#captain mactavish x f!reader

[brewed-pangolin]

"Yer starin' again, love."

Soap's smooth, baritone voice called to you in the vastness of your enraptured stare. Subtle memories of a smile returned into the lines of your lips, pulling yourself back into the realm of existence with a languid whisper rolling off your tongue.

"Sorry, John. Still getting used to them."

"Aye. Take it ya like 'em then?"

Your cheeks burned with the unending affection for the man you had grown to love. Gaze lingering on the newly adorned carbon fiber rims surrounding his eyes, drawing ever more attention to the cerulean stare within.

"Yeah. I like 'em."

"Hm. Still getting used to 'em m'self, lass." He muttered, repositioning the frames on the bridge of his nose to regain focus on the writing in his hand.

"Perhaps you need better reading material," you interjected with a cracked smile.

His blue eyes rolled above the black rim like a current over a pebbled stream. His expression accentuated by a prominently arched brow as he laid the morning paper aside for something much more appealing.

"And what would you have in mind, love? Enlighten me."

You bit the inside of your mouth to keep the smart comment at bay. Preferring a more elusive method of enticing him rather than the usual gritty temperament.

"I think you know what I mean, John."

He shook his head with a heavy brow, a drawn out sigh parting through his lips as his fingers grasped at the arm of his glasses.

"Yer 'opless, lass. Y'know that?"

You raised a hand to halt him mid removal.

"No. Keep them on."

Soap paused. His eyes narrowed, brimming with glorious intent with a curl to his lips that sent a shockwave straight to your core.

"A'right. I'll keep 'em on. But if ya break 'em with them thighs, I'm gonnae break yer back."

"Promise?"

His eyes darkened like an incoming storm within the black, polished frames, a distant rumble echoing deep in his chest as you gingerly hiked up your night gown.

"Heid yer weesht"

Rising from his chair to his full stature, a towering mogul of a man as he marched, knelt down, and prepared to please his most adoring fan.

"Is this gonna become an'ther fetish, lass?"

"Don't know yet. Didn't think I had a thing for an old man in glasses until now."

"Old?"

You had to refrain from letting out a laugh as his growing scowl scolded you. Removing it from his features with the sight of your glistening cunt while he brought himself between the valley of your thighs.

"Do yerself a favor an' keep that smart mouth shut fer five minutes, an' let this old man take care a'ya."

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[ghouljams]

Absolutely cannot have fresh shaved/waxed pussy around the 141 boys.

Soap will cry over it, mourning the loss of your bush and "talking his girl(your pussy) through the loss" ie fingering you until you're soaked and sore as punishment.

Price will make it his mission to give you beard burn, shaking his head like a damn dog while he's eating you out, scratching the hell out of your pussy and thighs with his beard. He's trying to bleach the damn thing you just know it.

Ghost is the worst. Taking the opportunity to leave his dental imprint in the soft flesh surrounding your clit. He's going to bite until you're sobbing just to see the dimpled marks he's left.

At least Gaz is sweet. Pressing little kisses over the newly shaved/waxed skin, giving your clit soft little licks and pulling back to rub his fingers against your clit with gentle praises. Until you realize he's been doing that for the last hour, giving you just enough to keep you making those nice breathy noises but never giving you more. Maybe you should try Soap again...

[gloomwitchwrites]

Overheard confessions part 2? You over hear them confess to the team about how they love you and want to have an army of kids with you...or like a lot of dogs on a farm lol

Don't mind me, I'm just shrieking like a hyena over here. I am obsessed with the idea of a part two but from the opposite perspective. What happens when we hear the guys making the confession. I had way too much fun with this one. Just pure glee. Enjoy! (Find Part 1 HERE.)

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, swearing, breeding undertones, suggestive themes, mild alcohol/smoking, fluff, implied sexual content, mild dirty talk

Word Count: 2k

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

John Price

“You’re a mess, John.”

You clutch the manila envelope to your chest, coming to a dead stop just outside Captain Price’s office. The door is cracked, your hand pressed flat against the wood with the intent to enter. That flies out the coop. You’re glued to the spot, listening as Laswell continues to speak.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“Care about my sleeping habits, Kate?”

Laswell snorts. “You look tired. What’s on your mind?”

There is a stretch of silence. You don’t dare breathe—don’t dare move. When Price doesn’t answer, you hear Laswell sigh. It’s not an annoyed sound, but one of pity. She knows what troubles him.

“It’s the secretary. Isn’t it?”

A secretary? What secretary?

You comb through all of them in the building. There are only a handful of you—maybe ten total.

“It’s nothing, Kate.”

“Just admit how you feel, John.”

Your hand drops from the door and crosses over your chest. The manila envelope crunches softly against your breasts as you squeeze it tighter.

“What do you want me to say? That I fancy the woman?” He scoffs.

“Yes,” replies Laswell. “It’s that simple.”

Your mind races. Of the ten secretaries in the building, there are maybe three—including yourself—that this could apply to. A blossom of hope blooms in your chest, a racing sensation of your heart palpitating. You shouldn’t wish for it, but for it to be you?

No.

“I’m her superior.”

This time, Laswell scoffs. “She’s not even your secretary, John. She’s mine, and I think you need to say something to her.”

Oh fuck.

It’s you. They’re talking about you.

“Really, Kate?”

“Really, John.” Laswell sighs. “Not to be crude, but maybe if she were getting laid, she wouldn’t hide my cigarettes when my wife tells her to.”

“Christ, Laswell.”

“No, John. Tell me how you feel about her.” He doesn’t. “I’m waiting.”

You hear a grumble on Captain Price’s end, then, “I want to make an army of kids with her. I want to wake up with her beside me and for her to be near when I sleep.” He pauses. “I like the way she throws her head back when she laughs. Her smile.” Then, softly, “I love everything about her.”

There is a tap tap tap of a shoe against linoleum, and then someone’s walking toward the door.

“That’s it, John. Just tell her how you feel and—”

The door opens wide, revealing you. Captain Price and Laswell both freeze. Price’s face goes from surprised to a dark shade of pink. Laswell’s shifts to a knowing smirk.

“Is that the file I asked for?”

“It is,” you affirm.

Laswell nods. “Hand it over to Captain Price. He needs to take a look at it first.”

“Laswell—”

“Goodnight, John,” she calls out, shutting the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone in the room.

Price clears his throat, standing.

“I heard what you said,” you say quickly.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“I—”

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand.

Dumping the manila folder on the desk, you circle to his side. Price is perfectly still, watching you the whole time. What you’re about to do is bold.

Placing your hand on his chest, you lean in. His entire demeanor softens as he mimics your movement.

“You said you wanted to make an army of kids with me.”

“It’s one thing I want to do with you.”

Shifting, you inch toward the desk, propping yourself up to sit on top of it. It’s true, you do need to get laid, and why not with a man who is more than willing.

Price’s gaze lowers as you spread your legs.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"She's fucking gorgeous, mate."

"Is that all?"

With back pressed against the wall, you listen in on the conversation.

Kyle and Johnny’s voices carry in the small apartment. You linger in the short hallway that leads to the kitchen and dining room. They have no idea that you are home, listening in just around the corner.

“No,” comes Kyle’s voice. It’s not sad but strained, like he’s trying to form the right words but keeps stumbling over what to say.

Anxiety grips your stomach, twisting tight.

"She's everything I want,” says Kyle, this time sounding confident.

"Everything?" Johnny whistles and you hear the creak of a chair. "You looking to marry her?"

The twisting sensation becomes a clamp. A vice grip that closes your throat.

"If she'll have me," answers Kyle immediately.

Johnny chuckles. "You'll marry her and then what? Pop out an army of wee bairns? Adopt a cat and two dogs?"

“All of the above,” answers Kyle. “Or nothing at all. It’s what she wants.”

“Oh, aye,” replies Johnny. “That's a good answer."

The sudden seizing of limb and lung relaxes, returning you to the moment. Your heartrate speeds up, becoming a thundering thing that threatens to burst from your chest. Kyle may be your boyfriend but you never suspected that this is what he wants.

"When do you plan on proposing?" asks Johnny.

"Haven't thought that far," murmurs Kyle.

"Too focused on how you're gonna have that army of barins?" laughs Johnny.

"You wanker,” mutters Kyle, but you hear the smile in it.

"Just remember—”

You cannot hide any longer. It’s unbearable.

Emerging suddenly—and almost tripping over your own foot in the process—the two men go quiet, their gazes widening as you appear like an apparition before them. Between then is an open bottle of scotch and various containers of Kyle’s favorite takeout spot.

Kyle is out of his seat in a second, heading for you. He whispers your name, a soft thing meant only for you, and all your love comes rushing up to warm your cheeks and soften your insides.

As he nears, the words tumble from you. "You want a small army with me?" you whisper.

"You heard that?" he asks.

The next words you form are dangerous yet you say them anyway. "Do you want to start trying?"

You put every ounce of lust you can muster into those few words. Kyle’s bodily response is immediate. His shoulders straighten, and a hungry need enters his eyes. This man is about to drag you to bed and fuck you raw for hours.

"Johnny," snaps Kyle, voice cracking slightly. He clears his throat. "Time for you to go."

John "Soap" MacTavish

A tornado rips through your senses.

Did you hear Johnny correctly? Surely not.

"You don't understand, Simon."

Johnny is in the bedroom pacing around while he talks to Simon on the phone. At your current distance from out in the hall, it’s difficult to hear Simon’s response.

"You're balls deep in a different lass every week. Don't hardly know their names. And you're going to give me shit about this?"

A snort almost escapes your nose, revealing your location. Johnny isn’t wrong. Simon is a notorious slut among Johnny’s group of friends. There is always a different woman on his arm whenever they go out.

Johnny pauses before continuing. "I love this woman. I want a bloody army of bairns with her. Fuck, I'll take an army of animals if that's what she bloody well wants."

He sounds irritated, but you know it’s just his passion. Johnny can be hotheaded, especially when it comes to the people he cares about. Either that or Simon is giving him shit on the other end.

"I need your support, Simon." All is quiet, and then you hear Johnny’s amused snort. "You're always giving me shit, Lt." He chuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow at brief.”

You slip around the corner and enter the bedroom. Johnny glances up from his phone, his mouth a wide smile upon glimpsing you. “Come here,” he says with a sultry purr, reaching out.

You go to him without effort.

Wrapping you up in his arms, Johnny kisses the top of your head. You tilt your face upward, going in for something softer.

"I heard you talking on the phone,” you murmur, accepting another kiss from Johnny.

"Did you?"

"You want an army of kids?"

Johnny's neck flushes pink. "I may have said that."

Your hug becomes intimate, hands gently caressing until you find the front of his sweatpants. Johnny groans into your mouth as you find him, lightly rubbing him toward hardness. It’s a tease of a touch. The moment he’s throbbing under your hand, you pull away, fingers toying with the strings of his sweatpants.

"You don't mind if we start now?"

Johnny's gentle embarrassment becomes a sultry glare. "Oh, aye. We have the rest of the day and all night to try."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"I want her, Johnny."

The pan of brownies you’re holding nearly go crashing to the floor. Simon’s words are a brick wall. You’ve been baking all day because it’s the only thing you can do to distract yourself. The plan is to drop them off with Simon and let the boys devour them. Instead, you’re dumbfounded, standing right outside the door to the meeting room Price’s secretary told you to drop the sweets at.

“Who?” asks Soap absently.

When Simon speaks again, it is your name that falls from his lips. Yes, you and Simon are together, but you’re not together. This is fuck buddies. This is friends with benefits. This is…not a relationship.

Or so you thought.

But you’re at his place of work dropping off fucking brownies. The rest of his team call you by your first name. They expect you at functions when they all bring their significant others along. Yet you and Simon are not a couple.

Not officially anyway.

"Oh, aye?” asks Soap, his tone amused. “And does she want you?"

Yes. More than you know.

You’re fully aware that Johnny and Kyle give Simon shit about you. Not because they don’t like you—they adore you—but because they think Simon needs to put a ring on it. They aren’t quiet about it either.

But Simon has never been so forward with his feelings for you. He might tell you sweet things when his dick is deep inside you, but you’ve never heard him be this blunt.

"Don't care. She's mine, Johnny. I'll make sure of that." The mine is almost a growl, a possessive bite that sends a bolt of need to your core.

Johnny chuckles but there’s nothing condescending in it. He sounds…happy.

“Finally, Lt. Fucking finally!”

You hear Johnny enthusiastically smack Simon’s back—or shoulder—and then the man growls like he’s aggressively shaking Simon.

“You’re going to fucking crack my ribs, Johnny.”

“I’m just happy for you, Lt.”

You step forward, pressing your shoulder against the doorframe. They are still out of view, but you don’t want to reveal yourself yet.

“Finally going to make an honest woman out of her?” jokes Soap.

Simon snorts. “I’ll even make you an uncle, Johnny.”

“Me? I expect an army, Lt. Five mini-Riley’s running around.

“Fucking hell, Soap.”

Your cheeks are hot, and you’re standing out in the hall like an idiot. The last thing you need is for one of them to open to door and find you here.

Knocking to announce yourself, you open the door of the meeting room. They turn in your direction, but it’s only Johnny’s face that’s clear to you. Simon is wearing a balaclava, and the only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Johnny’s grin is devilish. “What’s that, love?”

“Brownies?”

He perks up. “Gaz is gonna flip his mug.” You hand them over and Johnny removes the foil on top. “I’m eating this entire pan.”

“Fuck off, Sergeant,” says Simon.

Johnny gives him a half-hearted salute before disappearing out the door, a chunk of brownie already shoved in his mouth.

“You just get here?” asks Simon, sauntering forward.

The soft sway of his hips is a tantalizing thing. You’re hypnotized. Locked in.

“No,” you whisper.

“No?”

“I—I heard you and Soap talking.”

Simon is inches away, his broad chest and shoulders seeming impossibly wide, almost boxing you in.

“What do you think?”

“You want me all to yourself?”

Simon’s voice is a growl. “You’ve always been mine. That’s never changed.”

You place your hand on Simon’s chest. “You promised Soap you’d make him an uncle.”

“I did.”

“And if I want to start right now?”

Simon leans in a bit further, his gaze burning like warm whiskey. “Then you should bend yourself over the table and lift that dress.”

taglist:

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

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

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@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[rejectedbytheempty]

from the dirt we rise ch. 2

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 1.9k

cw: your boyfriend is an asshole, again

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

prev

when nathan got out of the car, you realized that this was actually the second time today that you had forgotten about him, too busy talking with john to remember your literal boyfriend a couple of feet away.

“this is the place?” nathan asked incredulously, “looks kind of busted up.”

you stiffened at his rudeness and were about to apologize when you heard john laugh, “yeah, this is the place, i keep telling them it could do with a paint job.”

you all walked over to the open garage doors and john yelled out, “soap, ghost, get your asses out here. you have customers.”

you heard a dull thunk, a grunt of pain and then looked down to the ground to see a man with a mohawk roll out from underneath a car. he rubbed his head to soothe the angry red spot now forming on his forehead but there was still a lopsided grin on his face and mischief sparkling in his bright blue eyes.

“cap’n, bringin’ us guests? you shouldnae ‘ave” he looked over at you and nathan, his grin growing a bit wider when he spotted you. “och, and who’s the lass?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at john, who looked sternly at him, “soap, behave.”

soap just shrugged making john sigh, but he continued, “found her and her boyfriend on the side of the road, her car’s dead, told them you could fix it. oh, and that you’d give them a friends and family discount.”

he shook his head and you worried that he wouldn’t be willing to do the job, or that this apparent kinship to john didn’t extend to people he found on the side of the road. then he said, “wouldnae be right, makin’ a bonnie lass pay a cent.”

“johnny, you can’t give free repairs to every pretty girl that comes in, we’d go out of business,” said a man as he walked into the garage, wiping his hands with an oily cloth.

“simon, finally joining us, then?” john said. “had to order some parts,” simon shrugged. simon was huge, big muscles, even taller than john, he had close-cropped blonde hair and he wore a black surgical mask but it didn’t stop him from leaning over to kiss johnny on the head through the material. out of the corner of your eye, you saw nathan cringe slightly at this action, but maybe he just didn’t like pda, he had mentioned something a while ago about it grossing him out.

simon’s words broke you out of your thoughts and you turned back to him, he had asked something about if this had been a reoccurring issue.

