#old chain for girls with price

[leyavo]

Simon Riley adopting a stray cat, a lot like him. They co-exist like housemates, the odd scratch on the black cat’s head as Simon fills his pet bowl, but they mostly keep to themselves.

Just calls him Cat. Simon talking to him like he would Johnny.

When he’s on a long tour he’s get the old lady next door to feed him, hands the cat over before he leaves and doesn’t look back knowing the old dear will over indulge him.

But when he comes back from his latest mission, Cat smells different and there’s a little silver collar around its neck. The rough patch of fur by the side of its neck is smoothed out, he doesn’t know how it’s fixed itself.

No the old lady smells of mint and antiseptic, like she swallows tcp on the daily. This is sweet and heady, he’s not quite sure how to explain it. He can’t quite get rid of it, it’s how he finds out that Cat sleeps on his pillow.

It’s not till Simon spots you on the neighbouring balcony stroking the cat on the brick wall. The little traitor. He really needs to get a divider now that the flat has someone living it in now.

A few days later the old lady tells him she had to ask you to look after Cat whilst she was in hospital for five weeks, only just getting out a few days before he returned. She warns him that you’re forever in your night clothes and work from home.

So Simon’s knocking on your door not long after, standing back as you peeked through the gap of the door as you opened it. A sliver of a chain stopping you from opening it wide.

“Simon Riley.” He points to his flat. Your door closing and jingle of the chain sliding off its guard, opening it up for him to enter.

You leave the door wide open, a soft hello leaving your glossy lips.

He enters your small studio flat, looks like the landlord divided the previous one to make two small ones and double their profit. That floral and heady scent hits him as he steps over the threshold, leaving a trail behind you. Your body is shimmery, smooth looking and he tries not to look at your long legs on display. The small silk night dress and matching dress robe not leaving much for his imagination.

A meow pulls him away. Cat, the fucking little traitor, is stretched out on your bed playing with a fuzzy fish toy.

He realises that Cat is totally different around you. Apparently he doesn’t like heights, but he’ll climb all over Simon’s shelves and the top of doors, push stuff off. No the little fucker doesn’t knock off the little piles of girl stuff in bowls or the many trinkets on the sides in your flat. Content to play with the little fuzzy fish toy or nap on the blanket.

“I hope you don’t mind, he’s been visiting me ever since Mrs landry asked me to look after him.” You sit down on the bed, which is right by the patio window and the balcony. Simon thinks how’s his bed is on the other side of that wall.

“Nah, actually gotta proposition for ya.”

You looking after Cat whilst he’s away and him slowly starting to looking after you when he’s home.

> [part two] & Cat series: [Price] [Soap] [Gaz] [König]

[bunny-jpeg]

lovingly dominant

capt. john price

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/30s), size difference/kink, dom/sub dynamic, bdsm au, virgin!reader, light bdsm, praise (kink)

a/n: in a surprising twist, bunny has written call of duty again!! expect more cod stuff into december when the f1 season is over and it stops eating my brain <3

john price considered himself a little old fashioned. he thought it was better to have his birdie of the week on her back and rut into her until they both finished. he had no need for whips, chains, collars, and whatever else the world of bdsm had to offer.

but after so many missions and so many years, the pollution of combat bled into his sexual desires. he craved for control, near domination of his birdie. yes, they looked cute on their backs and their soft noises. but it looked far more appealing to keep her blindfolded, second guessing what was being done to her while price's filthy words spilled across her brain like wine on a white carpet. tainting her. tainting you.

most dominants loved a trained submissive. loved that they knew the ins and outs of the dynamic, tinkering to their liking. price on the other hand had a thing for over eager virgins. ones who got all their bdsm know-how from horribly written fan fiction. he liked to teach and guide, he liked to shape his submissive into the perfect image of what could be.

and when he met you, oh, well something else came up. an unwavering possessive need. price tried to not get possessive, this was all just a little game for sexual pleasure. but when he found out his little trainee worked at a flower shop, it was all over for him. it was only doubled down when you had your first meeting at a coffee shop and you got the most delicious looking slice of strawberry shortcake.

the cream on the corner of your mouth almost made john price lose resolve. instead he covered up with a cough before you asked, "do you want some, mister price." and who was john price to deny such a lovely girl her offer. you even fed it to him, a glimmer in your eye and gentle smile.

"it's lovely, baby girl." he said before he wiped a bit of the cream off his beard which made you giggle. that giggle seared into his brain and he knew that you weren't getting with any other man.

you met at his flat a few weeks later, and you were eager. price liked that. sex was only half as fun when the person he was fucking was almost having a good time. you came over in a big sweatshirt and jeans that were a little baggy, something that covered up. it made price curious as to what was hiding underneath.

"look beautiful, birdie." he said as he guided you inside and you got your sneakers off. you looked over at him to help you through the flat. you held onto him a little nervous, the only familiar thing in the place. price held you by the middle and let you press your face up against his strong chest.

he was in a flannel with a white undershirt and jeans. you could see the gold chain around his throat and the heavy chest hair. you had seen him naked from photos shared and he had seen you naked, but to feel it up close left a shiver of excitement through you. he leaned down and kissed you on the top of your head as he led you to the bedroom.

he said, "afterwards, i'll make ya some dinner. not the best chef, but, i can cook ya somethin' to replenish the energy you spent fucking me." he then ruffled your hair, which made your heart leap and he got you onto the bed.

you nodded meekly, you looked so small. so innocent. a girl like you should be on dated with finance guys or even the artsy kind. not a weathered, older military man like him. but even things in smaller packages can be surprising, just like when you took off your clothes and revealed a matching set of bra and panties. a soft grey colour with pastel yellow accents. it made price have to adjust himself in his jeans.

"ah, pretty girl got a surprise for me. how sweet?"

you nodded, "i wanted to make tonight special. good luck for a long... dynamic between us. so, you don't get rid of me if i suck." and soon you were in price's embrace while you still sat on the bed. your cheek pressed hard against his soft but firm middle.

he petted your head a little and said, "ah, don't worry, petal. even if you do bad tonight, i got every intention of trainin' ya. make you the perfect girl." the words spoken hit right to your core and when he pulled away long enough to strip down, you felt your eyes go wide for a moment.

a photo couldn't capture every inch of john price's skin. the scars, the tattoos, the hair, the muscle, the fat. he was like a big brown bear and it made you soaked. you shifted a little in your spot on the bed and rubbed your thighs together in anticipation. it was surprising that you were still a virgin, but you always chickened out. now as an adult, you wanted to just get it over with. but, you wanted to have fun. and why not have fun with a well experienced dom who wouldn't half-ass your first time. it didn't hurt that he had the kind of looks that would make any man with half a brain jealous.

"i hope i meet expectations." he chuckled as he put his hands on his hips. his cock stood at full attention and you swallowed. there was something so masculine about him, but not in a toxic way. he played with your hair once more before he patted your cheek, "no need to gawk, petal. i'm not goin' anywhere." and you swallowed. he chuckled before he got into bed with you and slowly unwrapped you of your lingerie like delicate christmas paper.

he hadn't been this excited to upwrap something since he got the toy firetruck as a kid. but in total fairness, you were hotter than any fire red truck. his hands grazed across your body with total tenderness and his hungry blue eyes gazed the skin.

the stretch marks, the moles, your own scarring. you were beautiful in ways that price couldn't describe. to compare you to something would be unfair to the thing being compared to your beauty. he took you by the wrist and kissed the center of it.

"this is a promise, petal. for as long as you keep me as your dominant and you my submissive, i with cherish you, adore you, and most of all. make sure that you cum over and over again." before he kissed you on the lips and got you onto your back. he admired you, "usually i like to take pretty things on their hands and knees. but, tonight's gotta be special, right, doll?"

you nodded.

he tapped your nose and said, "ah, ah, ah. that won't cut it. the words are 'yes, sir', got it? would hate to bruise that little behind during our first time."

you found your voice and said, "yes, sir." and was met with a rough pat on the cheek before price pulled away to rest on his knees to fuck you with just right. you felt heat course through your body as you took in the sight of him. burly, large from top to bottom.

course dark hair on his body, a little heft in his middle (but who didn't love that), a sparkle in his blue eyes, and hands large enough to break things between the digits. he admired you in return and said softly, "pretty little petal, yeah? ah, who let ya be so beautiful?" he chuckled as he rubbed his cock up against your slick sex, "i got so much to teach ya. how to tie ya up, how to gag ya properly. mmm, we'll have so much fun." he then pulled away to grab a condom from the nightstand. he held up the silver foil to you and said, "rule one, play safe or don't play at all."

you nodded and remembered to reply, "yes, sir."

price gave you a smile that lit you up and said, "good girl." then quickly got the condom on. he admired your soaked sex for a moment longer, "she achin' for me, huh? cute." then slowly, almost agonizingly, he inched into you and felt the spread of warmth through his body.

heaven was created with your pussy in mind. price was never a quick finisher, but he almost finished inside of you when he managed to get all of himself inside of you. he kept eyes and ears open, the type of examining done in his line of work, to make sure that you weren't in too much pain.

"ya alright?"

you nodded and swallowed.

price added, "baby girl. words." and then nodded his head when you replied that everything was okay, he nodded and said, "roger that." which made you pussy clench. a smile spread across price's face as he leaned forward. he captured your hands in his and pressed them to the bed under you. he chuckled lowly, "ah, someone likes a military man? a man in uniform gets ya goin'?" he kissed your pulse point, "ah, too cute, petal. i guess seeing that on my description didn't scare ya off." he rocked against you, "know it's a crime to mess up a man's uniform."

you swallowed, "sir. fuck." and felt the strike of heat through your body. you had to admit, you had seen a few photos of him in uniform. the beret, boots and all. and it made something turn in your stomach. only added an appeal to him that made you hot.

price replied, "i guess it worked out. because i like cute little civilians who are more than eager to make me feel good. doin' your civic duty makin' me cum, baby girl." these was a tension in his voice that made you heart hammer and your throat feel tight. the bed squeaked a little under the both of you as he continued his movements. he knew he was going to have an amazing time with you.

you whined, "please, sir."

"tell me. tell me what ya like about it? what gets my baby girl goin'? i gotta know, because maybe i can get somethin' together that'll rock your world." his words were hot and your cunt fluttered around his achy, hard cock. for a moment he was uncertain if you were actually a virgin, you took him so well.

you moaned when you felt a spark of pleasure in your core, your entire life had just been your hands and an assortment of toys. but to have price work your body beautifully was something else. you replied sweetly, "i... i want to thigh ride you in uniform." you felt a flush of embarrassment.

he chuckled, "oh that would be quite the sight, huh?" he continued to move against you beautifully, "i bet that i could make ya cum just from my thighs. rub your cunt all over it, messin' up the fabric. higher-ups will be wonderin' about the pussy stains all over the fabric. maybe if i'm lucky i'll get some of your wetness in my beard. let 'em smell you on me." and well, that excited you deeply.

you arched your back a little bit, but price kept you pinned perfectly under him. you tightened your thighs around him and he continued to work your body. it wasn't rough sex, but it also wasn't boringly soft either. he worked you at a steady pace, like a man with immense stamina. he eyed the bounce of your breasts and he moved against you.

he licked his lips at the sight of you, "baby girl." he purred, "you're a dirty girl. but don't worry." he soon held onto your wrists instead of your hands, a further act of domination, "i like 'em dirty. i like girls i can sink my teeth into. soon enough you won't be able to cum unless it's my fingers, tongue or cock in you. ya got the kind of soft skin that would bruise perfectly. but be careful, petal, i can be quite mean with a paddle." and it was met with a heavy moan. music to his ears.

you had never been spoken to like this before, but it excited you. you wanted to be price's dirty girl any day of the week. you felt excitement cross over you as he picked up the pace. the two of you fucked heavily and it left a taste of want in your mouth. this was better than anything you hoped for. it wasn't just that price checked boxes on a superficial level, he knew exactly how to make you squirm and moan. heavy noises came from your mouth as he worked your achy cunt, you felt amazing.

