#john imagine

[mushrubes]

Another?

Masterlist | Red dead redemption masterlist |

Requested : no

Based on character ai { Hosea Matthews by @/addynot }

Pairing : father! Hosea Matthews x child! reader, John Marston x matthews! reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : platonic / familial + fluff

Word count : 1.4k

Warnings : Swear words, familial, best friends in love, slightly ooc <3

Have a great day !! <3

——————————–

You stood still as Hosea cleaned the blood from your nose. He looked genuinely angry this time. You had a habit of getting into fights at school, but after this last one — your father seemed to be at his wit’s end. “I can’t believe you. I’ve tried so hard to get you an education and you go off and get into trouble.” He mumbled to himself, his hands gentle as he cleaned off your bruised face. He was extremely disappointed in you. "Pa, I'm sorry! It was deserved!" You defended, rolling your eyes. “I doubt that,” he argued. “You’ve told me before that every time you get into these things it’s ‘deserved’.” Hosea sighed. “Tell me. What happened this time?” he questioned. "O'driscolls. Two of them. Cornered me and they punched John after calling you and Uncle Dutch murderers so threw a punch at them and then the three of us started fighting." You explained.

Hosea rolls his eyes. “You know, you really shouldn’t go around throwing punches every time someone insults the gang.” He sighs again. “If I’m being honest… I’m almost scared to ask what happened to the O’Driscolls. How’s John?” he asked, the disappointment and concern evident. "They were threatening to get their guns out, and me punching them is too far? yeah, bullshit." You mumbled under your breath. "I think John's okay. I got him to go to Miss Grimshaw when we got back - he'll most likely have a black eye tomorrow." You sighed. “You don’t have to curse, kid. I understand the situation but what you failed to remember is that you’re only 16. You can’t go around throwing punches just because someone insults you.” Hosea sighs. “And as much as I don’t really like the O’Driscolls, I don’t think you should’ve punched them. That’s a good way to get yourself killed.” he shook his head.

Hosea sighs — a look of sadness and disappointment flashes through his face. “I know, love… I know. But, that doesn’t change anything; It’s still very dangerous to try and start fights with them. One day, you might end up picking the wrong fight…” He lets out another deep sigh. “You’re a smart kid. I just don’t want you to… do something stupid.” his voice softened, eyes full of love and concern for you, only wanting the best. "Whatever." you rolled your eyes, scoffing at him. “I’m serious, love. I don’t need to lose you the same way I lost your mother. I’m all you got right now, and it’s tough parenting a child in the gang. If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.” Hosea paused, thinking. “Can I trust that you won’t get into another fight? Just while you’re at school?” he pleaded, wanting some sort of confirmation. "Yeah, sure." You huffed, getting up.

Hosea breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sweetheart. Just… please try to stay out of trouble. You’re the only child I’ll ever have, and I don’t want you to go the same way your mother did.” He looks at you, his face softening. “Just… just give me a hug, would you?” Your face softened and you gave in, hugging him tightly. You didn't even notice your tears staining his shirt. Hosea hugs you back tightly, holding his emotions back as tears begin to fall down his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the closest thing I’ll ever get to seeing your mother again.” He whispers quietly. “Don’t do that to me again, okay?” He holds you close, not wanting to let go. “I love you darling.” he caressed your head gently. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pa. I love you too." You whispered, wiping your tears. “I know, sweetheart. Just… just don’t do something like that again, okay?” Hosea holds you close for what feels like forever, not wanting to let go. Eventually — and reluctantly — he does. “Now go on, get washed up and get to bed. It’s late.” he said.

"Okay. Goodnight, Pa. I love you." you responded, kissing his cheek gently. “Love you too, sweetheart. Goodnight.” With that, Hosea shuts the door behind you — leaving you alone to get cleaned up and head to bed. You made your way to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting changed. You get changed into something comfortable, ready to go to bed. As you start brushing your teeth, you begin to remember everything that happened earlier as well as the promise you made to Hosea — not to get into any more fights. This was probably one of the last times he was ever going to be easy on you, you thought to yourself. He genuinely didn’t want you to get hurt. You smiled softly when you walked back into your shared bedroom, seeing John sitting on his bed "Hey loser." you called lovingly, making him look up in your direction. “Shut up, runt.” John replied back lovingly with a smile on his face.

“How did your talk with father go?” John had a cut on his eye, it was swollen and red — but it wasn’t too bad. He looked completely exhausted. "Usual lecturing. How's your face doing?" you asked, gently cupping his cheek, frowning at the cut. “Same as always, numb to the pain,” John chuckled, leaning in to give you a kiss on your cheek. This was always your relationship with John. You teased and bickered a lot, but you both cared for each other deeply. He sighs. “I just… can’t believe you punched those bastards. What if they did get their guns out?” he pondered, concern evident in his voice and on his face. "Was worth it. They punched you and insulted my dad and Dutch." You shrugged, not even hesitating, meaning every single word. “Still not worth it.” John argued — but you could tell he wasn’t being serious, he was just worried about you. “Hosea was worried you were gonna get yourself killed. He was on the verge of tears talking to you.” John pauses for a second to think.

