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stellewriites · 2 months ago

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John Price x Reader

Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife’s wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

Notes: trans John, fat reader, subtle transphobia from minor characters

John sat alone on his couch, his mail left forgotten on the seat to his right, as he tipped his drink back and looked over the thick card stock in his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the names embossed across the top, his grimace pulling just tight enough to be mistaken for a snarl.

He placed the glass down on the coffee table in front of him and reached for the cigar burning away in the ashtray. He felt sick to his stomach as he took a deep pull; it was one of his habits that she had never liked, especially in the house. He’d promised time and time again that he’d quit for her, but he never had and now it was too late to matter.

She’d frowned and huffed and ignored him for a week when she’d first caught him smoking. Freshly seventeen, the pair of them, and she’d practically begged him to not copy the other boys they’d grown up with, to never do it again. But he hadn’t listened.

Childhood sweethearts, John had boasted when they’d been married. Their whole lives planned out together, just waiting for them to get going.

But after sixteen years together, twelve of those married, she’d finally had enough and asked John for a divorce.

It had broken his heart to sign the papers, to have her look him in the eyes and bravely tell him it wasn’t going to work anymore. She couldn’t keep going on like this, it wasn’t a life. Always relegated to second best, forever waiting for him to keep his promise that he’d finally prioritise her over his work.

She wasn’t selfish for wanting commitment, she’d insisted and John couldn’t have agreed more. But he’d been young and stupid, and assumed his wife would always be safely his until suddenly she wasn’t and he was left only with regret for not changing sooner.

He’d suggested couples therapy in a last desperate effort and she’d tearily shaken her head. She was adamant, settled firm, unmovable. Ironically one of John’s favourite things about her.

What made the cold, lonely nights after that worse for John was that they’d ended it on relatively good terms. There was no other man he could blame, and she hadn’t been able to cut ties completely either, keeping in touch and stringing him along through the odd habitual text after the initial separation. She didn’t seem to hold it against him that he was unable to switch off from work, able to swallow the bitter pill easier now that they were separated, and he was desperate enough for even a sliver of what they’d had that he ate up any interaction she gave him.

Even six years later, she still sent him a message on his birthday or at Christmas, wishing him well. And he knew his family still spoke to her; hard not to given they all lived in his home town. He’d moved away, left her the house; it wasn’t like he wanted it or the memories that came with it and it meant he could get somewhere a little more convenient for work.

His eyes flickered back down to the card without his permission. The invite. He felt his throat grow tight.

Charlotte Price & Tom Smith would like you to join them to celebrate on their wedding day...

He dropped the card onto the table next to his glass before he could keep reading and make the pit in his stomach any bigger; took another puff of his cigar and wished his drink would magically refill itself. He’d always taken it as a good sign the fact that she’d never bothered to change back to her maiden name. More fool him.

Pulling out his phone from his pocket he hesitated before ringing Kate.

“John,” she answered, surprise in her tone. “You’ve been home for less than... three hours by my estimate.”

“Need some time off, Kate,” he said without preamble.

“Finally taking that holiday I’ve been pushing for?”

He laughed humourlessly. “Not exactly.”

She hummed, but didn’t push. John could hear the clacking of her laptop keys when he told her the dates he was requesting.

“Charlotte’s getting remarried,” he said eventually. His voice unusually quiet. “Got the invite through in the mail.”

“Shit,” Kate swore. “You're going?”

“Never was able to say no to her,” he admitted with a chuckle, like it was a joke and not a sad fact.

“Do you need a date?” She offered.

He was already shaking his head before she finished the sentence. “I’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” Kate scoffed. “John, I’ve met your family and I remember Charlotte. Nothing about this will be fine, you’ll need a friend.”

John winced as he thought about the amount of voicemail messages he’d left unplayed from his mother since getting back that morning. Now that he could guess what they were about he was even less inclined to listen to them; he knew she’d be asking if he got his invite, what he was planning on wearing, how long he’d be staying, who he’d be bringing as his date.