"ya like knowin' that i'm your first. big, scary captain makin' a mess of the sweetest cunt in the world. knowin' in a way, i got ya for life." he licked his lips. he liked that you were pure in that way, call him old fashioned. but knowing that he got to have you first was sort of like getting the first slice of cake at a party. something he wished to sweetly devour. and with you it was with heavy thrusts and filthy words. taint you to his liking.

you whined as you clenched your fists, you tensed up and he loved the feeling. he could almost read your mind with how sweet you felt. he could nearly feel your heartbeat as he fucked you. he loved the sight of you, you looked damn near perfect under him. you said between heavy pants, "please, sir. fuck, please!"

"feel good, petal? like how i take you." he moved against you further and it left him feeling the anticipation for climax. he continued to fuck your sweet body, working every last centimeter of warm skin, "remember, ya gotta ask me to cum."

his movements were overwhelming, his pace left you feeling breathless. and in your first lesson of intimacy, you croaked out, "can i cum, sir? please, i need to cum."

and price could be a giving man. he looked down at you, haze in those blue eyes as he said, "of course, baby girl. cum for me, cum for your captain." and swore under his breath as you beautifully came apart for him. he held onto your wrists tighter and groaned. it paired nicely with your sweet little moans.

"sir! fuck!" you gasped as you clenched around him. you finished and it only prompted him to move faster while you laid in such a blissed out state. no one had made you finish like that, not even your own nimble digits.

but price was just that good.

the bed creaked further and the headboard hit against the beige wall of the bedroom. he fucked you faster and made sure to cram every inch inside of you. with a few more heavy strokes, he finished into of you with a heavy groan. he fucked you through his climax before he slowed to a stop.

he wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled deeply, "beauty, beauty. where has the world been hidin' ya from me." he chuckled as he kissed you on the lips. you melted against him and moaned.

when he pulled out, he got up with a creak in his hip to throw out the condom before he was back in bed with you. you were both naked under the covers as price traced your form with his calloused fingers. the roughness on your soft skin made you shiver.

"how about it, lovie." he said in that low, gruff tone of his. his hand grazed across your side and behind, "how about i invite the boys over and their little birdies and we can have a little playdate. introduce you to the group."

you swallowed, "play... date?"

price pulled you closer. he held onto you the way someone would hold a stuffed animal. he smiled at you, "don't worry, petal. no one's gettin' their hands on ya. not while i'm still breathin'." his voice was tinged with a possessiveness. you nodded in response and he added, "besides, i know i'll make the boys nice and jealous with you." he chuckled, "my beautiful baby girl." then kissed you on the lips.

you could only imagine what would happen at a playdate with price's friends and their submissives. it also didn't help that it made you a little excited as well. <3

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[monsterslikemango]

How I headcannon the cod characters would dress off duty

John Price

Granola Dad aesthetic

Carhartt & Patagonia 

Baseball hats & beanies heaven

mostly wears boots and hiking shoes but has a pair of Birkenstocks Gaz bought him.

Wears a very nice tactical watch 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Rich London private school

I headcannon Gaz was raised in a wealthy family — old money yet his dad had a good job to which only added to it. (Probably a judge — would explain where he got his very strong sense of justice from)

Really is just a pretty boy

Old money style, new money shoes

Definitely smells super good! Think Vanilla Sex or Tobacco Vanille by Tom Ford

Gold jewelry — usually small chain and gold watch

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Let me get this out of the way — he still dresses like he’s in high school just a little bit more organized now

Loves to be comfortable — baggy jeans, jackets, hoodies.

Lots of white t-shirts basically wears them with everything, same with white shoes but he can’t keep the shoes clean to save his life

Bought a pair of air forces, they were dirty in a week

Wears a fair amount of jewelry — silver

Never leaves the house with out his cross or medal of Saint Gabriel (he grew up Catholic)

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The girls know what’s coming

Biker

Definitely can dress nice if he tries but is more than likely wearing a black t-shirt, black jeans, and a hat

Keeps his head down — tends to always wear a hat in public but avoids masks as not to draw attention to him self — doesn’t matter cause he’s probably wearing his helmet anyway

Spends most of his off time in the gym — grey sweats and a black tee

Not really a jewelry person

Belts <3

Phillip Graves

Country boy through and through

Nothing else to say here

Definitely smells good though — think Dior Homme

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo - Ending 8: The Price of Beauty

WARNINGS: yandere themes

You hummed softly to yourself as you headed to the birds’ exhibit. You decided you’d mix things up and headed for the most elegant residents of the zoo: the peacock halflings.

The first peacock you came across was Epel, who was resting on a rock near the door of the enclosure. As soon as the door shut, the smallest halfling was shooting up off the rock, racing over to you in a flurry of blue feathers.

You smiled at him, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah,” Epel said breathlessly, “You came early!”

“I did!” you laughed, “Well, let’s go find the others…”

It wasn’t a hard task. The marsh was only so big. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the biggest, tallest rock, where Vil perched, looking over the land like Mufasa from the Lion King. 

“Good morning, Vil!” you said, shielding your eyes from the climbing sun as you gazed up at him. 

Vil barely turned his head, looking down at you out of the corner of his eye, “Ah, you’re here early.”

You smiled encouragingly, “Yes, I wanted to spend some extra time with you guys today.”

At your words, Epel let out a little happy noise. You wondered if you’d been neglecting the three peacocks.

Rook appeared out of a bush, making his way towards you with such grace and fluidity that you couldn’t look away. He put a hand over his heart and bowed deeply to you, “What a blessing it is to see you so early.”

You giggled at his noble response and said, “It’s great to see you too, Rook.”

Vil turned around suddenly, walking down the rock with measured, graceful steps, as if he was gliding down a runway. His eyes remained on you the entire time, making you feel small and insignificant.

Then, he smiled, and the feeling of being small evaporated. It was like he lit up the entire enclosure when he said, “We have something to give you.”

Epel bobbed his head, “I almost forgot! We made somethin’ for ya!”

Vil gave Epel a cold look and Epel repeated “something for you”, sounding much more formal this time.

“That’s so kind of you!” you gasped, “I’d be happy to see!”

The three bird halflings led you to a wooden chair, which had been covered with beautiful white flowers, woven together with vines. You blinked in surprise and confusion, “Wow! It’s beautiful! You said it’s for me?”

Rook grasped your hand and led you closer to the chair, “Sit.”

You took a seat in the chair, realizing that it was actually very comfortable, with a velvet cushion under you.

Vil drew in close, “You have always been the most beautiful girl- but beauty can be refined.”

“Huh?” you weren’t sure how to react to that sentence. He thought you were beautiful? The most beautiful? Surely you had misheard.

“Crowley gave us some gifts to use on you,” Epel said excitedly, brandishing a hair pin with a peacock feather on it. 

Suddenly, Rook was behind you, taking the rubber band out of your hair and brushing it. Vil swooped down on you, makeup brush in hand. Epel slid gloves onto your hands and put a pearl necklace around your neck when he had the chance between Vil’s treatment.

Before you knew it, a mirror was in front of you. The drastic contrast between your beautifully made up face, the necklace, and your braided hair versus your dusty zoo uniform was almost comical.

“Get in this,” Rook urged, handing over a beautiful but old-fashioned dress. 

“There’s nowhere for me to change,” you pointed out.

“We won’t look,” he replied, clicking his tongue. He and the other two men turned around.

You quickly changed, the new dress weighing you down. It was surprisingly heavy. You sat back down in the chair, “I’m dressed.”

The sound of metal hitting metal clanged through your ears. Suddenly, you couldn’t move your wrists. You looked down just in time to watch cuffs closing around your ankles. “What’s happening?”

“There, parfaite,” Rook murmured softly as he circled you like a shark. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

The cuffs chaining you to the chair were so dainty and elegant, they could almost pass for bracelets and anklets. You tugged, testing the cuffs, but they wouldn’t give. Your heart began to pound in your chest.

“What’s happening?” you repeated, voice weak. You glanced at Epel, expecting him to tell you it was just a prank.

Instead, the smallest peacock knelt down and adjusted the hem of your dress so that it concealed the restraints. When he had successfully moved the fabric to his satisfaction, he softly said, “Don’t be scared. We’re just makin’ sure you don’t run away.”

Vil smiled down at you.

“Beauty, refined. Now, you’re perfect.”

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Here have another NikPrice x Reader thing. Really loving this little OT3 ;_;

Intended to be read in the same universe as this little drabble

Have another taste of my special: unedited humor and light angst.

---

“This is great, thank you” she tells the nurse in a slurred customer service voice, taking the offered slushy from her hands. 

She's been telling every nurse who so much as looked at her ‘thank you’ in a dazed yet polite voice. Manners still at the forefront of mind despite the remnant anesthesia and pain medication making her cloudy. 

John watches her take a look at the contents of the cup, her face falling immediately, twisting with a disgust only seen in old cartoons, overwhelmed tears springing forth as she looks toward the nurse with barely contained dismay.

“Um, what flavor is this?” 

Price shares a look with Nik, amusement plain on his face as he chuckles in the other chair beside her. 

“I think that's rootbeer, honey” the nurse says warmly, also amused, “ but if you don't like that we can get you blue raspberry-”

“Uggh yup, yup.” She slurs frantically, setting the cup down and pushing it far far away from herself, trying valiantly (and failing) to hide the growing distress on her face, eyes misty from the whirlwind of drug addled emotions. 

Ordinarily John would be less than pleased with his lambs panicking, having half a mind to tear everyone in this unit a new ass for any slight against her, his stress already high enough with her undergoing surgery as is.

The procedure was minor, routine practically, and the doctor had already swung by to check on her, assuring John and Nik that everything went smoothly and she'd be going home the same day, albeit a little loopy. 

John was still beside himself, never was a fan of the clean sterile environment, hated to be there himself, and hated it even more to see his loved ones there as well. Nikolai was just as much of an emotional support for John as he was their girl. 

She frowns, looking at John and then twisting to look for the other source of giggles, eyes falling to Nik.

“Is? Is that okay?” She sucks in a breath, lip wobbling just a little, her voice a perfect example of ‘scared, but trying to be brave about it.’

“I just don't really like root beer flavored stuff…” she reminds them pitifully. 

Nik reaches over, squeezing her shoulder affectionately, “She'll get you a new one milaya, take a deep breath.” he tells her  with a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head when she does as she's asked. 

Her mood does seem to improve once the new cup is passed off to her, she snuffles at it before clumsily going for the straw, the thin plastic rolling around the cup despite her best efforts. 

John reaches over, placing a hand over the opening to hold the straw steady between his fingers. She flashes him a scrunched smile before sucking away happily, chewing lightly on the slush between her teeth when she cocks her head curiously. Her eyes glued to the sparkling gold of John's wedding band. 

She stares and stares, brows scrunched in deep thought. Slowly she lifts her own free hand, the monitor on her finger trembling along with her as she gazes at her own empty ring finger. 

Her heart monitor spikes. 

“Are we not married anymore?” she whispers, looking back to John, tears already escaping. Pure heartache on her sweet round face. 

And immediately, John would rather rip his own heart out and hand it to her than witness the heartbreak on her face again. 

He scoots closer to her, chair dragging against the tile before he takes her trembling hand. 

“Shhh shh, You still have me darling, we had to take off your ring for surgery, here” he tugs at the chain of his ID discs around his neck, revealing her ring laying snuggly against his chest for safekeeping. 

She stares hard for a long moment, her sniffles subsiding slightly before another thought occurs to her and she bodily turns to look at Nik, making John lunge to hold her side steady before she tears her stitches. 

Misty eyes fall to Nik’s hands against his lap. His fingers adorned with his usual rings, though specifically devoid of one on his left ring finger. 

“You're my husband too?” she asks Nik, sniffling uncertainly. Nik watches her, eyes wistful despite the small smile curving his lips.

