#i love you mr garrick

[barrackspredator]

that tik tok trend where the guy picks up his gf with the lyrics “a boy who’s jacked and kind”

yeah Gaz would absolutely eat that trend UP

[s0fter-sin]

has anyone written a shameless x cod crossover bc i don’t know how to explain it but that’s exactly how i see the 141

[141d]

me holding gaz in my hands. you are so important to me.

[bunny-jpeg]

baby showers & bright ideas

simon "ghost" riley

cw: smut/pwp, rough sex, breeding kink, baby fever, doggy style, unprotected sex (duh), size difference/kink

love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own!

congratulations captain john price. he found himself a missus and now they were having a baby. mrs. price was practically glowing with her pregnancy even if she was waddling around a little. heavy price brat at her hips. price had a hand on her back and helped her whenever he could, he was a doting husband.

while simon enjoyed the food and the drinks, it was nothing compared to the pit in his stomach. why couldn't his missus' sprout a little belly like that? a nice riley babe in your soft womb, wouldn't that be a dream? it all came to a head when he overheard garrick's wife ask when you and simon were having a baby. he saw your got red before you shooed away the question.

the answer was simple, tonight. you were going to make a baby tonight.

being misses riley was no easy feat. simon riley was all scarring inside and out, even his scarred hand on your soft, unblemished thigh was such a contrast. from the scar that ran down his lip to the one that ran across his hip, he needed a tough woman.

but, you were quite far from tough. at least physically, you couldn't even hurt a spider. he watched you move it out the window of your apartment and into a flower box. you were pretty tiddies and a squishy tummy. wide hips and soft smiles. plush in a way that simon could get lost in. the kind of woman that he could bully his cock into, to make a proper mama.

once you got home from the baby shower, simon was on you like a shadow. his hands on your hips as he guided you to the bedroom, barely giving you time to get your sandals off. his erection strained in his blue jeans as he bent you over the bed with your face against the mattress and you ass leveled his his cock.

"there she is." he said as he ran his hand across your pussy over your skirt, "there's my girl." he said in a low grumble of a voice. it reverberated in your brain as you felt all sense leave out your ears.

you clung to the covers as he took your skirt off, and your pretty daffodil coloured panties. you only let go of the covers to let simon get your shirt and bra off of you. you looked over your shoulder at him once you were nude and could feel his hungry brown eyes on you. you squirmed a little bit with your breasts rubbed against the covers which only excited you more.

simon got out of his clothes. you heard the rustle of his belt hitting the ground and saw his shirt being thrown to the head of the bed. your husband was soon naked and his cock was pressed up against you and your hips were pushed up.

"pretty thing. pretty girl." he said. he was just so much more bigger than you, he made you feel so small even when the blunt head of his cock was pressed up against your tight cunt, "you'll look pretty with a baby at your hip. already got the body to have babies, not some twig. a proper woman to have my babies." he sank into your pussy and your back arched with the feeling. the stretch of his length inside of you.

"si." you whimpered.

"i saw ya at the baby shower. how could i not. if price's girl wasn't so heavily pregnant, everyone would be lookin' at ya. bein' a little helper to the price's, bein' a good girl." he said, "ya know all about bein' good. i couldn't take my eyes off of ya. especially with the cut of that sundress. why haven't i seen it before?"

you whimpered, "i wanted to save it for a special occasion. no time felt right except for today."

"your fat tits could barely be kept in it. not quite right for a baby shower. unless you were hopin' to walk away with more than just a gift bag. i bet ya were a little jealous. seein' how the captain treats his wife." simon's voice was honey on your brain. it made you feel hot all over and a little hazy in the brain.

"mmm, si."

"i got ya, always do. that's what a husband does. he provides. but, ya gotta do me a favour, beautiful. get pregnant, let me get you pregnant." his started to pick up the pace and you groaned loudly. you could feel the rattle in your soul from the intensity of his pace.

everything from euphoric and hot, you felt good in the best way you could use that term. it was a heat that could be felt in the tips of your fingers and the tips of your toes. you moaned and panted against your soft bedding.

simon pressed your hips further up, almost holding you up against him as he thrusted in and out of you. such a powerful man, no matter the size, you were easily picked up by your hulking mass of a husband. he was a strong brick wall, and you were delicate like a bed of flowers.

eventually simon got you fully onto the bed with him standing at the end with his cock still inside of you. he worked himself against you and you felt the thump of pleasure in your body. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest parts and you panted wildly.

"so pretty." he said, "only get more pretty when you're carryin' my kid around. i promise i'll be there every step of the way. my woman won't go without." he could imagine you with the baby weight at your hips, and eventually the chunky riley baby at your hip while you worked through the house.

that was his dream. a nice house, a soft wife, a couple of kids in the yard. it was a simple life, but simon yearned for it. eat dinner, put the kids to bed, show his missus' some lovin'. he continued to rut against you while he leaned over you and wrapped his strong arms around your middle. letting his cock nudge against your cervix, a friendly greeting. a promise that he was gonna keep that cunt warm.

"please, si." you couldn't deny it. his words were hot and you were feeling flustered at the baby shower. you could feel the pull to have a baby, and it was good that you and your hubby were on the same page.

you blushed against the covers, he was still so smitten with you. he loved every curve and mole. he loved every inch of soft skin against his calloused hands. you could hear him panting for you, wanting you more than anything. you whimpered a little bit from the feeling of his cock hitting against all the right spots.

simon knew how to drive you mad with a sexual heat.

his heavy thrusts went to your head and before you knew it, you were panting like an animal in heat with your back arched like a good girl. a good wife.

"yeah, you'll keep my belly and my cock warm, huh? that's what a good missus' does. takin' care of her hubby and the kids he gave her." he felt your cunt clench around his cock. that got you excited. he continued to rut against you until you tensed up under him during climax.

you clawed at the covers a little as the pleasure hit you. your eyes rolled back a little and your husband continued to fuck you. he moved you against his cock and watched your back. a few more thrusts after your climax as simon was finishing as well.

"that's it, that's it. good girl. good girl." he purred lowly, "a good missus riley." the words made you shudder. he felt the heat under his skin. he felt alive.

but it wasn't long before his body craved for more. while he pulled out of you, he got onto the bed and between your legs. his cock gleamed with your wetness, but still painfully hard. he needed more.

after all, he needed to make sure it all took.

-

"there's my missus." simon said with his voice filled with love. he strong arms wrapped around you swollen middle and his nose up against your shoulder, "pretty as always."

this was your second pregnancy in two years, and your firstborn, a baby girl was sound asleep in her playpen while you cooked breakfast for you and simon. you looked like a proper wife, a good wife.

maybe it was a bit of an overkill to have two babies so close together, but simon couldn't help himself. it didn't help that you only got hotter when you were being such a good mama to his daughter. his large hands roamed your swollen middle. a few more months and you'll be having a boy.

"not feeling too pretty." you yawned. you tilted your head up and simon leaned down a little to kiss you square on the lips, "why don't you go check on our little peanut and i'll plate our food."

"of course, love." anything for his wife.

your little family felt complete, that was until simon got a itch to have baby number three. <3

[gloomwitchwrites]

(I'm not sure if I'm doing this right, but here goes nothing)

For Imagines and What Ifs, how do you think the 141 men would react to you wanting to keep your last name after you got married?

Would be they be chill about having separate names? Would they be hurt that you don't want their last name? Would they suggest a hyphenated last name as a compromise? Or (my personal fave) would they change their last name instead?