Despite all of his quick climb of the ladder and many accolades within the military his mother had never acknowledged them, always focused on something else to worry over instead. And for the last six year it had been the idea of her eldest dying alone after he was divorced; she did so love Charlotte.

If he went alone, his mother would be on the cusp of insufferable the entire time he was there, but if he brought Kate, she’d be outright intolerable to the both of them.

“She’d be worse if I brought a mate instead,” he said, not needing to clarify who ‘she’ was. “If I go alone I can always lie about a new partner or someone I’m seein’; it’s not unbelievable that she’d be too busy with work to get the time off to come. The benefit of the doubt goes away if I bring you or, God forbid, bloody Simon.”

Kate snorted down the phone.

“They won’t believe you,” she said matter of fact. “One look at your face when you see her and they’ll know.”

John stayed quiet.

“Maybe.”

“Want my advice?”

“Not in this case, no.”

Kate ploughed on regardless.

“Don’t go, John. You’ll only hurt yourself and potentially ruin her day. It’s selfish,” she said plainly.

“Don’t pull your fucking punches, Kate.”

“It was selfish of her to invite you,” she clarified, hearing the hurt disguised in John’s voice. “But it’s selfish of you to go too. We both know how you want it to end and it’s not in her fiancé’s favour.”

“This might be the last time I ever see her,” John said softly. He didn’t visit home often, it had been years in fact and he doubted he’d want to stick around long enough in future visits to bump into Charlotte with a new man’s ring on her finger. “I have to go. I want to.”

Kate sighed. “You’ve got the time off, there’s nothing stopping you.”

In a bid to change the subject John looked at his watch and winced when he worked out what time it was for her. With a quick apology for calling her at such an awkward time he waited for her to say goodbye before hanging up.

He looked at the invite one last time before standing up to refill his drink.

---

John only had to deal with three weeks on leave before he was called back in and was once again able to throw himself into work as a distraction. He was able to forget about the wedding most days in the months leading up to the date, only reminded when he checked his civilian phone and saw the calls and messages he’d missed while away or sat in his office pouring over paperwork.

He kept his replies short, clipped and to the point; tired of having to repeat himself, but he tried not to be mean even when his mum sent an unintentionally hurtful, “Maybe you’d have had better luck finding a date if you hadn’t made the switch. You were always so pretty xxx”.

He turned his phone on silent and pushed his knuckles into his eyes, hunched over his desk as he felt anger and despair in equal measure bubble and boil behind his teeth.

By chance, he managed to catch his sister’s call.

“Bloody finally, John,” she sighed down the phone. “Mum’s going mad over here. She doesn’t know whether to make up the spare room for you or not.”

“Tell her not to bother,” he said. “Said already I’ll stay at a hotel nearby. Easier for all of us.”

“Don’t be an arsehole,” his sister chided.

John gritted his teeth. “She’s just been... A lot, over these last weeks.”

“Wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn’t have cocked it up with the one person on the planet willing to deal with all your bullshit,” Lizzy said unsympathetically.

“Cheers. I’d forgotten completely. Thanks, Liz.” John ran a hand over his tired eyes. “Is that all you rang for?”

“Mm,” she hummed. “Give Kate my regards, I’m sure I’ll get to catch up with her at the wedding.”

“Actually, I’m bringing a date, a woman I’m seeing,” John said without thinking.

His sister went quiet for a moment before clearing her throat. “Oh? You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Wasn’t sure if it was serious,” John lied, cursing himself for it. “But she’s got the time off, so hopefully she’ll be coming with me. Another reason we want the hotel room.”

“Of course,” Lizzy laughed. “Should’ve guessed. Mum will be pleased.”

“I’m sure.” He waited for a moment and she scoffed, annoyed at his none-answers.

“Well, are you going to tell me anything about her?”

“And have nothing to talk about when we get there? No chance,” John deflected. “I’ve got to go, got a meeting starting soon.”

“At this time?” She asked, surprised.

“New intel just came in. Can’t say much more.”