“Not on paper, no milaya-”

Wrong answer.

A harsh sobs falls from her lips, their sickly girl flinging herself into John’s arms. He catches her with a small grunt, does his best to soothe her with a warm hand against her back. 

“Why are you crying sweetheart?” he coos, petting her gently, looking to Nik for backup.

“I don't want Nik to be mad at meeee.” she wails against his shirt.

John's eyes flicker to Nik, now it's his turn to wrench his heart out, he stands quickly, moving around the bed to hover beside John, bending lower to hold her pitiful face in his hands.

He swipes away her tears with his thumbs as she sucks in breaths, staring up at him with big watery eyes. 

“Dry your tears my love, see? I am not mad.” he attempts, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. She remains unconvinced, more sorry tears spilling over her round cheeks.

Nik tries to shush her again, kneeling fully to stay eye level with her. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because,” she babbles. “I married John and got him a ring and I love you exactly the same but I didn't get you a pretty ring. You deserve all kinds of pretty things, and I didn't even do the one thing and that's not fair.” 

John watches Nikolai carefully school the emotions on his face, a soft sigh sagging his friends shoulders.

“I know you love me, and you're the prettiest thing I will ever have solnyshka, no need for tears-”

“You don't want me to marry you?” her voice cracks, small and pitiful. 

Her words make both of them wince. It was a subject none of them had brought up. John had married her years ago, long before their relationship as a trio had bloomed into what it was. The only thing John would take back about it all was the fact that Nik was his best man and not standing beside her too. 

They just hadn't known. 

The formalities had never mattered between John and Nik. They'd been bonded since they were both young men, in one way or another. The timing never quite right until it was. But to her?

Nikolai should have had that title long ago, and John feels like a right bastard for letting it slip past him. For denying Nik, himself, and her.

It's plain as day in Nik's face, the barely hidden uncertainty, the hurt.  

John reaches over, curling his free arm around Nik’s back, warm palm pressed against his ribs. An anchor. 

For fucks sake he was their husband on everything besides paper. Nik was everything to him. To them. 

Nik spares a glance to John, taking one look into the warmth of his eyes before he curses under his breath “I did not say that, rude thing.” he scolds softly, emotions just barely wobbling his voice. He makes a show of chucking her under the chin. “I hold you just the same, kiss you? Is that not enough?”

John squeezes him tighter as she shakes her head furiously.

“No.” she snaps matter of factly, scrubbing at her eyes, a familiar stubbornness taking over as she looks him dead in the eyes. “I want everybody to know you're spoken for.” She reaches out clumsily, tapping her finger just shy of too hard against his naked ring finger. “Unacceptable”  she sniffs.

John cuts in before Nik can say another word, hand sliding around his back to grip his nape, squeezing in warning, not to force him into anything, but to tell the truth. “Our girl just asked you to marry her, love. What do you say?”

There's a pause, Nikolai’s big brown eyes flickering between them as they watch him with bated breath. One warm hand cradling his skull, the other gripping his arm for purchase as if they feared he would slip away from them. 

“Of course-” he barely gets out.

Their girl squeals, heart monitor spiking again as she throws herself at Nikolai, the big boy standing fully to crush her against his soft belly. 

John watches them with a softer elation, standing fully to squeeze in close, press a soft kiss just below Nik's ear.

“Good answer” John chuckles.

“Only answer” Nik whispers back.

[sarah-denial-cq]

What makes you enjoy slave Leia so much? Merely a strong woman in a humiliating, revealing costume, or is there anything more to it?

Slave Leia fixed me.

I don't think I have a lot to say about it that isn't obvious, since I'm kinda stupid. But it's more than just a strong woman being put in a humiliating revealing costume.

First is the in universe concept (uh, I guess, spoilers for like a forty year old movie). It's not just that Leia is captured and put in the bikini. She's captured while in the process of thinking she can be strong and capable, that she can save someone. The outfit and voice changer she used while trying to rescue Han covered up her sex and her weakness. The contrast with that is immense. And when she's caught, people *laugh*. It's a big *joke*. It's not a serious she did a good try but jabba's crack team of security were better. It's like a surprise prank that they all pulled on her. Compare the defiance from when Vader first captures her on the blockade runner in EP IV, when she is strong in the face of capture after a battle well fought, to the face she makes when jabba catches her. No defiance. Just embarrassment, disgrace, weakness, confusion, stupid girl. Sorry I'm kinda masturbating while writing this.

And then she is stripped and put in a tacky bikini with arm bands and hair bands and a collar and leash. Fine. But she is exposed in front of Luke. The one who she was trying to be all tough girl equal around in EP IV and v. He is calm, composed, powerful, which just makes her weakness and stupidity more evident. Of course she couldn't save a man. But one could save her, at the price of seeing her stripped down to a waist and pair of tits.

And that's edge edge that's what brings this into the real world. It completely destroys Leia's character for the entire series. Ask any man who's watched star wars to describe the most iconic scene for Luke and it's idk his training with Yoda or his blowing up the death star or whatever. None of them will say him shirtless and weak and vulnerable in the bacta tank. But ask the same question about Leia and you will get one answer. If it had been her character from the start it wouldn't wreck me quite so much. But it isn't, it's two movies of.building her up as a badass strong independent woman and then haha no you stupid girls who thought this universe took you seriously this is how everyone sees you. The fact that it took away and overwrote and deleted and replaced oh god everything that she did in the eyes of the male audience the film was marketed.to edge is she's literally on a chain looking up at the guy she was pretending to be an equal to just like how I have to be lower and beneath and

And on top of all of that was Carrie's discomfort real world with how revealing the costume was to her professional colleagues it's literally wear this bra and skirt with no panties in front of people you pretend edge are workplace equals wet and pose while kneeling in it for the official promotion materials bark and inspire generations of girls to think that when they attend conventions about their hobbies they should dress up like subservient edge sluts and pose in huge undifferentiated groups for photos and anyways that's part of why I like slave Leia so much thanks for the ask.

[calliesmemes]

DARKNESS HAUNTS YOUR NARRATIVE

UNSETTLING SENTENCE STARTERS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES THAT WILL SEND SHIVERS DOWN YOUR SPINE AND LEAVE AN OMINOUS FEELING LINGERING IN THE ROOM.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   I’m deep inside your mind. There is no escape for you. ”

“   You save everyone, but who saves you? ”

“   The power inside of me — it’s terrifying. ”

“   Power belongs to those who take it. ”

“   You’ll be the ruin of me, won’t you? ”

“   You weren’t meant to save the world — you were meant to destroy it. ”

“   You didn’t break me; you built me. All you did was make me ruthless. ”

“   You have no power over me. ”

“   I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me. ”

“   All the greatest loves end in violence. ”

“   I don’t think you’re truly mean. You have sad eyes. ”

“   In theory the prophecy could still come true. ”

“   One day, your empathy is going to get you killed. ”

“   We are masters of our own destiny. ”

“   Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to survive. ”

“   The horror that you have seen is not who you are. ”

“   A little too much anger, too often or at the wrong time, can destroy more than you would ever imagine. ”

“   Your scars are not your shame; they are your story. ”

“   I will never turn my back on people who need me. ”

“   Isn’t it scary to be ready to die at such a young age? ”

“   Your mind is a weapon. Keep it loaded. ”

“   Are you hearing those voices again? ”

“   It scares me sometimes. The emptiness I see in your eyes. ”

“   You may not be interested in the war, but the war is interested in you. ”

“   Haven’t you taken enough from me? ”

“   You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you have committed. ”

“   It is okay to be angry. It is never okay to be cruel. ”

“   I hope that what you did to me haunts you. ”

“   The price of freedom is high. It always has been. ”

“   When you talk, I can hear the revolution. ”

“   Do not pretend that you are some meek, pathetic little girl when I can see that vicious mind working behind your eyes. ”

“   Your new life will cost you your old one. ”

“   Watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can. ”

“   Some people are in your life to test you ”

“   Fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could. ”

“   At what point do you think i'll become the wound itself and not simply the bearer? ”

“   We are made of all those who have built and broken us. ”

“   All power demands sacrifice and pain. ”

“   Some things buried deep need to stay that way. ”

“   You and I are going to change the world. ”

“   I wonder which will get you killed faster — your loyalty, or your stubbornness? ”

“   Something’s made your eyes go cold. ”

“   If I am not a weapon, then what am I? ”

“   Your chains are broken, but are you truly free? ”

“   You were alone before they left you. ”

“   You can love a monster, it can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature. ”

“   It’s awful not to be loved. It’s the worst thing in the world … it makes you mean, and violent, and cruel ”

“   We can simultaneously be both human and monster. ”

“   I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. ”

“   You laugh like a little girl and think like a martyr. ”

“   Grief taught me inhumane things. ”

“   You will always be a monster. There is no turning back from it. ”

“   I know there’s a villain, and I’m worried it’s me. ”

“   I can’t stand the bitter thing that I’ve become. ”

“   People will never bleed enough to fulfill your vision of justice. ”

“   What if I told you the truth about what happened that night? ”

“   Part of me died in order to survive. ”

“   We are cursed with a tendency for violence. ”

“   I speak in verses, prophecies, and curses. ”

“   I see no use quarrelling with fate. ”

“   Nobody smart plays fair. ”

“   Fine, make me your villain. ”

“   They should be terrified of me. ”

“   I gave you devotion, blood, and my life. ”

“   How disappointing, when people succumb to what is expected of them. ”

“   Perhaps that was why I had to endure pain — because true transformation can only happen in the crucible of suffering. ”

“   Morality, too, is a question of time. ”

“   Memories destroy us. ”

“   My entire life, I’ve been fighting a war. ”

“   Fair is foul, and foul is fair. ”

“   Are you becoming what you’ve always hated? ”

“   I have found it takes a lot of strength to endure myself. ”

“   Loving any of us is a death sentence, isn’t it? ”

“   You long to be bandaged before you have been cut. ”

“   I feel so lost among these entirely strange people. ”

“   Remembering is like an open wound. ”

“   The wounded recognize the wounded. ”

“   I am alone and am suffocating because I cannot give voice to my emotions. ”

“   I’ve lived through entire tragedies in silence. ”

“   The more you love, the more you suffer. ”

“   The crowd that applauds a ruler’s coronation is the same crowd that will applaud a tyrant’s beheading. People like a show. ”

“   You are a better knife than you are a person. ”

“   Life goes more smoothly without a heart. ”

“   People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar. ”

“   I’m nostalgic for the anger I once had. ”

“   The pain I didn’t tell you about has built a home inside of me. ”

“   My greatest regret was how much I believed in my own future. ”

“   All I ever do is grieve. ”

“   Do not mock a pain you haven’t endured. ”

“   I control the shadows. They do not control me. ”

“   Turn the pain into power. ”

“   Sometimes, we survive by forgetting. ”

“   I am now the most miserable man living. ”

“   To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me. ”

“   In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony. ”

“   I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me. ”

“   Memories do not always soften with time; some grow edges like knives. ”

“   Maybe everything that you thought was breaking you was actually leading you towards yourself. ”

“   Sometimes, not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world. ”

[helloclancy]

haymitch is tasked with speaking to johanna mason about trying to break the machine because of the stunt she pulled after her name was called. she thanked the district 7 escort for pulling her, out of every other name in the bowl, because she's just weeks away from her 18th birthday, then flipped the capitol building off with both hands.