Greetings, anon! You absolutely submitted a request correctly! I adore this idea. I love thinking about any of these men as married men and what they're like in that regard. I can easily see this prompt having angst and fluff. What I would like to do is answer the last half of the prompt. Those are four distinct questions, and four distinct ideas, and I think each of them matches to one of the 141 guys in turn. That is how I would like to tackle this request (if you don't mind).

I'm sure my selections might not match up with everyone's opinion but that's why fanfiction is so wonderful. We can all have different ideas and HCs and they are all valid in their own way.

Enjoy!! I had so much fun with this one!! Presented in four drabbles.

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

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, fluff, light angst, married life

Word Count: 400

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

John "Soap" MacTavish

“You don’t want to take my last name?” He sounds hurt, and that breaks your heart.

“It’s not personal, Johnny. I’ve earned my title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “You worked hard. But—” Johnny sighs and rubs his chin. He glances away, clearly growing agitated.

“I love you,” you murmur, kissing his cheek.

Johnny melts a bit, kissing you back. ���I’d like to call you Mrs. MacTavish.”

“And you can,” you reply softly. “Sometimes.”

“Like when?”

You need to turn his mood around. Leaning in, you playfully nip at his bottom lip. “When we’re alone. In the bedroom.”

Johnny grins.

John Price

“We need to talk about this, John. I feel like you’re avoiding the conversation.”

John’s tea mug pauses just before reaching his lips. “Avoiding what conversation?”

“About me keeping my last name,” you reply, crossing your arms

John sighs and places the mug on the counter. “You can do what you want.”

“Does it not upset you?” you ask cautiously.

“Not upset, love,” he says softly. “You’re a grown woman. I’ll respect what you want.”

You step up to him, one hand pressed to his waist. “Sure about that?”

John leans forward, stealing a kiss. “I’m more than sure, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I don’t want to change my last name, Simon. It’s…special to me.”

Simon stands stoic and calm. He understands. Names are important. They carry memory. Sometimes good ones. Sometimes bad.

“That’s your choice,” replies Simon slowly.

“You’re not upset?”

“I’ll respect whatever you decide.”

Your sigh of relief is soft and calming. This has been a burden for you.

“What if I take your last name?”

You frown. “What?”

Simon repeats the question.

“You want that?”

“I do,” answers Simon firmly.

Names are important. Names carry memory.

Riley is Simon’s father's name. It would be a relief to shed it.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“How do you feel about a compromise?” Kyle asks softly. “Instead of us keeping our last names.”

It’s a conversation the two of you have had repeatedly after saying “I do.” You want to keep your last name, and while Kyle respects it, you sense he’s not entirely happy about it.

“A compromise? What are you thinking?”

“Hyphenate them.”

“Really?” you laugh.

“Yeah,” he grins. “My name first or yours. Doesn’t matter. A bit of both of us.”

You rest your head against his shoulder. “I can see it.”

“Be the same for our kids.”

“I like it,” you reply.

taglist:

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

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

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

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @spookyscaryspoon @vrb8im

[chaosandmarigolds]

Finally, our beautiful baby boy, Kyle.

You pulled up outside the bar, already bracing yourself for the chaos you knew awaited. Kyle had texted you earlier, the messages a jumble of typos and half-formed sentences, followed by a picture of him and Soap grinning like they’d just won the lottery.

Sure enough, the moment you parked, the door swung open, and there he was—half-staggering, half-supported by Soap, who was clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Your boy’s all yours now,” Soap said, grinning as he handed Kyle off. “He’s had a few.”

“A few?” you muttered, catching Kyle as he leaned heavily against you. “Kyle, you’re a mess.”

“You’re a mess,” Kyle slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at you before letting out a giggle. “No, wait. I’m the mess. That’s right. Hi, love.”

You sighed, dragging him toward the car. “Say goodbye to your friends, Kyle.”

“Bye, lads!” Kyle called over his shoulder, waving like a celebrity as Soap and the others hooted and hollered. “Best night ever!”

Once you got him into the passenger seat, he slumped back with a happy sigh, looking at you like you’d hung the stars.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, his words slow and syrupy. “Did I tell you that tonight? Pretty. So pretty. Best part of my life.”

“You’re drunk, honey,” you said flatly, pulling away from the curb.

“Drunk on you,” he countered, grinning at his own joke.

You shot him a glare. “This isn’t funny. Do you even remember how much you drank?”

He squinted at you, clearly trying to think. “Uhh… lots? Soap kept buying rounds, and then Gaz was like, ‘Let’s do shots!’ and then, wait- no I'm Gaz! Ha! Thats rig—oh! Oh, and then I told ‘em about the thing!”

You frowned, glancing at him. “What thing?”

“The… the thing!” he said, gesturing vaguely. “The… y’know, the ring. And the proposing. Told ‘em all about it. Soap was like, ‘Don’t spoil it,’ and I was like, ‘Nah, she’ll say yes!’"

You slammed on the brakes, the car jerking to a stop in the middle of the empty street. “Kyle. What did you just say?”

“Huh?” he asked, blinking at you like you’d started speaking another language.

“You told them… about a ring? And proposing?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, grinning as if he hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of your life. “Got it all planned. Candlelight dinner, your favorite wine, the whole works. Gonna get down on one knee and everything.”

Your jaw dropped. “Kyle, are you telling me you were going to propose, and you just—what? Blurt it out now because you’re plastered?”

He blinked at you, his smile faltering. “Wait. Was that supposed to be… a secret?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air.

“Oh,” he said softly, sinking into his seat like a scolded puppy. After a moment, he mumbled, “Still gonna do it, though. Even if I messed it up.”

You stared at him, torn between wanting to throttle him and wanting to laugh. “Kyle, you’re unbelievable.”

“But you love me,” he said, his grin creeping back. “Right?”

You groaned, leaning back against the seat. “Yes, you idiot. I love you. Even when you’re a drunk mess.”

“Good,” he said, his voice soft and earnest. “’Cause I’m gonna make you so happy, babe. You’ll see.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Garrick.”

“And you’re lucky I’m yours,” he shot back, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Now take me home, future Mrs. Garrick.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was warm, and despite everything, you couldn’t help smiling. "Mrs. Garrick does have a nice ring to it."

( i love Kyle. Like genuinely, if any of them were real and I got to be in an automatic marriage with any of them- it'd be kyle)

[hotmencoreplus]

DOMESTIC 141 + KÖNIG HEADCANONS

Pairings: Captian John Price, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König x fem!reader (she/her)

Summary: Random headcanons of what TF141 + König are like domestically/ as fathers.

Warnings: Deployment, pure domestic fluff

Word count: 1000+

A/N: Choosing baby genders based on what I can picture more. I appreciate feedback! Let me know what you think :)

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Copying and reposts are not! My fics are only posted on tumblr, under this sideblog @hotmencoreplus for the account, @hotmencore

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

‣ Definitely 1 girl, 1 boy.

‣ Is very big on respect. If either of them disrespect you, shout, or start being bratty, he is right on it.

‣ Got his boy into football at a young age, and is the loudest dad out of them all. He will be shouting to him on the field just like when he barks out orders to rookies.

‣ Always wants to go on fishing trips. Always. I feel like it would be something him and his daughter do more than anyone.

‣ He isn’t big on technology at all. Pretty much just because he just can’t wrap his head around it.

‣ I imagine him keeping up with the new iPhone models, but would not change a thing about them. This man has default everything on his phone (apart from his lock screen of you and the kids).

‣ He is 100% one of them dads that never know what to call airpods.

‣ “What was it he wanted for Christmas? Airbuds? Earpods? iBuds?”

‣ “Airpods, John.”

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

‣ 3 girls. You cannot convince me otherwise. And he definitely secretly hoped for all girls.

