell of his skin matched his precome, hungry for his reaction to your mouth. But he stopped you, tightening his grip and scolding you like a naughty pet,

“My body wants your body, love. I’ll admit that,” he chuckled, not halting his lurid, jerking pulls, using your cheek for friction, “But I want more. I don’t want a taste. Or a bite. I won’t be satisfied.”

He frowned a bit, shrugging off his confession before he continued, 

“I want you to trust me. Trust that I’ll be here for you, that I’ll always be here. So,” he tugged on your flesh, forcing you to meet his fiery gaze, “Tell me what you thought.”

What were you supposed to say? That you were insecure about your looks? That you weren’t sure if he’d approve? That you were either too much or not enough and you weren’t sure which?

You turned your mouth as much as you could, trying to at least lick along the warm underbelly of his rod, aching to taste him, but he jerked you back into place, laughing at the disappointment on your face,

“Lips to yourself, love. Only good girls get fed.”

You rolled your eyes up to him, and you knew you had to make a choice. He was joking, but it was a façade. He was using it like a shield, waiting to see if you would actually relinquish your control or if you’d cut and run like you did with everyone else. 

So, you decided to trust him, giving him what he wanted, a full confessional on burning, bent knees, eyes cast up at your new master, praying for his communion, your tongue eager for his body and his blood and his love.

You made sure his eyes were locked on yours as you spoke softly, unflinching in your resolve,

“I was worried you wouldn’t like what you saw. I needed you to want me. I was afraid.”

The relief that washed over him was nearly palpable. His whole body responded to your admission, all of that tightly-wound uncertainty melting away in the heat of your submission to him. 

“That’s it. Good,” his voice was heavy with his relief, and he almost seemed like he was slipping into a trance, rubbing himself in steady, long strokes, shuddering against your cheek, “And what now, hm? You want me to let you go? Let you free? Or are you gonna let me in?”

You didn’t break your eye contact with him, but you wavered, sure of your decision but overwhelmed when you had to say it out loud. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the slick mess he was forging between them, trying to find some comfort. You took a breath and told him,

“I’ll let you in, John.”

His throat held back a long, low groan, the pleasure of your surrender or the pleasure of his hand forcing it from his chest. You weren’t sure which. 

His grip loosened on your neck, but he didn’t let go. His voice was barely above a whisper as he told you his rules in hushed, broken phrases, holding himself back from the edge,

“You belong to me, now, sweetheart. You might be in charge at your bloody job, but everything else is mine. Do you hear me?”

You were going to answer him, you’d even planned to tack on a cheeky little yes, sir, just to show him you were playing along, but he had other plans. Always a step ahead. Before you could even breathe to speak, he pressed the tender head of his cock between your lips and deep into the warm hollow of your mouth, his wide form forcing your jaw to fall open to let him inside of you. It shocked you to be taken that way, not roughly but so certainly, with such surety, as if there was no other choice but for him to take you. You shifted, but with his knuckles tight against the base of your skull, you couldn’t retreat. Other than lolling your tongue along the body of his shaft, or swallowing against its drooling tip, you were powerless. 

His face twisted into a hungry sort of smear full of teeth and lips, grimacing at the feeling of being surrounded by you. Every inch that he drove himself deeper, his breathing would halt until at last, as he buried himself into your clenching throat, his lungs had emptied, and he was sighing with a ragged, guttural cry. 

“When you’re with me…” He continued his dark promises to you, the words choppy and broken, only threaded loosely together between panting gasps, “Even when I’m a fuckin’ world away, I promise that I will take care of you,” he pet your cheek with the softest affection, admiring you like a work of art, “All of you. You will sleep when I say. You will eat when I say. You will come when I say,” he smiled a little more cruelly at that, watching your eyes widen. And, as you began to wish for air, planting your palms against his firm, muscular thighs, ready to push away, he looked down at you with a lurid satisfaction, “You will breathe when I say.”

You were choking. You could hear yourself in the quiet of his room, your throat gurgling, full of your own viscous drool, escaping where it could along the stretched line of your mouth, running down your chin and neck. You felt the flare of panic rise up within you, and you tried to pull away in earnest, writhing against his grip, trying to escape from him and failing, turning your body in shameful futility. 

Price bent his face toward you, folding himself to whisper his lustful words, making sure your eyes met his, pressing your nose into his soft pubic hair,

“You. Breathe. When. I. Say.”