“Just… try not to do this again… okay, love?” he asked. "They're lucky I didn't kill them for hurting you." You commented, sitting next to him on his bed. “I know… but they weren’t worth the effort,” John chuckled weakly. “Now, come here.” He motioned for you to cuddle up with him on his bed. “I’m too tired to keep arguing.” he chuckled. You smiled softly, cuddling up to him, head on his chest. John’s body was warm. It always felt safe and cosy whenever you cuddled up to him like this — his large frame was comfortable to rest against. He wraps his arm around you, holding you close as he kisses your forehead. He was so big and handsome, and it made you feel safe in his arms. "Hey John?" you called quietly, turning the light out so it was dark. “Yeah, love?” He looked down at you. You could see his eyelids were slightly heavy — he was half asleep. “What’s up?” He asked softly. "Y'know I'd do anything for you, right?" you whispered, nuzzling into him.

John smiles at you, feeling slightly amused by your words. “I have no doubt,” he chuckled. “What’s your point?” He pulled you closer to him, feeling completely comfortable with you by his side. "I love you. I know we're teenagers but…" You trailed off, a lovesick smile on your face. John looks at you, his dark eyes filled with love for you. “I love you too, darlin',” he whispers back — his soft voice echoing softly through the room. “I know we’re just teenagers… but I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you in it.” He pulls you even closer to him, his hand brushing through your hair. “We’re gonna get through this… okay? I promise.” he assured, pressing kisses to your forehead and cheeks. "me and you forever?" you questioned, intertwining your hands. “Me and you forever, my love. No matter what that means or where that takes us.” His words were sweet, he meant every one of them. John had done so much for you, he was so much more than your best friend — he was the person who you trusted and loved more than anyone in this world. He was, truly, your soulmate.

Maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

[multifandomsimagine]

Imagine John confessing to you through song

Standing on the Bull Pen's stage, John's grip tightens on his guitar and he looked at everyone begin to surround the stage. It wasn't like he was getting stage fright. He had performed many times before in front of all the members of Lost and Found and he enjoyed being on stage. No, the reason he was nervous was because of the song he was about to perform. The one he had written for you.

He had been in love with you ever since the both of you joined Lost and Found and the interactions the two of you had only cause him to fall deeper and deeper. You had taken over his every thought and had been the inspiration for the last ten songs he had written. So what better way to confess to you than through song.

Seeing you stand in the front row, smiling encouragingly as you tried making him feel better, thinking that nerves had got the better of him, only made him feel more nervous. Taking a breath, he adjusted his grip before beginning the opening notes of his song.

"I slept alone in the van

You brought me breakfast in bed

I wrote it down in a song."

[stargirlstabber]

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?

[beloveds-embrace]

Imagine 141 moving into a quaint little town post retirement and you’re the only baker in town. You love making sweets, breads, and desserts and own a cute bakery to show for it, know everyone in your town so these four new men who come early morning to try your breakfast deal immediately excite you because- new perspectives and tastes and opinions! It’s become a habit of yours to share bites of whatever new item you plan on adding to the menu, so the more diverse opinions the merrier in your opinion.

And you are glad you didn’t let their demeanor- big gruff men, especially the one with the black surgical mask- scare you away because they are sooo nice, calling you sweetheart, doll, birdie, and bonnie. So many nicknames, it has you blushing the sweetest pink shade. And they are all too happy to help taste-test for you, giving you lots of praise.

(Though you never quite notice their immense disappointment at seeing the little ring on your finger.)

Still, at the very least one of them comes over to your bakery once a day. Sometimes they come together, sometimes only two of them- but they come anyways and tip you every time despite you insisting otherwise. It’s a lovely friendship you build with them. But they do note you never mention your partner much.

Until Simon drops by one day, intent on buying one of your apple pies and maybe fluster you enough to turn the same shade as an apple, and he sees the bruises that peek out just so from your sleeves and the collar of your outfit. Puffy eyes, more makeup than usual, your smile not quite there…

And he understands. He knows this all-too-well. And the fact that it’s happening to an embodiment of sunshine like you? Unfair. Unbelievable. Unacceptable.

Simon gently takes your hands, squeezing them so lightly. “Everything’ll be well, luvie. Promise.” And that’s all he says.

And maybe it’s cruel of you to be happy when you receive a call a few days later, the sherrif of the town telling you your husband was found mauled to death by one of the bears that roam around the woods occasionally, but you just… don’t care.

A week later, when it seems appropriate enough, you open up the bakery again and your smile is blinding as you greet the 141 men and tell them for today, everything’s for free.

part 2

Other works + help me choose a title for this 😩

[blac-ivy]

One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.

Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.

Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.