‣ When Simon is home from deployment, they go to him for everything.

‣ Nightmares? You will wake up in the morning to find him missing from your bed, only to find him asleep, half hanging off of one of their beds with his arms round them on his chest, snoring loud.

‣ Simon is so usually on edge, though has learnt to zone his girls out when they are arguing.

‣ “Dad, tell her I’m right.”

‣ “Hm?”

‣ He especially zones out when his oldest girl is talking about school drama. He isn’t listening to a word of it, sat on the living room sofa with his head leant back, eyes shut, humming every so often to make it seem like he is following.

‣ I don’t think he ever shouts. Raising his voice for assertiveness? Yes, but he never shouts at his girls. It reminds him of how his dad use to be with him, and the thought of being even a smidge like his dad really scares him.

JOHNNY ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

‣ 2 girls.

‣ He aspires for them both to be bestfriends.

‣ He aspires to be their bestfriends. Like he admires them both.

‣ He will never turn down a tea party invitation. Never.

‣ You’ll be cooking dinner, and have no idea where Johnny is. But you hear distant giggles, and follow them up to your daughters’ room. There, you find your military husband sat at a little plastic table, wearing a tiara, clinking tiny cups together with your daughters and their little bears.

‣ “Well it’s nice to see you again Mr. Snuggles. And who is this new gue- oh, hey lass. Wanna join?”

‣ When they start to grow up, he lets them experiment with make up on him.

‣ And seeing your military husband with sparkly pink eyeshadow on and red rosy cheeks really is a sight for sore eyes.

‣ When on deployment, he will tell any and every story of his little girls to anyone that will listen. He loves to show them off.

‣ This ‘anyone’ is usually Ghost.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

‣ 1 boy.

‣ Definitely has a modern style for his kids. He 100% bought him a pair of adorable tiny airforces.

‣ Is his son’s biggest supporter, in everything.

‣ He is big on praise. The biggest softie ever.

‣ Will put up every single painting his son has made. Your fridge is literally covered in paintings, drawings, pretty much anything made by your little boy, will be put up somewhere in the house.

‣ He vlogs literally everything. More than you.

‣ He watches them all when on deployment, missing you both, usually forgetting about sleep so that he can rewatch his little boy’s first steps for the 100th time.

‣ He also big on getting his boy into his own hobbies. Even though he has no awareness to suitable ages.

‣ You’re on the phone with him one night whilst he is away, as he talks to you about what he wants to get your son into.

‣ “When I’m back I’m gonna take us clay shooting. I reckon he’d like it”

‣ “He’s 2 Kyle”

KÖNIG

‣ 1 girl, you cannot argue.

‣ He worships the ground his babygirl walks on.

‣ He will literally do anything for her. And you, of course. But his little girl is the light of his life.

‣ He loves when he is home because he takes every opportunity to dress his little girl. Every single time he does he is internally screaming at the size of the clothes.

‣ Every. Single. Time. He will come home from deployment with a bouquet of flowers for his wife, and pull out a singular flower before he reaches the door to give to his babygirl.

‣ You are definitely the one wearing the trousers in the household, always having to put your foot down. Because there is no way this man could ever say no to his little girl.

‣ Is always taking photos of the both of you. Always. He isn’t often in photos himself, but will never miss an opportunity to take one of either of you.

‣ When he is home and takes care of your daughter whilst you go to work, he will be sending you videos and photos 24/7 as little updates.

‣ I can imagine him being the driest texter on the planet. Like he is a proper dad, will just send a ‘����’ or one word answers. So these photos and videos will rarely ever have context. He will just send them randomly.

‣ Is completely unaware of suitable bedtimes for kids. You will spend a night out with your friends, and come back in at like 10pm to find him up with your toddler making pancakes.

‣ “König! She should have been in bed at 7pm!”

‣ “Oh”

[shadow4-1]

(Based on a true story) I'm just imagining being a military contracted funeral director who's responsible for handling Soap's funeral arrangements.

Apparently, depsite how much John MacTavish loved his family, he listed his Captain as next of kin in his will. You sit in the tiny arrangement conference room in a nice suit, surrounded by three distraught men in bloody tactical gear.

The giant Lieutenant in a skull mask is crying. Not sobbing, but just crying. As he blinks, big wet tears drip down in between the teeth's ridges. Even when he speaks his voice is still the same, even tone.

The one in the blue cap is bouncy and forcibly stoic. His jaw is set so hard you can see his forehead muscles clench. He pretends like you don't exist but you can feel his eyes on you every time you look away.

And the Captain...he's blank faced. He shows no emotion. He absent-mindedly flips through the packets of information in front of him. He asks honest, curious questions about the cremation authorization forms. It's obvious he's buried more than his fair share of people.

"You're not going to cut up his insides, right?" The blue cap asks. He catches you off guard, but also his squad.

"Garrick. Now is not the time." Captain warns.

You butt in, knowing damn well this won't end well without some mild intervention.

"You've selected a direct cremation package for Mr. MacTavish." You nod, gesturing to the papers in front of you. "Mr. MacTavish hasn't been autopsied, so...no. Nothing but cremation will be done to his body."

The blue cap sinks in his chair in relief. The Captain scoffs at him, but based on his and the Lieutenant's reaction, they also relax with that knowledge. You center yourself before forcing eye contact with every man in the room. You manage to get all of their attention.

"I'm here for you guys. If you need anything or have question, please let me know." You nod, smiling softly. "Mr. MacTavish will be well cared for. I promise."

The rest of the conference goes normally. The Captain signs the papers and thanks you for your hard work. You shake their hands and show them to the door. You offer the Lieutenant your suit's handkerchief on the way out. You expect him to give it back but he just takes it.

Little do you know, that night he can't stop himself from crying into it. Your little bit of genuine sweetness makes him want to keep living despite the fact the loss of Johnny makes him want to die.

[the-californicationist]

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

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

You decide who, have fun writing lovely 😏

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

TW: light bdsm and contol themes, rough sex

Soft Reins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The worst part was that you liked it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to what? Make you happy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes, 

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

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

A good man. 

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

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

You didn’t need it.  

You could handle things on your own. 

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

You were nobody’s puppet.

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

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

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

So?

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

So?

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

So?! 

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

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

“What are you doing here, John?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I have any bloody help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I wrong, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

So, you obeyed. 

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

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

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

“Wait here.”

You waited. 

You waited some more. 

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

“Take off your clothes.”

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

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

“Take.”

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

“Off.”

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

“Your.” 

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

“Clothes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the captain was very hard to read. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just cold.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! What —-“

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

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

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

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

“Seems like you do, Captain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you in, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You. Breathe. When. I. Say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged,

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please make me come.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you trust me?”

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

“Yes.”

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

“J-John!”

“Wait, wait, wait… good girl. Good.”

“Ohhh, fuck…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AO3 Link

[letaliabane]

First Meeting of Valet!SimonRiley and Maid!Reader

Downton Abbey was one of the most well-known houses in England that belonged to aristocrat and war Captain, Lord Johnathon Price. Born in money, and married into even more money to the beautiful Liliana Montel from America. To pay off his father's debts, or that's what the press says anyway. They have three young daughters: Mary, Edith, and Sybil.

But of course, there was more than meets the eye about the great Downton Abbey. It is run by Butler Kyle Garrick, head housekeeper Kate Laswell, and an army of footmen, ladies' maids, housemaids, hallboys, and even more staff!

This included you, Y/N, a housemaid who had worked at the house for over two years. Coming from a middle-class background you were put into work very young, and after many years in and out of service, found yourself working at Downton.