“Of course, of course. See you soon then, John.”

He massaged his temples when she hung up, his oncoming headache leaving his jaw tense and eyes squinting.

He looked at the clock above his office door and cringed when he saw the late time. He contemplated crashing in his room and potentially rolling around wide awake for another couple of hours or traipsing to the rec room in hopes of finding a bit of company to take his mind off of things for a while.

With a groan, he stood stiffly from his desk and headed towards the shared rec room.

He sighed in relief when he saw his team sat around the small table, cards in hand and a bottle of whiskey off to the side only half empty.

“Mind if I join next round?” He asked as he pulled out a chair.

“Only if you don’t mind Soap cheating,” Gaz said, sending his fellow sergeant a mucky look.

“Jus’ admit yer shite at cards, Garrick,” Johnny laughed, unperturbed by the accusation.

John smiled as he watched the three of them finish the hand before he was dealt in. His phone rang, but he left it to go to voicemail as he studied his cards and considered his options, thanking Simon when he poured him a drink. It rang a second time when Soap won, then a third immediately after. John clenched his jaw and checked the ID, putting it back down when he saw mum flashing across the top of the screen.

Lizzy hadn’t waited to spread the news then. Fuck.

He noticed the three men eyeing up his phone and tense shoulders, but he didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t until the fourth call that Soap spoke up.

“Yer certainly popular tonight, sir.”

“A mission we don’t know about?” Kyle asked, eyebrows furrowed.

John shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just been invited to a wedding, is all.”

The three of them focused on him at that, eyes peeled away from their cards at the reminder that their Captain had a personal life outside of these walls.

Before any of them had chance to ask, John sighed. “Family’s been nonstop calling me the last month or so, putting pressure on me to bring someone along,” he admitted.

“If you wanted a date so badly,” Johny started, puffing up his chest only to fold over wheezing when Simon elbowed him, hard.

“Told them I’m bringing a woman, Soap. But thanks for the offer, think I’d have asked Gaz first though,” John joked.

“Your loss,” Simon said gruffly. “I’ve been told I’m very charming.”

“They have a gun to their head at the time?” Johnny said under his breath.

“My sister might be available to go with ya,” Gaz offered. “And unlike our ‘charming’ Lt here, she can actually talk a stranger’s ear off.”

“I couldn’t ask her to do that, Gaz. Could make things awkward for you,” Price hedged, hesitant to agree.

“She loves weddings, sir, any excuse to get dressed up and have a few free drinks,” Kyle said with an easy shrug. He grinned and continued, “And not like it’s a real date, wouldn’t have to pull you aside for the shovel talk. She’d just be doing you a favour. Could pay it back by having Ghost go easy on us in training after the break at Christmas this year.”

John huffed a laugh as Simon grumbled, but it felt a little forced as he thought about the offer. With a sigh he took a drink of the cheap beer Soap had nabbed them all from the communal fridge once the whiskey started getting low.

“No ‘arm in it,” Simon added, watching their captain closely.

John nodded shortly at Kyle and watched with growing anxiety and embarrassment as the young sergeant tapped away on his phone. Johnny shuffled and distributed the cards for a new game, giving John a moment of reprieve to look away, but when he turned back and caught Gaz’s frown his stomach sank.

“What?” He asked a little too sharply. It would be one thing to be rejected by a woman he’s never met, but another entirely for it to happen in front of his men when he was already feeling unsteady from the oncoming wedding.

“She’s busy that weekend, some festival’s on that she’s got tickets for,” Kyle winced. He sent John an apologetic look before his phone buzzed again. “Wait, she said her mate might be up for it.”

Johnny leant heavily against Kyle’s side, arm thrown over the back of his chair, and read the message over his shoulder.

“Though apparently the friend said you hafta pay her £100 f’r it, pick her up and drop her home,” Johnny huffed through a disbelieving laugh. “Cheeky, that. Don’ even know what she looks like and she’s chargin’ ye.”

“Could ask for a photo,” Gaz offered again, but John waved him off.