Bring back the build up!!!!!!!

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[succubusvalentine]

I got a lot of requests for disgusting Simon Riley again so uh. A lot of you wanted me to elaborate on Simon sharing videos and photos of you with the 141... CW : backshots, recording and taking photos during sex, soapy tits, sharing, cum, groping.

They have a lot of requests. But they're all different based on who asks.

Johnny loved getting photos of your ass and videos of you bent over from behind, Simons hips slamming against yours over and over. Simon had walked in on Johnny multiple times fisting his cock to the video of Simon fucking you from behind and then pulling out to come on your ass.

Kyle preferred photos of your tits and videos of them bouncing. His favourite was videos of you bouncing on Simons cock. Simon always making sure to grab at your tits with his free hand. Simon even went the extra mile and recorded a video of you soaping up your tits and letting Simon roll them in his large palm.

Now John, he wasn't a thigh man, ass man, not even a tit man. No, he loved watching your mouth. Simon was slightly surprised when John revealed that to him. But he didn't object. He sent videos of your lips wrapped around his cock, your eyes watering as Simon tells you to do a good job, wouldn't want to disappoint his captain, now, would we? John also loved the videos of you on your knees while Simon stands above you. Your jaw being tugged open and Simons thumb hooking into the side of your mouth while you stare obediently at him.

At first you felt self conscious about Simon sharing you at your most vulnerable, but after Simon had shown you his teammates responses of pure need and desire in their group chat, your nerves were swiftly calmed and you leaned into the attention.

You also noticed that now whenever you came onto base to drop off something Simon left at home or to drop off the lunch for him, you'd get lingering stares from his teammates. Hands groping your ass, waist, and hips, when they give you a hug.

And when you were added to the group chat? That was a whole different story.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

oh oh oh oh different colours. not just pink. thoughts? concerns? anyhoo, yeah guys actually really like soapy tiddies its insane.

[sableeira]

2025 sounds like the perfect year for the release of a fourth and final book in a sci-fi fantasy tetralogy with lesbian necromancers in space and a beautiful, strong, and angry barbie titular character

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Soap putting you in a headlock when fucking you into the mattress, his chest against your back as his hips snap against the fat of your ass. You're clawing against his forearm which only makes him chuckle and comment about how feisty you are while he hits so deep inside you that you damn near scream.

Biting down hard enough to leave indents on his bicep and not letting go until he uses his other hand to wrench your head away by your hair with a snarl. Snapping your jaw at him while he stares down with feral blue eyes, "Ye wannae play rough?"

[callsignpxnguin]

John Price and his Sleepy Wife

AO3

You had always been a sleepy person. Dozing off on John’s lap in the car, nuzzling quietly into his side during films, and just enjoying sleeping on him in general.

But just imagine John telling some story about his glory days as he liked to to the rest of the squad, and he’s just rambling on as you sit next to him on the couch, but you’re half asleep. So he’ll talk a bit — adjust his sleepy wife who’s drooping off of his shoulder — and then continue like nothing happened.

But then it would happen again. And again. And again. You sliding down, boneless, eyelids fluttering weakly, snuggled into John like he was your own personal furnace. And none of the boys would say anything (apart from Soap’s quiet laughs), because it happened every time, and they knew the drill — keep a close eye on you to ensure you didn’t fall to the ground, but not close enough to make you feel uncomfortable or to annoy Price, because as much as he trusted them you were still his wife.

“Infiltration wasn’t—“ A pause for him to give up repositioning you and just pull you onto his lap, eliciting a quiet but content sigh from you as you buried your face into his chest “—that much of a challenge, but you forget that there were about a hundred men, yeah? So…”

Meanwhile, having already heard all his stories a hundred times over, you had progressed from half-asleep to out cold, and by the time it got late enough m for everyone to start heading to bed, Price had to carry you bridal-style to your shared bedroom. Not that he was complaining. The missus always got her every want and need provided for, always. Especially when it involved her using him as her pillow.

[mushrubes]

Arguments

Masterlist | Call of duty masterlist |

Requested : no

Based on character ai { John Price by @/zwombite }

Pairing :Captain John Price x reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type :  angst + fluff

Word count : 692

Content: established relationship, argument, slightly ooc + non canonical <3

Have a great day !! <3

————

You and Price hadn't always come to an agreement when it came to some things in your relationship. He was set in his own ways. There was no changing it. But of course, he had to be a dick about it. In an argument you were trying to explain your side of things, raising your voice so you could be heard by him. But he took it all the wrong way. "You're being immature, Ruby. Stop acting like a child." He huffed, trying to ridicule you for being significantly younger. "Then listen to me for once, price!" you groaned, holding your head in your hand in disbelief. Price rolled his eyes and snorted. "There you go again, always taking things so personal. Grow up, seriously." He scoffed. "Stop overreacting."