'You have very good references, I can see that. And from the details a very hard worker! I expect you to keep that up when you take your place here at Downton Abbey.' You remembered Ms Laswell saying sternly, but with a small smile at the end of her interview.

You had just finished making the beds up for the three sisters with some of the other housemaids, making your way down through the servant's walkways to put the sheets in the laundry.

However on the way down, at the bottom of the staircase, a stranger stood with a briefcase in hand.

A tall, broad man dressed from top to bottom in black, a thick overcoat over a suit, shoes polished and shining the daylight that poured through the windows. What was more intriguing was the mask he wore over the bottom half of his face, seemingly made of metal. And then there were his eyes, a piercing electrified blue, like when lightning strikes a storming sky.

'Who are you?' Gwen, lady's maid to her ladyship, asked suddenly appearing at your side. A blunt woman, not very friendly to any of the other staff. Well, except for first footman Phillip Graves, they were as thick as thieves.

The stranger's eyes moved from her to you, silently taking you both in, as if analysing who you were.

'Mr Riley, I'm the new valet.' The soft but deep rumbling of his voice caught you off guard momentarily.

'The new valet?' The lady's maid gawked, barely holding her scoff back.

You couldn't couldn't help but glance at her in annoyance. From tone alone, she could tell Gwen was already casting judgment upon the man. In society, valets were known as 'a gentleman's gentleman', smart, and even good-looking. Rather than that, there were sure to be stares of ridicule due to the mask.

When no one else spoke, you plucked up the courage, folding the bedding under one arm before reaching out to him. 'I'm Y/N, the head housemaid.'

It was as if he was stunned at the sight of your reached-out hand, looking between your face to your hand. Just as you reconsidered your greeting, he took your hand into his grasp, shaking it with a gentle, almost careful grip.

'How do you do?'

You gave him a smile before pulling away, nodding to the door on your right. 'If you just go through this door the housekeeper Ms Laswell will take care of you.'

He nodded, 'Thank you.'

Picking up his suitcase, he steps past the other ladies, taking one more look at you, his eyes almost speaking a thousand words before disappearing out of sight.

Throughout the day you heard mutterings from the staff.

'What is with the mask?'

'Who thought to hire him?!'

'Surely there was someone else more suitable for the job ...'

They all loved gossip, but also a good jealous rant about not getting the position themselves. You found they could sometimes be so cruel.

Later that day at luncheon, Mr Garrick lectured the new valet about his new role in front of the whole staff.

'If you find yourself tongue-tied in the presence of His Lordship, I can only assure you that his patience will allow you to perform your duties correctly!' He stated as he sat himself at the head of the dining table.

'Of course,' Mr Riley quietly replied.

'Riley! My dear fellow!' The familiar bellow had all the staff on their feet.

Lord Price stood at the entrance to the servant's dining hall. He was dressed in his usual day attire of a suit, casual, but smart. It wasn't often his lordship made his way into the downstairs area of the house.

'My apologies I should have realised you were all having luncheon! Please sit!' He said as he walked around the table, moving to Mr Riley's side. 'But I just had to greet my old comrade in arms.'

The Butler's head snapped up, and an immediate silence fell over the table, all eyes moving to the men who clasped hands, John smiling towards the valet as they muttered greetings to one another. It wasn't too long before John left, not without apologising once more for his disturbance.

When silence remained, Mr Riley looked around, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself as he said. 'Well ... none of you ever asked.'

Call of Duty Masterlist I wrote this at 2am don't judge me bahahah.

I decided to keep the name of the home Downton Abbey (Had no idea what else to call it but if anyone comes up with anything please feel free to send it through!) Also kept the daughter's names the same as the show because I'm lazy lol. And if you any more ideas about this story please feel free to send them through!

[barrackspredator]

imagine coming back from deployment, some of your friends have passed, you’re beyond traumatized, life will never be the same

only to get back and find out drake and kendrick beefed AND drake is a pedo

maaaaaan 😭

one of these lover boys had to be sick to his stomach.

[lay-z]

🍷 Day 8 – Dinner time

Synopsis: Kyle has gotten a rare, personal invite to spend Christmas Day over at Captain Price’s house and the young Sergeant is already looking forward to see you again. 

Pairing: husband!John Price x wife!Reader x Kyle Gaz Garrick 

Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | Kyle’s POV; curvy!Reader (some physical descriptions, not a lot); smut; cussing; drinking/intoxication; objectification; voyeurism; male masturbation 

Word count: 2.9k 

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Kyle knocks on the dark cedar wood front door of the detached, two-storey brick house – or should he rather call it a mansion? Newly renovated, with its own idyllic driveway, extension double garage and, of course, the discreet yet high-tech security system overlooking the whole estate. 

He knows that his Captain spared no expense when he moved you out here after the wedding; to the address somewhere in the countryside near Liverpool that no one outside of Price’s most trusted inner circle knows about. 

Understandably.  

It was quite the surprise to Kyle, when Price had invited him over for Christmas, – “My wife misses ya, son. Ordered me to invite ya over for dinner and you know I can’t deny her anything. Be there at 1800 and bring some wine, aye? She prefers red.” 

And Kyle cannot disobey a direct, – or indirect? – order from his Captain. 

Now it’s 17:47 p.m. on Christmas Eve and Kyle brushes an imaginary piece of lint off his left shoulder before adjusting his fashionable long black winter coat once more as he waits for the door to open, his breath fogging up in the cold evening air whenever he inhales and exhales deeply. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so nervous all of a sudden, or perhaps he does but he won’t acknowledge that now. So, instead, he questions himself if the bottle of red wine, which he’s currently clutching in his left hand, will be to your liking while his stomach keeps clenching and unclenching repeatedly, nearly making him nauseous.  

And when the door finally opens to reveal you, a bewitching smile on your red-painted lips, wearing a classy black, formfitting cocktail dress with a cutesy Christmas-themed apron tied around your curvy waist, Kyle’s breath catches in his lungs. 

“Hello there, soldier!” You chirp happily and don’t hesitate to pull him into a welcoming hug, “It’s so good to finally see you again.” 

Kyle feels like someone punched him in the throat. He can feel your full breasts press up against his chest as you embrace him eagerly, arms lingering around his neck while he steals a quick whiff of your expensive perfume, and it’s torture already. All of it. 

When you pull back to smile up at him with sparkling eyes, Kyle clears his throat loudly, mentally screaming at himself to pull his shit together. 

“Good to see you, too, Mrs. Price,” he replies, his voice slightly breathless from the unexpected yet much needed hug, “Thank you so much for the invitation.” 

He tries to flash you a charming smile, the one that usually gets him anywhere, but he ends up looking strained and awkward, and feels uncharacteristically insecure – intimidated, even.  

You wave him off with a dismissive click of your tongue as you usher him inside and close the heavy door behind him, locking it with a string of numbers you tap into the small keypad with your manicured fingers.  

“Please, Kyle, no need for formalities with little old me, okay? As much as I love my last name and the man who gave it to me, it does make me feel much older than I actually am.” 

The soft chuckle that reaches Kyle’s ears, makes him smile more genuinely this time, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Kyle already feels more cared for than he has in the past couple of months, when he’d last managed to make himself go home on leave to be with his closest family. Then again, this still feels different, more intimate somehow. 

After you demand to take his coat and hang it up for him, Kyle is sent on his way towards the living room and immediately met by his Captain, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window front that leads into the spacious backyard, wearing a casual chic and terribly civilian outfit, a courtesy of your fashion sense, he assumes. Has to be.  