"fuck that!"

haymitch understands why. he understands why plutarch pulls him aside after all the tributes and mentors gather in the capitol, and tells him that johanna painted a poster at her reaping. he knows why plutarch shows him the unedited footage. he knows why it was edited, too. because half of district 7 flips the capitol building off as they drag johanna mason away, kicking and screaming. no final goodbyes.

a kid, no older than 10, running through a crowd parting for him in anguish, screaming her name. a girl, maybe 18 since she didn't seem to be part of the reaping, chasing after him, red-faced from trying to hide her grief. refusing to play their game.

lenore dove. sid. maysilee donner.

before he truly, completely fell off the wagon and into a downward spiral of the worst victor alive, merrilee donner paid him a visit. she brought him ham hock soup and strawberry ice cream. "it was her favorite," she said. "i much prefer chocolate." they eat in silence, haymitch clutching his stomach, merrilee rubbing her head. pinching the bridge of her nose. shutting her eyes tightly.

she tidies up his empty, lonely house. she sings the ladybug song. she sings nothing you can take from me, was ever worth keeping. haymitch watches her. and he drinks. his deep scar itching with pain every time their eyes meet. "itchy itchy haymitchy," maysilee sings from the corner, her teeth stained red. haymitch takes another swig.

merrilee tells him she won't visit again, because she knows what it's like to stare at a ghost every day. haymitch whispers an apology. "there's no need, haymitch. maybe no one else got to see what happened out there, but i did." she rubs her head again, flinching in pain. he wonders if she's okay, but of course she isn't. "she made you pinky swear." he has no idea how she could have gotten access to unedited footage. forbidden footage. maybe mags got it to her. or maybe it was plutarch. "i just wanted to make sure you got this," she holds out her palm. a golden chain messily braided into old leather cord. in the center of the necklace hangs a metal flower, similar to the one she wore into the arena, but this one is gold.

"tam amber made it for her. the copper one was mine. it's a primrose flower. she left me all her necklaces, and i noticed that you lost yours, so i wanted you to have this one." she places it on the table, right next to his twitching fingers. he's trying not to cry. he's failing. he brushes his finger along the flower petals. his sis.

"even if we never speak to each other again, i just wanted you to know that when she said she'd be your sister, it went for me too." she kisses the top of his head. "be the worst victor that you can be, brother, and i'll do the same. for her."

he never speaks to merrilee donner again.

haymitch knows that johanna mason does not have a token. he also knows the price she might pay for painting her own poster. he fiddles with the necklace he kept to wearing under his shirts; debating. since burying his precious flint striker with his love, this necklace has become his battle armor. he knows johanna mason will need it more than him now, if she accepts.

"i saw that girl with your brother. at the reaping. she's your girl, ain't she?" she freezes, for just a split second, before squaring her shoulders and steeling her gaze.

"fuck off,"

bad start. "hey, wait," he slurs, not helping his case. he tries again, "johanna, that's not-"

"what are you gonna do? hit me? feel me up? tell me all i need is the touch of a man? are you gonna-"

"no!"

her eyes widen in fear, then anger. "then why is the infamous drunkard of district 12 trying to talk to me like we're pals? shouldn't you be drinking away the loss of your newest tributes?" ice cold. just like his sis.

so he tells her about lenore dove and her painted words. about her uncle and his hidden love. he tells her about the newcomers, about wyatt and his odds, about wellie and ampert and louella and lou lou. then he pulls out his necklace of hope and tells her about his sister, maysilee donner. who refused to die begging. who slapped their escort and transformed each district's tokens and obliterated the crowd's fashion choices during her interview. how she never once faltered in her convictions. how she trusted him without ever knowing the full truth. he tells her how he accepted his fate in the arena and accepted the task of blowing it up. how maysilee donner's necklaces helped him do it. he tells her that he was spared, but everyone that he loved died because of it. that he was kept alive just to watch them die. and then he unclasps the necklace and cradles it in his hands.

"we promised each other that if one of us won, we'd be the worst victor that the capitol ever had." he gestures to his drink. "she made me pinkie swear it."

"so that's why you're a hopeless, bumbling idiot." he nods. "why me, though? why not your tributes?" this, he struggles to answer. district 12's tributes this year are both only 13 years old. one is halfway to starving, the other beaten and bloody from peacekeepers. they've got no fight. no fire. they're so young. so innocent. he suddenly thinks of burdock's girls, katniss and...what's her name again? he's seen her following behind her big sister through the hob like a lost little duckling.

he looks down at maysilee's necklace in his fingers. primrose. primrose everdeen. children. they're just children. johanna takes in his silence.

she accepts the token. "well, if i win, i'll be the second worst victor in history. because i don't plan on playing their game."

[rav1377]

To Love and To Cherish

Nikolai x John Price x fem!reader

this got SO out of hand, even had to google what the dirty term for daddy was in russian😭

tw:bar, drinking, slight/possible drugging, intoxication, reader goes home w them drunk(DONT DO THIS EVER), underlying daddy issues, Big Beefy Men tm, use of grown up derogatory term? (big girl, not referring to body.)erm smut, smut, and more smut, intoxicated sex(don’t do this guys, consent is key), unprotected sex(DONT DO THIS.), sharing, age gap (reader is twenty smth, John/Nik are old men in their late thirties early forties, daddy talk (im sorry😭I HAD TO)marriage talk, housewife idolization, uh-lmk if I missed smth!

very special thank you to the amazing @elaineiswithyou-blog for allowing me to base this off their post! 💕

the overcrowded bar just got a little more crowded when you stepped into the room, squeezing through people to get to the bar. you don’t see any stools open and you scan the space, looking for a place to rest your achy feet and get a small drink. a throat clears behind you with a deep rumble, and you tense unconsciously, turning to look at the source of the noise. two beefy older men on two barstools, one open in between them.

the one on the left has slicked back hair, it’s black, possibly a very dark brown. it runs down the nape of his neck and curls up slightly at the ends. his eyes have a mischievous and knowing sheen in them, like he knows a joke that you aren’t in on. his thick face is pale, and a strong nose rests on it. a gold chain sits on his chest from where hair pokes out of the top of a white tee shirt. he’s got an odd jacket thrown on top of it, leather with patches sprinkled on it. his thighs seem to bulge out of his beaten up jeans, and work boots peek out of the bottom of them. handsome. maybe a bad kind of handsome, he’s not the kind of man a pretty little girl like you should be hanging with.

eyes drifting to the other man, you’re meet with startling ice-blue eyes nestled among a hairy man. his brown hair covers him everywhere. he’s got mutton chops even. it suits him though. in the dark light you can’t see the light freckles decorating the bridge of his nose, but you will. his white button up is rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong forearms that lead up to his biceps that stretch the fabric. dear lord you think you’re having heart palpitations(i sure am). his arms are crossed at you as he looks at you. a strong chest is obviously visible, and even more hair creeps out of the collar. he’s got slacks on, the old kind with black buttons fastening them, rather a zipper. sailor pants, you think. that’s what they’re called. again, he’s on the older side, but plenty of life left in his eyes.

it’s only been a few seconds before you hear the sleazy man call out to you in an accent you think is russian. “there’s a open seat over here, milaya, come sit with us.” he practically purrs, twisting to face you in his seat. your eyes flit to his and then to his hand which gestures to the seat in between them. hesitant, you walk to the stool, they’re at least respectable enough to make some room for you to squeeze in. “thank you.” you mutter, trying to take up as little room as possible, shoulders and legs tense. “you new ‘ere?” the second one asks, setting down a strong-looking drink. “uh, yes. a friend told me about this bar.” the man’s eyebrows jump at that. “your friend in the military?” he says, lifting his glass to take a small sip of his drink. “no. her boyfriend is though. I think.” you frown, unable to remember for sure. still, he nods. “you need a drink, milaya. no one comes to a bar just to sit and talk with old men like us.” the other one says, flagging down a busy bartender. you don’t really drink all too much so when the beefy man on your left prattles off a drink order you’re not even sure what it is, you stay silent. when the bartender asks who’s tab it’s going on you raise your hand, fingers slipping into your little purse and pulling out your card. the one on your right is quick to stop you, leaning in and grabbing the wrist that holds the little piece of plastic.

“none of that, luv. we’ll pay.” he says, gently tugging your hand away from the man who’s sticky with sweat. nodding at him, the bartender catches the hint and walks off, saying “i’ll put it on your tab, then.” your face is heating up, slightly embarrassed and unsure of what to do. so you hide your face, pointing it downward, trying to hide behind your hair. beefy man bows his head down, trying to look at your eyes. “no thank you? and i thought you had manners.” he laughs when you’re face shoots right back up. “thank you.” you respond, shy from your mistake. “Nikolai.” he says, pushing a hand in your direction. you take it weakly, and his hand drawrfs yours, firm grip shaking it up and down, fingers lingering a little too long. you respond with your name, before facing the man on your right. “John.” he says gruffly. you nod, eyes directed at the bar again, unsure of what to do. they are good looking. might be a little old for you if anything, but not extremely suspicious. no you weren’t exactly looking for fun, but now you have two to choose from.

the bartender returns with your drink, placing it in front of you. “something sweet for a girl who looks even sweeter.” Nikolai grins, and picks it up for you, stirring it around with the straw they placed in it. the amber liquid swirls around, a cherry sits in the bottom of the glass. “what is it?” you ask. “you’ll like it sweetheart.” John says, reaching over you to take it from Nikolai, holding it in front of you. angling the straw, you take a sip, and you make a pleased noise. “wow. that is good.” taking the glass from him, you hold it back to your lips, taking another gulp. the liquid sits in your mouth and you savor it before swallowing again. the alcohol is there, but it doesn’t even overpower you. you taste cherry added and whatever Nikolai told them to put in this you’re so thankful for. you’ve always had a low alcohol tolerance and an even lower one for bitter stuff, but this makes you smile. sipping again, you relax, determining the men aren’t threats. Nikolai shoots you a worried glance over the glass of scotch. “you going to breathe at all?” he asks, lifting the drink away. “hey!” you cry. teeth shining in a cruel smirk he places it on the bar. “it’s good.” you shrug, opening up more. warmth blooms in your chest, and you face John, sad look on your pretty face. “look what you did, makin’ her pout, Nik.” you raise your eyebrows and turn your head back to the other man. “Nik?” you question. the russian accented man merely shrugs.

“so what are you doing here, milaya?”Nik says, sipping from his glass. it’s your turn to shrug now. “just bored i guess…wanted something to do..”you say, stirring your drink lazily. “mm. and you thought we’d entertain you?” John asks, leaning his elbow on the bar before placing his chin on his hand. god what was in that drink? your head feels warm and fuzzy. you raise your glass and take another fat sip. “well, you made me sit down with you.” you murmur. “ah, but you chose to sit. we didn’t force you into the seat.” he counters. Nik nods in agreement. “you must’ve liked what you saw, hm?” he says, leaning in just a bit too close. the alcohol seeps into your bloodstream as you finish off your drink. you stay silent though, pushing it to the bar. John finishes his own drink, flagging down the bartender again. “‘nother round.” he calls out, and the man nods. Nik leans in, fat hand curling around your shoulder. “i know what i am talking about, don’t i?” he grins, pressing his nose into your hair. you lean away but John pushes you into him more. “mm-hmm.” you murmur.

you know you shouldn’t allow this. stand up for yourself, set the boundaries. just because they’re handsome and tall doesn’t mean they can push you around. something behind your heart swells though. you want them too, deep down. let them tell you what to do. let them lead and guide you, help you make good decisions. so you let them, becoming pliant in each stroke of their hands, word of their mouth, and each drink that they slip you.

you just finished your third one and your eyes are lidded as you look at John. “well no! hic it wasn’t my fault. you see my stupid coworker didn’t submit her report, and i got in trouble!” you cry, crossing your arms over your chest. John laughs. “alright, that’s fair.” he says, rubbing circles into your back. you hiccup again, drowsy. “not a big drinker, milaya?” Nikolai asks, sipping on his fourth glass of scotch. you shake your head helplessly. “you ever try scotch?” John asks, offering you his glass. “no.” you respond, gripping the glass. he keeps his hand on it though, raising it to your lips. you knew scotch was strong, but not that strong. under the impression that it would be a bit like your other drink, you took a too-big sip. your face scrunches and you sputter, liquid burning your throat. Nik laughs. “you’re not a drinker at all.” John says, pulling it away from you. wiping your lips, you glare at him. “that was mean.” you growl, leaning back into Nikolai. the man behind you rumbles out a chuckle and promptly lifts you from the stool and into his lap. squeaking, you clasp your hands into his fingers that are around your waist as your back presses into his chest. John looks at y’all, dark look creeping into his eyes. He takes your spot at the bar, and he leans in. “sorry doll.” he chuckles, tracing a finger down your thighs. warmth pools in between your legs, and you push your thighs together.