"Screw you. Screw this." You scoffed, picking up my drink and walking out of his office. Price didn't even try to chase after you. He was well used to this behaviour by now. You'd be back to grovel within the hour anyway. "Don't be so immature, Ruby," he called out in a mocking tone. "I'm going to clear my head before I say something I regret!" you huffed, walking through the corridor and going outside, sitting just outside the training area. You found some seclusion in a corner of the yard. It was a peaceful escape from that loud moron. But you were too angry to appreciate the tranquillity. You sat there nursing your anger and trying to understand where the relationship went south. He used to be sweet and caring. So why is he acting like… a dick now? You thought. You sat down in front of the tree, head in your arms, soft sobs escaping you.

You started to cry quietly. It was a relief to finally let your feelings out. Suddenly you were aware of a presence nearby. Someone stood in front of you, but you were too distraught to look up at them. You don't push him away as you feel him wrap his arms around you. You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you, a masculine body leaning over you, comforting you in your sorrow. You looked up and saw Price, his expression softened, gazing at you with concern. You didn't expect this from him at all. "I'm sorry," he whispered, caressing the back of your head. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." you repeated, sobbing into his chest. Price hugged you tightly. "I was an idiot," he murmured. "It's been a tough day and I took my stress out on you. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry." You noticed his eyes were sparkling with remorse. He seemed genuinely apologetic now. "I'm so sick of all this arguing, price." your voice a whisper as you looked at him.

Price loosened his grip as you spoke, giving you space. "I know." He said quietly, his tone gentle. "We got off on the wrong foot. I don't want us fighting anymore, I promise." Then he gently took your hands. "I'm not going anywhere. We'll work things out, okay? It's not the end of the world. And I'll do better." he promised, his voice genuine. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his chest. Price strokes your hair as you hug him, soothing you and comforting you in the moment. He seems completely different from the brash jerk you used to know.

He's kind and caring now, and you can see a flicker of love in his eyes. Suddenly you feel a spark of attraction, your anger dissipating as you melt into his embrace. He's so much stronger than you and so attractive. You don't want to let go. Price's expression softens even more as you utter those three words. All traces of sternness or arrogance melt away, making him look completely vulnerable. He looks down at you with adoring eyes, taking in every detail of your face. He lowers his head and kisses you gently. He wraps you in his arms, kissing your lips softly and lovingly. The kiss lasts for several long seconds, Price reluctant to pull away but eventually doing so.

"I love you too."

[bluegiragi]

a bit judge-y there simon.

early access + nsfw on patreon prints

[skyrigel]

Simon: Listen Y/n. It's valentine and I am taking you out.

John *from his earpiece*: asking.

Simon*nodding*: I am asking you out.

Y/n:

Simon: You need to come with me.

Y/n:

Simon: No one else will ask you out because I am going to marry you.

Y/n:

John: which part of this is ‘asking’

*Simon throws the ear piece out*

Simon: You can say no. Turn me down. Break my heart. All of you have to do is say no just once.

Y/n *with their mouth taped*:

[mixingandmelting]

Heavy Blanket

Summary: You were cold and needed a blanket. He decides to be that blanket only to get too comfy and lay on top of you longer than needed

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’re hot. Sweltering. Wheezing. Lungs close to collapsing. And no matter how many times you tell him, he won’t. Get. Off.

“Simon, please.” You gently nudge his shoulder, trying to get him to look at you. “I’m suffocating here.” 

He simply grunts, nuzzling his face into your chest as his arms tighten around your chest. You suppose it’s your fault, having told him that you were cold and not wanting to get off the couch to get a blanket. You just.. didn’t expect him to take it quite literally and provide you a heavy, weighted one (i.e., him). 

You sigh. Maybe you could push him off…? You glance down only to be reminded how massive he is, easily engulfing your being so that it looks like there’s simply a single person on the sofa. Hell, the only indication you’re even lying there is your head and arms poking out from underneath. No body, just ligaments. 

Yeah. It’s Not happening. As if sensing your disgruntlement, he lifts his head so his eyes would be looking into yours. For a moment the two of you stare, waging a wordless battle.

“…For a person called ghost, you’re so cheeky.”

He snorts, going back to comfortably resting his head on your chest.

“Only to you, love. Only to you.” 

Took the words right out of your mouth. 

Shaking your head in exasperation, you card your fingers through his hair. Welp. laundry is definitely not getting done today. 

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

“Johnny?”

“No.”

“Johnny.”

“No.”

“John Mactavish.”

That gets him to lift his head up. You try not to snort at the offended look he gives you, his eyes asking if you had seriously just used his full name over something like this. Instead, you take this chance to finally get some precious O2 in your lungs and enjoy weight being lifted off of you. Literally. 

You had forgot and now remembered his biceps are the size of your head when he props onto his elbows, bright blue eyes staring directly into yours. 

“Luvie, I’m not John Mactavish to you. Am I?” 

“No. But,” you shuffle to get around but he doesn’t budge. Dammit. “You are a furnace. Heavy, hard, and exuding only heat.” 