“oh, no, this is the first time it’s done anything like this. sure, it’s not the best car, but it’s never up and gave up before.”

simon scratched his chin and nodded as you spoke, “you mind if i take a look then?” you shook your head, “go ahead,” and you handed him your keys.

“actually, i know some stuff about cars, think i could take a look with you?” nathan spoke up, making you raise an eyebrow.

“since when?” you said, making both johns laugh, and it even got a small chuckle out of simon.

nathan’s face went red, “i- i know plenty about cars, you don’t know everything i do.”

“come on then, maybe you can do my job for me” simon said, walking over and practically scruffing nathan, leading him towards your car.

“so you two were in the force with john?” i asked. the three of you had settled in the air-conditioned office of the repair shop and johnny had made you tea, despite your insistence on it being unnecessary.

“aye. me, lt, and cap’n were all on the same task force. until i almost got murked, that is.” soap emphasized this by pointing to the giant star-shaped scar that marked the side of his shaved head.

“lt retired then too, had to take care of my sorry ass for a long while. then cap’n retired too, moved here-“ “yeah, and you two followed me here, so you could keep being pains in my ass” john grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“he really does love us, ye ken?” johnny stage whispered to you. john just shook his head, his smile growing.

“so, that just leaves one o’ us still in the force, our boy gaz. he’s a lieutenant now, ugh, they grow up so fast” johnny wiped away a fake tear.

“he still visits us old folk from time to time,” john said to you which made soap practically squawk in protest.

“awa' an bile yer heid, i’m a spring chicken compared to you two old heads” he pointed at john and then outside the window where simon stood with nathan at the car, the latter looking very emasculated.

“john calls you soap, was that your nickname?” you asked, suddenly curious.

johnny grinned in response, his annoyance fading away, “aye, it’s an inside joke between us. sorry lass, i couldn’t tell you even under threat of torture.”

“hm, alright, well, do you all have nicknames? unless you’re not allowed to tell me that either” you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“och, ye found yourself a feisty bird, price,” soap laughed as he looked over at john.

“she’s not mine, remember?” he looked pointedly at johnny.

“aye, i do now. she’s with that weird looking fellow?” johnny said with such seriousness that it made you burst out into laughter, even if it was making fun of your boyfriend.

“oh god, i shouldn’t be laughing, that is so mean” you said between giggles which made soap smirk,

“he could do with being knocked down a peg or two. the bell above the door rung as nathan stepped inside, quickly followed by simon, “speaking of” soap murmured, his face shifting into a scowl.

“bad news, babe, he said it would take at least three days to fix the problem since we’d have to order a part from somewhere else,” nathan grumbled.

your face fell, “oh no, but what about the dinner with your parents?”

he shrugged, “i don’t know, i’m gonna have to call them or something.” you bit your lip, “right, okay. ugh, i’m sorry, i know you were looking forward to it.” “i knew we should’ve taken my car” he practically spat out, and you just barely stopped yourself from reminding him he insisted on taking your car.

“you could take my truck?” john offered and your gaze softened as you looked over at him, “that’s really nice of you-“ “we are not taking that thing to my parents’, it’s probably worse off than her car and we’ll be back to square one. let’s find a hotel or something and stay there until we figure something out.”

nathan apparently didn’t notice the cutting glares that both simon and johnny were giving him, not liking that someone was disrespecting their captain.

“you’re shit out of luck then, not gonna find a hotel anywhere around here” simon said, his voice had gotten lower, if that was possible, almost a growl. john looked between the two men, something in his eyes somehow conveying for them to back down because they settled slightly.

“you two can stay at my place until the car is fixed,” john turned to face nathan, “if that isn’t going to be a problem?” nathan glanced between the three men, who all stared patiently at him, almost like they were stalking their prey and waiting for the moment to strike.

“that would be fine” he said after a moment’s consideration, making john smile, his angry countenance fading away like clouds passing in front of the sun.

simon and johnny decided to close up shop early and drive with us to john’s house, figuring they could stay for dinner as well. plus, someone needed to drive nathan, otherwise he’d be stuck in the bed of the truck with all the other things simon had unloaded from your car. however, nathan did insist that you rode with him this time, him sitting in the front of simon’s car, you in the backseat and simon driving.

“so, what was your nickname on the force?” you broke the silence.

he eyed you through the rear view mirror, raising an eyebrow, “who said i had one?”

you fidgeted with your hands, worried you’d upset him, “well, i guess i shouldn’t have assumed but since johnny had one, i thought you all would.”

he just laughed, “sorry, love, just messing with you. i did have one, callsign was ghost.”

“ghost? hell kind of name is that?” nathan asked from the passenger seat.

“means you’d never see me coming” simon growled out, making nathan flinch slightly.

he laughed nervously, “that’s.. that’s a joke right?” simon just glanced at him, eyeing him up and down, and then turning back to the road. nathan didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride.

when simon turned onto john’s property, your mouth practically hung open. it was beautiful, like out of a story book. a two story english farm house with aged bricks, half engulfed by vines and surrounded by lush gardens. simon chuckled and you realized in an embarrassing moment that he was laughing at you and your dazed, open expression.

quickly, you shut your mouth with your hand and cleared your throat, “it’s, um, it’s a beautiful place, is all.” you stepped out of the car, after simon opened the door for you (who knew he was such a gentleman) and watched as john did the same.

“it’s gorgeous” you remarked to him, fairly certain you still had a starry-eyed look to your face.

he just shrugged, “could do with some work, for sure” but even through the dismissive comment, you could tell he was proud of his home.

turning back, you saw nathan, sour-faced. you let out a small sigh, ‘can’t wait to find out what that’s about,’ you thought, grimly.

“i’ll get yer bags for ye” johnny said, an impish grin on his face, making you wonder if he was going to go snooping in your stuff but you just thanked him and watched as he disappeared into the house.

“i’ll go make sure he behaves” simon said gruffly, following after him. you did notice that johnny had specifically only grabbed your bags, leaving nathan to contend with his own, and in the deepest part of your mind, that made you just a little happy. you shook that thought away, ‘no, that’s your boyfriend, do not laugh at him.’

he pushed past you, grumbling something about these men all being assholes, pausing every so often to shift the bags in his grip.

“think he needs help?” john asked, startling you slightly. you didn’t even notice him walking up even though he was standing right next to you.

“oh! uh, maybe, but he’ll be fine. he can handle it” you said, and then flushed slightly, “i’m sorry, that was mean.”

john just chuckled, “sweetheart, i don’t think you have a mean bone in your body.”

that made you flush even more, hiding your face by turning your head slightly, “i wouldn’t say that, exactly, but thank you.”

you froze slightly when he put his hand on your waist, “ready to go inside? or you gonna keep staring at the outside for a couple more hours.”

“right, yeah, let’s go in, sorry.” you tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest as he used his arm behind your back to guide you towards the house. christ, this was looking to be a long day.

a/n: ok yay!!! pt. 2!! haven’t written this much in a long time ngl 😭 yet again, no beta reader, so this is very much unedited, sorry. really wish i could’ve put gaz in this but it didn’t really make sense that he would retire as well :/ but maybe he’ll make an appearance later!! i’ll think of smth..

tag list: @the-disaster-in-waiting

@night-girl-301

@darkangel4121

[fictionismyreality3]

Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldn’t have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote in barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So were Gaz, Johnny, and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

[dmitriene]

continuation to this work

cw: possible authority, threesome, gangbang, comfort part with tears.

you're doing your best for simon riley, your lieutenant, one and only man you offer your body and soul to so rawly, hold out in your shaking palms for him to do anything he pleases, and you wouldn't refuse, as obedient, sweet like a pup he raised all for himself, accepting everything he gives you, any word, command, caress or a harsh, possessive tug.

shaped for him, you learn to arch your back sharp and wait, in his quarters, on his dark sheets, naked and presenting, doesn't matter if simon comes in tired, angry or almost boneless, he indulges in your sweet body anytime he can, calloused fingers skimming down the fragile curvature of your spine, pressing, circling at the tender skin, knowing that you're already dripping down your quivering thighs.

simon invited john to your sacred relationship, letting him indulge in your tight, pliable hole, always messy, stretched out around your lieutenant's thick, engorged cock and dripping out frothy globs of cum, soaking in the rumbled sheets below your twitching body, price doesn't waits anymore before sinking in, filling you pleasantly, cock heavy and fat, nudging against your spongy spot and making you claw forward.

nuzzling against simon's muscular thigh, his cock leaking precum against the small pudge on his stomach, you whine out, voice already slurred, stuttering little calls to them both, as john's drawn out, deep ruts of hips jolt your body forward, folding your knees against your tummy by the force of his body, slotting over your back, making you slump and cry weakly in filling pleasure.

and if you accepted price, sure there shouldn't be any problem if simon will invite two more, johnny and kyle, you hear their names buzzing in your ears, clogged, unable to comprehend anything more than the heavy weight of john's flaccid cock on your drooling, wriggling tongue, he's spent already, pumped you full enough so his seed would dribble out, now contented to just smooth his rough palms over your warm, hollowed cheeks.

body fervent, you're already too overstimulated to proceed, your cunt twitching and leaking loads of cum, but when simon pats down the swell of your ass, thumb spreading at the fat, revealing your swelling hole, purring how obedient and pretty you are, you can't say no when he asks if boys can have a taste, eyes wide and excited, cerulean blues meeting the honeyed irises, so easy to make their cocks hard in their cargos, as they marvel at the sight of you.

no matter what, it's still simon in who's hands you end up, snuggled tight against his solid, heaving chest, little hairs that dust his skin are a soothing caress against your wet cheeks, heat dissipating from your skin slowly, you cried, when it's all got too much, their cocks, their hands, playful kisses bordering on aggressive and back, rugged, tanned skin turning into ebony, softened, and then repeating, johnny and kyle both different sides of each other, but able to act together as if synchronized.

simon didn't made you wait when you started crying, worried, eyes crinkled, furrowing alongside his brows at such emotional display, he wasn't interested if they got enough of you, batting an urgent, heavy hand and making them all take a step back, john already dressed and confused, arms crossed tight over his chest, murmuring something to the boys, nothing you can remember, before ending up tucked under clean, cottony sheets.

when you start to recognize your surroundings back again, twisting to the side a bit, the arm around you tightens, muscular, wretched with tattoos, simon, you think contentedly, and seems by the grumble he let out, vibrating away from his chest, you croaked his name out, as he brushed a soothing thumb over your tummy, cupping at the supple skin, making you mold back against his body, mind dissolving back into the deep slumber.

you can be your lieutenant's pup, but he's responsible for your well being and comfort, and should you show any signs of being uncomfortable, hurt, or worse, simon is overtaken with a primal need, to protect, to heal, and to soothe, hide you in his embrace from the overwhelming world around.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[storiesaplenty]

Special time with Santa (18+)

141 X f/Reader

Call of Duty Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: swearing. Smut below the cut. Unprotected sex. Oral (m & f receiving). Pussy fingering. p in v sex. Cum swallowing. Use of nicknames, Santa, little elf. Sex in public. Creampie.

WC: 1297

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Having sex with 141 Task Force as they dress up as mall Santa, and you are dressed up as an Elf.

Captain John Price:

"That's it lovie. Just like that." John groaned from behind the beard. His gloved hands were gripping your waist tight as you rode him.

His cock touching the tip of your cervix as he buried his face between your tits, pulling down the green fabric so he nuzzle the skin.

"Shit, John." He slapped your ass, making you yelping. "Now, now love. What do you call me?" He angled his hips just so, nudging your g-spot.

"Santa." You whined, you back arching as he took a nipple into his mouth. "Mmmm, yes." His mouth popped off your chest.

"Being so naughty aren't you lovie? Making a mess on my pants. Come and give your Santa a kiss."

You whimpered but kissed him through the itchy beard.

The little bells on your shoes made noise as you bounced in his lap, tethering on the edge.

"Santa!" You cried out as you finally came, your pussy gripping his cock so tight, he came.

You could feel him shoot rope after rope of cum in your fluttering pussy, as you collapsed against his chest.

"Mmm, now be a good elf and clean Santa up." He said, as he pulled you off his lap, and onto the ground.

Your mouth wrapped around his softening cock, moaning at the taste of the two of you.

His hands were placed on the back of your head has you leisurely moved your head up and down, cleaning his cock as best as you could.

Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

"Come on baby, take it all." Kyle groaned as he gently thrust his cock down your throat.

You have tears in the corner of your eyes as you look up at him from the floor of the little workshop, the mall put in the Santa Village.

His cock stretching your throat beyond its limits it felt like, but you didn't want to disappoint him, so you breathed through your nose, fighting through the ache as you nuzzled your face into his pubic hair, making him curse under his breath.

"I knew you could do it. I fuckin' knew it." He slapped the armrest of the chair he was sitting in as he raised his hips, making you choke around his cock.

"Fuck, let's do that again." You shook your head no, but he did it again anyways, holding your head in place as you choked around his cock.

Your vision started to become a bit blurry as he fucked your face, you tapping his leg but he was so enthralled with the pleasure your mouth and throat were giving him, he didn't notice, or care to notice.

So you placed your hands on his thighs, which are covered by the red, baggy Santa suit. You looked up at him through the tears, his eyes were closed, the Santa hat barley hanging on, as soft grunts fell from his parted mouth.

You felt the first rope of cum hit the back of your throat before he let out a low groan, his hips bucking against your face as you quickly swallowed.

He pulled his hips back before he was finished coming, some of it landing on your cheek before you wrapped your lips around the tip to finish him off.

"Shit sweetheart. I'm taking you home tonight, and putting you under my tree." Kyle groaned as you continued to suck him off, even as his cock was softening in your mouth.

Sergeant Johnny ��Soap” MacTavish:

"Keep quiet." Johnny groaned from behind as his hips bounced off your ass. One of his black, gloved hand covering your mouth to keep your moans at bay.

His fake, Santa stomach was sitting on your ass, and pushing into you, making you gasp for air each and every time.

"Santa, Johnny, shit." You whined behind his glove, as you smiled at how well he is fucking you.

Been a while since you have been fucked like this, and it is like he knew, like he is the actual true Santa because all you wanted for Christmas was someone to make you cum and not disappoint you during sex.

"Shit, call me Santa again." He grunted as his pace sped up. His hand leaving your mouth, to wrap around you waist as he the other hand reached around you, gripping your throat and pulling you up and against his body, your own body at an odd angle due to the Santa stomach.

"Let's go you two." Came a knock on the door, the bored voice of the other elf.

"Where?" Johnny groaned in your ear as he nipped the earlobe, making you gasp.

"Inside. Pill, clean." Was all you could get out as he his pace sped up, his hips bouncing off your ass.

The little bells attached at the end of your skirt is making so much noise, but it sounded fuzzy to you.

You gripped his arm that was gripping your throat, as you came, saying Santa over and over again as he let out the loudest moan you have ever heard as he ground against your ass, as his cum filled your pussy, triggering another small orgasm from you.

As Johnny pulled out, you couldn't help but giggle. "So, Santa." You emphasized the word. "Does it for you, huh?"

"Be quiet little elf, or you may get a spankin."

Just the thought of him spanking you, had you clenching your pussy around nothing.

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley:

"Such a good little elf, aren't ya?" Simon grunted into your ear as he fucked you against the wall of the employee bathroom.

You couldn't answer him as he has literally made you stupid because of his cock.

When you first saw his cock, as he pulled it out his Santa costume, he was slowly jerking it off.

The tip shiny with precum and you wanted nothing more than to lick it, but then you noticed how big and long he was.

"It isn't gonna fit." You whimpered. "I'll make it fit." Came his promise and fuck, he made it fit after spending time on his knees, lifting you by your ass to eat and stretch you out on his fingers.

He made you cum so much that you could hardly stand as he stood up, holding you against his body as he lifted you up, all the while thrusting his cock in your still, too tight pussy.

You feel like he is in your stomach every single time he bottoms out inside of you.

"Shit. Made for me, weren't you little elf?"

"Santa Simon." You whined as your head lulled side to side, not even knowing what you were saying as the only thing consuming your thoughts were Simon and his giant cock.

He lifted you up and down his cock, like his own personal flesh light, forcing orgasm after orgasm from your body until you could hardly see straight it seemed.