He has his meaty hands clasped behind his back like the proper old geezer he is as he watches the beginning snowfall outside while the massive, picture-perfect Christmas tree lights up the living room with its warm glowing fairy lights and colourful ornaments. 

By the way he is standing so broodingly, Kyle almost expects a lecture or worse, – a briefing. 

“Sir–” Kyle begins, “If I dare say, this is a mighty fine place ya got here for yourself and your missis.” 

Price hums in agreement, nodding along as he turns around slowly to glance over his shoulder at his guest, “Sometimes bastards like us do get lucky, son.” 

Kyle nods curtly with a tight-lipped smile, wondering briefly when it will finally be his turn, though he’s not thinking about a house or some fancy car.

“Good to see you, Garrick. Glad you could make it.” When Price approaches, he gives Kyle a sturdy trademark pat on his shoulder before brushing past him towards the liquor cabinet, “A drink before dinner?” 

Kyle glances down and lifts the bottle of red wine in his hand, the one he brought specifically for you, before watching how his Captain is already pouring bourbon into two tumbler glasses. 

“Sounds good to me, sir.” He agrees. 

When Kyle is eventually ushered to the dining room next, where the table has already been set with three sets of matching plates, glasses, cutlery and decor, his offered help in the kitchen is waved off by Price. 

“No need for that, lad. Just sit back and try to relax. The wife and I will take care of everything tonight.” 

So, Kyle doesn’t question it, tries not to feel uncomfortable of bad about being looked after like this without being able to offer anything in return, and he manages to relax after a first glass of delectable red wine on top of the whiskey he’d already consumed, though the slight buzz also makes it harder not to stare at your chest whenever you bend over the table to set down a plate of food or refill glasses. 

You’re so unrealistically kind, soft, sweet and nurturing – everything Kyle longs for yet never able to find in his countless acquirement of meaningless flings and hookups, that he briefly wonders if you’re even real. Everything he knows, is always rushed and unpersonal, a means to an end that leaves him unfulfilled and cold each time; loneliness sneaking up at him at night and choking him slowly. Nothing ever sticks and lingers; no one wants to keep him warm and happy; it’s never anything like his Captain has found with you.  

“God, I hope you’ll like it, Kyle,” you laugh coyly as you serve him a delicious-looking heavy plate of pot-roasted sirloin beef with vegetables and mashed potatoes, “I swear, if you don’t like it, then John has lied to me about my cooking skills all this time.” 

But Kyle is too focused on the way your plump tits squish together and nearly spill over the low neckline of your tight dress as he glances over the rim of his wine glass, taking a suspiciously large gulp of the ruby liquid.

He'd eat old, mouldy toast if it meant he could bury his face in your soft breasts afterwards, perhaps even suck and lick on your nipple a bit. And then he catches himself wondering what colour your nipples are, how large your areolas– 

Price chuckles gruffly and his chair scrapes over the hardwood floor as he adjusts it at the head of the table, “You know I would never lie to you about your cooking skills, love. Honesty was a big part in our vows.” 

“Is that why I can’t ask any questions about your job?” You quip, taking the seat across from Kyle, “Kyle, you need to back me up on this.” 

And Kyle’s dark lashes flutter as he blinks rapidly, coming back to reality, to his Captain engaging in playful banter with his dear wife. The woman Kyle is down bad – bad – for. He shifts in his seat, discreetly adjusting the front of his black chino pants below the table and clears his throat, “Uhm, I’m–I’m afraid I’ve signed too many NDA’s to be of service for this, ma’am.” 

Price snorts, shooting his wife a triumphant smile as he picks up his cutlery, “Good lad.” 

Despite an amazing, hearty dinner to soak up the liquor in his gut, Kyle ends up drunk after allowing both wine and whiskey glasses being filled up repeatedly in turns. He’s not embarrassingly shit-faced drunk, but too drunk to drive and definitely too drunk to argue with you and Price about taking a taxi back to the hotel instead of staying the night. 

“I’ve already arranged the guest bedroom for you,” you tell him with the tiniest pout, “– and no one has stayed in it yet, so do us the honour, Sergeant.” 

Price’s warm, heavy palm on Kyle’s shoulder is the nail in the coffin, “You’re spending the night, Garrick. That’s an order.” Another rough pat follows and Kyle slumps in his chair, nodding at his Captain. 

“Makes sense, sir. ‘m sorry for the–” 

“Nonsense,” Price interrupts him gruffly, then gives you a curt nod before you turn on your heels, leaving the living room at once, “Just let her take care of ya and you’re both gonna end up happy.” 

When Kyle furrows his brows in question and opens his mouth to ask for elaboration, his upper arm is already being grabbed, his impressive body lifted out of the comfortable armchair. 

“You have a lovely wife, sir.” Kyle mutters, speech slightly slurred as he sways with his steps next to his Captain, who’s wearing a knowing smile on his lips, “Aye, couldn't agree more, lad.” 

Pretty, plush thing. Ripe and ready to be plucked and consumed, yet utterly devoted to and patient for your dear husband. 

Price is the luckiest bastard in the world and Kyle can’t even blame him for hiding you away here, tucking you under his battered wing to make sure no harm ever comes to you the moment you’d foolishly agreed to become his wife, his to protect and cherish. No, the rough man has devoted his life to making sure that the filthiest dirt of this world never reaches you; determined to keep your beautiful soul pure and give up his own in return.  

Fuck, Kyle would gladly do that, too, if it meant he could so much as dream of someone like you without feeling guilty whenever he’s deployed to some shithole corner of this world, risking his life. 

He’s dragged into the guest bedroom; a large king-sized bed taking up most of its space, new and modern, with bedside tables on each side and the scent of the navy-blue bed sheets still fresh. Through half-lidded, glossy eyes, Kyle notices the white sideboard with a sleek flat TV, a matching tallboy dresser, and a small bookshelf with a plush armchair and standard lamp in the corner. 

“Can you wish your wife a good night from me, sir?” Kyle asks as he kicks his shoes off before struggling to unbutton his dress shirt, unaware of his Captain sauntering over to the armchair. 

Price lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle as he sinks down into the cushions, “Tell her yerself.” 

Still oblivious when the door to the room clicks shut, Kyle shrugs off his long-sleeved shirt before folding it haphazardly. 

“Do you need help with that, soldier?” 

It takes a brief moment for the soft purr of your voice to register in his foggy brain, but when it does, it causes Kyle instant heart palpitations, and it gets worse when he looks over at you, seeing you wearing a red, flimsy babydoll nightgown, a red silky bow adorning your full breasts.  

“My wife asked you a question, Gaz,” Price gruffs out from his seat in the corner, whiskey glass in one hand and cigar in the other, causing Kyle to question his sanity, because he clearly must be hallucinating right about now, “Answer her.”  

Perhaps he’s got alcohol poisoning and is already in a coma. He'd prefer that above... whatever this is. 

“I–I–I–” He stammers, watching as you approach him with sensual steps, a delighted twinkle in your pretty eyes and carrying a tall glass of water in your hand. 

“No need to be nervous, Kyle,” you coo at him and reach for one of his hands before pushing the cold glass against his palm until his fingers wrap around it, “Bottoms up. It will help with the hangover.” 

As the terrific soldier he is, Kyle does as he is told, lifting the rim of the glass up to his lips while his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Price, the latter puffing on his cigar, strong legs spread wide and– 

Kyle sputters and chokes on the last gulp, sobering up at once after noticing the clear outline of his Captain’s raging boner. 

You pat his back to help with his coughing and Kyle’s eyes are immediately drawn to the way your tits jiggle at the movement, making him bite back a groan as you speak so sweetly, “Hey–Hey, calm down. It’s okay.” 