Instantly you regret saying that, recognizing the glint in his eyes. 

“Heavy and hard, aye?”  

One hand to cover your burning face, you use the other to smack his chest. You and your stupid mouth. Him and his stupid, smug, smirk. Chuckling, he moves and gets comfortable before snuggling you again. At least he’s being mindful this time, making sure you aren’t feeling as if you’re being flattened into a pancake. As for you, you nuzzle your face into the junction where his neck and shoulder meet. It’s going to take a while for you to function, the embarrassment still fresh and searing your soul. 

Kim Hong Jin "Horangi"

You swear you’re dating a giant cat, not a tiger. The ones that enjoy pushing a glass off the table while you’re looking and begging with your eyes not to. Smiling as some crying lady points at them over a salad. 

You’ve been shoving and pushing him by the shoulders, and so far you’ve successfully freed half of your upper body (more like that’s the only leeway he’s willing to give but you choose to ignore that).

“Hong Jin.” You pant between each word, exhausted and having much of your strength sapped out of you. “You need to let go.”

“싫은데?“ (Don’t want to?) 

…This man and his nerves. 

“No, seriously.” You nudge him, hoping it would get your message across. “I can’t even feel my legs.”

“Just five more minutes.” His groan coming out muffled from him burying his face into your tummy. 

Five minutes ago he said that. Which was also what he said five minutes before that. Now you’re uncomfortable, feeling the half of you he’s holding onto sweat while the other feels chilly from the sudden loss of heat. Worst is how effortless it is for him to keep you still, lazily lying on top of you being enough to stop you from worming yourself out. Like sure, you do enjoy how well-built he is but not like this! 

Sucking a breath in, you go back trying to pry yourself off as he stays where he is, eyes closed and a grin plastered on his face. 

König 

A king-size mattress. That’s what he is. And certainly feels that way too with how he easily engulfs both you and the bed. 

“Konig.” You gently shake him, only for him to turn his head. 

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry though, at the moment, it would hurt if you do either. Every time you try calling him out or getting his attention, he’d turn his head where he’d lie on one cheek then flip to the other. He doesn’t even make a sound. No harrumphs, grunts, or a sigh. All of you wanted to do was go get ready since the two of you are supposed to meet with his friends. Now? Not happening. 

“We need to get ready. It’s already quarter past five.” 

He squeezes your waist in response, snuggling himself into you. Just like a petulant kid, thinking if he doesn’t say anything and pretends to not hear you, you would stop. You try to slip from being underneath him, not enjoying being the filling in the mattress sandwich. Unfortunately for you, fortunately for him, you give up in less than ten seconds realizing how much you’d have to go through to just get a hand out. 

You raise your hand to place it on his shoulder until he stops you by grabbing at the wrist. He drags and presses it against his cheek, making you feel stubbles under your fingertips. Biting your lip, you close your eyes and mentally count from ten. 

“You better text them we’re not going.” You grumble, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Already did.”

You shake your head. This man. 

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x neighbour!reader: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! (Or in your case, the way to four men’s heart is through their stomach))

It started with cookies.

You’d been in the middle of baking a double batch- oatmeal chocolate chip, your personal favorite- and realized halfway through scooping them onto the tray that you’d made far too many for one person. It wasn’t unusual. Baking was how you coped with stress, and ever since you’d moved into this apartment building, stress had been in no short supply.

The guy in 4A had blared music all night. Your hot water barely lasted five minutes. And your smoke detector had developed a habit of chirping at odd hours.

But there was one bright spot- your neighbors in 4C.

You’d seen them coming and going. Tall, broad, and always carrying duffel bags that looked far too heavy to be legal. They kept odd hours, too, but never caused trouble. One of them- Johnny, you’d learned later- had even held the door open for you when your arms were full of groceries.

Which was why you’d stood outside their door that evening, balancing a plate of cookies and feeling like an idiot as you knocked.

Not-Johnny had answered first, blinking down at you in surprise, though his smile was warm and he was beautiful. You couldn’t blame him; you had barely spoken to them more than a few short words.

“Uh… hi?”

“Hi.” You forced a smile. “I’m your neighbor from 4B. I, uh… made too many cookies?”

His eyes dropped to the plate immediately, and you swore you saw something primal flicker behind them. Still, you worried.

“I mean, if you don’t want-”

“No! No, we want. Come in- Johnny! Get over here!”

And that was how it started.

The second time had been lasagna.

You’d just finished assembling it when you realized- again- that you’d made too much. So, after psyching yourself up for ten minutes, you’d knocked on their door for the second time in as many weeks.

Price, who had introduced himself along wuth Simon the day you dropped off the cookies, had answered that time, his expression guarded until he saw the foil-covered pan in your hands.

“You’re joking,” he’d said, but when you started to retreat, he’d stopped you with a firm, but gentle hand on your back. He had such a nice, big hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, lovie. Get in here.”