Simon didn't ask where to cum, he just came inside your shaking, quivering body, your mouth open as he filled you with so much cum, it started to leak around his cock.

"I'll let them know you need a minute." He smirked as he pulled his cock from your body.

The two of you moaning at the feeling of him leaving your body, as his cum slowly dripped down your thighs, and onto your ripped, green elf-tights.

[oceantornadoo]

two strangers in a bar

ch 1 of the wrong john: masterlist | next

john price x f!reader (johnny's twin)

--

You figure one whiskey in the fancy bar across from your hotel can’t hurt.

Johnny put you up in a nice hotel, considerate with all the travel and logistics it took to get here. Two days of your PTO gone, an almost-argument with the gate agent who lost your luggage, chasing down an AirTag with said luggage, and a very uncomfortable taxi ride. But it was fine. It was for Johnny.

Johnny: the brother, the twin, you hadn’t seen face-to-face in over a year. The one who got in a screaming match with your Catholic family last Christmas over who he can love. Nevermind the sacrifices he makes for the safety of the world, it’s where he puts his dick that matters to them. You told him it was bullshit and thus remained the only family member he contacts. You were worried for a second that he’d group you in with them, would sever your holy twin connection for it, but you should have remembered who you were thinking about. If anything, you’d do that to Johnny before he did it to you, a fact you both pretended did not exist. That scrappy self-awareness that somehow only you had been born with, mistaking protection with isolation. So when he said he had a slow week, said he had a partner (a boyfriend!) he wanted you to meet, you couldn’t say no. That was as good as siding with your family.

The meeting was tomorrow (“1000 sharp, m'eudail. Come t’ base an’ we’ll show ye around. Yer gonna love Simon, ‘es all claws like you.”) For the oddest reason, you were nervous. It wasn’t like Johnny needed his family’s approval, if anything, you needed to meet the approval of his found family. The one he created when he left, the one he was slowly opening to you like a secret garden. One sense of a parasite and the gate would be locked forever. He never said as much, too happy-go-lucky for that, but you could sense the protectiveness behind his words during glitchy monthly phone calls. “Price, Gaz, an’ there’s the L.T. Calls himself Ghost but ‘es more bark tha’ bite. You’ll see, m'eudail.” And so you ordered a whiskey to quell the nerves.

“Miss, a drink for you.” The bartender placed a gin and tonic down that was certainly not what you ordered. “I’m sorry, I wanted a whiskey? You can take this back, I haven’t touched it, I swear.” He shook his head, reaching down to grab a whiskey glass. “‘S from the gentleman on the corner. Told me to say our gin is better than our whiskey, which I disagree with, but whatever pays the tips.” He placed a glass of whiskey (on the rocks) in front of you. “Both are on the house, courtesy of your admirer. Let me know if ya need anything or he bothers you.” You nodded your thanks, glancing around for this mystery man. The bar wasn’t too packed but with a game of football on, there were more single men than not.

Finally, you felt a pair of eyes on you, sticking to the back of your head like honey. You turn and there he is, icy blue eyes and a lumberjack look, bearded in flannel. He’s broad and he knows it, carrying himself with the grace of self-confidence. To add to it, he’s sitting alone in a back corner table, perfect view of all exits (like how Johnny told you to look for one tipsy night eons ago.) When you catch his eyes, he raises a glass, giving you a glimpse of hands you want to examine. Are they soft or worn? What about his beard? You promised yourself a drink to settle you nerves, a bubble bath and lights out before 11, but he’s throwing a wrench into your plans. It feels like foreshadowing, to what you don’t know.

“Bit rude to tell the bartender you don’t like his whiskey. Doesn’t give a good first impression.” Somehow, your feet took you over to his table without your permission. You’re standing while he’s sitting and somehow you’re still tilting your head to meet his eyes. They’re darker than they were on first glance, swimming with something that sends a shiver down your spine. You purposefully take a sip of whiskey, your gin and tonic abandoned at the bar, to will that feeling away.

“Jus’ givin’ some advice to a pretty traveler. Can’t have y’ thinkin’ this part of London has no drinks f’ a woman like you.” You find a gray hair in his beard and track it to the curve of his lips as he speaks, taking in the small details you couldn’t see from the bar. Like the way his eyes crinkle in a world-weary manner or the gruffness of his tone, like he’s used to giving orders rather than initiating conversation. It’s your new mission to unpeel the layers of this man tonight.

“And how did you know I’m a traveler? Could be a local for all you know.” He snorts, and in any other man, the arrogance would put you off, but it’s somehow attractive on him. “Well, sweetheart, everyone’s payin’ attention t’ Arsenal playin’ an’ y’ve barely given ‘em a glance. And any local worth their salt knows the whiskey here is watered down an’ grimy.” You take a sip of your drink, again, to prove a point, biting back a grimace at the taste. You can’t let him win.

“Does that make you a local?” Gracefully, he ignores how you could barely swallow down the last drop in your cup. Instead of answering, he signals the bartender for two gin and tonics, then gestures at you to sit in the other seat at his table. His silent command, and consequential dismal of your question, pulls at a string in your belly you didn’t know existed. Perhaps it’s the whiskey.

“Nah, ‘v been around. Been in London for work a while an’ hav’ learned about whiskey choices the hard way. And you? Not from ‘ere, can tell by the accent.” You write that down in your imaginary notebook, hoping a whiskey enthusiast doesn’t equal a reliance on alcohol. You’re fast to determine red flags, especially with strangers. “From Scotland but haven’t been home in a while so the accent’s a bit over the place. What’s your work?”

He takes a sip of the newly arrived gin and tonic, savoring the taste with his tongue. It darts out to catch a drop the edge of his lip and you’re hit with visions of where else he could put it. God, you don’t even know his name yet. “Security consultant. Protectin’ whatever they pay me to protect. An’ you?” It’s a lie. His eyes don’t stray from your face but your bullshit-o-meter is ringing somewhere. You let him have it, deciding a lie for a lie is the best way to go.

“I’m interviewing with a company around here, so I’m currently in between jobs. But I trade in corporate bullshit.” He chuckles, smooth and low like good whiskey, and it’s enough that you forgive the lie, letting it gather dust in the back of your mind. “My name’s John, sweetheart. An’ yours?” You murmur it sweet and slow, fluttering your lashes to lock in the deal. It’s near 10 now, and you don’t want to be yawning when you meet Johnny tomorrow. You have a feeling the man in front of you could keep you up all night if you let him.

John pulls your chair into his until your thighs are slotted in between each other like puzzle pieces. “Got any plans tonight?” You shake your head no, pressing your leg into his own. The harsh denim of his jeans scrapes against your well-worn ones, reminding you of how rugged he seems. You want to see how untamed he can be, and your panties dampen at the thought.

“Well, John,” you overemphasize the last syllable of his name to make sure he’s paying attention. “My hotel is across the street if you need to expand your London knowledge. Really give you that local aura.” His thumb grazes your knee, stroking against the grain pattern. “Sounds good t’ me, sweetheart. Let’s give it a go.”

–

Few thoughts:

m'eudail - my darling, my dear

The base is on the outskirts of London but the hotel is in the city because I said so.

I don’t know anything about London football, Arsenal was the first team that showed up. Thanks google

This was all build up but the next chapter will have some smut! 

This is more for a plot based audience so here’s my AO3 if you’d like to subscribe

Comment if you want to be tagged 🙂

[ryuzakemo128]

MDNI 18+ Omegavere

Note: This is my first try. If it sucks let me know.

Word count: 1705

You were not an alpha, you were certainly were no quivering omega, and you are not even a fucking beta. What in the name of a metaphorical god are you? With no conclusive, definitive answers to who or what you are. You are left to wander the expanse of earth. 

You have a sniper rifle with the initials of your name faded away. Scratched off by your own hand. Dubbed the lone wanderer. As you were often seen by military packs alone. No pack. No, nothing at your side. Did it matter to you? Not really. You were fine. Right?

Things were different when you were adamant in sewing the wound on your leg by yourself. “Don’t like it? Then…… Then you can fuck off.” you growled. Your fingertips worming their way to take the bullet from your leg. After the bullet was finally removed after several messy, painstaking minutes?

You dosed your wound in rubbing alcohol and hissed. But continued to stitch your own wound up. Contemplating whether to put in staples as well to keep the wound from ripping open again. As you finished up, firmly wrapping the bandage in place and thinking of what move to make.

You looked at your digital watch, five hours until sundown and five hours until you have to find somewhere safe enough to sleep. Limping to an abandoned office or one which looked to be in disuse. You weren’t going to let anyone catch you again. Not like last time, either. 

The screeching of the metal on concrete too familiar for your ears, you found a storage closet and shifted the blankets around to hide inside. Falling asleep to avoid hunger building inside your stomach. The cool metal digging into your body in combination to the thin woollen blankets lulled you. 

Lulled you straight into a slumber. An uneasy slumber. But slumber all the same. Hoping the gunshots in the distance would cover the quiet purrs coming from you, your lips and the office which is usually empty at this time of day. Things were soon to get far worse now. 

Things always tend to get worse before they even get the chance to get better. Life fucks you over and leaves you for the vultures to pick at your corpse. Always the victim. Never the victor. Thus, when you escaped the last pack who tried to claim you by force?

You learned to fight, to shoot, throw a knife and to hunt other animals. Living the high life, right? What more could you ask for? Home? Stability? A pack? A family? Ha! That shit was for Aphas, betas and omegas. You had survived this long on your own, hadn't you?

But what about the scent? Your scent? What about it? It's faint, growing stronger every second, it was your time. But you weren’t ready for it. To be fair, you have never been ‘ready’ for its arrival. And you certainly weren’t ready for it to happen now of all times. 

The heat of your core right up to the tightness in your abdomen. Your heat is coming. Fucking perfect. In the middle of a fucking war zone and your heat comes in while you’re injured. The closet wasn’t going to cut it anymore. You needed somewhere better to hide. Now.

Quickly moving, you grabbed your bone knife, your bag, your sniper rifle. You limped your way out of the closet. The sun is setting. You know what that brings? The hounds of Deadlock. The alphas of task force 141. If you could smell them? Then they already smelt you. 

They claimed stray omegas like they were kings of the fucking world, and anyone who had a problem with that?  Well, they'd just blow their fucking heads off. That's what alphas did. But you? You weren’t going to tango with alphas. A death sentence wrapped inside a twisted hand basket case.

You rarely go into heat. As far as you know, it is quite rare for you to get into heat. The medication you took prevented it from showing. Always taking it two days before one came close to showing. Here you are with your large med bottle empty. No warning.

Like your pathetic, absent deadbeat of a father, you hoped you would not have to see it happen to you. The scent grew stronger still, a sweet coppery tang uniquely yours and yours alone. Panic rushed through you, your body and your senses. Urging, willing, forcing yourself to move faster.

Stumbling into the hallway, moving to the medical room three rooms away from the office you forced yourself to hide in three hours prior. Checking your wristwatch habitually. Two hours until midnight comes knocking on your door. Two more hours until your heat comes in full swing. Only two hours. 

Pushing the barrel of your gun into the door. Forcing your way into the medical room, the smell of clinic grade medical rubbing alcohol assaulted your senses. You didn’t have the patience to be slow and steady like you would have wanted. Not with the impending danger at your heels. 

Shoving a chair underneath the door handle to prevent someone from coming in while you stocked up on antibiotics, clean bandages, painkillers, antiseptic, and any other kind of medical supplies you thought were important for your needs. All of them. Shoved into your backpack. You weren’t going anywhere without them.

With your scent growing increasingly stronger. You worried immensely about them being able to kick down the door and drag you away from there by force. If they found you, you would be as good as theirs. Fucked up leg and all. It didn’t matter that you were in there.

You paused, standing at the door, listening for movement, footsteps down the hall. Listening for the sturdy combat boots to come marching right past you, hoping the room’s medical grade antiseptic and bleach would be strong enough to cover your heat. Your scent. The sticky fluid urging to come out.

Yet you heard nothing. It was silent. Too quiet. Suspiciously silent even. You knew better than to let it conquer your sense of self-preservation. You came too far to let yourself get taken again. You had to wait this one out. No matter how long it took or how hard.

Waiting felt like agony, felt like nails on a chalkboard, every second passing did nothing for your anxiety. The windows were covered to prevent flashlights, helicopter lights and other unwelcome visitors from peaking inside the medical room. Your breaths grew shallower, your stomach getting tighter, and your heat is here.

Your body temperature rising to an unbearable, flow of burning heat. Biting down on your thick leather belt to muffle the sounds coming from your lips. The sound of window glass breaking, shattering as you hid in the medical shower underneath the cold water and away from the door’s window. 

Your grimy, sweaty, dirty clothes removed and left into a bath of white vinegar soaking in a plastic tub. As you used the surgical scrub to clean yourself with. You hoped if you cleaned your clothes with vinegar, soaked it inside it and let it stew within the white vinegar.

Silently hoping by time morning came around your clothes would be dried, clean and ready to wear again for the new day. Trapped inside this medium sized room until the first wave of your intense heat passed on by. It would become unmanageable quickly if you let it control you. 

Ghost sniffed the air, they weren’t going to get to you in time now were they? By the time this wave went through your body. You would be gone and the morning would arrive. And they’d have to smell your sweet scent after the fact. After you were long gone.

“If she hasn’t left yet, in the next six hours, the heat will pass, and she’s gonna be long gone by the time we’ve sniffed her out.” Ghost told Price. Taking another long whiff of the sweetest scent he’s ever smelt in a long time. You’re sweeter than he assumed.

“Are you even sure this stray isn’t an omega like the other we’ve found? What makes you so damn sure she’s not another one?” Price questioned Simon, his voice both gruff and sceptical of his comrade’s analysis over the situation. He had every right to be sceptical over this one.

“Her scent is sweet, tooth rotting levels of sweet, think candy bars and cotton candy. There’s some spice to it, like cinnamon or pumpkin spice in those pumpkin spice lattes Gaz loves drinking so much. It's faint. But it is most certainly there. IF you know where to find it.” 

“But what else makes her so special?” Gaz enquired, hinting at the desire to ascertain as to why General Shepherd sent them out here. His burning urge to know more was there whenever something unusual is brought to their attention. Regardless of how they have personally felt about it all. 

“Well for starters, she’s covering her tracks, if she’s smart enough to do that? Then she’s not an omega, she’s a fucking ghost, mate. If anything, you’d think she’s been out there longer than we’ve been in this shithole. This is her playing field, Gaz. Her prime hunting ground now.” Soap smirked, a grin from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat rather than an alpha wolf’s. 

Gaz pulled out the file with your photo printed onto the white page, “This her Ghost?” Gaz asked ghost for confirmation. He wouldn’t budge until his information, he looked into his own time. 

Ghost remembered you, the rancher hat you wore that day and the bandana hiding half your face from his eyes. Shooting him in the shoulder with a tracking bullet. “Put a tracking bullet into my shoulder with her sniper rifle. It took us two weeks to get it removed without it detonating and taking my arm with it. That’s not a move an omega would make, it’s a move done by professionals. And she is a fucking ghost, moving in time with her surroundings. She’s not a sitting duck for us to come and claim her, she’s a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, that one.”

[ghouljams]

Laying against Price's chest while he holds your legs open. Thick fingers spreading your drenched folds for his men to see as the rest of the 141 crowds close, voices overlapping.

"Can ah taste?"

"Look at it drip."

"Looser than I thought it'd be."

Price chuckling, the vibration of it shaking through your chest, his fingers dipping into your wet cunt to spread your hole for their inspection.

"You get to pick who goes first sweet'eart." He murmurs low in your ear. Though really you're choosing who goes second, Price already had his fill, had to make sure you were ready for the gleam in his boys eyes...

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141... "tell me you need me" and/or " I don't want you to stop"

Okay. Okay okay okay okay. When I first read this prompt, I genuinely thought I would write something really sweet and soft. But I also have free will. I am an independent individual. I make the choices here. Are they sweet? Yes. Are they soft? A bit. Is this mostly spice? Yes. Yes it is. I will not ask forgiveness.

Presented in four double drabbles.

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, non-descriptive sex, praise, fluff, established relationship, suggestive themes

Word Count: 800

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

John Price

“Say it, love. I want to hear you say it.”