He was still unconvinced, the acidic bubble of embarrassment at the back of his throat caused by having to buy his fucking date to his ex’s wedding left him cautious. He was handsome, he knew, but he just didn’t have the time or the desire to go out looking for someone that wasn’t Charlotte.

His phone lit up with a notification for a new voice mail and he thought about the streams of calls and unanswered texts from his family and his ex-wife, all asking about his plus one in some capacity and ranging subtlety.

“Send me her number.”

---

The pair of you decided to meet up a month before the wedding, not long after you’d first started texting and covered the basic introductions, figuring it would be easier to fake a relationship if the wedding wasn’t the first time you’d both met.

And before committing to the role you wanted a better idea of what kind of man John was.

Safety first and all that, it didn’t matter that your friend kind of knew him through her younger brother, you wanted to know who you could potentially be spending a full weekend away with.

He’d agreed without fuss and let you pick the spot, in public and during the day obviously. This wasn’t your first blind date, though the circumstances were a lot different and it had you feeling nervous even though you didn’t really have anything to lose.

John had arrived at the café early, not wanting to make a bad impression. However the extra time meant that he had longer to stew over the events that had led him to meeting a stranger to negotiate whether she’d be willing to lie to his family for him or if he wasn’t worth the time.

He’d sat at the back where it was quieter, needing the privacy as he ruminated over his lack of options, though he stared across the room out of the large front windows onto the street.

John’s eyes caught onto a plump young thing jogging across the road, and he let them wander across her frame languidly. He mourned his ex-wife’s touch as he watched the woman enter the café with sweat just beginning to bead at her brow, her eyes flickering around the room nervously. He couldn’t help but notice how she was exactly his usual type, similar in some respects to how Charlotte had looked early on in their marriage even, with a round face, thick thighs and soft tits hidden beneath her cosy jumper.

John froze when the woman met his gaze and smiled, lifting a hand in a small, hesitant wave.

“John?” She mouthed, and he found himself nodding automatically. She looked pleased before heading to the register to make her order.

John straightened up in his seat and frowned down into his tea. He wasn’t interested, hadn’t been interested in anyone but his ex in all the years since she’d left, but he was tempted all the same to tell Gaz to thank his sister for introducing what was likely her most beautiful friend.

He had to stop himself from glaring daggers into his tea, frustrated with himself and his thoughts, as you came over from the counter with your drink in hand and an apprehensive smile on your face as you took your seat opposite him.

“Sorry if I’m a little late, I thought we’d said half past,” you apologised, looking to his mostly empty cup.

“I was early.” John cleared his throat. “Sorry, I haven’t done this in a long time. ‘M a little rusty.”

You let out a soft laugh and shrug. “Don’t worry about it, there’s no pressure. It’s not a real date, right? And there’s worse things you could be than early; I mean I wanted to meet mainly just to make sure you weren’t a raging arsehole or planning on murdering me on our way down South.”

“Can tell all that meeting someone over coffee? Might have to employ you to help with our interrogations.”

“Not sure I’m cut out for the military life. I’m no good with blood, I get faint at a paper cut,” you joked.

John huffed, not enough to be considered a laugh but you knew he was amused.

You watched as he took in a deep breath, his shoulders stretching as he leant into the back of his chair, steeling himself for the next part of the conversation.

“Thank you… for considering doing this. I know it’s not exactly conventional and we don’t know each other all that well,” he started, jaw tense even as he spoke.

“I think it might be fun,” you said with a hopeful smile. “The only weddings I’ve been to were when I was a kid, so I’m kind of looking forward to it in a weird way.”

John stared at you for a moment and you worried you’d put your foot in it. He was obviously hesitant about the whole deal and there you were talking about how you were excited to go on your little day trip like it wasn’t John’s family you’d be intruding on.

“You’re always smiling,” he muttered finally, breaking your building tension.

“What?”

“Mm.” He blinked and focused once more. “Sorry. Yes, it should be nice. The wedding. Charlotte always had good taste.”