Nikolai wraps his hands tighter. “want to get used to big-girl drinks?” he asks. you stay silent. “we have some other stuff back at our home.” he murmurs over you shoulder and into your ear. you’re still silent when John says something. “c’mon, luv, we don’t bite.” he’s still petting your thigh. your fuzzy mind tries to weigh the pros and cons of going. on one hand, you might have the best night of your life. other hand, you might get axe murdered. your eyes trail to John’s. “not goin’ to do anything ‘less you wan’ to.” he murmurs, fingers still petting your thigh. nodding slowly, you reach down and grab his hand. Nikolai nods behind you and you swear you feel something beneath you. anxiety creeps back into your system, but John notices and stands before you can chicken out. Nik rises and puts you back on your feet, and both men escort you out of the bar. you feel safe though, everyone averts their eyes at the sight of the two men. no perverted glances or “stray hands”. no one flirting with you. it’s nice, peaceful. leaning into Nik more, he carries your weight on his arm. John pushes open the door, Nik’s hand slipping into a pocket before tossing keys to John. the brunette moves to a car before clicking open the lock. Nikolai’s large hand opens the back seat for you, helping you in. you fumble to put the buckle in its clasp, Nik guides your fingers until a sharp click is heard. he goes to shut the door, but not before John calls out, “don’t leave the doll back there all alone.” Nik scoffs. “you need me here milaya?”he asks, broad form leaning down to look at your face. “think i do..”you trail off, grabbing at his jacket. rolling his eyes, he clambers over your body to the middle seat, muttering something about he’s too old for this. you shut the door behind him promptly. his fat bicep slips over your shoulder as John pulls off and onto the road. your brains still fuzzy, but it’s not like you’re completely dumb(yet.). “where are we going?” you ask, looking out the window. “Nik’s place.” John says gruffly. you glare at the back of his head, “where is Nik’s place?”. a hand traces the inside of your thigh lazily. “not far, milaya. 20 minutes north?” he says, spreading his knees apart to get comfortable. “twenty minutes?!” you exclaim, groaning again. “can’t be patient for twenty minutes, luv? we’ll show you something real interesting when you get there.” John says sultrily. your mouth shuts at that, mind racing with anticipation.

“mm. she’s quiet again.” Nikolai muses, hands creeping higher. John sees from the rear view mirror. “knock that off Nik.” he says, hands tightening on the wheel. “fine. save the best for later, right milaya?” he grunts, pressing a kiss to your cheek. you nod, and feeling brave, press one to his. his eyes are back on you in an instant, wide and determined. uh oh. tickled the bear, you did. he’s on you in a second, lips everywhere. you gasp as his teeth pinch the skin of your neck. he doesn’t stop though, encourages him even. your hands wander over his collarbone to his shoulder, coming to rest on either side of his neck. he begins to pull away, readjusting his pants. your fingers brush the chain he wears, warmed by his skin. and idea slips into that little head of yours and you curl your fingers around it, pulling the sleazy man back toward you. he groans and his left hand slips to your waist again before he’s all over you once more.

when the car slows and you feel the pavement change you pull away from the man. looking around, you’re surrounded by tall trees, in the middle of a forest. it makes sense though, the little town with the bars at is that, little. military town serving the soldiers that reside on a base nearby. but this isn’t a neighborhood or apartment. it’s a hanger. “what are we-“ your words are cut off by Nik’s cooing in your ear. “shh. don’t worry about it, we’re home.” you’re still confused as John shuts off the car and comes to your door, pulling it open before helping you out. he cradles an arm around your hip, walking to the humongous building. “what you’re not going to help me out?” Nik yells after him. you hear a door shut and boots on pavement. John just smirks. but you recognize that glint in his eye.

oh. oh.

oh you like this.

the large door is open enough for you and John to slip through, Nik quickly following behind. a large helicopter sits in the middle of the floor, taking up space. a small plane rests in the back next another copter. you’ve never been up close to a helicopter and you’re shocked just by its sheer size. Nik walks over, patting the nose of it. “like it?” Nik asks, hands on his hips. he looks proud. John scoffs, “what that big ugly thing next to the helicopter?” Nik’s smirk fades, glaring at the man next to you. a laugh escapes you. “oh you liked that?” Nikolai says, gaze shifting to you. John’s hand comes down over your ass, head tilting to your ear. “yeah, you like that?” he says lowly. you blush. “it’s nice, Nik.” smiling at him. he smiles and walks over to a door on the side of the hanger, and John drags you over as well. it looks like a meeting room, big open table, chairs scattered around. but Nik walks to a set of stairs that lead to what looks to be an apartment. well, whatever you call the living quarters in a aircraft hanger. there’s a kitchen to the left, opening up to a small living room. the brown hardwood floors are covered with old-looking rugs that could pass for tapestries. Nik hums a low tune and grabs you, throwing you over his shoulder and onto the couch, popping you in his lap.

giggling, you turn over your shoulder to gaze at John, who’s pulling out some bottles from a cabinet. he takes slow, wide, steps to where you’re seated. he sits down, unscrewing a bottle of bourbon. Nik sits up, holding you upright. John lifts your chin and tips the bottle to your lips, letting liquid spill into your mouth. you try to swallow as much as you can, gasping when it overflows and drips down your chin. sputtering, you spit some out, and hits the bottom of John’s slacks. choking down the bitter liquid, Nik hums in approval. “makin’ a mess, aren’t you, hun?” John says, setting down the bottle on the floor. Nik stands up behind you, still thoroughly presses against you. “be good and take his shirt off, milaya.” Nik groans behind you, grinding into you slowly, heavy hand on your neck. okay now you definitely felt something behind you now.

your hands drift up to the collar of his shirt, undoing another and another, and another until you slowly untuck his button up from his slacks. pushing off the shirt, he helps you slide it from his shoulders. ohmygodwhyishesohairy you think as your eyes look down his chest, trailing down to his belly button. his happy trail disappears into his pants, and a pretty freckle sits underneath the left side of his belly button. your fingers trace the waistband of his slacks and begin to undo a button on his sailor pants. Nik is still grinding into you from behind, encouraging you with a squeeze to the hip. taking a deep breath, you undo the other buttons down the row before loosening the flap, pushing them down his hips. he helps you then, stepping out of them, still in boxers. love handles poke out over them, and you practically swoon again. you don’t get much time to dwell on him though, he’s picking up the other bottle and turning you to face Nik. “this one’s vodka, darling.” John says behind you, lips against your nape. he presses against you, and he’s chubbing up in his knickers at the sight of Nikolai bottle feeding you one of his favorite drinks. your face scrunches after a tiny sip, but you continue to drink until Nik pulls away, liquid dripping down your chest now, staining your shirt. you’re quick to get the memo again, rucking your hands up Nikolai’s shirt to pull it off his head. the russian quickly pulls off his leather jacket to let you, and helps you lift it over his overstretched arms. you’re convinced your going to pass out. Nikolai’s just so thick. all meat on his bones, his stomach isn’t insanely toned like so many other men are obsessed with. he’s got a healthy amount of pudge on him. licking your lips, you lean it to where Nik’s taking a sip of the drink, and you kiss him, liquid spilling between the two of you. pulling away the bottle, he’s gasping against your lips. you make easier work of his simple jeans, yanking the zipper down quickly. the large man steps out of them as well, hands pawing at your chest through the fabric.

John leans over, pulling up the hem of your little blouse until it’s fully over your head and on the floor, doing something similar with your bra. Nik’s on his knees unbuttoning your jeans, yanking them down. you gasp, leaning a hand on his shoulder to help you out of them without falling. he comes back up, returning to your mouth. Johns hand has come around and kneads the skin of your breasts, sighing as he grinds you slowly. Nikolai’s got a gleam in his eye as he pulls away, trading the bottle of vodka for the bourbon. he forces your head over you shoulder so John can connect his mouth with yours before pouring the bourbon into your mouths, John gripping you tighter. you try to keep as much as you can in your mouth, really! but it’s just so strong you can’t, and Nik’s pouring too much! saliva a alcohol dance on your lips when you pull away, Nikolai quick to turn the bottle up. John’s front and the back of your neck is sticky with alcohol, and you lean back to Nik, spreading the mixture over his neck. John’s tipping more vodka into your mouth, and you’re taking it now, trying to keep your mind off the burn and taste. he’s not stupid though, only allows you a little at a time.

it’s so much. both beefy men sandwiching you and pouring alcohol down your throat, hips grinding without any sign of stopping. your so sensitive, both their movements causing slick to pool in between your legs. you whine, pressing your face into Nik’s chest, hands drifting down his large torso. he tuts before saying “done milaya?” you nod rapidly, fingers dipping into his boxers, desperate for more. “uh-huh.” John says firmly, yanking your hands away. Nik grumbles “she’s doing good!” he exclaims, petting your hair. “mhm. ‘m so good, pleasepleaseplease Nik, wan’ it.” the alcohol is really hitting you now. John shakes his head, pulling you to him, and crouches down before tucking his hands under your knees and lifting. you yelp, clinging to his shoulders as he carries you to another room. must be their bedroom. a bed sits inside, draped with a heavy quilt and brown throw. more blankets peek out under it, and your mind flits to the thought of both of them curled up next to each other during the cold nights. you’d bet they’d be so warm, thick and hairy bodies perfect for cuddling.

John places you down gently, lips kissing down your neck and over your chest, his hands pulling down your knickers. Nik’s right behind him, and shucks his own before climbing onto the bed, tucking your head on his lap. John’s stepping out of his before leaning back down to you, spreading your thighs and dipping his tongue into you. you mewl, hand darting down to grip his hair. your other flounders, finding purchase in the sheets as your back arches and you squirm. a noise emerges from behind you, something rubbing, like skin on skin. you look back, head tilting to see Nikolai touching himself, hand moving slowly, dragging in steady motions. you moan at the sight of it, and John glances up to only growl into your skin, grazing his teeth over your clit. you watch as his right hand drifts down to grip himself. you don’t believe what you’re doing right now. this is so crazy. you’re about to get absolutely ruined by men 15 year older than you. maybe more.

you’re a moaning mess, eyes turning glassy, zoning in and out. John’s relentless, tongue pushing and bullying your cunt while his fingers tease your clit further. Nik’s hand picked up his own pace, and groans fall from his own lips each time your eyes look up at his. “John…”he growls. “can’t take it.” Nik says, looking at the brunette, John lifts his eyes to the russian and god if he could come right then and there. you, face blissed out in pleasure, and Nik, cock ruddy and dripping, head thrown back as he pants. suddenly, you’re yanked down the bed by your ankles as John man handles you onto you belly, and then your knees, pulling your hips back to meet his face where he’s bent over the bed, hand propping him up, the other playing with himself. his mouth is right back on you and Nikolai gets the message, scooting forward so your mouth can be put to work. your jaw already hangs open, and you take him in slowly, swirling around his tip and underside. he practically growling and twitching the whole time it takes you to get to his base, face shoved in his hairy pubes. you get louder, moaning around Nik as John is relentless, forcing a coil to tighten in your lower stomach. Nikolai is groaning, fist in your hair as he twitches into you, releasing finally. he bucks his hips into you, and you gag, trying to keep yourself planted. as he pulls off, you’re gasping, leaning your face up as he grabs your chin, pulling you into a kiss. that’s when John’s fingers rub you just right and the coil snaps. eyes rolling back you moan into Nik’s mouth, trying to get away from John. he lets you go, and you scramble onto Nik’s lap. the russian holds you softly, shushing into your temple as you takes gulps of air. John’s got an amused look on his face as he straightens.