That night, you’d sat at their table, sharing stories and laughter while they cleaned the dish down to the last crumb.

After that, it became routine.

You started “testing recipes,” and they became your eager guinea pigs.

And they never seemed to mind.

And now…

The smell hit first- roasted garlic, browned butter, and something rich simmering low and slow. It snuck out from the slightly cracked kitchen window and spilled into the shared hallway of the apartment building. For men used to MREs and takeout, it was practically siren song.

Gaz was the first to notice, lingering just outside the door labeled 4B- your door- with an almost predatory focus. He wasn’t proud of it, but his stomach growled so loud that Soap- rounding the corner with a gym bag slung over his shoulder- laughed outright.

“You stalking the neighbor again?”

“Shut up. You smell that?”

Soap inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered shut for a beat before snapping open.

“Jesus wept- what is that?!”

“I don’t know, but I’m this close to knocking.” Kyle held up his fingers, barely an inch apart.

“She already fed us last week, mate. Dinna push it.”

“But what if she’s testing another recipe?”

Gaz wasn’t wrong. You had a habit of showing up at their door with dishes too good to refuse.

They hadn’t stood a chance.

After the cookies and the lasagna, it wasn’t long before other dishes followed: casseroles, soups, pies, and even homemade bread. And the worst part? You bow always prefaced it by saying you needed an opinion- like they were doing you the favor.

It wasn’t until Price called you a “bloody saint” over a pan of enchiladas that Ghost finally put it together.

“You’re using us as taste testers,” he’d said flatly.

You’d grinned- too cute and too smug for your own good. “Is that a problem?”

Not a single one of them had said no, just as stated before.

Which led them here, hovering outside your door and pretending they weren’t waiting for another offering.

“… Fine.” Soap muttered, raising his hand to knock.

But the door swung open before he could, and there you were- apron on, hair pulled back, and flour dusted across your cheek.

“Hi!” You chirped, eyes bright. “Perfect timing!”

Gaz’s grin was pure relief. “Tell me you need opinions. Please, love.”

You laughed, stepping aside to let them in. “I always need opinions. Come in!”

Inside, the kitchen was chaos. Cutting boards and mixing bowls were scattered across the counters. A Dutch oven bubbled on the stove, releasing clouds of savory steam. Plates of food- half-assembled sandwiches, stuffed peppers, and what looked like chocolate tarts- sat waiting.

“I… might’ve gone overboard.” You admitted, and if you hadn’t spent all day in the kitchen, your cheeks would’ve gone warmer.

Soap whistled low, eyes raking over every dish. “Not complainin’.”

Price arrived just then, texted by Kyle, trailed closely by Simon, who took one look at the spread and froze. His eyes swept from the roasted chicken resting under a blanket of fresh herbs to the still-warm biscuits stacked beside a bowl of honey butter.

“What’s the occasion?” John asked, smile amused, but you just waved him off.

“Practicing.”

Gaz was already halfway to the table, trying to decide what to start with, but Simon lingered, watching you carefully. He had his balaclava on, though you haven’t yet dared to ask why he wears it.

“Practicing for what, exactly?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your apron. “There’s this… thing next week. A community bake-off. And I thought it might be fun to enter.”

Soap arched a brow. “You’re entering this in a bake-off?”

“Well, not all of it. I’m still deciding which dishes to use.”

“You’re winning.” Kyle said immediately, filling his plate.

“Definitely.” Johnny added, already reaching for a sandwich.

Simon, still lingering, crossed his arms and stared down at you. His height will never, ever not make your breath hitch. “You’re testing all of this on us?”

You looked up at him through your lashes, pouting just a little. “You don’t mind, do you, Simon?”

His gaze darkened- not in anger, but something softer, heavier. It made your stomach flip.

“No,” he said simply. “We don’t mind.”

You swallowed and turned quickly to the oven to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks.

The next hour passed in a blur of taste testing, arguments over which dish was best, and repeated assurances that you were going to “blow the competition out of the water.” But beneath the laughter and teasing, you failed to catch the way they looked at you- how Price lingered by the stove just to steal extra bites, or how Johnny kept offering to help, hovering close enough that you brushed elbows more than once.

And Simon? He was the worst of all. He didn’t say much, but his eyes tracked your every move, following the way your hands worked the dough or wiped flour off the counter. He was the last to leave, hanging back as the others helped clear plates.

“You’re serious about this bake-off?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Thought it might be fun.”

“You don’t need it.”

“… What?”

He gestured at the now-empty plates. “To prove anything, I mean. You’re already…” He trailed off for a few seconds, and though you were left blinking at him, you didn’t rush him. “Good enough.” he murmured at last.

The compliment hit harder than you expected, and for once, you didn’t have a clever response.

“Thank you, Simon. That… means a lot to me.” you said softly.

And just like that, the others reappeared, breaking the moment. Johnny patted Simon’s shoulder with a knowing smirk, and Kyle slung an arm around your shoulders, while Price merely watched. Your kitchen was now spotless, cleaned by them.