“Charlotte, is that the bride?”

“And my ex-wife.”

“Oh fuck, ok,” you said with raised eyebrows. Your friend had mentioned John having some old connection to the bride to be, but you hadn’t been expecting that. John had told you about himself a little in his messages, but he’d not mentioned much about the wedding past the date.

“My family will be there, they’ve all stayed close after the divorce. Think they prefer her over me and I can’t blame ‘em,” he explained. Your frowned and although he was taken back by the sudden switch in your mood he didn’t touch on it. “It’ll be easier with a date to keep my family off my back for a few hours while we’re there.”

“Are they a little more, uhm, traditional?” You asked, then tried to lighten up the potentially heavy question. “Not keen on divorces or bachelors?”

“You could say that,” he agreed nonspecifically. “They’re not Catholic, if that’s what you’re thinking; it’s just a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business.”

“Small town like Gilmore Girls or small town like Twin Peaks? Wondering if I need to be cautious of the locals.”

John smiled; your attempts at trying to get him to open up and laugh with you fell flat. “I can pick you up in the morning, drive down in time for the ceremony. We’ll have to stay the night for the celebration the next day as well but after that we can head back. I’ll get you home by the evening.”

You nodded along, fidgeting with your cup. “Great, uhm and about the money, I’m sorry to ask but I’ll be missing work for this and I don’t get paid leave. Plus I’ll need a dress—”

“It’s not an issue,” he said firmly, waving off your worries.

Your shoulders dropped in relief and you nodded again.

“Never requested a down payment on a date before,” you said with a laugh.

“I’m happy to pay it.” He tapped his thumb on the edge of his empty cup. “Does that mean you’ll go?”

“Yeah. Yeah, unless you say something truly awful over the next few weeks, I’d be happy to go.”

Price felt his headache ease at that. One less thing to worry about.

The stilted conversation continued as you discussed the details of the wedding, the dress code, and his family. John had stood mid way through as you tried to remember the names he’d mentioned and bought you both a second drink each.

“So there’s your mum, Shirl, Lizzy’s your younger sister, and your dad is called Richard,” you repeated back to him, taking notes on your phone. “Anyone else of note?”

“Not family, but there might be a few names of people I’d have probably mentioned to you; neighbours, teachers and the like.”

“Ok, cool. You can text me them if you’d prefer.” You finished tapping away before taking a swig of your drink. “So what’s our backstory?”

At John’s befuddled silence you sat back in shock.

“Have you never seen any romcom ever?” You asked in mock outrage. “We need to figure out how we met, how long we’ve been dating, etcetera etcetera, otherwise your family is gonna sniff out this lie like pigs hunting for truffles.”

“Right, makes sense,” he hummed. “We’ve been dating for almost six months and met through Gaz and your friend. Keep it close enough to the truth so we don’t get confused.”

“Good idea. Uhm, you asked me out to coffee and we hit it off because you like how endearing and witty I am,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“Always did think modesty was overrated,” he played along. “I’m busy a lot with work, so we don’t see each other much but we’ve made it work for us.”

“Do I get to know much about your work other than your title and apparently that you do interrogations?”

“You know I’m a captain of an SAS task force and I’ve been in the service for almost twenty years. Kyle said he texted his sister about me.”

“Yeah, yeah he did. She told me what he said, I just wasn’t sure if I’d know more as your girlfriend. We can keep it vague though if you’d prefer.” You tried to move on. “What about your friends?”

“Kate, Simon, Kyle and Johnny. Teammates. They’ll recognise the names if you mention them,” John said. “They’ll probably be more convinced if you mention Farrah, too.”

“Will I have met them yet?”

John hummed as he thought about it. “Kate and Farrah are busy like myself. But you’ve met Simon and Kyle; I’m keeping Johnny off your tail for now, dog of a bloke,” John decided.

You snorted at his description and nodded, continuing to add to your notes.

After a minute of silence and no further questions coming from you, John leant forward onto his forearms.