“What the bloody hell is going on here?! Captain!” Kyle demands, his voice laced with a hint of panic as he squirms at the edge of the mattress, praying for the steady flow of blood rushing south to stop while his cock chuffs. 

Before you answer, you glance back at your husband, who gives you a slow nod. 

“John told me that you’ve been through a rough patch lately,” you say, dragging your teeth over your bottom lip as you clearly consider your next words, “– and he suggested that I could try make you feel better.” 

Kyle is momentarily stunned into silence, mouth gaping as the empty glass slips out of his grasp and onto the plush carpet on the floor, “Sir, you–you can’t be fuckin’ serious.” 

You bend forward to pick it up again and the short nightgown rucks up over your back, revealing your plump ass cheeks and the tiny matching red thong hugging your thick curves, and Kyle sucks in a sharp breath as he feels himself getting dizzy. 

“You want to fuck my wife, Garrick,” Price remarks, a plume of thick smoke curling up into the air as he exhales slowly, “Then go on and take her; just wrap it up and don’t be too rough. I’m the only one allowed to mark her up. Right, darling?” 

You nod eagerly, flashing a dazzling smile at your husband before placing the glass on the bedside table. 

“But–” 

Kyle’s objection is silenced when you cup his face and lean in to capture his lips in a deep, slow kiss that has his heartrate spike and his pulse thrum in his neck, even when you pull back again while he chases after your lips with a pathetic whine. 

“Just be a good boy and let me ride you, Kyle.” 

The way you ride his cock so eagerly, plump tits bouncing right in front of his face, your core squelching sloppily, squeezing him tightly with your feet planted flat on the mattress, has his brain go stupid and his initial restraint dissolve like candy floss in water, washed away by the steady current. 

And the noises you're making. Saccharine whines, hiccupped moans, and the way you utter his name so desperate and breathlessly. Oh... Lord have mercy on him... 

His head tips back against the plush pillow, long fingers digging into the fat of your plush hips, thick tendons protruding in his neck while his chest heaves rapidly and his full lips part with a guttural moan. It's warm, so bloody warm and wet and tight and he's losing himself in you so easily, tension coiling and pleasure mounting, up–up–up–up–  

"F-Fuck! Oh, fuck–! I a-ah–” 

Kyle's eyes snap open, staring at the ceiling and his whole body jolts, toes curling as he sits up, crying out in pleasure-pain while he folds forward as if being electrocuted, unable to control it when his balls throb while your perfect cunt sucks him in relentlessly, squeezing like a vice and stimulating his cock until he can't stop it. 

He comes so hard, his vision blurs and frails at the edges; spurt after spurt of potent cum spilling from his ruddy tip into the condom, making him fear it might overflow with it. 

In the corner of the bedroom, a rough groan and muttered curses are torn from the Captain’s throat as he spills into his own calloused fist, perfectly timed and skilfully edged; his milky cum dripping over his scarred, hairy knuckles.  

Maybe this is what peace truly feels like, a small piece of heaven that has been offered to him. All free, no consequences, but the fact that he's hooked now. 

“Mhmm, you didn’t even wait for me to finish,” you bemoan with a pout, your relentless fucking now slowed down to a sensual grind while Kyle quakes with aftershock. He wants to apologize, but his brain is mush, and you beat him to it, anyway. 

“You know... whenever that happens, John has me sit on his face.” 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kyle is already moving in. 

[kenandeliza]

a collection of ideas of a post-suspendium Golden Age comics Billy Batson if he ended up in the 21st century (pick any comic continuity

EDIT: IF YOU SEE THIS POST HAVING A WEIRD/REPEATING PARAGRAPH/FORMAT, LET ME KNOW BECAUSE TUMBLR ISNT WORKING FOR MY MOBILE

1.adoption scenario

(If a leaguer wanted to adopt Billy, he’d just show them his birth certificate)

Billy smirking:” Sorry, you can’t legally adopt a grandpa”

2. Billy teasing with a smug boomer voice: “Back in my day, we used to play with atomic machines!”

3. youtube

Billy:thanks for showing me how to use a modern phone (insert friend from 21st century)! But I wonder, where is the tv remote for changing the youtube channel? And Where is the news?

(Friend from the 21st century):*sighs* it’s so over

4. Old friends

Aside from the fawcett city heroes, Billy in this case probably relates more to the older heroes like wildcat, Alan scott or Jay Garrick, maybe they have multiple team ups in the past and would reminiscent over it (the rest having their favorite drinks while Billy preferring his hot chocolate ice cream)

5. Teasing

The younger hero teams who know his identity would teasingly call him a “boomer”, Billy wanted to protest that he technically was born before boomers but they ignored it and still teased him about it.

to the rest of the heroes who didn’t know about his identity, they assume captain marvel is more than centuries old, and thinks this is the reason the kid heroes calls him a boomer.

6. Jokes

Billy: “oh so these memes are like what replaces comic strips i used to read, how nice”

Some of these ideas are taken from the fanfics i’ve written, some just came to me inside my head, but it’s fun to think about it.

(Edited: added more scenarios)

7. Caprisuns

Caprisuns werent invented yet when Billy was in suspendium. After getting out of suspendium, He really likes caprisun.

Other leaguers would be confused, Marvel's liking of caprisun is comparable to Martian Manhunter's love of oreos. When asked about when his capri sun addiction started, Marvel shrugged, "They weren't made before I was born, so it was only recent"

The league is now confused as to how old marvel is. Wonder Woman relates to this with her fascination of ice cream flavors.

8. Billy automatically put on a Mid-atlantic accent whenever he is near a microphone due to his habit and work with Whiz station for his TV segments as well as radio programs.

Whenever Captain Marvel uses a communicator, he unintentionally uses a mid-atlantic accent (this confuses the leaguers, "who is this guy!?"). Some of the leaguers enjoyed listening to his voice

Marvel would occasionally file an audio JL report (yes, with the same mid-atlantic accent) when he's on a hurry and couldn't type it out with his typewriter (he still finds it difficult to use a computer) : "And there you have it, folks! In a nutshell, I managed to handle the There was an outbreak of imps but Mary and I already took care of it, Junior apprehend the acrobat after a terible case of Moonitis, the three of us thwarted Mr. Mind's dastardly scheme to seize control of the sun, and we all prevented Sivana from being promoted to "King of Earth" by hurling his atomic bomb straight into the heart of the sun itself! That's the latest from me, This is Captain Marvel, signing off!"

Leaguer: "Why does he sound like a radio host commenting on a football game?"

Other leaguer:*shrugs*

9. Billy watches a cgi lion movie for the first time

..and thought innocently that there are other talking tigers like tawky tawny.

Some of these ideas are taken from the fanfics i’ve written, some just came to me inside my head, but it’s fun to think about it.

[mossygirl333]

MossyGirls 2024 Kinkmas Masterlist

I decided to do something festive for the holidays and got this wonderful idea from @gloomwitchwrites, seriously go check them out they're Amazing! (with a capital A of course)

These are 12 prompts leading up to Christmas day, enjoy!

(Tw for smut!!)

Day 1 (12/13)

Lumberjack!Logan 'Wolverine' Howlette x f!reader

synopsis: You were driving to your cabin in the mountains when your stupid car broke down. Frustrated ,confused, and more than cold you hauled ass to the nearest cabin to help. A rough lumberjack met you, but he'd help you with your car...oh? You can't fix it and will have to order parts? I can stay in your home for the time being? What do you mean you don't have a guest room?! Can you blame him? He hasn't seen a pretty thing like you in ages.