Everything in you is buzzing. It is loud, as if a hive of bees dwells beneath your skin. Each touch John gives you is electric. A zing of pleasure that rockets outward until the tips of your fingers and toes tingle.

“You don’t play fair,” you whine, sinking against him, surrendering to his touch.

“Never do,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe.

You reach up to touch him, to hook your arm around the back of his neck. You need to anchor yourself before you fall over the edge. His fingers are expert things, moving in little circles between your legs. It is agony. And so very sweet.

John seizes your wrist. Brings your arm back to your side.

“No,” he says. “You can’t have that yet.”

“Why not?”

John’s lips brush against your throat. “Tell me you need me. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” He lightly bites. “Promise.”

You swallow hard. The words are forming, but they are only air. Slipping away with each stroke of his fingers.

John pauses. And that sets you off instantly.

“I need you, John,” you gasp.

“That’s my girl.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle’s fingers thread lightly through your hair. It’s a gentle touch. One that sends a shiver through you.

Your hands roam, touching everywhere. There is skin beneath your fingers. It is taut, slick with water from the shower. Kyle is warm too like a good blanket. You could wrap yourself up in him.

Kyle returns to your hair, working in the shampoo. You close your eyes and sink into the feeling. He has one arm around your waist as if you’ll run off.

“Don’t stop,” you moan. “That feels good.”

Kyle’s soft laugh comes from behind you, and then he guides you under the spray, washing away the shampoo.

“Need to get the rest of you,” he purrs, those strong hands of his grasping your waist, spinning you around to face him. “Where should I start first?”

He traces one finger along your jaw and down the side of your throat only to descend to collarbone and the curve of your breast. He goes lower. Lower still.

You grasp his wrist, arching into his touch.

“Here?” he asks with a smug smile.

You’re needy. And his hand between your legs is bliss.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you reply.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Oh. Fu—fuck, love. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Johnny groans loudly above you, his head tilted back in ecstasy. Behind you, the television is on but the sound is muted. It bathes the bedroom in a blueish glow. Johnny isn’t paying attention, and you’re not either.

You are settled between his legs, your mouth full of him.

This is a craving. A vice. Johnny is always the one giving. He loves to do it. Loves to shower you with affection and as much pleasure as you can handle. But you have the control now. You’re the one making him squirm. Making him writhe and whimper.

It’s lovely this feeling. The power is perfect.

No wonder Johnny loves doing this so much.

He groans again, the arm next to his side, fist clenched. His other hand rises, and tentatively brushes against your scalp. Johnny’s eyes are closed. You’re not sure if he even knows what he’s doing.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, almost absently, as if speaking to the air.

You continue. Tasting.

His hand against your scalp strengthens, fingers tangling in your hair. His grip is fierce.

“Don’t stop,” he repeats. “Don’t want you to stop.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“That’s not what you say. You know this, love.”

Simon grasps your chin between thumb and forefinger. He squeezes slightly, tipping upward. You are unable to look away. Unable to move. Those dark eyes with pale eyelashes drive a spear through your heart every time.

It’s maddening.

You lick your lips and Simon follows the movement. He examines your mouth, and then his thumb brushes against the underside of your bottom lip. It sends a little shiver through you. Simon is powerful. Strong. He could easily break you, and yet he can be so gentle.

“I’m not gonna ask again.” Simon draws you closer and leans forward as if to kiss you. He doesn’t though, simply holds there, awaiting an answer.

He won’t give you what you’re seeking just yet. Not until you say the magic words.

“Tell me you need me,” he murmurs.

That is all Simon wants. To be desired. To be needed. He loves to hear it from your lips, especially like now when the two of you are tangled in each other. Other times, it’s simple things like reaching something on the top shelf.

And you will tell him.

You always do.

“I need you, Simon.”

taglist:

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[milkyblxxd]

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

slasher!TF141 cw: blood, death, chasing, unconsensual touching, big bad men being scary, f!reader, vague and incomplete, barely edited

wanted to post this as a tester to see if this is something people would be interested in

๋࣭ ⭑⚝

Every breath burns. Your legs are moving on their own, desperately fleeing as flight completely overrides your nervous system. Tree branches whip into your face, but your brain can hardly register the stinging pain they bring. The darkness of the forest swallows you whole and refuses to release you from its jaws. The full moon mocks you as it dangles in the sky, peeking between the gaps of the evergreens - free of earthly horrors. 

It’s impossible to tell if it's blood, sweat, or tears running down your face. You don’t even know if it’s your own blood. Nausea violently twists your stomach, images of your friends' mangled bodies flashing through your mind. 

What was supposed to be a summer getaway to celebrate the end of finals ended up to be a nightmare. 

The warning signs were there. Dark figures lurking at the edges of the lake waved off as shadows playing tricks on your mind. Items disappearing or moving around (but you swear you brought that brand new yellow bathing suit - did you take my hairbrush from the bathroom?). Skin erupting into goosebumps as you try to sunbathe because it just feels like someone is watching you - but your friends brushed off your concerns. 

You just need to relax - you’re too wound up!

 I don’t see anything…how much have you had to drink?

You’re gonna freak everyone out if you keep being all weird - 

What else were you supposed to do? Walk 10 miles to the nearest gas station, hitch a ride back home all because the woods are creeping a city girl like you out? 

A root catches your bare foot, sending you face first into the ground. In the attempt to brace yourself your body twists the opposite direction, a shooting pain that travels from your ankle to your spine makes you heave. You can’t help but lay there for a moment as the pain and exhaustion seep into your bones. A patch of moonlight catches your eye as you gasp, short breaths cutting through the hum of the forest. You don't stop your eyes from fluttering shut.

Hopefully your friends will forgive you for not getting away…

Thundering footsteps and muffled shouts snap you back to reality. Gritting your teeth, you claw your fingers into the earth. Like hell you’re gonna die tonight. Adrenaline forces you up onto your feet as you find the strength to move. Hiding is your best option, if you can just hide until daylight, find your way to the nearest road and limp until you can find anyone - you can survive, you can survive - 

The hope that sparked within you was snuffed out just as quickly as it was ignited - with what you could only describe as a brick wall bulldozing into you. You’re sent flying to the ground, wind completely knocked out of your lungs. Before you can even recover, a heavy weight is straddling over your waist and manhandling you onto your stomach. Coughing, you can only weakly struggle against the iron grip around both of your wrists, the feeling of a rope twisting and cutting into your skin as you’re restrained. 

A leather clad hand grips the hair at the base of your skull and tugs, a cry slipping from your lips as you’re forced to arch your spine to relieve the sting. The light from a phone screen being shoved into your face is blinding. You can only see the screen for a second - but the grotesque image makes you freeze. Blood and dirt covers your face, trails of clean skin left behind as your tears cut through the grime - but what was behind you was the real terror. The red of the skull mask your assailant wore almost perfectly matches the shade of the blood smeared on your body.

The sound of the camera shutter goes off.

Your head is suddenly being shoved back into the dirt, heavy hand pressing into your wet cheek as you sob. The leather is strangely cool against your hot skin as he strokes underneath your eye, cleaning up your tears in an act of…comfort? 

The man shushes you and mumbles incoherently in a thick accent, muffled through the mask he wears as he huffs.

“Couldnae let yah get away-”

“-sweet little bonnie, don’ cry-”

“-made me so hard chasing yah like that, fuck-”

You can feel something hard pressing into your ass when what sounds like a radio is being activated.

“Got our little lamb.”

[rileyslibrary]

I love your sense of humour and have cracked up at your stories multible times. Maby you can find some inspiration in this:

Price ordering the team to an etiquette training so they know how to behave in case they have to go under cover in a more "fancy" environment (or the upcoming mission may require something like this). I'm thinking about Ghosts "sausage fingers" from the origami bit on a delicate litte cake fork... Or him needing to *converse* with someone.

I think putting these hard soldiers in a situation that's out of their comfort zone is always a fun read!

Thank you for letting us enjoy your fantastic writing! <3

Be gentle, man!

Relationship: TF141 x F!Reader with a potential Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader (platonic?) on the horizon. Also there’s an OC in the story.

Word Count: 1,598 (approx. 7-8 min reading time)

Notes: I began writing this last night as a joke, and couldn’t stop. Thank you SO MUCH for inspiring me to do this, anon. It’s a crackfic btw. (There’s a part 2 now here)

———————————————————————

The training room feels out of place compared to its usual purpose. Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the once-busy gym has been transformed into a classroom for an unlikely lesson—manners, of all things. Table manners, to be precise.

“Talk about Fitness Vs. Finesse,” Soap whispers, and you playfully nudge his side. The comment reaches Gaz’s ears, and he lets out a chuckle. Yet, Price’s death stare reclaims your attention and brings you back to focus.

You all sit around a long, polished mahogany table atop the gym’s boxing ring, admiring the delicate china and crystal glassware set before you. It reminds you of Aunt Claire’s preserved collection, which rarely leaves its cabinet. Lady Theodora, your etiquette instructor, assures you that each piece serves a purpose, and you will put them all to use. Every. Single. One of them.

Lady Theodora, the epitome of timeless confidence, moves gracefully around the table. Her silver hair is slicked back, framing a face that exudes years of wisdom and experience. Her Bordeaux-coloured shawl billows behind her as she glides, catching the gentle breeze her steps create. She pauses behind Price’s chair and reveals the reason behind today’s masterclass: an undercover operation.

“In the world of espionage, where appearances can mean the difference between life and death,” she says in a soft voice, “the art of etiquette becomes a weapon, a shield, and,” she concludes, resting her hand on Price’s shoulder, “your ticket to survival.”

“Bollocks.”

All eyes are drawn to the far end of the table, where a shadowy figure prefers to go unnoticed but isn’t afraid to express doubts. The only visible sign of life is a hand fidgeting with the butterknife.

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.” Lady Theodora says, and Ghost leans forward, revealing his unmasked—and visibly annoyed—face.

“We’re soldiers, not knights,” he claims. “Teaching us how to use all these,” he says, motioning to the various utensils before him, “is a waste of time, both yours and mine.”

Lady Theodora regards him gently as if looking at a child throwing a tantrum. She smiles and walks behind him, gripping the back of his chair.

“You seem quite certain of your own competence and doubtful of mine, Mr Riley,” she says, amused.

Ghost tilts his head to the side, partially facing her.

“With all due respect, Lady Theodora,” he replies, “I don’t believe you fully comprehend how such missions operate.”

Lady Theodora lets a light chuckle as she moves closer to Ghost’s face.

“My record of 25 confirmed kills, three of which were accomplished with a butterknife like the one in your hand, might suggest otherwise,” she admits. “Now, would you kindly move your seat forward, Lieutenant? I’ll show you how to act like a proper gentleman.”

Ghost’s Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows hard. He returns the butterknife to its original position and pushes his chair forward with Lady Theodora’s help.

Gaz clears his throat and looks at Soap.

“Imagine her dinner parties,” he whispers so Price doesn’t hear him, “they must be perfectly executed.”

“Bet she makes a killer soufflé,” Soap whispers back.

You look at them and mutter, “You two are beyond help.” Unfortunately, it’s your own comment that catches Price’s attention this time, and he gives you a stern warning to behave.

“Let’s get started,” Lady Theodora says. “Projecting confidence and grace requires proper posture: sit up straight, shoulders back, and imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head.”

You all adjust your posture, attempting to imitate Lady Theodora. Ghost used to a more relaxed posture, finds it difficult to maintain the required formality. His broad shoulders hunch forward, and he struggles to keep his legs straight.

“Excellent,” Lady Theodora remarks, catching Ghost’s struggle but choosing not to comment further. “Next, we shall delve into the art of dining. Each utensil on the table has a specific purpose, and it is essential to use them correctly.”

She points to the array of utensils laid out before you. Multiple forks, knives, and spoons of various sizes and shapes make the sight overwhelming.

“The outermost utensils are for the earlier courses, while the inner ones are for the later ones.” Lady Theodora says, “It’s like unwrapping a gift, one course at a time.”

You all nod and place the napkin on your lap to begin the process.

Ghost’s ingrained military habits take over when food is served, causing him to devour it quickly. He shovels forkfuls of food into his mouth without looking up and barely pausing to chew.

“Mr Riley,” Lady Theodora addresses Ghost, who shoots his head up to look at her. “I understand the military inclination to eat fast, but we must remember that the food isn’t going anywhere. Take your time, savour each bite, and enjoy your meal, please.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” Ghost mumbles with his mouth full.

Lady Theodora raises an eyebrow. “Mr Riley, it is impolite to speak with your mouth full,” she reminds him. “Please, swallow your food before continuing.”

Ghost swallows and clears his throat. “Apologies, Lady Theodora,” he mutters.

Lady Theodora smiles and nods at Ghost’s response. “Very well, Lieutenant Riley,” she says. “Remember, dining is about more than just the food; it’s also about the company and the experience.”

As the training continues, you witness Soap’s attempts to initiate a proper conversation, only to subconsciously bring up military strategies. Gaz, on the other hand, struggles with small talk and, when asked about his hobbies, blurts out his love of explosions.

“Kerosene is one hell of a—”

“No kerosene talk on the table, Sergeant,” Lady Theodora interrupts. “How about we talk about something more appropriate, like, for example, what did you do today?”

“You’re not going to like it.” He replies.

“Did it involve kerosene?” She asks and receives multiple excited nods from Gaz.

Ghost forgets about his napkin while using the finger bowl and instinctively flicks his hands to dry them. Droplets of water scatter across the table, and Lady Theodora steps forward with a calm smile. She retrieves his napkin and hands it to him. “Remember, Lieutenant,” she whispers, “the napkin is your ally.”

Throughout this ordeal, Price seems to be the only one who already has a natural fluidity in his movements. Like he already knows about etiquette.

You compliment his impeccable manners, but Lady Theodora intervenes before Price can respond.

“Oh, that’s because the Captain already received my services a few years ago,” she reveals, winking.

Price, caught off guard, coughs and sputters, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After regaining his composure, he clears his throat and grins.

“Yes, well, Lady Theodora’s guidance has been, um, invaluable,” he manages to say and lowers his gaze to his plate. Gaz raises an eyebrow, and Soap gives a sly smile.

With the etiquette training completed, Price gracefully positions his utensils on his plate and folds his napkin. Lady Theodora hands him a file stack, which he distributes to you.

“These files contain detailed background information for your assigned roles,” he explains. “Study them carefully; familiarise yourselves with the personas you will embody, and don’t worry; with Lady Theodora’s help, you’ll have plenty of time to learn how to carry yourselves.”

He watches you all as you take hold of your respective files, scanning the pages and absorbing the details that will shape your performances.

“Gaz, within those pages, you’ll uncover the roadmap to shape your tech persona, along with essential contacts and valuable industry insights,” Price declares.

“A startup entrepreneur,” Gaz mutters and nods, “nice.”

“Soap,” Price continues, “your file contains the lineage and history of an alleged oil tycoon family; you’ll assume the identity of their sole son and heir to the business.”

“Why do I get the oil-moneyed spoiled brat?” Soap protests, “Gaz is the one obsessed with fossil fuel!”

Price looks at Lady Theodora, silently begging her to take the lead.

“Focus on embodying the demeanour of an heir, Sergeant MacTavish,” she comforts Soap. “Acquiring in-depth knowledge of the business is not a top priority now.”

Finally, Price shifts his focus to you and Ghost. His voice softens, and a smile appears on his lips.

“As for the two of you,” he says, “your assignment requires a convincing portrayal of a couple.”

You and Ghost exchange a brief look before returning your focus to the files in your hands.

“Laswell will provide you with a forged marriage certificate and photos of your alleged relationship,” Price continues. “The documents will serve as tangible proof if the need to validate your connection arises.”

“Any chance to let us know who or what we’re after?” Gaz asks, and Price shakes his head.

“Baby steps, Sergeant; we’re waiting for Laswell to give us more intel,” he explains, “but as far as we know, we’re dealing with people who can buy their way out of some very sketchy shit.”

“Language, Captain.” Lady Theodora reminds him.

“Please accept my sincere apologies, Theodora,” he says and turns to Gaz. “I meant sketchy things, Sergeant.”

As they continue discussing the mission, your mind wanders on the latest information. Ghost’s partner? How? You look at the file and then back at Ghost. You see Lady Theodora walking behind Ghost’s chair and leaning close to his ear. She looks at you and whispers to him.