Nikolai positions you to where you face John, back to his chest. he’s careful to maneuver you slowly onto his length, rubbing circles on your waist as you twitch. like the rest of him, he’s unbelievably thick. reaching the right spots in you, dragging along the sides of you just right, making your mewl as he pushes deeper. when his hips are flush with yours, something clicks off in your brain. you’re just so pliant now, wanting to get wrecked. his tip feels like it’s flush with your womb. he’s gasping for breath too as you sit against the headboard, slightly bouncing you. you’re eyes are glossy as you look up at him, leaning your head back to kiss his neck. “please-hic!please, daddy, wan’ you.” you say, trying to move more. Nikolai merely chuckles and turns your head to face John, who’s running a hand up and down himself slowly, watching you two with lidded eyes. “no no, milaya. i’m your papochka. that man is your daddy.” he says as his fingers begin to rub your clit again. you keen and nod, before you’re begging John to let Nikolai ruin you. John laughs lowly as Nik continues to bounce you, hitting your cervix every time. you’re crying, tears running freely, but don’t worry! your papochka is there to lick them away. John seems intent on making you wait, holding off until he’s ready to release, shifting closer till his leaking tip is brushing your soft skin of your torso. “please please please” you echo, and John nods, groaning as he spurts out onto your abdomen. the coil in your snaps, and you trash in Nik’s arms as he holds you down against him. he’s loud as well, groaning as you clench around him.

you’re sobbing, clutching Nik’s hand as he pulls you off of him. John gets off the bed, standing to the side. him and Nikolai share a secret look, and the russian switches places with John. Nik picks you up so John can slip under you, guiding you on top of his member. he’s not as thick as Nikolai, but still fills you up to what seem is past your limit. Nik kneels down so his mouth is even with where you meet. John’s knees drift apart and he holds you legs open to give the man beneath you better access. Nik’s on you in and instant, licking at your clit as John rolls his hips lazily. you let out a low groan, unsure if you could take more. “Nik…” you mewl, head tipping onto John’s shoulder. “ah-ah” John tuts, fisting your hair to look down at where Nikolai is. “what did he tell you to call him, luv.” John says firmly. Nik smiles and runs a hand over his tip, about to spill. that has to wait until he hears the word. you blush and look down. “papochka…” you murmur. that’s when Nik’s coming. he groans and shoots back up, stroking himself as he spills onto your cunt, soaking where you and John meet even more. he’s growling, almost animalistic, leaning forward. you think he’s going to kiss you but he bypasses you for John, digging his teeth into the British man’s shoulder. John gasps, thrusting into you. you keen, hands darting out to Nikolai’s hips. he’s shaking in your arms, and falls back to his knees, working at you furiously again, intent on making you release. it’s so quick, you’re gripping his slick hair one moment, bucking onto his face, and the next you’re undone, shaking. you see white and screw your eyes shut, jaw slack open. Nik rises, already hard tip brushing where you and John meet.

a bad idea appears in his and John’s head almost simultaneously.

John nods, shifting his arms around you so you can’t move, Nik’s steadying himself on your hip, other hand guiding himself at your entrance that’s clenching on John’s cock. there’s room, he tells himself(no there isn’t.) before you know it, he’s pushing in, stretching you past your limits. tears run down your cheeks as you sob. you can’t take it!!! Nik’s shushing you, reassuring you that you can, that you are. oh. did you say that out loud? you wouldn’t know anymore, too blissed out to know. you’re spewing words like “no-can’t take it!” and they’re both there to shush you, comforting you as Nik rocks into you further. everyone lets a sigh of relief out when Nik bottoms out. the russian is just grateful you’re not passed out or in serious pain. they let you acclimate, thank goodness, and you relax around both of them as best as you can, but you’re stretched to the max.

you’re so full.

that’s when they start to move. Nik sets the pace this time, thrusting in when he wants. John groans at the feeling of Nikolai’s length rubbing on his, and lets out a high noise when his head is rubbed just the right way on a particularly rough thrust. Nik is panting, arm on John’s shoulder to steady himself. the brit is pressing kisses to your neck, licking at your sweat while Nik kisses your cheek, calling you good and so perfect for them. you just take them so well! you’re made for it!

Nik pushes you all closer to the edge, and you’re the first to snap. being stretched makes you oh so sensitive, combined with your previous times, you’re overstimulated. as Nikolai starts to rub your clit again you start to shake, crying out in short moans as you come around them both. John’s next, letting out a gasp as your aftershocks hit him. spilling into you, he’s growling nonsense into your shoulder about keeping you with them, making you their wife, you’re already perfect for them, luv. Niks last, still rocking into you after he spurts out ropes. he’s panting, forehead pressed to yours as he comes down from his high. both begin to soften in you and Nik pulls out first, you still twitch with overstimulation. he lifts you up so John can move from under you, he reclines on the bed, lifting up the covers. Nikolai maneuvers you next to John before climbing in after him. cleaning up can wait until tomorrow. they cradle you, shushing you to sleep. you nod along with everything they say, mind addled by liquor and sex. something pulls at you though, telling you yes, stay with them, be their little wife. you’d be so good. you’re young and can still have their babies, cook good meals for them after they come back from hard missions. you mumble yes after yes, eyes fluttering shut. Nik holds you in his lap, before slipping off a ring from his pinky, holding up your left hand. “want to be our wife then, milaya?” he asks into your ear.

it’s so nice in this bed. they’re so warm, just like you thought. they took such good care of you. you can take care of them, you think before murmuring out an “i do.” John smiles into your neck as Nikolai slips the ring onto your ring finger, kissing your ear. “to love and to cherish.” John rumbles, throwing an arm over you. “to love and to cherish.” Nikolai repeats, fat hand on your hip.

“to love and to cherish.” you whisper.

[johnsbirdie]

blue collar!price and white collar!fem reader

cw: i don’t really know

(i just thought of this and was like this is like totally price)

john is on his break, his rough, callused hands, caked in grime and dirt embedded deep within. he’s smoking a fat cigar to ease the pain (in his knees), he’s getting old now, which is quite easy to tell because his beard is greying - but to his luck you can’t exactly see his salt and pepper hair because his wide-brimmed bucket hat fortunately covers that.

surely he looked disgusting to people outside of the job. the other workers on the site, simon, kyle and johnny, saw him like this everyday of their lives and shrug off the fact he looked like a pig after it rolled around in mud.

and it just so happens that the construction site he works on, there’s a little office building right beside it. how lucky is he?

the chain-smoking, rugged older man set his sights on a little birdie in a tight little pencil skirt. he whistles unashamedly, so you can hear it. he knows you heard him. and you did. you’re walking along, cup holders full with coffee to bring back for your boss, you were a little surprised when he told you to get what you wanted with his card, he seemed to be in a good mood lately.

the wolf-whistle is the thing that nearly makes you drop the coffee-filled plastic cups, and when you look over, there’s a man double your own age with a smirk on his face. what a smug bastard.

“oi, pretty! you in a rush?” he calls out to you, stepping off of some planks of wood he was stood on.

god, you really did not have time for any chit-chat at the moment. you had to get back to work, not that it was any better than the man who had whistled at you, because your quite the talk of the town in the marketing department. all the old men must really like you, huh.

“i am, actually. sorry about that.” you brush him off, the noise of your heels clacking against the pavement infront of the site increasing the faster you walk. you did not want to speak to some roughed up, man old enough to be your dad.

but, does that stop john? absolutely not. he catches up to you before you can even make it into the office building, and he blocks your path.

“nah, you can’t be in a rush, you’re stood here with little ‘ol me.” he says that just to spite you, and when you try to step around him, he blocks your path once more.

“i’m only stood here with you because you’re not letting me move.” you huff. did he not understand that you didn’t want to talk? he was probably just some creep that liked to hit on girls half his age, which, to be fair, is what he was doing right now.

“aye. c’mon love, giv’us a twirl.” he cocks a brow, looking down at you. he towers over you by nearly a whole foot if you weren’t wearing heels.

ugh, who was this guy? a complete and utter prick, you thought. you really shouldn’t pay him any mind.

“do you mind moving, please? i need to get back to work.” you look up at him, your lips pressed into a thin line. you were on the verge of just throwing the starbucks drinks all over him, just to be a bitch about it.

he stands there. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you with his piercing blue eyes. he knows he shouldn’t pressure you, he didn’t really mean to come off as a creep. he just thought you were a pretty little thing and he liked pretty little things. but you didn’t seem to like him very much.

“mm. go on. i didn’t mean to be a dickhead, sweetheart. i’m sorry.” he eventually speaks, moving out of your way. which surprised you initially, not expecting that at all from him.

“oh, i… yeah, no, it’s okay. thank you.” you say, your voice a little small as you give him one last glance before heading into work.

until next time birdie. he thinks to himself as he watches your figure disappear into the office building.

[gremlingottoosilly]

I love the idea that their wives know that they actively hate each other but continue badgering them to go on double dates together because the sex afterwards is fucking top tier shit.

Oh! Two local contriversially young wives are plotting against their husbands, breaking news! Seriously, the friendship of Mrs.Price and Mrs.Konig is like 15 percent of genuine feelings and 85 percent of desire to see the world of their partner's burn. I can imagine Mrs.Price being roped into a relationship with the man who spends more time with his soldier boys than with his young and bored wife, so she just kinda went to slumber parties with her bestie every time Price is on the long deployment. Who cares that it's a 2-hour flight from the UK to Austria?? Mrs.Price is less restricted in her movements because Price is confident in his ability to keep a woman around him without a ball and chain, and also in his ability to rack her down more easily, so you can say that his wifey is far more free and tame at the same time. Mrs.Konig is basically a traumatized kitten stuck in her house, she needs friends( Konig is always so so rough after meetings with Price, he hates this old dog so much!!! He literally got himself a young pretty wife and ignores her to focus on his dumb missions, he is horrible to women! Now, the Austrian puppy wants to show Mrs.Konig all the love he has for her, just to prove that he is far better than this old man, he has stamina and desire to please! Price is also jealous and kinda nervous about his wifey going to Konig's house and roping him into meetings( she is so dumb and naive, these guys are dangerous freaks!! Captain needs his special girl to ride him and remind him of how he is definitely not too old for her and actually in a perfect shape all the time!! Now, imagine Price and Konig pinning after same girl...

[missmarveledsblog]

Hand on heart (Jake Seresin x Singlemom!reader)

chapter one

summary : coming to new place is scary , but the adventures along the way might not be right ?

warnings : none not really mainly fluffy fluff

also pic i made doesnt respresent reader description i just needed it for the photo i will try keep reader free for all but she is f.a.b

Battles in life can either motivate or terrify a person , the course of life shifts abruptly from one course to another in a split second . Waking up to a note a couple month before birth well it shifted one battle to a whole new one . From thinking it was all perfect to wondering what she was blinded to , while now she was facing a new battle, one that may have been the most challenging yet .

A lengthy road trip to a new life and a toddler wasn’t what she would have pictured, not in the slightest . But it was a job that paid well and provided daycare , a contract with in her reason and time difficulties she’d be stupid not to take it . She was even able to find a nice home for a reasonable price , maybe it was scary , it was all new and frankly she was terrified of messing up but shit her grandmother didn’t raise her to run from a challenge but to face it head on ,she would be david conquering goliath .

The moment she pulled into her new driveway exhaling as she knew the challenge of trying to move a sleeping toddler was about as careful and stealthy as moving a bomb. Belle was out cold , tired of staying awake in the confines of the dreaded car seat. Slowly getting out the car walking up the driveway heading to the new how opening the door , putting the sleeping toddler on the sofa as she set up the travel cot before then transferring . a quiet celebration of her success as she began getting to work , unpacking the boxes in the kitchen . time was of the essence knowing she couldn’t really well slack off , rest and relaxing could happen once it was all finished. House and belle came first and then she could worry about herself that was for sure. Doing it all alone would always be a scary concept something she made her peace with when she was standing on her grandmothers porch at the age of twenty one with a big bump thinking back it was ridiculous getting married , she graduated early and started college a little earlier , even while she was pregnant. What helped most was the scholarships and the help from her grandmother now twenty four she was doing the best of what she could.