Link

Day 2 (12/14)

John Price x assistant!reader

synopsis: Price had no one to celebrate Christmas with, his ex-wife got the kids this year. It was lonely in the house, coping with beer and a good cigar. But when a sweet little lass like you comes to his doorstep with cookies and a present, he has to let you in! And reward you of course, you were always such an attentive assistant, now it's his turn to be attentive.

Link

Day 3 (12/15)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gf!reader

Synopsis: Simon never really liked Christmas until he met you, a practically walking Hallmark movie. Dragging him along to a Christmas party that your friend was hosting, 'You need to get out more! meet some new friends!', was your reasoning. With the eggnog spiced and definitely spiked, he couldn't get that stupid little skimpy Santa outfit out of his head. Good thing they had a bathroom upstairs. But shh, stay quiet, Don't want anyone to know Mr. and Mrs. Claus are up to no good.

Day 4 (12/16

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x f!reader

Synopsis: Christmas was always a time for spending time with family and joking around. But you and Johnny just had each other this year. Which was enough for you but...not exactly enough for him. And he's working real hard to have a chubby baby next year.

Day 5 (12/17)

König x fiance!reader

Synopsis: You were new to German culture. Growing up in America, you were more into Santa and his little elves than the Krampus festival Konig took you too. It felt more like Halloween than Christmas. With an off hand comment, calling Krampus 'hot' you had unknowingly wormed an idea into your lovers head. He's Krampus. And you're his victim. Run as fast as you can. He catches you. He fucks you.

Day 6 (12/18)

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x fiance!reader

Synopsis: Kyle and you are both avid Christmas enjoyers, even as children. Movie Nights, Christmas Dinner, The Parade, even Mariah Carey wormed her way into your heart the second the first snow came. Now you sat in the kitchen, making and decorating cookies. But those cookies aren't the only thing getting glazed tonight.

Day 7 (12/19)

John Price x babysitter!reader

Synopsis: John and his wife have been tense. Holidays ruined with their screaming fights and her physical violence. But things got a whole lot worse when he found out about her affair. Now he has to get back at her for her shit treatment and who else to do it with than the woman that his kids love, and his wife hates? His babysitter.

Day 8 (12/20)

Logan 'Wolverine' Howlette x f!reader

Synopsis: Logan was always a bit antsy when snow came. And you never truly understood why, maybe it was some sort of trauma related to holiday seasons. Chalking it up to that, you decided to make this Christmas the best Christmas he could get. When he avoided you, you ramped it up, desperate to get his attention (and maybe his affection) But you silly little thing. Rut was starting soon and you just locked yourself in his room.

Day 9 (12/21)

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x ex!reader

Synopsis: Your friend invited you to a Christmas party. You went. Saw your ex. And immediately wanted to leave. But you couldn't. Not when you remembered that stupid laugh and the way he'd call you 'Bonnie' in that stupid Scottish accent. You drank the entire time to cope and ended up sloppily making out with some hot dude. Johnny didn't like it. He took you home, he didn't mean to follow you into your house. And he didn't mean to tuck you in. And he didn't mean to start getting handsy. But how could he not when all he remembered were how sweet your sighs were and how warm your walls were around his cock?

Day 10 (12/22)

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x college!sweetheart!reader

Synopsis: He was home. He was finally home. Warm, that's all you felt. You had so much anxiety that he was still going to be deployed during Christmas, but he wasn't. And that meant everything to you. It was the only gift you wanted, but Kyle obviously bought you some before he left. After the hot cocoa mugs were put away, and the warmth of the fire lulled you into relaxation, he finally treated you to the best present. Him and you, in love. (and making love)

Day 11 (12/23)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x virgin!reader

Synopsis: Simon was a gentle man. He never was overbearing or mean. Let you take the lead often. He was soft-spoken, hands practically trembling every time he held you like you would break. You begged him all year to take your virginity. You weren’t a baby and you sure as hell weren’t fragile. You could take him! Well Christmas came early this year, and his present to you- was him.

Day 12 (12/24)

Virgin!loserKonig x friend!reader

König comes from a big family. Youngest out of all of them and when it comes to be the youngest, you’re the easiest to get picked on. With his awkward demeanor and socially conservative personality, he didn’t have a girlfriend this year to take home. he was embarrassed, but you wanted to help him out. He was such a good friend anyway- and you had no where else to be on Christmas Eve. little did you know, being König’s ‘girlfriend’ was gonna get a lot more physical.

[penelopepine]

Forever In Your Gaze

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Fem Reader

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Night at the museum AU. Gaz and Reader are both paintings directly across from one another, and have been in love for many years now. The only thing is that they are unable to actually leave the confines of their canvas, and have never felt others touch.

I wrote a blurb about this already here!

Word Count: 2,050

Content: Established relationship, fluff, light angst

-

"This class is the painting of the Duke of Hersling, Kyle Garrick, though he was often referred to as Gaz to his close friends." The teacher says while pointing at a large, full body painting of man dressed in his finest. The most striking things about the painting is the sword on his hip, and the intense straight forward stare. "He was a swordsman and a scholar during his life." 

"How did he die?" One of the boys in the back of the group yells out. 

The teacher smiles at hearing a question and says, "He actually died in battle; this painting was done only months before his death in 1545. Any more questions?" Hearing none, the teacher directs them to the painting directly opposite of the Duke. "This painting here was actually done in 1545 by William Bahr. A very prestigious portrait painter in his time.” 

The painting showed a woman sitting in a field of flowers with a bright smile. The sun is shining bright behind her while she looks lovingly straight ahead. Upon looking at both paintings it is clear that they are at eye level with one another; staring into each other's eyes. 

A girl this time raises her hand, and once receiving a nod from the teacher she asks, “What about the woman in the painting? Who is she?” 

“She is an unknown figure, the painting was never picked up by its buyer, and no documents containing that information were ever found. She is assumed to be the daughter of a nobleman though.” 

"Do you think she and the duke knew each other?" Another girl asks, looking between the two paintings, "I think they'd make a cute couple!" 

The rest of the students laugh at those words, and once they’ve calmed down the teacher says, “It’s funny that you actually say that! When I worked here during college my coworkers and I would always refer to these two as the forever gazing lovers.” 

“Mr. Sanderson, I didn’t know you used to work here,” a student exclaims, “I couldn’t imagine working at a museum. Wasn’t that boring; staring at the same stuff everyday?” 

“You’d be surprised how wild a museum can get,” He gives a light chuckle to himself, and looks up nostalgically at the art around him. “My favorite part was working as a night guard. It turns into a whole different world here, but enough about that let’s continue to the next room.” 

-

It was later in the evening when everybody was in the lobby getting ready to board the bus did the teacher see his old mentor and friend walk through the doors. 

“John Price!” He proclaims with an extended hand out. 

“Gary Sanderson!” John calls back, and shakes his offered hand. “It’s good to see you here again, lad.”

“It feels as if I never left, sir. How is everyone around here doing?” 

Price looks at him knowingly, “Everyone’s been good, they miss you, but they’ve been good. You’ll have to come and visit sometime.” 

“I will, promise.” Gary looks to where his students are just as the bus pulls up before whispering, “tell everyone I miss them as well. I’ll call later and plan a visit with you later.” 

“You better keep your word with that. Ghost and Soap will go and hunt you down if you don’t.” 

Gary gives him a laugh and one last nod before rushing back to his class, and leading them outside to the bus. 

With that Price turns and continues further into the museum. Telling folks that they will be closing in just a bit, and getting everything ready for the night to begin. 