He kept himself contorted like that, keeping his face low to watch your eyes, to witness your struggle, and you felt hot tears burn down your face, the effort overcoming you. But, you wanted to show him that you could obey. You wanted to trust him, to show him that you were willing to give him your freedom, knowing that only he was worthy of such a gift. So, you swallowed deeply, watching as it made his eyes flutter, and again, and again. Over and over, you closed your throat around his steel-hard length, choking when it became too much. 

Still, he kept you there. As brave as you’d been with partners in the past, even those moments were fully eclipsed by this one. You had never even thought that you might be capable of holding your breath for so long. 

You were sobbing wholeheartedly now, your eyes reflecting your desperation, tears pooling and spilling across your face. He was watching you cry, whispering breathless nothings, soft words of encouragement,

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ good. My good girl.”

Just as purple and blue spots began to obscure your vision, he pulled himself out of you in a terrible, wet departure, leaving you clutching his hips, sobbing into his belly, watching his hard cock pounding, swaying at full height, swollen with blood and eager for its finish. You could feel those same soft, dark hairs matting down as your tears soaked into them. He ran his fingers through your hair, keeping the fallen strands out of your face, still holding you at your nape, but just to comfort you. 

You imagined him letting go, and you felt… sad, somehow. He would have to release you at some point, but you were in such a submissive state, just the idea of him leaving you without his guiding hand was too much to bear. 

Your cries turned to a twisted kind of grief, and when he heard your tone change, he dropped to the floor with you, holding you to his chest, rocking you back and forth, shushing you and talking to you in a hushed voice,

“Shh, baby. Tell me to stop. Tell me…”

You grasped at him wildly, uncontrolled, holding onto whatever part of him you could, shaking your head,

“No, no. Don’t — don’t let me go. Please, I can’t… I need… I need you to touch me.”

You planted one of your hands across his, covering the one that gripped your neck, pressing it like a plaster, like it was keeping a wound healed, like it was a dam in front of your frothing, vengeful river; it was a lifeline and you were adrift. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna let you go. I’m right here. Shh. Shh. It’s alright. I’m here. C’mon. Come with me.”

He lifted you, helping you walk on sore, shaking legs, your nerves sparking across your skin. Then, with his hand still firmly planted against your neck, he led you like a shepherd with his lamb, marching you to his bedroom. As you approached the bedframe, your thighs hit the mattress, and Price guided you forward until your body lay flat against it. The duvet was cool and smooth against your belly and breasts, and you tucked your arms into yourself, looking for warmth. 

You felt John plant gentle kisses across your back, trailing them down your spine, and after the overstimulation you had just gone through, even his lightest touch was electric. 

Your tears had stopped, but still you panted, sniffling, trembling from the shock of his careful kisses, waiting for whatever would come next. 

You felt his hips press against your exposed ass cheeks, his shorts now missing, and all you could sense was his warm, furry skin. You sighed into it, happy for the connection. 

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

You complied immediately, all of your tortured resistance gone from you now, ready to trust him to take care of you. 

The unknown was what made your belly swarm with butterflies, and as you waited for his next move, your mind raced with possibilities. 

Would he be cruel? Would he punish you for your lying when he had first taken you in? His hand might strike your tender flesh, slapping your ass and leaving red, angry marks. 

Would he be lustful? Your mind fed you imaginary moments where he would press his cock into your pussy, skipping any foreplay, simply using you like his warm, wet toy. You thought that he wanted more, something more intimate, but if not, you would let him. You were his to use. At this point, you were so pliant, so open to his will, he could use you over and over and you would take him. It was a dark confidence you had never known until now. 

Perhaps he would simply stop. Maybe he perceived you as weak, as if you couldn’t take what he wanted to give you. He would simply comfort you, pitying you for your wrecked state. It was this thought that turned your stomach. Surely, he knew you better than that. John Price was not the pitying type. 

As the base of his cock lay nestled in the cleft of your ass, still as hard as a stone, his long shaft was shoved up against his lower abdomen, pulsing with unslaked desire. Then, as he settled himself, pleased with your spread display, John began to slip the very tips of his fingers into your pussy. He was just feeling your softness, plucking at your petals, laying them open with his hand, using your own wetness to paint your lips and the tight muscle of your hole, preparing you for more. 