Belle graciously slept for an hour upon arrival and confused whines walking up in the new environment that told her the toddler needed her attention more than the unpacking did . she at least got some of the baby’s room done and beds for both of them to sleep in that night.

“ hey pretty girl , look where we are “ she cooed lifting her up as the little fist rubbed the sleep from her eyes . “ you hungry ?” only for a whine to fall from the toddlers lips .

“fries “ she cried out .

“ fries it is “ she chuckled bringing her to change her diaper first as the toddler still out of sorts and hungry was looking for her fries . “ ok ok grumpy butt lets go get you fed “ she chuckled as they headed out the car handing the toddler a cracker to hold her over and well so she could concentrate on the road. Til she seen the fast food chain of restaurants and slightly praying it wasn’t too crazy inside. She noticed a group in the far corner was about it but other than that the place was completely empty , void of any others which probably most perfect outcome . standing she barely kept her attention on anyone bar the pint sized human holding her hand and the menu . not knowing that the new life she was starting was going to clash with the old one . turning she took other side not wanting to let the toddler disturb the group and yet their uniforms looked familiar .

Two weeks previous :

“ glad to finally have you on board mrs l/n “ captain pete mitchell smiled showing her around the base .

“ you guys seem persistent to have me on your team “ she laughed nervously never really considering working for the navy hell she never knew they had aviation she was sure it was all sea base.

“ You're the best of the best i’d take it as a compliment , you're a mother too I hear ?” He smiled brightly .

“ a freshly turned two year old little girl named Belle who would totally be so jealous now “ she chuckled. “ she is going through a flying phase. My best friend took her to see an airshow and she's been obsessed since,” she explained.

“ please bring her to visit and your husband or partner too “ he lead her into the empty hanger.

“ oh its just me on my own “ she winced ready for the sympathy pity or judgy looks .

“ Well then bring yourself and the little future aviator ” he patted her shoulder as he began to show her around , showing her where everything was held the tools and parts , order sheets and inventory . She never was so excited to start working; it was always her dream to work in aeronautical engineering . She was always into the ways of flying machines from commercial to well fighter jets such as the ones she would be working with . life was never anyway easy , her mom was in and out of rehab all her life before completely up and leaving altogether , her dad well wasn’t much better either, only the man left before she could walk to do what he wanted . one woman she could always count on was her grandmother and two big brothers , no matter what the woman held her up only she died six months which was why she was moving now . how much she helped with everything from the pregnancy and even when she returned home after she woke up alone . As they talked, she could see the group passing by into the hanger, those uniforms of the khaki color all laughing and joking, and she and Pete headed down to finish the final bits of paperwork .

Present:

“Oh i think mama will be working with them “ she cooed as belle was more concerned with the tray of food than the words of her mother .

“ hey y/n is that you ?” a voice called only for her to see her future boss walking toward her .

“ hey captain mitchell how are ya “ she smiled brightly .

“ please even in the hanger it just pete .. this must be the future aviator belle” he smiled only .

“ she is beautiful little girl “ a man spoke only to see couple people standing with her new boss .

“ dagger squad this is the new aeronautical engineer that starting next week mrs y/n and this is here is going to be a future aviator miss belle who i hope will come visit the hanger soon “ he chuckled as the two year old cooed up at him .

“ nice to meet you both ma’am name phoenix call me nat this is bob and fanboy and the one who looks like his ovaries are about to explode is rooster “ she chuckled .

“ he’s worst then a woman with babies “ fanboy snorted .

“ how can i not be look at her little hands that french fry is bigger than it “ rooster chuckled.

“ belle you wanna say hi “she asked softly.

“ hiya “ she shyly said almost hiding her face as she did so .

“ i want one “ the man sighed .

“Ok moving on from that welcome to san diego “ nat smiled shooting her friend weird look .

“ would y’all like to join us looks like it getting busy in here” she looked around as the table began filling .

“ we’d love to , i’ll sit with you while they get the food would you like anything ? belle ?” phoenix asked.

“ frieesss “ the toddler smiled happily .

“ coming up ma’am ?” rooster stood .

“ it’s y/n please less of the ma’am and i’m fine let me give you money for her fries” she went to grab her bag only for them to walk off .

“ it’s on us “ he called back .

“ so good another female is working in the hangar honestly thank you “ nat chuckled .

“ i mean it’s same with my field it mainly men i barely worked with a handful of women “ she snorted.

“ well we heard you made cyclone sweat so your already a big league “ .

“ i think cause i’m younger some don’t take me serious and being female i’m sure you know “y/n explained handing belle her bottle.

“ yeah did you start college at twelve “ nat joked .

“ well not that early actually i was just gone sixteen “ she snorted .

“ wait so your like one of those genius kids that cool and belle i’m sure is following “ nat cooed at the baby.

“ she is very clever for her age just hope she settles well this is so different from texas “ .

“ i’m sure she will love it here”

“ its all new but i mean all new things are scary kinda glad i bumped into y’all make it slighty easier” she smiled weakly .

“ oh its not too bad i mean they can be bone heads but their sweethearts .. don’t tell them i said that though “ nat winked .

“ well i look forward to looking forward to working with you all i am excited i’ve worked on jets before but commercial ones and some classified but i can’t talk about those” she wiped belles face easily following along with the conversation .

“ well we could use your hands i mean last guy was so old he was starting to get sort of sloppy and the replacement is going for deployment so i think that’s why they’re doing the whole civilian contract sort of thing “ nat shrugged as the guys came back to the table rooster blowing the fries before hovering them over the tray looking at y/n who just nodded as he dunk them on the tray making belle giggle and laugh.

“ so what made you get into engineering ?” fanboy asked slight shoving rooster out of the way to sit next to her.

“ oh my grandpa he was actually in the navy but he used to tell me all about the mechanics of things and i fell in love with it all ,he worked on ships and shipping containers though different side but like belle i was taking to a air show and well fell in love “ she animatedly talked away as they listened and after while rooster and belle were having their own conversation til she was heading out the door with the tired toddler with their numbers in her phone so they could meet up sometime before she started .

“ hot and smart” rooster said easily as they walked into the hard deck .

“ way out of your league way too smart to even fall for any of your dumb asses “ nat snorted .

“ i mean i don’t swing that way and they're not that bad but thanks for the compliment “ the blonde drawled .

“ her accent is way better than that too “ rooster sighed sitting down .

“ wasn’t talk about you seresin i was talking about our new engineer we met her when we went to get food “ nat smirked .

“ wow how hot we talking “ javy no longer interested in the game .

“ very she bit young though i think she twenty something and the cutest little girl ever” nat smiled brightly.

“ oh kid yeah i’m out “ jake snorted .

“ hey belle is the cutest two year old i’ve ever seen “ rooster defended .

“ how many two year olds do you know chicken ?” jake smirked .

“ not many but she is the coolest “

“ roosters ovulating aside he isn’t wrong , a sentence i never thought i would say “ nat gasped jokingly.

“ wanna say it again so i can record it “ he winked.

“ nope anyways she starts next week once little belle is settled in daycare so none of you jackasses scare her off “ nat warned them all .

“ for once you don’t need to worry about me moms are too messy “ jake shrugged heading off to the bar .

next chapter

[pricegouge]

Uhm your last ask abt fairy reader in price’s humidor and I can’t resist

Price having his fairy warm his cigars for him between her legs

Maybe she can make fairy sparks to light his cigar (gives it the same kinda kick as the honey cause it’s got distilled magic in it). Or maybe he makes her strain to flick his table lighter. Maybe he scares her with it, holding her while threatening to burn the bottoms of her feet while she squirms.

Maybe he switches to cigarillos or hand rolled options sometimes— cause with the right finesse, those can fit in her tiny fairy cunt, her honey soaking into the paper.

And in a world where people milk fairy honey? There’s probably all kinds of tools and substances they sell to get fairies aroused fast, but price has a bit too much pride, likes to do things the slow, old fashioned way.

Nikolai who keeps his fairy leashed because he can’t bear to clip her wings. To much empathy for flying creatures— he cannot rob you of that. Or maybe he’s had her long enough to not worry— she’s fully tamed and trained. She’ll lick the powdered sugar from his fingers if he has a donut for breakfast. Price’s fairy is terrified of Nik’s— will she be like that some day? Acting like she’s in love with her tormentor?? She’s even more scared when Nik offers to train her as a favor.

And she gets this funny feeling in her belly when price laughs and politely declines. Says he likes her just the way she is.

(And if we’re talking hardcore objectification. I imagine Soap’s careless. He’s been through more than one fairy in his day. No big deal— Ghost’ll just find him another. Misfits have a knack for finding them)

I’m going a little crazzzyyy

-🦷

[reference - no longer my most recent ask, i'm slow]

i raise you: price training her how to properly hug his cock by making her work herself over his cigars. i also raise you price training his fairy to spark when he flicks her head as if she's a lighter like a fucking dog.

him dipping cigarillos in her cunt is making me severely unwell. can just see him running out of flavor half way through, patting down his pockets like she's a misplaced lighter just to freshen up his dart even as it's still smoking

okay. not particularly related to what you're talking about, but the jewelry bit added at the end of that fic was def inspired by art i found which i'm unfortunately not gonna link just cause i saw it on a repost site and i'm not sure where to find the original art cause I don't have any social media. but! the artist very clearly had a line in which they depicted fairy girls being turned into jewelry and the main link piece would often be a specialized plug their size attached to a chain which would obv be linked to the actual jewelry. i don't really have anywhere i'm going with this I just thought you should know that.

hm. i can picture nik's fairy having just as much empathy for him straight from the gate. like what do you mean this human knows what the world looks like from above better than he does from his actual (significant) level? she's easy to train because she lets herself be trained, at least a little, but price's fairy doesn't know that!! she's scared as hell to be made into some docile little creature, but price would never allow it. she'll never admit she's grateful for him but she is when he tells nik he can handle it, when he stuffs her into his pocket so she can't quite hear when he says he likes her just the way she is, teeth marks on his finger tips and all

(also also. im not normal about burning so i won't go too crazy BUT. i will say when he's training her to bahave like a lighter, he def holds the heated metal of the guard against her ☹️)

[transjess]

“Crowley,” Sam says. “I am not marrying you.”

“Just hear me out,” Crowley says, holding his hands up. “This could be good for both of us, right? Just sit your giant arse down and listen to me for a minute.”

Sam glowers, but he’s always been curious, and the desire to know what the hell Crowley is on about wins over his instant dismissal. “You have a minute,” he says, lowering himself into a bunker chair. “One minute.”

“How generous,” Crowley says, but he doesn’t waste any time. “Look, Sam, neither of us wants Abaddon in charge, right? Alone you can’t defeat her, Cassie over there’s about as much use as a dodo, and as much as I hate to say it I’m not entirely confident I can beat her either. Wherever Dean’s buggered off to, he's not helping right now. But united, together, we have a chance.”

“Where the hell does marriage come into this?” Sam interrupts.

Crowley holds up a hand. “Patience, Moose,” he says. “I was getting to that.”

“Get to it faster,” Cas says.

“Down, boy,” Crowley says, unbothered. “Marriage comes into it because a lot of demons are sticklers for tradition, right? The only reason Abaddon has so many dogs in her corner is because they think that because she’s got the better claim to the throne, she’s more powerful - the Lucifer loyalists switched over to her, because she’s the closest they’ve got to him. A Knight is higher up the traditionalist food chain than a crossroads demon, no matter how efficiently Hell runs under my rule. Now, who else has a claim to the throne? Say, one directly related to Lucifer?”

“Me,” Sam says, starting to understand.

“Bingo. The demons loyal to me like the way Hell’s run, and the rest think I don’t have a claim to the throne strong enough to go against Abaddon. Even if they’re not traditionalists themselves, they think Hell will fall back to a more traditional rule, and they don’t want to be on the old girl’s bad side when that happens. But if I was allied with, say, the Boy King of Hell, true vessel of Lucifer? A lot of them would switch sides. And that would be huge.”