“I told you, Lieutenant,” she says, “I’ll mould you into a proper gentleman.”

Ghost turns to face you as well. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lady Theodora,” he replies.

But Lady Theodora smiles and touches his shoulder, “Oh, you’ll see, Mr Riley—you’re my gift to unwrap, one course at a time.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

London calling

Summary; Price is invited to a military event, you're his plus one. A night of socialising and teasing leads to a hot night back at the hotel.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Explicit

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word; 12.5k

Warnings; alcohol consumption (drink in moderation), SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (m-receving), dirty talk, p-in-v, d/s themes, unprotected sex, captain!kink

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

A/N: Where's the nearest wall I can bang my head against? I need this man so bad and that's why you get 12k upon my return💀😭

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

If not for the Christmas lights dangling almost in line with your window, the quickly diminishing daylight soon would've shone with its absence within the room. Dusk was approaching, if not already present, but not with its rosy summer glory, but a gloomy and yellowy-grey sky of early winter. 

Things were still a scale of grey and dark rather than white. Even though some stray white flakes had fallen when you arrived yesterday, they'd melted even before hitting the pavement. And, if it had been cold enough, pedestrians still would've trambled it into mush, and cars would've melted it with their heat.

You put on the small pendant earrings you'd brought as you glanced out the window and down at the people mulling about on the streets. 

Most had shopping bags in their hands, everyone seemingly in a hurry. You didn't need to see their faces whip left and right to find the next store they could steer towards. The ant-like stir of people was enough to know Christmas shopping was in full swing.

A heavy breath escaped you, your eyes flittering back to the mirror. 

You ran your hands down the fabric wrapped around your body. The material felt cool beneath your sweaty palms as you tried to brush out any wrinkles from the dress. Impossible, seeing how you'd gotten it from the tailor this morning and barely touched it inside its casing.

You took another deep breath, one hand raising until your palm rested over the centre of your chest, fingers draped over your bared clavicles. There's a prickling sensation beneath your hand, resembling the crowd's irregular movement outside. If you concentrated enough, you could almost feel how it vibrated, causing your heart to do an uncomfortable double beat that quickly pushed the air from your lungs before you instinctively inhaled.

"Not goin' to faint on me, are you, love?" Your eyes flicker sideways, landing on John as he emerges from the hotel room's bathroom.

"Might just now", you say breathlessly for an entirely different reason than the edginess causing the prickly sensation in your body. 

The man now making his way towards you is the same one you travelled to London with. And yet, there's no jacket ladened with a furry lapel warming him from the chilly temperatures, no beanie atop his head to shield him from the consistent gusts of wind. Now, he's dressed smart. 

Whatever event he's invited to is military in nature. So, while John mentioned that it was a black-tie event for civilians, it was ceremonial for him, meaning you would see him in his formal military uniform. But nothing had prepared you for how regal he now looked in his dark blue suit, polished black leather crossbelt with shoes to match, and the row of medals proudly displayed on his chest. The only missing thing was the matching hat pressed close to his body beneath his arm.

"Flatterin' an old man?" Your gaze locks with his again from having roved over his body, noticing the creases in the corner of his eyes as he stops beside you.

"You deserve every ounce of flattery when looking like that". You turn to John just as he settles one of his hands on the small of your back. In return, you raise your fingers, barely brushing them against the underside of his chin as you lean up and kiss him.

"Mhm, don't look too shabby yourself", he mumbles against you as you pull away from the brief exchange.

"Thank you". You turn towards the mirror again, eyeing yourself. "I didn't know if it was too much". 

"Could never be". 

You'd meant it to be a quick look, but your attention stayed on your reflection, eyes flittering over your form. 

There were a few beats of silence until John stepped up behind you, the hand previously on your back sliding to accommodate the new position. You follow his larger frame in the mirror, simultaneously feeling and seeing how his hands settle on your hip.

"Nervous?" Those blue eyes meet yours in the reflective surface, knowing. You release yet another sigh, head ducking momentarily as you lean into the sturdy bulk of John at your back.

"Yeah", you breathe, the admittance not the first of its kind. 

When the news had been brought up that John needed to attend some military event in London, you hadn't blinked twice. However, when he mentioned the invitation inquired about a plus one upon acceptance, and he'd asked you, you'd looked at him wide-eyed.

"There's no need to worry, love". John dips his head, kissing the juncture of your neck. "You know nothing is expected from you".

Your shoulders slump, hands seeking his as he wraps his arm around your waist. The weight was a pleasant pressure around your mid-drift while his skin was warm beneath your hand.

"I know, but-". You bite your lip, shrugging timidly, eyes meeting John's in the mirror. "It's a military event".

"Nervous 'bout meetin' some colleagues of mine?"

"Not just any type of colleagues", you mumble, making John let out a gentle chuckle.

"You get along great with the lads".

"That's when we're at the pub, not a formal occasion with a lot more of the same kind of people around". You huff in protest. Though Ghost wouldn't attend the event, Johnny and Kyle thankfully would. So, while John won't be the only familiar face in the crowd, that's still only three out of everyone invited.

"I just don't feel like I fit the picture". You shrug once, gaze dropping to watch you play with John's fingers. Your fingertips trail over his knuckles, then up and down his digits. Only when John interwines your hands does your motion stop and attention return to him.

"You'll fit because you'll be there with me". John's gaze was intense as he spoke, voice a steady, deep reassurance. "The lads nor I fancy these occasions, but we need to attend nonetheless. Your presence will undoubtedly make it more pleasant for me, at least".

You smile, craning your neck so you no longer watch him through the mirror but look up at him. John dips his chin in return.

"You're good at motivational speeches".

There's a chuckle before he nudges his nose against yours, moving closer. "Gotten good at 'em through the years". Your chuckle is sealed into your mouth as he slots his lips with yours. 

Your muscles relax as you lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours and soothe you just like a warm blanket. Even when you part, you linger within each other's presence.

John was the first to pull away entirely, his eyes falling from yours as he did. You watch him take a step back, keeping one hand on your hip as he lets his gaze rove over your body. 

"God, you're gorgeous", he mutters, taking a full once over before those blues lock with yours again. 

You bite your lip, a smile breaking through nonetheless. "Would hope so. You helped me pick, after all".

"Anythin' to make my missus feel pretty". Your smile widens even more.

John had known you were nervous about the event, reluctant to even agree to be his plus one at first. So, he'd done everything to make you comfortable. 

When you'd had half a breakdown while digging through your closet, only to find nothing appropriate to wear, John sat with you as you looked at dresses online. After seeing nothing that felt right there either, he'd booked a weekend trip to London to visit the tailor he usually entrusted when his formal attire needed a sow-up. 

It had been your first trip together, strolling through the city, having dinners, playing tourist despite not really sightseeing. Though one of the days, between walking and dining, you'd visited the tailor's atelier. 

For once, John only sat down on one of the plush armrests; no need to be attended to. Instead, it was your time in the spotlight, the storage manager ushering you to the racks of dresses, instructing you to pick whatever caught your eye to try on. 

None of the dresses were especially embellished. Still, they weren't simple but elegant. 

You'd switched between examining the dresses, showing John to get his opinion when you found any you liked, to testing them. Although he didn't complain once about you taking your time, chatting to the owner with an old familiarity, even you were tired when you found a dress that was just right. 

However, the sluggishness only brought on by trying on clothes disappeared the second the owner had taken your measurements and you stood by the pay desk. A deposit was needed for the dress, and the rest would be paid on the day you picked it up. But the pre-payment had been enough to nearly make you baulk and glance at John to see if he was okay with spending so much. However, the man at your side hadn't even blinked at the number.

After you'd bid the tailor goodbye and exited the store, you did ask about it. Though not unfamiliar with John's gentlemanly fashion of paying for things, how confidently he answered left you at a loss for an answer, only able to shake your head with a smile when he offered his arm to you. 'I want to, love. It's the least I could do when draggin' you to this spectacle. Now lead me wherever you can find some jewellery matchin' the dress".

"Would you help your girl feel even prettier?" You hold up the necklace bought to fit the dress. God, he'd spoiled you rotten for this event.

"My pleasure". John threw his hat on the bed, overtaking the jewellery from you. With a slight move of his head, he signalled you to turn around. 

Despite facing the mirror again, your eyes were cast down as you tipped your head slightly forward. The glittering metal links suddenly pass your vision as he raises it over your head, the necklace falling over your collarbones as he lowers it. Feeling his fingers brush against your skin, not long after, a barely audible click indicates the piece of jewellery is secured around your neck.

When you raise your head, your eyes immediately fall to the necklace, your fingers trailing over it. A smile slowly shifts your lips upwards as you follow the pretty drop down your sternum. The gentle bow of your lips remains as you turn, craning your neck as you pout your lips, insisting that John meets you in a kiss. And he's never one to turn you down. 

"Thank you", you offer after the sweet peck of gratitude, to which he hums in return. 

You feel how his blue gaze follows you when moving towards the desk that became your makeup table for the night. Even more so when you reach for the lipstick you'd saved to apply until now. 

Crouching slightly so your face aligns with the much smaller mirror on the wooden desktop, you carefully outline your lips before colouring the rest until an even shade coats them.

"What do you think?" You say, straightening up again. As you press your lips together, you put on the lid and place the lipstick in your purse, all in the motion of turning to face the man almost transfixed with you. "Thought the red matched those". You motion with your finger to the ribbons, half-red and half-other colours, attached to his medals.

"It does". You parry the hand reaching for you with a shift to the side, knowing that tone of voice from John would only mess up your makeup. 

He arches a brow at your move, but you only arch both of yours in return as you put your clutch beneath your arm.

"We'll be late", you claim. Even so, you can't deny you enjoy John's attention and the look in his eyes. He makes you feel pretty, desired. It completely overhauls your stomach's previous knots.

Deciding to tease him just the slightest, you pop your index finger much more dramatically than needed into your mouth, pursing your lips around the digit before pulling it out slowly, all whilst keeping eye contact with the man watching you. You smile at John after your finger leaves your mouth, now not afraid of red smearing your teeth thanks to the ring of colour around the middle of your finger.

"Goodness, women", he groans, hand trailing over his lower face. You can only giggle as you pluck a tissue from the box on the desk, rubbing off the lipstick as you slip around John. "Could think you want to be late". 

You throw the paper into the bin beside the dresser as you pass it to the short hall leading to the door, flashing a much more satisfied smile over his reaction than previously graced your lips. 

"Good things come to those who are patient. You just have to wait until after the event for me to paint something else a pretty red".

You catch another deep, grumbly sound coming from him, your previous display more than enough to conjure precisely the picture you insinuated.

As you turn forward, you chuckle again, plucking your heels from the shoe stand built into the dresser. What you hadn't anticipated was for your shoes to be plucked from your grip seconds later and to find John standing close behind you with his retrieved hat under his arm.

You send him a questioning look that he ignores as he kneels. Unable to do anything else, you shift to rest your back against the dresser and follow along when he taps his kneecap. 

You raise your foot so the front pad rests against John's knee before he gingerly grabs the back of your ankle, and the pump is slipped on. He gives you time to find the balance on your now-heeled foot as he drops it before repeating the process. However, before letting you go this time, he raises your foot just slightly as he dips his head, kissing the lowest part of your shin, all the while looking up at you. 

"Gonna hold you to your words, love", he declares, dropping your foot to the ground.

You swallow, going from looking down to up as he rises from the floor. "Don't mind if you do".

"Good", he kisses your cheek, heeding your desire for him not to accidentally, or very consciously, destroy your makeup. "Let us be on the way", he says, grabbing your coats from the racks. 

***

The venue was beautiful: an old building with pillared walls, a second floor acting as a running balcony overlooking the ground floor and high vaulted glass roofs that stare into the dark sky above. You'd only looked down from the stunning decoration and lighting when you ascended the stairs to the main floor, lifting your dress to not catch on the fabric.

You don't know how long ago that had been, but since then, you and John haven't been given much time alone. 

Each and every minute, the man who either offered his arm for you to hold or kept a hand on the small of your back introduced you to someone he knew in one way or another. Although politely greeting them with either a nod or a handshake, there were too many names and too fleeting conversations for you to remember any of them.

Only now did you get the chance to breathe. But rather than feel at ease for the momentary respite, you'd hastily moved from the midst of the crowd to the edge of the room where the table of aperitifs and drinks was, a plate filled with bite-sized food in your hands.

You would've shared them with John if he hadn't been whisked away a few moments prior. Albeit he'd been reluctant to leave your side, even when it was some affiliate from the U.S. who asked for a few minutes of his time, you'd reassured him it was fine. 

You'd told yourself you could survive at least a few minutes without John and that the buffet could keep you company enough. And though you weren't as uncomfortable as you previously thought you would be, the thought of socialising with someone you'd either met already or not at all felt... awkward.

You wouldn't call it shyness. Far from it, you were curious about some of those you'd met who sported black smokings, cocktail dresses or gowns. But, out of those civilians you'd met so far, most of them were not like you. 

Your sole connection to this event, to the military, was John. The other considered civilians had seemingly much closer ties, most acting as private corporate sponsors for military-tied causes through funds or services. While finding it interesting, you didn't know how much of the stuff was confidential, and you would much rather not make a scene just for some small talk. Neither did many have a plus one you could initiate a conversation with. So, the buffet became your company.

Your gaze travels over the mass of people as you plop the last canapé into your mouth. And as if the universe decided to be kind, you spot a familiar face lingering at the other edge of the room. 

With all the new people John had introduced you to and recently also had to part from you to speak with, exhaustion was starting to creep up on you, along with the feeling of being lost in a crowd of still most unfamiliar people. Hence, you quickly discard your plate to instead grab two flutes of champagne before moving straight across the floor.

With people moving almost sluggishly, if at all, around the room, it was no wonder a pair of brown eyes combined with a friendly smile welcoming you met your long before you joined the very man whose attention you'd gotten.

"Kyle". The man nods in response to his name as you get close enough to greet him. The silent hello looks incredibly more formal while dressed similarly to John. "How are you?" You slow until stopping before him.

"Good as can be", his voice was light, making your brows raise upon the humour in his tone. He was the first of John's closest circle you'd seen tonight; Johnny had yet to arrive. Even so, by the looks of it, the Brit looked like he rather wouldn't be here at all.

Kyle carried himself straight-backed, faint smile in the corner of his mouth, one hand behind his back while the other rested along his side. And yet, despite the at-eased posture and expression upon his features, something told you it was entirely for show.

You chuckle, handing him the flute you'd brought. "Yeah, not really my setting either", you admit in a low voice. 

Kyle cocks his head, smile widening as he shifts on his feet, accepting the drink you'd stretched forth. "What suggest I don't fancy this?".

"Don't know, but something about the all too delighted expression gave me a hint", you reply, sarcasm lacing your tone, on par with the amount that previously laden his sentence. That's the first time you see Kyle's shoulders drop somewhat as he chuckles, his posture less flawless as he looks more relaxed than previously.

You smile at his reaction, stepping forward to stand beside rather than in front of him. His brown gaze followed you as you did.

"Why ain't this your kind of setting then?". Your eyes fall on Kyle just as he shifts to look over the crowd.

"Too many of the older generation has gotten stuck and too comfortable behind their desks to remember what it's like out on the field. The rest are mostly snobs who think money and chest candy is our motivation". You bite your lip to stop the laughter rising from your throat at his quick remark. "Why isn't this your setting then? You fit in with the dress".

"Calling me a snob?" You raise a playful brow, a smile tugging the corner of your mouth.

"That you're here, talking to me, says enough", Kyle retorts, eyes falling on you. 

You chuckle, but it turns into a sigh when your gaze breaks from his, fleeting over the crowd. "It just makes me nervous, I guess".

"Why?"

"Well, for the same reason as when I first met you guys". You glance at him. "Just feels like I don't fit in with all of you military people, especially now, at this event".

"Didn't do too bad of an impression on us back then. Especially not Price". You duck your head, a bashful smile bowing your lips that's still present when you look at the man at your side again.

"Perhaps not, but as you said, many here are high-ranking military personnel or snobs that are more difficult to get along with than you lot".

"Cheers to that", he chuckles, raising his glass of champagne. You mimicked his movement and raised your flute in a small tip, you both taking a sip from your drinks as they fell from their elevated position.