It’s only half an hour later when Price is locking the door. He knows things are going to be very active in here in just a couple hours so he takes this time to get some of his actual work done. He sits in the lobby behind the reception desk until the sun has fully gone down, and the moon is high in the sky. 

He knows that the magic is about to begin when the moonlight that shines through the doors starts to have a more unnatural silver glow to it. Price watches as the silver moon rays slowly morph into a ball. In a matter of seconds the glowing sphere has finished growing in size, and suddenly it darts forward. Leaving Price where he was sitting as it flies past him, and travels down all the halls inside the museum. 

As it passes a piece of art it’s clear that the art then, as if waking up from sleep, slowly comes to life. It quickly passes the gazing lovers' paintings; arising them from their slumber. 

-

When Kyle awakens for another night the first thing he sees is you; which is exactly how he wants to start every night for the rest of time. Life was perfect for him with you, and the only thing he wished for now was to someday feel your touch; even if it was only once. "How is it that everytime I wake up and see that you just appear more and more perfect?” 

“You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.” You giggle at his flirtatious words. He always makes sure to say words of endearment to you first thing upon waking up. 

“Well I would hope so! Otherwise what are these museum workers doing besides making sure my varnish is still in prime condition?” 

“Probably keeping the rest of the building from falling apart!” 

"I think Price is the one that does that." Kyle argues with mischief clear as day on his face.

"I'm gonna tell Laswell next time we see her that you said that." You say with a small chuckle before bringing your hand up to the invisible border keeping you inside the frame. 

Kyle watches as you bring your hand up, and does the same with his. This is the closest the two of you have come to holding hands with one another. Conversations from this point continue as normal for the two of you. Talking about whatever comes to your mind with one another. 

Occasionally talking with the other paintings around the room, or anyone that passes by. Farah, a statue of a queen who led her kingdom to victory in battle, and Alex, a wax figure of an American WW2 pilot, make sure to stop by and say hello. The two of them always stay for a few hours talking with you both before continuing on their way. 

It was only a few minutes after they left when Price walked into the room, a grim expression, coming to stand between the two of them.

“Price, everything alright?” Kyle asks with a worry in his voice.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news for the two of you." Price runs a hand through his beard; he's clearly trying to already come up with a plan for whatever is wrong, "This area is getting a complete makeover tomorrow. You two would be very lucky to even be around each other come tomorrow night." 

Kyle immediately looks to you after hearing those words; he couldn't imagine being away from you. He's been facing you for years now, and Kyle is not in any way ready for that to change. "How do we fix this then?" He asks, directing his question towards Price. 

“I’m going to talk to Laswell tomorrow, but it’s Shepherd who is changing things around.” 

“Fucking Shepherd.” Kyle cursed the man to himself. That man was always making decisions about the museum that seemed to bring nothing but pain for everyone here. 

It was you who asked the next question, “Will she be able to go around him, and keep us together?"

"That's the goal. Shepherd isn't around very often, and even when he is he doesn't bother walking around the area. We'll try and switch a couple things around tomorrow night." Price huffed; he clearly didn't like what Shepherd was doing either. He was most likely going to be hearing a lot of complaints from the others in the area as well. "I've got others that I still need to inform, but trust me when I say you two will remain together." 

With that Price continues on his way leaving Kyle and you to dwell on the information he just told.

"Kyle I'm scared; what if they can't do anything, and we end up getting split up?" 

"I'll find you, love." Kyle is very serious as he says this to you, "This will not keep me from you. That I can promise." 

Kyle and you continue to discuss what this will mean for you both, and possible solutions to stay together. When the time comes to go to sleep again he finds a small amount of comfort looking into your eyes. For in your eyes that is where he finds peace. Kyle's last thoughts before the sun comes up is that he loves you. 

-

When Kyle finally realizes that he is awake once again it takes only a moment for him to know that it is not you that he sees. Instead he is in front of a painting of an older man with a dark background around him. 

Despite knowing that this would be his reality Kyle is still hit with the panic of not seeing you. He is quick to look around hoping that at the very least that you wouldn't be far, and could still talk to you right now. 

He bangs on the barrier, and calls out your name when he doesn't see you. Every time his fist hits the barrier a magical sheen ripples around where he made contact. Kyle does this for several moments even asking the others around him if they can see you.

Before he can continue once more yelling for you Soap appears seemingly out of nowhere in front of him. Following closing behind him is both Price and Ghost as well. Soap and Ghost are both bronze statues, who once the sun is up are two soldiers fighting one another in one of the Anglo-Scottish wars. It took Price a lot of effort to eventually get them on civil terms with one another. 

Which is why it’s almost surprising looking at where their relationship is now.

“Gaz!” Soap’s voice calls out. His friend brings his hand up to the canvas, placing his hand where his shoulder would be if they could touch. “Mate, you’ve got to calm down.” 

“Where is she? She was meant to still be in the area; she’s gone!” 

Price readily steps forward next to Soap, “She’s most likely been moved downstairs to storage. We’ll go and find out where she is, and carry her up once we do.”

Those words brought so much relief to him, but at the same time this situation was meant to be very different. “Why is she not here though? What did Laswell say about all this?” 

“Shepherd refused to let Laswell know anything that was happening. She’s trying to figure out what all he has planned, but some things may not be so easy to undo. All we can really do right now is wait.” Price calmly replies back to him. 

It’s Ghost who actually says the most comforting thing to him though, “Your girl has been moved, Gaz. She has not gone though you’ll see each other again, at most, in a few hours.”

The three give him a few more words of comfort before rushing out to find you. 

This time away from you has really made Kyle think about the first time he met you. It was just another night for him. He knew from Laswell that a new painting was going to be added, and would be placed opposite of him. Nothing could have prepared him for you though. 

The first time he woke up to see you had truly taken his breath away. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and once he had started talking to you his heart had been yours. 

With that in mind Kyle starts to push against the invisible barrier holding him inside the frame. He thinks of you as he pushes and pushes and pushes. Until suddenly, like a rubber band snapping, he's out.

Taglist: @zarsghost

Note: I finally wrote it!!! I hope you enjoyed reading this; feel free to let me know your thoughts!

[she-whatshername]

Good mornings with the Marked Ones:

Good morning!! Same thing here, a little NSFW so you have been advised

Bodhi:

Is he up before you: lolol absolutely not. My headcanon soap box is that Bodhi sleeps in and naps when he can. Now that you’re both back in Aretia at Riorson House, he’s much more comfortable risking every moment he can to sleep in as much as possible.

Let this man hit the snooze!

So, in this case you’re waking him up. Which Bodhi will protest in his own way.

He’ll throw a leg over you or put his head on your chest and wrap his arms around your waist to keep you still and mumbling a protest of “Mm, just one more minute.”

Sir you said that 10 minutes ago.

If you try to get sassy with him or push him further he takes more advanced measures

“Why do you hate the idea of staying in bed, love. Let me show you what you’ll be missing if we get out now.” He then proceeds to climb on top of you and duck under the covers, kissing his way down your abdomen.

And afterwards you are indeed exhausted and sleep claims you once more.

He plays dirty to get what he wants and I mean, don’t threaten us with a good time Mr Durran.

Bodhi - 1. You - 0 (but everyone is a winner here)

He bringing anything to bed: yeah if he’s up before you he is bringing you tea and sweets to start your day. If he has to leave to defend the front lines he’ll ensure someone else brings it to you.

Are you late to formation: yeah you both are. Xaden usually sends Garrick to break the wards in your room to get you both out of bed.

One time Xaden went after you both himself but Bodhi used his signet to render his shadows useless, which royally pissed him off. You had awoken to Xaden and Bodhi having a rather aggressive pillow fight/sparring match in your room that morning.