“When’s the next test run?” Gaz asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, let us know. We’re free anytime.”

“Yeah,” Soap added. “Anytime.”

You laughed but this time, you didn’t miss the way Price was looking at you- thoughtful, like he’d already made up his mind about something.

The door clicked shut behind them after that, leaving your apartment quieter but no less warm. The scent of roasted garlic and herbs still lingered, and you found yourself smiling as you surveyed the spotless kitchen. They’d made quick work of the mess, trading jokes and lighthearted jabs as they wiped down counters and stacked dishes in quite the uniform style.

You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve neighbors like them, but you weren’t about to question it.

You caught yourself humming as you tucked away the last plate, the sound of their laughter still echoing faintly in your ears. It was easy with them- comfortable in a way that felt rare and almost too good to be true.

And maybe it was.

Because what you didn’t know- what you would probably never know, such a sweet and trusting thing- was that your apartment had been wired within days of your first visit to their door.

To them, it had started with a conversation.

“She’s alone,” Price had said after the second time you’d brought them food, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative frown. “No sign of anyone else coming or going.”

“Security’s shite.” Gaz had added, gesturing vaguely toward the shared hallway where your lock barely functioned half the time.

Soap had shrugged, easygoing as ever, but his eyes had been sharp. “Better us keep an eye on her than let some arsehole get the chance.”

And that was that.

Price had ordered the equipment, Ghost had handled the installation, and none of them had lost sleep over it. Not when it meant keeping you safe.

It wasn’t just the cameras, either.

Simon had reinforced your locks under the guise of “fixing” them after you mentioned a struggle with your key. Johnny had talked you into letting him check your windows “just to be sure they latched properly.” Gaz had set up an app on your phone to “monitor deliveries,” though it also let them track your location if needed.

And Price? He always lingered at the door just long enough to ask if you needed anything else- subtle, but enough to make sure you knew they were there.

You never questioned it. Never noticed the way they moved like a unit around you, anticipating problems before they could arise. Never caught the glances they exchanged when you mentioned a repairman or the way Simon hovered near the window any time a car idled too long outside.

You just kept feeding them, trusting them in ways that only made their resolve deepen.

Price was the worst.

He’d leaned against the counter tonight, watching you laugh at Johnny’s jokes and swat at Kyle when he tried to sneak extra bites, and the thought had hit him harder than he expected, while Simon watched on in amusement and was the only to successfully swipe a few more bites.

They could’ve had this already.

If life had gone differently- if timing had been better- you could’ve been his. Theirs. Someone to come home to instead of just someone they visited between deployments.

He hadn’t said anything, of course. None of them had.

But as they left, he’d lingered in the doorway, letting his hand rest lightly against the frame.

“Don’t let ‘em eat it all before the bake-off,” he’d teased, lips curling into a smile. “They’ll start begging if you do.”

You’d laughed, and God, it was dangerous how much he liked the sound.

“I’ll make sure to keep them in line.”

His smile softened. “Good girl.”

You didn’t notice the way Simon shot him a sharp look at that- or the way Johnny and Kyle exchanged knowing grins.

And later, when Price sat down in front of the monitors to check the feeds, he didn’t let himself feel guilty.

Because you were safe.

And as far as they were concerned, that was all that mattered.

[partiallysame]

Ghost Gets No Bitches Part 2:

second part to THIS

Word count 1400

Content warning: suggestive, alcohol

When ghost finally texted you the message was something along the lines of: 

Hello. This is the man from (insert specific grocery store name followed by the exact address of said grocery store). 

You: Do I get to know your name or am I just supposed to call you Man From Grocery Store?

Ghost: Simon

Wow ok not a talker but we can work through that. Simon knew he should take you to a proper dinner but you made him so anxious he needed somewhere safe. Comfortable. Ah yes the closest bar to his base that he goes to almost daily. When you agreed to the date the panic really set in. He’s gonna be alone with you again (he ran to Price to ask for help on what to do. “You can’t wear the fucking mask” “but why?”)

The second Ghost got out of his car he noticed Soap had followed him to the bar (how could he not, Ghost had been sweating all day about meeting his lil lass again) “you walk in that bar and I’ll put a bullet in you, Mohawk”

“Aye come on. Jus wanna see a little more of the pretty bird that’s got ya all nervous”

 Soap knew he was bluffing about shooting him until Ghost pulled up his shirt enough to show his gun and the silencer attached to it. Yup ok he really would shoot him. Suddenly Soap is back in his car.

And then there you were, picture of perfection walking towards him. Big smile and small dress oh he was fucked. He opened the door for you and you let out a “good boy” as you walked through, an audible gulp came from him. Making your way to the bar to order, you told the bartender your drink, turning to ask Simon what he wanted only to find him standing 4 feet from you, scared to get too close. “Come here.” A command. One giant step and he was by your side. You moved closer until your shoulder was touching him. Control your breathing Ghost. “What do you want big boy?” You looked up at him and he should be embarrassed that you just called him that in front of his favorite bartender but he is definitely not. He said the beer he wanted and you added “two please. He’s nervous” the bartender was trying not to laugh.