“Why marriage?” Cas asks. “Just sign a- a truce, or something.”

“What is marriage if not a contract?” Crowley says, spreading his arms a little and grinning. “A truce that isn’t binding isn’t worth the paper it’s written on, Feathers. And we can’t just be allies in this - full offense, Moose, but you’ve got quite the history of trying to kill me the moment I stop being completely useful to you. I’m not trusting your good word as far as I can throw it, mate. With a contract, I can make it a little more… binding. Historically, marriages have been uniting political allies for hundreds of years - what better nod to the traditionalists among the demon populace than a marriage between the current King of Hell and the destined Boyking? It’s a contract that goes off with a bang. I get to strengthen my position, you get to cash in a little of that Devil clout with any demons you come across - wouldn’t it be easier if they had to obey you? Skip past all that recitation and stabbing and whatnot? Quick and easy exorcisms, all for the low, low price of marrying me. Best of all, this contract wouldn’t even touch your soul. Not that I’d want it, mind you; the thing’s a mess. But regardless, all you have to hand over is… well, your hand. It’s a win-win.”

“You’re insane,” Sam says flatly. Cas hums in consideration.

“You wouldn’t have to take any interest in Hell itself, by the way,” Crowley adds. “I’ll run the whole shebang. Contracts, demon management, soul counts, all of that. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. Just keep doing what you’re doing, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing - without the threat of demon usurpation and Abaddon takeover quite so weightily on my mind - and all that’ll be different is a ring on your finger and a ‘til death do us part. I’ll even let you read over the vows before the day. Just so you can make sure I’m not up to anything sinister.”

“You’re always up to something sinister,” Sam says, ignoring Crowley pretending to blush and bat his eyelashes. “I just don’t get your angle on this one. Marriage, of all things.”

“Well it’s not exactly ideal for me either,” Crowley says, rolling his eyes. “As much as I love to rile you up, I’m after a quiet life, no nagging wife telling me to clean up entrails after myself when I get home from work after a long day, etc etc. Though I suppose you’d make a decent little housewife, Samantha, all things considered.”

“Shut up,” Cas says before Sam can. Glad we’re on the same page, Sam thinks wryly.

“Look, Sam,” Crowley says, and he looks so completely serious for a moment that it’s almost startling after the faux-flirty banter. “Just think about it, alright? This could be good for both of us. And don’t worry,” he adds, switching back to flirty, lips curling up at the corner. “I won’t even expect you to consummate the marriage.” He winks, grinning, and then disappears. Cas scowls.

[callsign-songbird]

(I was going back through some files on my laptop and found this old thing I wrote, No, I am not going to edit anything, so, Enjoy!)

Thinking about Simon. Thinking about the callouses on his hands, not just his fingertips. Thinking about the way his hands are so rough against your soft skin, massaging is and manipulating the soft flesh in malleable circles. the way he would pepper kisses along the surface and fan his soft breaths along your neck. this is a man who has lost everything and drug himself through hell by only his bootstraps to spit in the devils face, and paid the price for it. so to have something as beautiful, as decadent, as absolutely divine as you looking up at his with those big, wet eyes while the pumps his cock into you and pushes you to the point of overstimulation, whining and begging him to stop. he doesn't feel worthy. You are his goddess, his life, his love, the breath in his lungs, everything he lives and exists for. Price could tell the day he met you too.

Simon had always been utterly devoted to Price. After Simon accomplished his mission, Price was the one to pull him out of that lonely pit, dust him off, and offer the husk of a man a job doing what he did best. and from that day forward, that was what Simon was. A soldier. Not just any soldier, though. He was Price's soldier. Any order or request Price gave was carried out down to the letter. it didn't mind if Price was asking for a coffee, mentioned that he needed his boots shined, or even needed some *other* acts of service, Simon was always right there. And then there was you. One day, Simon came back from off-base with Price's coffee, and he faltered. It was tiny, miniscule even. Simon overlooked Price's comment about being parched. As small as it would be for anyone else, that was monumental for Simon. He started leaving base more, becoming more and more distracted. Then, one day, Simon comes to Price with a question that he doesn't know how to answer at first.

"Captain, how does one... Approach a woman with the intent of... a relationship?" Price about spit out his coffee, choking momentarily and disguising the action as a cough, but Simon knew. Simon always knew. Price gave the best advice he could, but he was utterly confounded as to where this development had come in. He watched Simon nod his head and head out of his office, large gloved hands stuffed in his pockets and brows knit up beneath his skull balaclava. Price really knew that he shouldn't be worried, Simon was nothing if not dedicated, committed, and diligent. But this was a big change, and Price momentarily worried for whatever pretty little thing had caught Simon's eye.

This was where Soap and Gaz came in. Troublemaking pair that the two of them were, and other than Price, Soap was the closest one to Simon on base. Whenever Simon craved dominance, he went to Price. Whenever Simon craved submission, he would take it from Soap. Not like he was complaining, no. The military was a bunch of guys getting real close and sweaty with each other, coming to rely on and depend on each other, and Soap had never been shy about what he had.

So imagine his surprise when Simon hasn't scruffed him, shoved his cock down Johnny's throat, or even shot him that warning glare in nearly a month now. He mutters under his breath and tosses back another glass of amber warmth, whining out about his relationship issues to Gaz. Gaz simply pats his back awkwardly while sipping on his own glass. "I dunno mate, maybe he's got a new girl." They both take one look at each other and burst out laughing so hard that their sides hurt, but that's all it takes to sew those seeds of doubt. Not like he *really* cares, no. Sure, the dominance is fun and keeps his high drive satisfied for the most part, but he's more worried for his friend than anything. Ghost never shared his life with anyone, so if it really was a girl, well, things could get complicated. Simon was like an animal, with a strict chain of command in his head. It went Price, him, Soap. He was Price's, and Soap was his. and he was fiercely protective of that hierarchy. But if it wasn't enough? If he was thinking of adding a little bird to the mix? Heaven forbid a civilian? Well, things might get complicated.

So that's how He, Gaz, and Price ended up following Simon off base one day. Though, Price only came to keep them out of trouble and out from under Simon's feet, much to Gaz's delight and Soap's chagrin. They tailed Simon from a safe distance, dressed in civilian clothes to avoid attention. They watched as he stepped into a shop and came out with a small plastic bag and- heaven forbid- Price had to harshly clap a hand over Soap's mouth to keep him from the boisterous laughter that threatened to spill out from the cage of callouses and chorded steel beneath flesh. Flowers. In Simon's other hand was a dainty bouquet of flowers. Pink roses, white lily's, baby's breath, and pink orchids. It was a nice arrangement, and for a moment, Price and Soap were on the cusp of jealousy, overridden only by sheer curiosity. Who the hell was it that had managed to enrapture the stoic and cold lieutenant like that?

They followed all the way to a small park, jaws nearly dropped ad the slight skip in Ghost's step. It was almost indiscernible to the untrained eye, but these men had spent years with Simon, grown accustomed to the three kinds of steps this man had. Cool and calculated, Hurried and determined when shit hits the fan, and enraged with quick and heavy footfalls. This was none of those. The way Simon bowed his head, his shoulders slightly hunched in, the soft almost nonexistent trembling in his hand that was unbecoming of a sniper.

Simon was *Nervous* they all realized.

Then they saw you, and none of them could understand. You were ok. Kind of average, not exactly a model but certainly not ugly. any one of them would shag you, if that meant anything. But the longer they watched, the more they came to understand. They way your cheeks flushed and your eyes lit up at the bouquet, a soft giggle leaving your lips. Simon's eyes squinted beneath his mask, the tell-tale sign of a smile leaving the three men breathless. This little thing had their Lieutenant wrapped around her little finger, and yet, she didn't seem to have any ill intent. you we're all soft smiles and sweet words. A bit of an odd duck from what the three could tell by tailing the two of you on your outing, but it only made you more endearing to them. What was more surprising though, was the Lieutenant.

None of them could comprehend the hold you had on him. With Simon, there always had to be something firm and ironclad. With Price, it was his dominance. With Soap, he was the firm one with strict rules and harsh punishments, And yet, this was none of that. He seemed to treat you so gently, as if you were the most precious aerogel and would shatter at the smallest bit of force. Simon's gruff voice was gentle when he spoke to you, the hand on the small of your back protective, yet soft. None of the men knew how to take it.

Then came the nail in the coffin. In front of a house, presumably yours, you turned to Simon, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. Your hands slipped out of his and rested on his chest, palms flat against the fabric, slowly snaking up until your fingertip brushed under the hem of Simon's mask. Each man watched as the Lieutenant tensed, like a spring about to snap. What they didn't expect was for him to give you a single curt nod. Slowly and gently you worked the fabric of his mask up, caressing every inch of unearthed flesh with your fingertips as if it were a treasure you were unearthing. Eventually, Simon's mask rested over the bridge of his nose, your delicate hands cupping the sides of his face as if he were more precious than solid gold. Slowly the two of you leaned in, and the men were astounded to see their lieutenant drawn into a kiss more gentle and passionate than they thought him possible of.

The next week around base was unusually tense. Soap and Price sharing knowing glances in the hallway while Gaz didn't know how to comfort either of them. Oddly enough, though, Simon was beginning to return. It started slow. He stopped overlooking what price would say absentmindedly and the devotion returned, he would Scruff Soap again when he did something stupid or lipped off. Eventually, he was even back on his knees for price and forcing Soap back onto his. Why the change? No one understood. it's not like it was overnight either, no, this took nearly a year.

"Honeymoon phase must be up." Price surmised over a drink with Soap, eyeing Simon as he grabbed the next round from the bar. "Och, ya' don' think sir? Ya think Ghost would let somethin' like that happen?" Soap mused, his gaze focused on the same imposing figure. Then the little bell over the bar door Jingled, and they watched the Lieutenant's eyes melt in unprecedented warmth. A look they had only seen once before. Sure enough, there you were. Such a small nervous little thing, looking around like a lamb in the middle of a wolves den. in many ways, that's exactly what you were. From the moment that door opened, you were being eyed up by dozens of hungry soldiers, licking their chops and already standing to try their shot at you.

But no, Ghost would never allow that. Not his pretty little bird. His long strides made quick work of the distance between you, grabbing some poor private by the face and ripping him away from you. A hand snaked around your waist and pulled your flush against Simons chest. A soft squeak left your lips as Simon glared around the bar and placed his claim, walking you back to the bar where he could retrieve the round of drinks for the table and order one for you.

Simon brought the drinks and you back over to the table, sliding into the booth beside Johnny and gently guiding you to your rightful place in his mind, firmly on his lap. Your pretty face was so red, obviously embarrassed from the way you gave a small wave and bowed your head. like a scared little rabbit, they mused. "Thought I'd bring her 'round to meet you proper, so you don't have to stalk me 'gain." The Way he glanced between Price and Soap was impossible to miss, looking for their approval. Price took his time taking you in, every facet of your face, your demeanor, your actions. A satisfied nod immediately put Simon at ease, rolling his shoulders to relax them. Meanwhile, there was no questioning how Soap felt. You were so much prettier and sweeter up close, such a delicate little morsel. He had that look in his eye, that sparkle, that hunger. He had no issues trying to chat you up, encouraging you to drink your fill and call him 'Johnny'.

"This 's our pretty little thing." That simple line seemed to make everyone at the table pause, yourself included. Theirs? That meant? None of them should have been surprised, really. Simon clung tight to his hierarchy, and apparently you weren't going to break it, no, He had just nestled you in next to Johnny, under the category of 'his', maybe even below Johnny. "Our?" Your soft voice rang out as you looked over your shoulder at Simon, pulling an amused smirk to his lips beneath his mask. "Of course, love. Y're ours. You'll get used to it, lovie, don't you worry your pretty little head over it."