“Have you not got a boyfriend at home that’ll be jealous you’re doing this?” He asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “No, I’m single. I was put off dating pretty recently, actually, after trying my hand at a couple of apps. The whole online schtick really isn’t for me turns out, was just a long stint of dead end dates.”

“I’m sure there’d be someone on there that’d be worth your time,” John tried to reassure you awkwardly.

“Oh there’s plenty of fish in the sea, but I’m retiring my fishing pole for the time being. I’m happy enough being single; and hey, it beats having to sit through a two hour dinner with a guy that won’t stop talking about the rash on his dick.”

John slumped back in his seat in shock with raised eyebrows. He quickly lifted a hand to clamp over his mouth to hide his burgeoning laugh, but his shaking shoulders gave him away.

“Please, feel free to laugh at the state of my dating life,” you encouraged, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s like a raging dumpster fire.”

“At least you’re not hiring someone to go to your ex-wife’s wedding,” he said, biting his cheek afterwards. He felt the uncomfortable pit in his stomach shift and stretch with guilt at his sudden ability and ease to joke about it. Christ, what was wrong with him?

You noticed his face shutter back to being blank as he looked out across the café and decided not to push. It was all obviously still a sore spot for him.

“What were you thinking touch-wise?” You asked instead, willing your voice to stay even. God help if got flustered over the idea of kissing a man still in love with his ex. You’re an adult, you can hold hands and pretend to be in love without being childish and getting giggly over it. John was stern enough you couldn’t doubt his lack of interest, and you weren’t about to get yourself tangled up in an unavailable man, even if he was handsome.

John cleared his throat.

“I’ve always been pretty big on PDA,” he admitted almost sheepishly. “And I mentioned it’s a small town; it’s likely they’ve all seen me fawning over a woman before. It would be… suspicious if we didn’t kiss, I think. But I was a teenager back then, so I think a more reserved approach wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

“Ok, cool. So like, the usual coupley stuff, honeymoon phase kind of staying close by and kisses on the cheek kind of thing too.” You took another drink and tried not to think too much about the weight of John’s gaze on your face. “Just if you could try not to sneak up on me and do it? I tend to lean into fight more than flight, especially when it comes to strangers’ hands on me.”

“I don’t have to touch you if it’ll make you uncomfortable,” John offered immediately.

“No, no! I’ll be ok, I’m just out of practice I guess, not used to it at the moment. I don’t want to slap your hands away without thinking and ruin the charade. Or worse, I watched too much Muppets growing up and likened myself to Miss Piggy’s attitude, wouldn’t want to put your training to the test,” you said, making a small karate chop in between the two of you. John hid his smile behind his tea. You shrugged a little self-consciously afterwards and started speaking again. “I’m fine with kissing, and having your hands anywhere on me.”

John coughed as he choked back his drink, fervently shaking his head. “Oh, uhm. No, that won’t—”

“Like over my clothes, I just meant like my waist, or my arse at most. I didn’t mean— Keeping it PG13.”

John chuckled nervously and rubbed a hand down over the scruff of his thick mutton chops. “Right, right. Sorry, I jumped to conclusions there.”

“No, I think that was on me,” you huffed, embarrassed. You grabbed your bag and stood. “I think I’ve got enough to work with here, I’ll message you if I think of anything else I might need to know. But… It’ll be ok, John, or at least not as shitty as it could’ve been having to go alone.”

John scoffed. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“Sunshine?” You ask, tilting your head like an inquisitive puppy.

“Always got that sunny grin on, haven’t ya?”

“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes again, biting back the very same grin he spoke of. “Practice the story, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

“Oh! We should probably take a photo together, right? For our lock screens, real couples have each other on their phones.”

John’s smile turned brittle. “Right.”

You moved to sit in the seat next to John instead of opposite and clicked on your camera, aiming it at the pair of you, you grinned wide and nudged John when he kept frowning.

“Try and make it convincing, c’mon,” you encouraged lightly. He smiled thinly and you took a few quick snaps. “I’ll send them to you later. Thanks for the coffee, John.”