Your eyes glide over the crowd, and as if it's second nature, you search for John again. While having tried to spot him previously, you hadn't been successful. Although this time around, you find him.

"He's good at that". You observe John as he talks to the same man who'd whisked him away previously, though now they're also joined by a woman.

Your comment pulls Kyle's attention in the same direction as yours.

He releases a huff not soon after, the reaction making your brows arch and your head turn towards him. His brown eyes flicker down to lock with yours, a humorous glint in them. 

"The old man is good at handling the higher-ups and other connections. That's why he does most of the talk for us". His eyes flicker sideways, probably towards the group you talked about, before they return to you. "Doesn't mean he despises it any less than the rest of us in most cases".

You turn to look at John, eyes narrowing as you closely watch him interact with the man and women. While he seems formal when talking to the man and more cordial with the women, he still doesn't seem relaxed. His posture is stiff, one arm bent behind his back as if wanting to pose fittingly to the occasion, his other hand clutching a champagne flute. Untouched.

Pissy excuse of fizzy water, he'd said once you asked if he wanted to share an old bottle you found in your apartment from god knows when, but acceptable enough that it wouldn't taste like the piss John labelled it as.  

"That's why he brought you". Kyle's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "He's going to use you as a scapegoat the moment it's deemed enough for him to be here". You bit your lip to quiet your snicker, shaking your head.

"He isn't", you argue, only partly believing it yourself.

"Oh, he will". Your head turned towards the new but familiar voice, finding Johnny, dressed similarly to both John and Kyle, approaching from the crowd. "Don't put it past him". 

You immediately split into a grin. "Johnny, how are you?" You step forward, engulfing the man in a hug, getting anchored to the Scot's side as his arm remains over your shoulders.

"Think Gaz gave ya a brief 'nough for us", the Scotsman formally greets the young Brit with a raise of his brows and an upward nod of his head as he directs his attention towards him. Kyle only reciprocated the motion, not answering his question. "Ya gonna drink that, lass?" 

You shake your head fondly, Johnny taking the flute of champagne from your hand as you give it to him. 

"Drunkard", you mumble, rolling your eyes as he gulps down your drink, only to provide you with a cheeky wink when he's emptied the glass.

"Where's Price?" You're about to answer that he's socialising. But you don't get the opportunity before a voice cuts in.

"Savin' my missus from a drunk Scotsman, it seems". Your head snaps towards John's voice, a smile unfolding as you see him nearing your group while collective chuckles emerge from the men around you. "Easy on the drinks tonight, Sergeant". John's eyes switch from yours as he directs his attention to Johnny, the quirk of his lips now reaching his eyes.

"All stereotypes ain't true, Captain. Besides-". The Scot lets go of you, his arm falling as he steps to the side, giving John room to step into the semi-circle. As if you never left his side, his arm naturally falls around your waist, anchoring you to his broad frame again. "-can't get drunk on this, know it yaself", Johnny chuckles.

John hums in agreement, swirling the golden liquid in his flute with the hand hanging by his side. You tap his flank, and he looks down at you. As you motion for the glass with a nod, he gives it to you without any protest, probably delighted to get rid of the drink.

You happily sip it, your throat not feeling as tight anymore when John's with you and you're surrounded by familiar faces.

"How's the evening been then, Captain?" John shifts to look at Kyle.

"Not too shabby, lot of talkin' as always", he says. "Where the two of you been then?" His eyes shift from his fellow Brit to Johnny, who's standing with the hand not clutching the empty glass in his pocket.

"You know how London traffic is". Kyle offers with a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not complaining about it this time around though".

"Only means you need to stay longer", John huffs, arm tightening around you. You can't help but shoot the younger Brit a look, an amused smile barely hidden beneath the rim of your glass. He cocks his head slightly, an unspoken 'what did I say' lingering between the two of you. "You two conspirin'?" Your eyes flitter back to John as he bumps his hip into yours.

"No", Kyle says as your eyes lock with the man at your side. John's eyes shine, a brow quirked in intrigue. It schooled the expression of rigidity he had previously, showing how at ease he became around his men despite the setting.

"What he said". You smile sweetly at John, fluttering your lashes, causing a ruckus of laughter around you. 

"Be careful, Captain. That one is a sly thing". Johnny claps him on the shoulder.

"I know".

"Don't paint me in a bad light", you joke, nudging John's side with your elbow. The man in question chuckles when watching the pout you send him.

"The lot rub off on me", he indirectly chides Johnny and Kyle, both of whom make faux hurtful sounds upon the comment. "I better steal you away from them and introduce you to better company".

"Who could possibly be better company than us? The silent grump ain't here anyway". The Scotsman questions, glancing around the space with a humoured look until it returns.

"Laswell is better than the two of you together", John returns with a chuckle, his arm tightening around your waist to signal that you soon would be moving to meet whoever this Laswell was.

Upon what's apparently a familiar name, Johnny's brows jump upwards. "She made it here? Didn't think she would". 

John only answers with an affirming hum. "Behave now", he offers in goodbye while you give them a wave before he tugs you with him.

As John directs the two of you through the crowd, you soon realise where he's taking you. The woman he's leading you towards is the same one he'd been talking to previously.

You give him a curious glance when you note she isn't dressed in any military uniform, only a long-sleeved jumpsuit. Even so, when you turn to face her again, the woman has noticed your nearing presence and turned toward you, eyes regarding you in a manner too in-depth to be a civilian.

Her eyes flicker sideways as you stop before her, most probably to the man at your side. It's brief but enough for her face to soften and a hint of a smile to quirk her mouth.

"Kate Lawsell", her American accent is apparent as her eyes fall to meet yours again upon the greeting. You're not late to shake the hand she stretched forth, introducing yourself in return. "So you're John's sweetheart?"

You shrug with a smile as you feel John's thumb start brushing circular patterns through the silky material of your dress. "Guess I am". She hums, the corner of her lip twitching a bit further upwards.

"Almost thought he made you up with the lack of evidence about his special someone".

You chuckle while practically feeling how John rolls his eyes. "S'no need to carry a photo with me everywhere".

"Expected it from a traditional one like you", she shrugs one of her shoulders. Their exchange makes you smile, head cocking slightly.

"So, where do you know each other from?" 

"I work for C.I.A., deal a fair share with the 141 and that British Captain of yours". Your eyes widen, lips parting in a silent oh as your eyes shift to John, then back to Kate.

"That ain't half-bad". Your comment brings out a chuckle from the dark blonde woman.

"Say that when trying to keep any kind of leash on him". Kate nods towards John, a conspiring look in her eyes, one he gruffs at.

"That so?" You face the man at your side with an amused expression, catching the look he sends the woman opposite him. "Am I hearing that you're a nuisance at work?"

John's eyes flicker to you, his features softening as his head dips in a shake and small huff of laughter. "You women always like to team up".

Despite his comment, you talked with Kate for a few more minutes, getting to know more about her, until separate parties dragged her and John off. This time around, however, you got tugged along to the new conversation, with no choice but to remain glued to the brunette's side as he didn't let up on his hold.

Although relieved to stay with him again, your feet start to feel sore, and your body tired. Consequently, you slowly let John take more room in the conversation as you fell silent, still with a smile present to appear interested in the conversation. 

You take a deep breath, careful not to let your exhale sound like a sigh. Even so, John caught it, giving you a brief look to check in on you. You spare him a glance, attempting a soothing smile to fend off any potential concern.

His eyes flitter over your face before he turns forward again, offering a chuckle at something the soldier said. You'd completely missed what it was but mimicked John with a much softer sound huffed through your nose. 

You try to concentrate after that, as it's the only polite thing to do. But god, you find your mind wandering to every little ache suddenly emerging. 

Shifting the weight on your feet subtly, you try to move your hips to ease the twinge in your spine. Unsuccessful, you straighten your back, rolling your shoulders to try a different approach. Through your peripheral, you notice your squirming caught John's attention again, his gaze flickering sideways momentarily. Soon after, his thumb starts rubbing the small of your back with slightly more pressure just to be a subconscious movement.

John had been attentive to you the whole night, but if you could catch his attention this easily, you had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't only your concentration that started to stray or energy to wither.

Even if you probably would do both of you a favour by asking if it was time to leave, you didn't want to interrupt their conversation, so you simply let your head fall sideways onto John's shoulder, content with feeling how his kneading thumb eased the discomfort in your lower back. 

Thankfully, whoever this Miller was, he didn't keep a long-winded conversation with John as Generals had. Instead, the soldier of equal rank soon bid you both goodbye, explaining his departure as not wanting to take up too much of your time. That made your smile more genuine than it had been while listening to the two men for the last few minutes.

As you sigh lightly, a gentle press against your back suddenly steers you forward. You don't protest when John moves you through the crowd, especially not when noticing he's leading you to the outskirts of it.

"How you feelin', love?" John ducks his head to ask the question as your pace slows.

"I'm good, just a bit exhausted after standing for so long", you return with a shrug as you stop at the edge of the crowd, between the columns lining the wall. You tilt your head to look at John as he stands opposite you. Blue eyes meet yours as his hand moves to the dip of your waist before they skate over the crowd.

You watch John as he does, feeling his finger through your dress as they rap against you, almost as if thinking about something. 

Gaze falling, you follow his profile: the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw accentuated by the angle of his head, his beard shining with the oil he'd worked into it after his earlier shower. God, he's too bloody handsome tonight. 

From nowhere, you get the urge to lean up and kiss the skin of his throat right above his collar. Though quelling the desire to plant a red mark matching the outline of your lips on his throat here, amongst all these people, that's all it takes for your mind to spiral.

Gonna hold you to your words, love. 

His sentence from the hotel room echoes in your mind, and suddenly, you can't wait any longer to be the scapegoat Kyle had dubbed you. Sick and tired of this event already.

When you take a step closer to John, his attention is quickly pulled back towards you. With his now undivided attention on you, you lightly grab the tie tucked beneath his jacket, tugging slightly on it to straighten the material to its previous perfection a few hours earlier. 

Satisfied with the minor fix you'd done to his attire, you pat his chest, eyes travelling upwards to lock with his not soon after.

John scrutinises your hands that remain close to where you'd fiddled with his tie rather than drop to your sides. When his blue gaze locks with yours, his head cocks. "What are you up to?"

"M'nothing, just wondering when it's acceptable to leave this event".

John's eyes narrow slightly before his brows rise. "Any special reason to why?"

"Just want to go back to the hotel". You made it evident that trailing your hands down his chest wasn't a coincidence but a conscious decision as you lowered them to pull your purse from beneath your upper arm. "Don't know what you're insinuating". 

"You don't?" You only reply with a coy nuh-uh sound as you open your purse, pulling out the golden encasing housing your lipstick. 

You'd touched up your makeup once throughout the evening, right after John left you to talk with whoever the American man had been, along with Kate, for the first time. As you do it now, blue eyes fall from yours, following your move of painting your lips in a new coat of red. 

"You know very well what you're doin', love". His words are spoken slowly, but their edges are rough, frayed.

"Just playing my part as pretty arm candy". After putting away your lipstick again, you motion to your lips. "Want to help me so I don't get any lipstick on my teeth?" You form your lips into an o, knowing precisely what you're doing.

"Love...", he warns, fingers pressing into your waist.

"John?" You retaliate with a cock of your brow, only to shrug when he makes no move to help you.

Raising a finger, you place only the tip between your lips before pulling it out with a pop. 

A repressed groan escapes John, head tilting backwards, eyes shut tightly. "You're doin' this to me on purpose", he grinds out.

"Of course I am", you giggle in return, using your other hand to rather unceremoniously rub away the red colour with your fingers. "So what's the choice? We staying a bit longer or-". You're not even allowed to finish the sentence before John's head tips forward again, and he does it for you.

"We're goin', now". His arm swiftly wraps around your waist to turn the both of you towards the exit.

"Can't play polite anymore?" You let yourself be carried along.

"Been plenty polite when all I've wanted the whole evenin' is to return to the hotel". John's hand scorches the place it pushes against the small of your back, guiding you straight to the very stairs you'd entered through hours ago. "Then you're pretty arse go about actin' up, provin' how much more I would've gotten done there than here", he grumbles, making you swat the side of his chest with a low, chastising John concerning the setting you're on. The man in question only sends you a look, daring you to argue against him, but after forcing his hand to take you back to the hotel, you can't.

There was a warm, eager air between you and John as you retrieved your coats and exited the venue. You shared glances, fleeting but heated locks of your eyes that had your body igniting. Touches setting you aflame even if his was much the same as throughout the evening but firmer, while yours were brief, teasing over his torso. 

When John managed to hail a cab, he let you enter first, following seconds later and sitting down in the backseat with a low, frustrated sound. 

He tugs his hat from his head, the other hand smoothening his hair. You both know there's a twenty-minute ride ahead of you when even half the time would've been too long and yet you watch him with amusement as his head thuds backwards.

He must feel your eyes on him as his head rolls to face you. You didn't need to say anything; your smile was enough to make him release a low, impatient grunt, eyes closing. 

You chuckle, hand settling on John's thigh as you do. Apparently, he thinks there's an ulterior motive behind your action as his eyes snap open, sending you a warning look that, if anything, made you wish you had done something to deserve it. His large hand grabs yours to emphasise the message to not try anything, dropping it in your lap instead. Even so, he doesn't pull away afterwards, instead letting your fingers intertwine.

When finally rolling up to the hotel, John couldn't stop tapping his thumb against your hand as he paid for the cab, practically dragging you along when he exited the car. 

With his hat in a white-knuckled grip and your hand in a gentler hold, the two of you moved through the lobby. You felt how fiercely John battled with himself to not stalk to the elevators but keep a pace that wouldn't draw attention and you could match.

It's always amusing seeing John like this, exhilarating if nothing. And that's why you can't help but poke the bear while waiting for the elevator. 

You slip your hand from his, blue eyes immediately falling to you as your arm closest to him slides beneath his coat and around his waist, squeezing his mid-drift teasingly.

"Someone seems impatient". The end of your sentence is perfectly followed by the chime of the elevator arriving. Letting your hand drop after pressing your fingers into John's side, you stride into the empty space with a sway to your hips. "I wonder why". You look over your shoulder, a smile gracing your lips as you cock a brow.

John is hot on your heels, pressing the button to close the doors rather than waiting for them to do so. 

Just when you turn to lean against the railing the furthest in, he takes the last step towards you, hands settling beside your own, caging you against the wall just as the door slides close. 

"You should know what torture it's been havin' you this good-lookin' and unable to do anythin' the whole evenin'". John's words are rushed as his head dips close to your face.

"Ditto", you return in a hum, gaze flittering down and then up again. "There was a relatively empty second floor I thought about dragging you to".

"Fuckin' hell, don't say that", he groans, hand coming to cup the back of your neck, angling your face towards his. 

Yet, before John can press his mouth against yours, the elevator suddenly halts on a floor too early to be yours.

He quickly drops his hand and moves so he doesn't corner you against the wall, even though he remains awfully close. Your eyes swiftly snap to the opening doors, schooling your features into a polite smile at the woman who steps into the elevator. She offers you a similar one before her eyes flicker to John. When they do, her eyebrows rise before they jump back to you. 

For a few mortifying seconds, you fear she knows precisely what she interrupted until her smile becomes softer.

"If the two of you don't make a stunning pair", she remarks kindly, making John turn his head to look at her, his body still firmly angled towards you. 

"Well, thank you", you answer for you both.

"My husband was also in the military", she directs the comment to you even if her eyes flitter to John when she continues. "But he never took me to those fancy events. The old man despised them like the plague".

"Seems like all of them do". You chuckle in return, patting John's side fondly. 

The man in question remains remarkably silent, only muttering something under his breath. Your eyes switch to him, sending him a questioning look. Blue eyes return your stare as his head tilts to the right, just a notch, but your brows only pinch together, still not understanding what he's trying to silently get at. That is until his face sets and John angles his hips just slightly more into the upper part of your thigh, and you feel it. 

You almost gasped at the considerable bulge in his pants that definitely would be in danger of showing. Yet, you manage not to, only letting your brows shoot up when you finally understand John's silence and the position he was adamant about keeping.

The woman, however, must have interpreted it like some coupley squabble as she chuckles at your interaction, pulling your attention to her.