His voice broke the trance that his touch had put you in, 

“It kills me when I have watch you putting yourself through hell. You are so strong, but you deserve to have everything you want. Everything you need, I’ll make sure you have it. I promise.”

He was so sincere, and his voice sounded so sure. It was like he was sharing an old memory, something he knew by heart. 

“John, please…” You whispered, feeling yourself slipping, slowly becoming untangled by his touch. You needed more, but you had no words. You could barely concentrate, and your mind was swimming in a liminal space, trapped in a loop of mounting bliss. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” you felt your tears return, and although you were desperate for something, you couldn’t find the answer. 

“Shh, shh, shh. You’re alright,” John rubbed your back with his free hand, smoothing your skin with his warm touch, “Does my pretty girl need to come?”

You nodded, daring to glance over your shoulder at him as he worked on you, his finger now sinking deeper into you, gently prodding your walls in long, aching circles. His other fingers were cradling your folds, slipping between them with each undulating thrust, brushing beside the swelling body of your clit and making you throb with need. 

He felt it, and you saw a warm smile spread across his face,

“I can feel you needin’ me. So wet for me. Fightin’ me so bloody hard. Thought I’d be wantin’ you forever. Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of havin’ you under me like this? Fuck, I need you so badly, baby.”

You felt his grip tighten on your neck again as he pressed you deeper into the soft mattress, his prying hand picking up the pace. His thick finger finally slipped down to the knuckle of his fist. As he fucked you on his hand, you could hear your body’s slick as it softened for him, submitting to his power just as you had done, your body at peace with your mind. 

He pressed a second finger beside his first, twisting them together, curling the tips to rub you from the inside, making you feel the deep ache of your orgasm building within your belly. 

You tried to find more friction, rocking your hips against the bed, squeezing your legs together, needing more but completely helpless to his pace and pressure. 

Price stopped, pushing his fingers right into the tender flesh of your neck as a warning,

“Open,” he shoved your foot away, spreading them for you, “You keep fighting and fighting… fine. I’ll give you something to fight for, hm?”

You tried to twist your knees together again, but his legs stood apart, holding you open. Then, you felt his threat. He put the head of his heavy prick against your greedy hole, dipping it into your wetness like a seal into warm, melting wax.

“C’mon,” he squeezed your nape hard, once, just enough to get your attention, “You wanna drive? Fuckin’ drive, love. You think you can fuck yourself better than I can fuck you? Prove it.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him, watching the muscles ripple and pop in his forearm that held you down, unwilling to give you full control, and yet allowing you to set the pace. You saw his other hand rub the curve of your hip, dropping lower to grope your ass, egging you on. 

Unwilling to beg, you thrust yourself down onto his shaft, gasping from his girth, only managing to fit half of him inside of you, physically unable to go any deeper on your own. But, you tried again, lifting away, sinking back, repeating your movements and reaching between your legs to rub your clit as you fucked him.

But, it wasn’t enough. You felt so close to the edge, and yet you couldn’t tumble over it, losing your rhythm, chasing it down, too weak to reach the peak you knew was right within your grasp. 

You grunted in frustration, and his cruel laugh made you turn back towards him again. 

He shrugged,

“I thought you wanted to be in charge. Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You gasped, trying to catch your pleasure and feeling it slip from you yet again, humping your hips against the bed shameless and desperate. 

“Tch,” Price gripped the inside of your ass cheek, shaking it and rolling your soft flesh in his hand, “Too bad, love. I wanted to give it to you. Shame, really.”

“John! Please,” you caved, sobbing out a short moan, begging him impatiently. 

“Please, what?” His question came just as he decided to press himself deeper into your body than you had been able to go, sinking into you like a hand into a glove, a tight, all-encompassing fit. 

You whined, rolling your fingers over your clit faster, feverish, ready for relief, 

“Please make me come.”

“You will come…” He stretched you, giving you no warning, the sharp feeling of his invasion making you catch your breath, “When I bloody tell you to.”

Then, as if to prove it to you, he stuffed his length into your pussy, never pulling back very far, choosing instead to massage you with his cock, using his base to stretch you wide before rolling away. The sensation overwhelmed you, and his size made your mind go blank. Any words that formed in your mind turned to whining cries of pleasure on your tongue.