“Tab Open or closed?” The bartender asked to which you quickly said open and began sliding your card over. 

“No.” Simon’s voice was deep and gravely and his sudden outburst caught you off guard. He may let you walk all over him but there was no way he, a gentleman would let you pay. 

You turned to him, eyebrows raised, “did you just tell me no?” Voice laced with genuine surprise and his eyes got wide, fuck was he in trouble? He nodded too afraid of how to properly respond but he continued to hand his card over and return yours to you. 

“You only get to tell me that once and that was it.” You scolded him as the barkeep slid the drinks over to you. You grabbed his two beers, one in each hand to hand to your date. He nodded again in response but did not miss the way your eyes were glued to his giant hands when he easily held the two bottles in one hand. 

Making your way over to a booth to sit, someone bumped into you, slightly spilling your drink down your hand. The man kept walking until a large (big sexy) hand grabbed his shoulder. Terrified apologies stumbled from his lips at the sight of Simon. But your hand quickly found its way onto Simon’s chest. 

“It’s not a big deal. Right Simon?” He looked down at you just in time to see you put your fingers in your mouth sucking the spilled drink from them. Christ’s sake woman. Your hand on his chest could feel his racing heart beat. 

“Not a big deal mate.” He let go of (pushed) the man as he watched you finish the walk to the table you wanted. He followed but when he got to the table he just stood there so awkwardly. 

“Simon, sit down. This is a date you know.” He’s sat. You decided that if he wasn’t going to talk then you wouldn’t either. You just sat there watching this giant muscle man fidget in his seat, emotional support beer being held so tightly in front of him. Your eyes taking in all of his features, pretty brown eyes and chiseled facial features. After however many minutes of silence (Simon squirming) you decided it was time for billiards. This is a bar after all. 

“Let’s go play” your head nodding to the empty pool table. The sudden sound of your voice made him jump. For goodness sakes man chill. He downed his second beer as he stood beginning to relax slightly. The bar was starting to get crowded so you reached for his hand before making your way to the table, pulling him behind you. You’re touching him. Fuck your hands are so soft, small compared to his. How would they look holding his…  A small and disappointed “oh” came from your lips as you neared the table. A group of men had gotten to it first but with a quick clear of his throat and deadly stare from Simon they gently handed you the cue ball. You turned to face him and god you were so close to him. He thought you holding his hand was bad? Now your chest is touching his. 

“Ready to lose?” You questioned batting your lashes at him, watching his pupils dilate. 

“I was gonna ask you the same.” You bit your lip at his response, excited to finally get somewhere with this man. There was a stare down for a few moments before you turned to begin the game. 

Were you bad at pool? No. Were you good? Also no. But Simon? Never missed a shot. No no this won’t do. Quickly realizing that you are losing (you only got one turn) you changed the game. Now you’re just standing at the edge of the table, looking pretty, moving the balls around with your hands, demanding trick shots. 

“Orange here to here then this pocket.” Hands pointing around before being placed palms down on the table, cleavage exposed and Simon can’t breathe. He does it and you praise him with another “good boy.” Two more planned shots and now you’re curling your finger, beckoning him closer. 

“8 ball. Corner pocket.” Simon begins to bend to line up his shot when you move so you are sandwiched between him and the table. Breathe Simon breathe. “Go on handsome.” Fuck ok he can do this. His large body easily envelopes yours, slowly bending at the waist and you are pushed down slightly, his chest pressed against your back. Your ass pressed exactly where you want it. Simon’s arms wrap around you to place his hand under the stick to steady it. You wiggled your ass back against his crotch and you could hear him stifle a groan. You can tell he’s trying to focus on the task at hand, but let's make it more fun. You turn your head until your lips are brushing against his jaw, sliding their way up to his ear and the whine that escapes this man at the contact. His hands glued to where they were placed on the table, too scared to move them where he actually wanted them.

“If you make this, you’ll get a reward.” You pressed your body into him more, feeling what was starting to form in his pants and you could feel the vibrations in his chest from a suppressed growl. “But.” you paused for a moment and he thought he was going to break the pool stick from holding on so hard. “But if you miss, your friend from the parking lot is allowed to come play too next time. So whats it gonna be?” You removed your lips from his ear, signalling him to take the shot. A breathy and accidental “fuck me” came from him as he lined up his shot. There was no way he was going to miss this, but when you added “thats the plan” after his last comment he missed the ball all together, pool cue scratching the green fabric on the table. He stood quickly cursing every god there ever was as you spun in his arms now face to face. Your arms reached up to wrap themselves around his neck. “What was his name again?”

Part 2.5 Part 3