"Young love, always so charming."

"Young?" John scoffs into your ear, his voice barely enough to be considered a whisper. "Got me feelin' like a bloody teen", he grouses over his predicament.

You duck your head, forehead falling against his shoulder as you muffle the chuckle bubbling in your throat. 

While the man you hide your face against notices your shoulders jumping and sends you a glare, the woman again misinterprets your reaction.

"No need to be embarrassed. We've all been young once".

"Did you meet your husband young?" You shift the conversation when finally facing her, sure no trace of your previous amusement could be detected.

"Oh goodness, yes, even younger than the two of you", she motions to you and John with a wave. "Much more immature, too". You almost laugh out loud at that. And like previously, John notices, husking a low, pointed 'Don't laugh' into your ear.

"This one's a real gentleman." You turn to face John, smiling up at him despite being met by a stern expression. What the women don't see is the way your hand trails down, down over his stomach until the flat of your palm presses into the spot just above his groin. 

John's jaw flexes, unable to snatch your hand and pull it away if not genuinely desiring to draw attention to what you're doing. But that doesn't stop his blue eyes from meeting yours as he lowly hisses, "And don't do that".

Then, the elevator suddenly lets out a ding as it stops.

"It was lovely to meet you youths, but this is my stop", the woman waves after the doors slide open, John craning his neck to watch her leave with a faint, for your eyes awfully forced, smile. "Have a great evening".

"You too!" You reciprocate her wave as she exits, receiving a friendly smile before the doors close.

Seconds, it takes seconds before your vision is once more filled by John.

"You... love-", he chuckles, nose scrunching as his head cocks to the side. "-oh, you are trouble".

"Don't be moody. You were called a youth", you chuckle. John only manages to open his mouth before the elevator chimes again, this time on your floor. 

You know it was your saving grace from how those blue eyes had narrowed at you. Instead, he only exhales sharply as you grasp his hand, forcing him to follow you to the exit.

Although reaching the doors, you stall with one hand holding them open, peeking outside, head swivelling right and left down the corridor. Noticing the coast was clear, you tug John with you.

Even if no one was around, he walked close enough behind you that the slight problem in his pants would be hidden enough if you stumbled into someone.

Thankfully, you didn't meet anyone on the way to your room, sparing you from the embarrassing interaction that could've occurred. However, it enabled John to whip out the key card and more than a bit unceremoniously push you into your room once the light flashed green, the door barely slipping close before he chucked his hat to the side to pull you against him. 

John's thick arm winds around your waist, pulling your body against his as his nose gently knocks against yours. Hot lips descending upon yours soon after, moulding your mouths together.

A groan vibrates against your lips, John's fingers digging into your ribcage and the side of your stomach. His near-desperate need to feel you against him makes your fingers curl into the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The response is instantaneous, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he deepens the kiss. It's your time to release a pleased sound, something melting away from your body as hunger takes its place.

"Fuckin' hell", John nearly rips himself away from you as he grunts the words against your parted lips, hands enveloping your face as he lets his forehead rest against you. Heavy exhales puff against your face in an attempt to steady his heaving chest, to rein in himself. He doesn't remain like that for long, shifting backwards as his eyes flutter open. 

John's gaze locks with yours, eyes considerably darker than usual. Sodalite rather than aventurine. A warm shiver runs down your spine, unable to continue meeting those blues due to the flush spreading through your body. And yet, despite the tangible tension, a chuckle travels up your throat when your flickering eyes halt at one spot on his face.

Your amusement and thumb swiping over John's lips to wipe away the lipstick now coating them in a faint red pop the feverish bubble, turning it somewhat softer, less desperate.

When the added colour fades, you finally lock eyes with John again, finding they've creased in the corners.

"Maybe we should get you out of this, so I don't go about tainting that, as well", you hum, fingers falling to toy with his white dress shirt, mindful to keep the thumb you'd wiped his lips with at bay. Only a deep hum escapes John, yet it's enough for you to make do with your suggestion. 

Your fingers find the first golden button on his army jacket, unbuttoning that, then the next and all the ones until it falls open. Hands moving inside, you feel the warmth of his skin shielded beneath his dress shirt. 

Your hands move up his chest, over his shoulders, until you move the dark blue jacket down his arms. John shrugs out of it, and while letting his wool coat drop to the floor, you're mindful of the jacket, grabbing it in one hand as you move him backwards by pressing your body against his, lips teasingly close but not kissing, only brushing as your breaths mingle.

When you're close enough, you drape his jacket over the chair by the desk before attempting to move on to the next piece of clothing. But apparently, you move too slow for John as he steps back, yanking his tie loose to tug over his head, throwing it to the side. The buttons on his shirt make a frustrated grunt leave him before it's tossed aside as well. While your eyes never leave him, you slip out of your coat, letting it fall to the floor with no greater care than he'd done his clothes seconds later. 

Not only does your gaze drop to John's now-bared chest. Your hands move on their own, feeling him up, sliding over his pecs and the slight patch of brown hair covering them before they slide lower, over his stomach, reaching the happy trail beneath his navel. But too soon, your exploration of his burly upper body ends, John moving out of your reach as he steps backwards. 

Not until his shins hit the edge of the bed and he sits down does he stop putting space between you.  

You watch as his shoes are toed off, all while keeping eye contact with you. Not until John raises a finger, motioning for you to come closer, do you follow him.

You're about to straddle his lap when he stops you, making a twirly motion with his hand. Your head tilts even if you listen, turning your back to him. Gripping your hips, John steers you to sit on his thigh. You wobble slightly as you do, hands shooting to stabilise yourself by grabbing his hand and his other thigh as you press your feet to the floor to keep stable upon the muscular seat.

Once he notices you've found your balance, his big paws slide up your body until his fingers brush the back of your neck. There's barely an ounce of fiddling before you feel the clasp of the dress unhook, and the zipper descends. 

Kisses are pressed against the nape of your neck, the top of your spine and a last one on your shoulder blade before John squeezes your hips, urging you to stand with a delicate push upwards and forward. As you do, the heavy fabric of the dress falls to the floor, collecting in a lustrous circle around your feet. 

When turning to face the man whose attention never averted from you, only your necklace, panties, and heels are the remnants of your previous outfit.

"Always so fuckin' pretty beneath those things", John mumbles, hands rising from his sides. But, before his hands can reach for you, you settle one of your own on his equally naked chest, giving a gentle shove. But the brunette doesn't heed your want, not letting himself be budged an inch.

"Scoot up, John". You nod upward the bed, positioning one knee between his legs on the tiny sliver of the mattress available. He cocks his head in intrigue, hand grasping the back of your thigh, running up and down with gentle gropes.

"What you plannin', love?"

You press your lips together, John's eyes flickering downwards before returning in a slow trail upwards to meet your gaze. "Wanna be good after how I've teased you, Captain". Your voice drops, nearly entering a purr as you trail your fingers to his jaw.

You see him shudder, goosebumps flittering down his forearms as his big hand squeezes the back of your thigh.

"Fine then", John moves up the bed, and you crawl after him, effectively shrugging off your heels that thud to the floor as you do.

As he makes himself comfortable, you busy yourself with opening his belt and rucking down his pants and boxers in one. John's flushed and erect cock bobs upwards towards his stomach as he lifts his hips for you. Just as you rid him of his pants, you remember something. 

When you scoot off the bed again, you haphazardly throw his pants over the same stool as his jacket, moving towards your purse. John props himself on one elbow, brows pulling together as he follows you.

"Thought you say you wouldn't tease, eh?" His voice is husky, verging on impatient as you look over your shoulder, watching as he wraps a hand around the base of himself, most likely not the touch he'd liked as a frustrated rather than pleasurable grunt leaves him.

"I'm not, just fulfilling my promise", you say, wiggling the lipstick you'd fished out before returning to him. 

Moving up the bed, you settle on your knees between John's muscular legs. Opening the case, your gaze locks with his as you coat your lips in a more noticeable red. The sight makes his cock twitch in his hand, his head notching backwards slightly, resting on his shoulder, without ever letting those blues leave you. 

You shoo away his hand when you're done and throw your lipstick aside, your fingers wrapping around him instead. A pleased hum vibrates from John's chest as he relaxes backwards, head settling against the pillows. 

Although promising not to tease, you press a few firm kisses to the lowest parts of his stomach, along his adonis belt and the area just above the cock you're pumping lazily with twisting motions, colouring his skin with red lip-marks. 

When satisfied with your work, you finally slot your lips around him, the sudden heat of your mouth making John's cock jerk, one of his hands instinctually shooting to the back of your head with a drawn-out groan filling the air.

Despite usually building up to a swift pace gradually, pulling out the process to build his pleasure, you don't hesitate to overwhelm John with how you drop an inch or two down his cock immediately, tightly sealing your lips around his shaft, doing everything to leave those marks you'd promised around his cock.

"Fuck". John's hips jerk upwards, not expecting the suddenness of your actions, though he manages to stop the full thrust by slamming his head backwards, hand tightening considerably at the back of your head. 

A smugness fills your chest as you pull back slightly, suckling the tip leaking precum, tongue swiping back and forth over his frenulum while your hand creates slow, circular rotations at his base. 

Through the lowest corner of your eyes, you notice the red rings around his cock, yet you steadily look upwards, following how John's head rises again, eyes half-lidded as your gazes lock. But those blues don't meet yours for long before they fall, the twitch of him inside your mouth and the near growl telling you he also spots the stains left behind by your lipstick.

"Those pretty lips makin' such lovely marks 'round my cock". The sound of his voice is so rough and delicious that your cunt clenches around nothing. "Such a good girl, ain'tcha, love?" You release him with a pop, but rather than answer, you collect your spit on your tongue, stretching it out as your hand moves upwards. Letting the glob of spit hit his cockhead, you coat his saft in the slickness with a pumping motion.

"Fuckin' hell", John rasps, sounding almost pained as his eyelids flutter close, head falling backwards. Your smile is brief before you slot your lips around him again, bobbing your head up and down half of his length, the rest squeezed and jerked by your hand.

"Suckin' me off s'good. Come on, deeper you go". He's not even looking at you as he speaks, his throaty words subdued into the air, almost as if he chokes on them halfway through. If anything, it makes you moan around him as you let the hand on the back of your head press you all the way down until he hits the back of your throat. "Jus' like that", he groans between clenched teeth. 

As your tongue plays with the underside of his length and head bobs up and down, you feel him twitch violently inside your mouth, beefy thighs pressing against the side of yours, timbre-low sounds stemming from deep in his chest.

As John finally opens his eyes and looks down at you once more, always so transfixed with the way you desire to please him, he catches the faint glimmer of your jewellery behind the hand and mouth busy with his cock. The stones in the pendant glitter despite the room's dimness, the light from outside finding its way to make them gleam. What's remarkable is that your eyes harbour the shame glint.

Although heady with lust, your eyes are bright, excited, as your gaze meets his. The fact that you love this just as much as he does is enough to make him groan and tip his head backwards, wallowing in the pleasure creeping up his spine. 

Only when a slurping noise fills the air as you suck purposefully and tongue plays the underside of his cockhead, does John's release hurtle dangerously close, and he pulls you off with a firm grip on your hair.

"I wasn't done". 

"You're gonna be the death of me". That comment melts your stare into a smile.

"Don't die on me, handsome". 

"C'mere". John's hand falls from your hair to grip your jaw, pulling you upwards. Your arms shoot to catch you, stabilising on either side of his body as he bends forward, crashing his lips against yours halfway. 

It's dirty, your tongue slipping against John's as he pushes into your mouth, no doubt tasting himself on you. But it doesn't bother him, never has, not when it's on your lips that he tastes himself.

"You wet, love?" He groans against your lips before slanting his mouth against yours anew, your whined 'yes' going straight into his mouth. You unconsciously press your legs together, wiggling your hips, the motion along your forward-bent position exposing your drenched panties to the considerably cooler air. It urges another sound into the mesh of lips, a whine of discomfort this time. 

"Bet you fuckin' are, love suckin' my cock".

A shudder runs down your whole back. "John-"

"Love bein' fucked even more, eh? Get on your back". The demand barely leaves his lips before you shift over his form, laying down just to the left of his previous position in the king-sized bed. 

John moves between your legs, resting on his haunches as he pulls both your legs upwards, squeezing them together as he lets them rest against his chest. With a yank, he pulls your panties off your hips, the wetness on the crotch area dragging against the inside of your thighs as he tugs off the piece of fabric.

You don't know where they end up, wide eyes following John as he lets your legs down, pinning your thighs to the side, wasting no time before his hand slips over your cunt.

"Fuckin' soppin'", he drawls, confirming the answer you'd given him. "Can't wait to feel me stretch you out, can you?" His thumb runs down to your fluttering entrance, teasingly pushing against it. Before he goes any deeper, though, he collects some of your slick and trails his thumb to your clit.

He plays with your bundle of nerves just the way he knows you like. The pressure, speed, and everything he'd learnt about your body is now utilised to get you even more desperate, even wetter. And it works like a bloody charm too, your gasps soon turning to low moans and whines.

"C'mon, love, gotta be quiet", John shushes you, settling a hand over your throat, your necklace digging into his palm. He doesn't squeeze, simply rests it there to accentuate his point, and yet, he doesn't let up on playing with your clit, not even as your squirm, his thumb only chasing you through the movement. "Can't let everyone hear you, now can we?"

Even if you realise John deliberately must have kept his voice down as you blew him -because, of course, you're not at home- even if you try your damnedest, you can't contain your sounds of pleasure.

"Can't", you whine. John makes a deep sound, something between soothing and a snarl that makes your heart jump. Your eyes widen when his gaze darkens and he leans closer, all while his fingers apply more pressure on your clit, the pace quickening. As his face hovers over yours, your mouth falls open, letting out just one of those breathy moans he told you to hold.

"Can't, eh?" John releases your throat and leans back, but not enough to sit straight. Instead, he bends your legs forward and hooks his arm around your waist, manually flipping you over with a swift jerk. "That should do the trick".

It's a strength you know he possesses, but it makes you gasp in surprise anyway, the sound now muffled as your head is slotted in the crease between pillows. 

Two big paws suddenly grab your asscheeks, groping the fat as you feel the man behind you lean over you just after widening your legs with his knees. 

"Stunnin' fuckin' view from back here. This pretty arse-", John spanks your ass with one hand, making you keen, instinctually arching your back towards John. "- and your lovely cunt, just weepin' for me", the same hand that soothed the sting of his slap slide to your wetness.

You beg, a please moaned from your lips as he stretched you, barely any trouble going from one to two fingers with a few pumps. When he doesn't respond, you try again, louder, but only get a chuckle in return.

"Can't hear you, love". Amusement fills John's voice, making you frustratedly whine into the mattress before pushing a pillow to the side, raising your head only to crane it over your shoulder. Sitting behind you is an awfully smug-looking Brit.

"Please", you breathe the whisper, now mindful of your tone, which only widens his smile as he leans over your sprawled-out form.

The sudden prodding against your entrance comes without any warning, and you whip your head around to press into the mattress, muffling your moan so violently that John chuckles. But the sound swiftly deepens, evolving into a tight-lipped groan as he slowly pushes deeper.

Your back arches when his pelvis hits your backside, your motion prompting the slow grind of his hips against you. He doesn't even pull out, only rolls his hips shallowly against your rear.

All John can do is work his hips back and forth, listening to your faint moans slipping from the mattress your face rests against and the slick sounds of your pretty pussy being fucked. 

When he leans his weight forward, hands gripping your hips, John shoves himself even further inside you, driving your face further into the bed. You practically sob, clit pulsing and throbbing and god—

"Fuck, you feel s'good 'round me". The lewd way he said it, a groan breaking the sentence into two with the unhurried sound of skin slapping occasionally, had you choking on an affirming moan. "Makin' such a mess. Pretty cunt's so wet, stretched".

John stuffs his fat cock into you with slow, even thrusts from behind, watching how you grip him tight when he pulls out and sucks him in once he pushes forwards. 

It's slow until it's not. 

When John loses patience, or the pleasure simply gets too much for him not to chase more, he changes the pace, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each shove of his cock into your cunt. You push your face into the bedding as far as not choking yourself goes, moaning throatily as you clench around him. 