“See you later,” he said and watched you walk out of the café and down the street.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he felt better about the wedding than he did. Although it was a relief to not be going alone anymore, it felt worse somehow now that he’d met you and hadn’t immediately disliked you.

series masterlist

#i’m a lil nervous posting this but idk why 🥺#shout out to kai for opening my eyes and inspiring me to make cute banners for multi fic works on canva #that shit rocks and it was so fun!#part 2 out hopefully sooner rather than later #john price x reader #john price #fat reader #female reader #trans john price #fucking finally at least it worked this time #also if anyone caught the weekly planet pod reference i’ll give you a big ol’ kiss

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magpiepills · 7 months ago

Text

Sagittarius

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Ezra x f reader

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: you and Ezra in your pod.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, helmet riding, slight bondage? Idk what else.

A word from the author: has anyone done riding Ezra’s helmet yet? No matter. Here’s mine. With gratitude to the mutuals and the magic sluts.

Your meeting was an improbability on a largely deserted moon. He had talked so sweet, so flattering, so genteel. Like chloroform on a pretty handkerchief. Lorenzo fell for it, too. Lorenzo always was a sucker.

Ezra says he’s sorry.

Sorry he tried to rob you. Sorry he shot your husband dead. Even if Lorenzo did shoot first, you had really wanted to be the one to dispatch the conniving bastard, and he took that from you. The way he squirmed and huffed now, well, that’s his own doing.

If robbery and murder weren’t great enough offenses, he’d had the gall to track you all the way back to your rented pod and barge right in. He couldn’t just get away with that.

You’d heard him. He rattled the door, forced it open, metal creaking and groaning against rusted metal followed by heavy boots thudding against the corrugated metal floor. You’d already stripped down to your tank top and underwear, a futile attempt at staving off the humid heat of Bakhroma Green. There was no time to get dressed now. You held your thrower in both hands, finger itching at the trigger and your back against the brittle plastic of the pod walls. Fool as he was, he came in head first. When the butt of your Frontiersman didn’t quite connect with the required force, Ezra wheeled around and snatched your weapon away, flinging it clear across the pod.

Incensed, you charged at him. Grabbing him, wrenching his arm back and pulling until he hollered and fell forward. You let his weight drop onto the floor, he groaned and bared his teeth, writhing pathetically at your feet. Good. Serves him right. You watched him for a moment, hands on your hips and head cocked. There wasn’t time to consider the next step in dealing with your intruder. He was on the floor and you had the upper hand. You couldn’t let him get up, that was certain.

No sooner was your mind made than you threw yourself on him, doing your best to pin him down and get him into a headlock or something to incapacitate him long enough for you to toss him back out of the ship and leave him to die. Ezra grunted and panted, bucking and rolling, trying his best to throw you off of his back. You held your own as long as you could, but he was furious and strong. In a flash he grabbed your hair and flipped you both, knocking the wind from your lungs. The ensuing melee saw you tumbling and flailing about the pod, each of you trying hard to get the other to stay still. Panting, sweating, grunting, swearing. You aren’t sure how you end up on his back, holding him with his arms bent. Thankfully, he had no energy left to fight, because neither did you. You needed to tie him up.

It wasn’t ideal. None of this was, really. It was a shit show from the start and you’ve just had to accept that and somehow get through it. You did the only thing you could do under the circumstances and you tied him up with your panties. The fabric was probably cutting off his circulation and the knot may not hold long, but it was good enough. You did your best to put out of your mind the fact that you’re naked from the waist down now. It didn’t matter if he saw, you told yourself. As quickly as possible you were going to be shoving him out the hatch and leaving him far behind.

You flipped your captive onto his back, muzzle of your recovered thrower shoved into his chest. With your adversary bound, you relaxed for a moment, catching your breath before you had to haul him out.