There were no sounds of lewd pounding of flesh on flesh. All of Price’s work was deep and wet, churning inside of you like a volcanic sea, hot and untamed. He, however, made plenty of noise, praising you in every way he knew how, speaking in half-clipped phrases, losing his sentence to a groan of relief as he fed himself to you, filling your pussy like a hungry mouth. 

You felt yourself getting closer by the moment. Each grinding thrust was pushing you ever nearer to that gleaming, crackling fuse. He had lifted you, unintentionally, unable to understand the effect of his strength, and your toes could barely scrape the floor. You could feel your sacral core clenching around him like a delicate vice, grabbing for his cock, trying to hold him within your belly, some twisting grip of nature used to ensure that his creamy come ended up where it belonged, soaking into your womb.

Your clenching made him pause, which, in turn, caused you to cry out to him, wordlessly babbling, begging for him to return, to keep his pace. 

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart. Don’t you dare come,” his voice was like rattling brimstone, smoky and burning within his throat. 

“Please…” You whispered, unable to lift your raspy, keening voice. 

With shallow, teasing thrusts, Price used his cockhead to softly pop in and out of your soaked hole, swollen from being well-fucked. Just hearing a vibrator would have sent you over the edge at that point, and you fought him, trying to get any sort of power at all, rolling your body like a caught snake. 

“Stop,” he said curtly, “Stop fighting. Be still.”

You quieted yourself down, breathing heavy, sweating into his sheets, shivering like you had a fever, burning up from the inside out. 

For the first time, you felt his hand leave your neck, and his fingers twisted themselves into your hair at the base of your skull. Slowly, carefully, he lifted you by your head, forcing your back into a vicious arch, letting your breasts hang freely, your arms trying to balance you, mostly worthless since Price had full control of your torso in this position. 

His free hand slid around your front, groping you wildly, plucking your nipples and filling his palms with the meat of your breast. Then, he replaced your fingers with his own, pressing beside your sensitive clit, rolling it softly in long, firm strokes. 

You heard yourself make a new sound, one you’d never made, an animal’s grunting, something reckless and feral. 

Then, Price took up his stretching rhythm again, fully in charge of everything you were sensing. To you, he may as well have been in control of your mind. It was no use to you; you were at his mercy and it was everything you’d ever wanted. 

“Do you trust me?”

Your thoughts swam, unable to even consider anything but the truth, and amongst all of your vocalized ecstasy, you managed to reply,

“Yes.”

“Don’t come. Keep it. Just like that.”

“J-John!”

“Wait, wait, wait… good girl. Good.”

“Ohhh, fuck…”

His next words seemed barely human, snarled at you through bared teeth,

“Now. Come for me. Come f— fuck! Holy fuck.”

When you felt him spill into you, you had almost no control left over your own orgasm. Your heart felt like it had leapt into your throat, and all you could experience was your shining, explosive finish. You heard no sound, and your eyes went white, rolling back into your head. You couldn’t breathe, or scream, and if it wasn’t for John’s immense body holding you tight, you would have crashed into his bed, all used up.

His orgasm was as long as yours was, and he finished in slow, fearsome thrusts, burying his head into you as deep as he could reach, smearing your lips with your mixed fluids, caring nothing for the mess. 

“C’mere, love. Come to me,” Price held you to his chest, finally pulling himself from you, holding you as close as he could, laying beside you in a sweaty, spent tangle of arms and legs. 

You lay your head on his chest, catching your breath, only to tumble into a dreamless sleep with him, your body exhausted from your effort. 

When you woke up the next day, you could feel him all over you. He had left you alone in the bed, and yet your skin and bones kept his imprints. You could feel the ghost of his fingertips on your neck, and you were sore in places you weren’t sure how you could be. Everything was a wet mess, and just when you worried about how you’d cross the apartment without yesterday’s outfit, you saw that John had left you a note. 

Training day on base. I'll be back tonight. Dinner on me. Wear this. xx

Under the note, Price had laid out his favorite dress of yours, a blue satin slip of a thing, and (with the tags still on) you found a matching lace set of bra and panties in the same pretty color, just your size. You couldn’t see the price, but when you searched for the brand online, you couldn’t help but blush. He'd spent more than just a pretty penny on this outfit. You couldn't help but notice that the delicate lace would show through the thin fabric of the dress, making little raised ridges where your nipples would be.

Whatever you’d just agreed to when you said you’d let John Price into your life was about to get very, very interesting. 

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