He fills you so deliciously like this. Each firm press of his hips against your ass crams his entire girthy length into you as his balls push against your clit. The rocking motion fills the air with wet slaps that make your head spin and fingers curl into the covers. 

You moan unabashedly as he fucks you. Deep and fast enough that he needs to angle your hips, but when you just keep sliding back prone against the bed from the force of his shoves, John simply leans over you with a growl, fucking you down into the bed. 

Whining, you thrash your head at the way he pounds into your sweet spot buried so deep. With your mouth falling open, it's no surprise if saliva soaks the fabric beneath your face.

Your orgasm doesn't even build slowly. It's a tumbling mess that, once it starts, just picks up momentum until you hurl face-forwards into it. It's so violent it catches John off-guard. The sudden way you shudder with a broken moan, the muscle of your back tensing, walls clamping down on him, everything without him even having to play with your clit, tells him you were just as worked up and exhausted as him, not able to do anything but let the pressure release.

"Fuck", he curses, thick and dark, feeling you get even slicker and tremble beneath his fingers. 

Even through your drunken haze, you catch the drawn-out vowel of the word, which tells you John's close. 

What surprises you, however, is that rather than rut irregularly into you until he buries himself deep and comes, his hand shoots to rest beside your head to catch his weight when he falls forward, slipping out of you in the process. Leaving your fluttering aftershocks to clench around nothing.

You feel as John jerks himself, his knuckles brushing over your skin rapidly. His breath cascades over the back of your head, head probably hanging low between his shoulders as he gazes down your body. Albeit not knowing what he has in mind -his fixation on spilling deep inside you as he pushes himself as close as possible to you no secret- you arch your spine, wiggling your ass upwards.

It prompts a deep, growling moan from him before his breath does a little hitch, then he groans, pleased and drawn out as you feel his release shoot over your ass and then straight over your pussy.

The bed quivers beside your head, all strength momentarily escaping John's burly frame that slackens against your back. Although he slumps to his forearm to keep most of his weight off, his other hand resting on the bed near the dip of your waist, he still presses you considerably deeper into the mattress.

John's heaving exhales disturb your hair, but your eyes remain closed, your whole body feeling light and satisfied as you relax, fingers uncurling from the covers. 

When the man behind you finally moves, you don't have the energy to rise and look at what he does when he grabs your cheeks in his big hands, massaging the plush flesh with parting motions. But, you can only imagine he stares at the white ropes of cum coating your rear, gaze dropping to follow the way it dribbles down over your cunt.

Even if John doesn't do it for long, a pleased hum fills the air before he stops. 

His hands are suddenly replaced with something that swipes over your asscheek and down between your legs. Despite twitching at the contact as it moves along your sensitive core, you release an appreciative sound as he wipes you clean of your releases. John replies by bending forward, kissing your shoulder-blade before shifting off you with a last squeeze to your hip.

Despite feeling the mattress dip beside you, his form slumping to the side with a low grunt, you already miss his warmth.

You breathe heavily, your exhale bordering on a whine warming the covers your face is burrowed in. When your sound gets nothing in return, your breath out softly again, hand searching for John. Just as your hand lands upon his chest, you catch a chuckle before fingers wrap around your wrist. You're tugged sideways, pulled partly onto the chest you'd fumbled your way to feeling. 

Although now looking down at John, you don't see much of him, your hair is mussed enough that most of your vision is covered. A giggle escapes you while a huff of amusement passes through John's nose as he brushes your face clear of its momentary shield.

"There she is", John hums when your gazes lock with nothing in between. There's a tug in the corner of his lip, eyes lidded as he watches you. 

The tilt of his head and craning of his neck is slow. The kiss he initiates is equally deliberate and sweet. Although the exchange is brief, as he parts, John lingers close to your face with his forehead resting against yours, hand brushing over your cheek feathery light.

He murmurs something low enough you can't catch but hum in return nonetheless. A few seconds later, he rises from the bed. As he does, you move to your back, wiggling beneath the sheets to not experience the cold, knowing the sheet must be warmed thanks to your bodies. A content sigh leaves you when you realise you've been right.

As your gaze settles upon John's bare form, rifling around his bag for whatever he's searching for, you can't help how your eyes trail over him. That's how your eyes locate the faint red marks littering his body, some more smudged than others.

Your giggle catches John's attention as he shifts towards you, a pair of boxer briefs now in his hands. But rather than meet his gaze, your eyes flitter over his form, numerous outlines of red lips littered along his lower stomach and groin. Your laughter intensifies, and John follows your line of attention, only to tilt his head upwards again with a smile when he finds what caught your attention.

"You look real pretty with my lipstick all over you", you comment once your laugh fades, head tilting against the pillow behind your head, eyes locking with John's.

"Quiet the artist", he chuckles as he pulls on his underwear.

"It isn't waterproof, so you'll be able to wash it off with water".

"Think about makin' one of 'em into a tattoo". John points to one of the still near-perfect copies of your lips just inside his hipbone and above his waistband. "Make 'em permanent". His wink makes your mouth fall open.

"Please don't!" Your revolt makes him chuckle.

"What do I get if I don't?"

"Me only asking for a pair of pants and not a shirt along with them. And cuddles?" You stretch out your arms towards John with your offer. He huffs a laugh, moving to your bag to dig through it for your underwear.

"Never sayin' no to half-naked cuddles with you, love", you shake your head fondly just before the clothing article you requested is thrown your way.

As John rounds the bed, you lean forward to snatch your panties from the covers. You barely have enough time to slip them on before John, with practised ease, settles into the bed on his side and pulls you close, naked chests pressed against each other.

You sigh in contentment as John's warmth seeps into your body, arms winding around his neck to get closer and being able to graze your nails through the hair on the back of his head, which makes him pull you even closer in return.

The moment drags on as you card fingers through his hair. Every now and then, you feel the gel he'd cursed over as he styled it before the event, still intact at certain places despite the overall moussed state of his locks. 

Somewhere along the way, a hefty, pleased sigh leaves the man holding you as his head burrows into your neck, nuzzling against the necklace still around your throat. Your eyes flutter close upon the rhythmic breaths puffing against your skin, melting more into John's burly body.

"You're awfully cuddly tonight", you hum but make no move to disturb the peaceful air by moving.

"Could say the same about you".

You chuckle at the response breathed against your skin. "Can never get too much of you". A set of warm lips press a kiss to your throat, making you hum contentedly before continuing to speak. "Especially not after tonight when everyone's been fighting for your attention".

There's a few seconds of silence and then a sigh.

"More people goin' to fight for it soon". Your brows pull together at the sudden shift of air when John emerges from your neck, blue eyes locking with yours. "Before introducin' you to Laswell, I got informed we're set out on a mission."

You sighed, nodding at his explanation. It was only about time. "When?

"A week, but it won't be a long one". You perk up at that, John noticing, a small smile tugging in the corner of his lips. "Estimated to be back home before Christmas".

"Yeah?" He hummed an affirmative. Your smile twitched just slightly wider, unable not to press a kiss to his lips. You felt his chuckle just before you parted from him.

"Someone's happy about that". John's brows arched, head tilting to the side.

"Just... didn't have much planned for Christmas this year, so I thought about maybe asking-", you got interrupted by his lips pressing against yours this time. The passion with which John kissed you made your chest flutter.

"Wanted you with me this weekend just in case you had somethin' in the calendar or I wasn't home", he breathed against your lip when putting some distance between the two of you again.

You bite your lower lip, brows raising. "John, are you saying you wanted to ask me about spending Christmas together too?"

"Didn't know if it was an awfully traditional period for you", he said, giving you a half-hearted shrug.

"How sweet of you". You cooed, pecking John's lips, earning yourself a content huff from the man cocooning you with his arms and body. "But I would've wanted to spend some time with you no matter what". As you said this, that handsome smile of John's unfolds as he pulls you on top of him. He released a deep chuckle at your slight squeal, only for both of your sounds to fade as he stared up at you and you down at him.

God, you couldn't wait until Christmas.

[storiesaplenty]

Who fucked you better? (18+)

141 Task Force x f/Reader

Call of Duty Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: swearing. Smut below the cut. Unprotected sex. P in V. Oral. Creampie. Anal sex. Use of toy. Recording sexual acts. Oral (m receiving) cum swallowing. Ball sucking. Cowgirl.

WC: 1740

Divider by @strangergraphics

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Captain John Price

"Yes love, let them all hear you." John groaned as he fucked into you from behind. You are flat against the bed, your hips slightly raised just enouh for him to pound you into his mattress.

His hips slamming off your ass making you cry out his name as you reach back and place one hand on his stomach to try and get him to slow down, but he has a point to prove, not only to himself, but to you and his men.

He slapped your hand away, reaching around your body to grip you by the neck and pull you against his hairy body.

"Who the hell do they think are? Huh?" His thrusts were now hard, rough, choppy.

"John please." You whined.

"Asking if I can take care of you? Think they can love you like I can?"

"No." You whimpered, your pussy clenching around his cock at how possessive he was being."

"Think anyone of those 'boys.' can fuck you like I can? Make you cream the way I know how? Bet they couldn't make you squirt? Oh no, only I can." John groaned into your ear, is end drawing near.

"Bet none of them can make you go stupid with just their cock? My smart woman goes all dumb the moment my cock is in one of your pretty, little holes."

"John!" You practically scream as you came. Your pussy clenching so tight around his cock that John followed right behind you.

His hips stilling against your ass as he cums inside of your pussy, making you softly moan at how he is filling you.

"You better?" You finally asked, pulling away from him with your wobbly legs, to go over to the dresser and turn off the camera, hitting send to send to the group chat that you have with the guys.

"Much better darling." John said, as he grabbed a cigar and lit it, hearing your phone vibrate as you kiss your way down his hairy, sweaty body, taking his softening cock in your mouth and sucking.

"Can't wait to see what you do with the others. Those lads trying to prove how good they can fuck you, compared to me."

Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

"Relax baby. I got you." Kyle said as he trailed his hand down your back, as he pushed his thumb in your tight, ass.

You were trying to relax, you really were, but it has been a bit since he fucked you there.

Kyle put the tip against the hole as he pulled his thumb out, and slowly started to push in, making you gasp out his name.

He had his phone set up to record the two of you as he slowly pushed his cock into your ass.

He had another spare phone, pointing at your ass to record him sinking into your ass, until his hips were flushed against ass.

"Oh fuck." He quietly moaned as every single inch was inside of you. Your body was trembling at how full you fell.

He put a vibrating dildo in your pussy earlier as he has seemed to turn up the vibration making your eyes screw shut as you moan out his name, squeezing his cock with your ass.

"Gonna make me cum before I can give you a proper fucking." Kyle warned as he pulled back and thrust his hips forward, forcing a whine from your lips.

Kyle kept the slow pace, making you go crazy, as you needed more, even though by now you didn't know how to voice it, going dumb on his cock.

You moved your ass back each time he thrust back into you.

"You need me to go faster love?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"Yes, faster. Need it." Came the jumbled words spilling from your lips.

That was all Kyle needed to plunge his cock over and over again into your hole, making you scream his name, not caring about if anyone could hear you.

You collapsed forward, turning your face towards the one phone, your mouth hanging open as he fucked you.

Kyle placed one foot on the bed, making him feel even deeper inside of you.

He was groaning behind you, but you couldn't make out what he was saying as you cried out his name as another orgasm was pulled from you.

Your pussy and ass squeezing the dildo and his cock as he fucked your ass through your orgasm.

You lost track and how much you have cum by the time Kyle stilled, flushed against your ass as he groaned, loudly as he filled your hole with cum.

He couldn't help himself as he pulled back just to push back in a few times.

Kyle pulled out and brought the phone down to watch as his cum leaked out of your stretched hole, the vibrating dildo still in your pussy.

"Mmmm, I like to see any of them top that." Kyle said, issuing another challenge to the final two.

Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Johnny's name came out like a prayer as you rode him. His strong hands gripping your waist, helping you set the pace which you both need.

You have nothing idea which angle he is filming the two of you from.

"It's a suprise." He told you as he wrapped your hair around his fist as he fucked your face earlier.

The remnants of that drying on your lips and chin. The taste of him still fresh on your tongue.

But that seemed like a distant memory as the tip of his cock seemed to be nudging your cervix, making sure you remember him for days after this.

Your third orgasm of the night already knocking at your door as you grinded in his lap.

"So deep." You cried out.

"Yeah I am love." Johnny said, smugly, as he braced his feet on the bed and started to thrust up into you, making you brace your hands on his chest, digging your nails into his skin, leaving little indents there.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, flipping you the two of you over, so he is hovering above you.

Johnny leaned back, his cock still nestled inside your pussy, as he gripped your calves and pushed your legs towards your chest, making your eyes roll into the back of your head at the first hard thrust.

Your mouth hanging open as he fucked you at a rough, brutal pace that had your mouth fall open in a silent scream as he pulled another orgasm from you.

Your body shaking at how intense this orgasm is.

"Fuck." Johnny grunted as he pulled out, jerking his cock as stood up on the bed, to stand above you before sitting on his knees, which are now placed on either side of your head.

You take his balls in your mouth as he jerks his cock off above you.

Johnny is looking down at you, as you pull your mouth back from his balls, making a popping sound.

He moved down a bit just to place the tip of his cock on your tongue just as you closed your mouth around the tip.

Johnny's moans seemed to bounce off the walls as he came in your mouth, you quickly swallowing as fast as you can.

"Fuck me." He groaned as he got off the bed, grabbing a phone from one of his hiding places.

He trailed it up and down your body, until stopping at your face.

"Oh, you missed a bit there." Johnny said as he swiped his cum from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, placing it in your mouth as he closed your eyes, sucking his finger clean.

"Yes, that's it." Johnny said to you, tossing his phone to the side to go for another round.

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

"Si," You couldn't even get his name out, your head leaning against his chest.

Your arms were reaching behind you, holding onto his neck, his hands spreading your thighs wide as his cock was nestled inside your pussy.

That is already sensitive due to Simon spending what felt like an eternity between your legs, making you cum on his and fingers twice.

All of a sudden, Simon stood up, his arms moving under your thighs, moving you up and down his cock, like you weighed nothing.

Simon moved the two of you, never once leaving your oussy as he halted in front of the full length mirror.

"Open your eyes." He grunted, you not even realising that your eyes were closed .

You forced your eyes open to watch as he moved you uo and down, his cock disappearing in and out of you.

You could see how wet you were as your juices coated his cock.

You couldn't believe that you could actually take all of him inside of you.

The others are big, but Simon, Simon is thick and long.

"Look at how well you take me, eh love."

He moved you up and down on his cock, faster and faster until you became almost limp on his arms as you came around his cock.

Simon quickly pulled out of you and turned you in his arms, before tossing you on the bed, you landing on your stomach.

Simon moved you onto your knees before grasping your hips and thrusting inside you once more before you could even blink.

Simon fucked you like there was no tomorrow, and you swear you blacked out every few moments.

"Yes, squeeze my cock lovie." Is what you heard as you woke up to you coming around his cock, him fucking you through your orgasm.

Simon changed the angle of his hips and was hitting that spot inside of you that had you screaming his name as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your quivering body.

Simon finally stilled, his hips flushed against your ass as he came with a grunt.

His cum filling you as he smacked your ass a few times, making you yelp, and squeeze his cock with your pussy one final time.

"Shit love." Simon groaned as he pulled out of you.

You collapsing on the bed, not watching where he was walking too.

You felt your phone land next to you, and you could see the screen lighting up from the group chat.

They were each asking the same question.

'Who fucked you better?'

[oceantornadoo]

the wrong john masterlist

john price x f!reader (johnny's twin)

ao3

your estranged twin johnny asks you to meet his new boyfriend and beloved task force at the base they're stationed at. the night before, you meet his captain, and well. chaos ensues.

the chapters:

two strangers in a bar

yours or mine

last names are important

guilty as sin?

calling out for you

come back, be here

a knock on the door

confessions in the dark

a place for the two of us

tags: unhealthy family dynamics, x reader but there is some backstory, drinking, flirting

will add more as the series continues! chapter names are subject to change

guysss this is my first planned series! it's based on a dream i had lol like all good ideas should be. the nine chapters are a a bit ambitious but i'm really trying to grow my writing skills so we'll see how it goes. let me know if you want to be tagged, updated coming soon :)