You traced your fingertips over his visor. The glass is thick. Scratched and pitted and heavy over his head. Behind it he’s sweating. Small beads on his forehead, nose and cheeks that gathered together and slid down to his hair. It was your first good look at him. He was pretty. What a waste. With his big, round eyes, shiny, pitch-colored things; with his nose, soft aquiline curve, and lips, pouting open now, as he looked pitifully back at you.

He kept those clever eyes trained on yours as you shuffled up closer, knees on either side of his helmet. You rapped gently on the glass, smiling sweetly down at him. You ran your hands over the cool surface, but still he watched you. You lifted the hem of your sweatshirt, and brought it up, up, up over your bare tits, and tossed it aside. You watched with amusement, tilting your head sympathetically to the side as you squeezed and lifted your tits, letting them fall again before gently pinching your nipples. “Mmmm. Feels so good, Ezra. Touch me, please. I know you can make it even better.” You whined, teasing him. He closed his eyes, brows furrowed, muttering something you couldn’t hear under his helmet. “Oh, I forgot. You’re tied up. Well, I guess if you can’t take care of me I’ll have to just do it myself.” You sighed dramatically and rolled your hips, “I think there’s still a way you can help though. You do want to be good, don’t you, Ezra? You want to keep me happy, isn’t that right?” He wet his lips with his tongue and nodded shallowly, eyelids looking heavier. You circled your nipples with your fingertips, teasing them into firm points, caressing down your stomach and your thighs.

He squirmed below you and whined when you jutted your hips forward, pressing your bare pussy against the glass. Ezra stared, frozen as you repositioned, settling right over his line of sight so he could see exactly what you were about to do.

At first your movements were small and deliberate. Your puffy lips pressed lewdly, not quite wet enough, but enjoying the hard, smooth convex of the helmet between your thighs. You watched Ezra. He was entranced, focused intently on your cunt and the reality of how close you were, and the impossibility of his desires. He wanted to flatten and spread those lips with his lips and tongue and nose and chin. He would have had you thoroughly soaked by now if it was up to him, but you took your time.

One hand abandoned his helmet and came back up to pluck and twist at your nipples. You closed your eyes and thought of Ezra behaving himself well enough to deserve having his cock sucked. It was big, you could see that through his suit. It was immediately evident that all of that grappling had stirred something in him. His environmental suit was snug over his straining erection. The thick bulge curved up and across his hip, accentuated by the straps banded around his upper thighs. It was impressive in thickness and length. Shame that a nice cock is wasted on a bastard like him. You wondered if he was cut or if there’d be foreskin to slip back with your lips. You wondered if he would want to come in your mouth, or if he wanted to paint your face and chest with his spend. You thought of how it would taste. You thought of how good it feels to make a strong man so weak.

“Why can’t you be good?” You complained, breathy and unintentional. You didn’t even register that you’d spoken it aloud until another voice, deep and craggy spoke up. “I can be good. Let me.”

It was the first thing he had spoken that hadn’t been a shouted demand, or a threat. It aggravated you. “Shut up.” You snapped at him, he hitched his hips in protest, teeth bared as he watched your arousal slowly seep onto the glass, aiding your gliding movements. It made his mouth water.

Back and forth, a salacious drag right before his eyes, he watched you use his helmet for your pleasure. The delicate inner folds, the swollen bud of your clit, the tender flesh of your lips. Every quickening movement was like a wet, messy kiss, smearing your slick across the smooth plane. He licked his lips and imagined how he would drink you down. He thought of sucking your clit between his lips to feel it twitch.

He didn’t realize how destroyed he looked. Wet and pathetic and mewling. He couldn’t even feel the way your panties bite into his wrists anymore. He didn’t care. He wanted you to have him like this if you wanted.

You hitched closer and closer to your apex with every grind of your hips. The power alone was a potent aphrodisiac, having Ezra, big as he was, under your thumb made you so very wet. He was your plaything, now. Maybe you’d keep him. Use him how you wanted. You could come on his helmet, his thigh, his cock if you wanted to. He wouldn’t fight. Not with the way he looked now. His eyes were inky black and shining, his warm breath fogged the glass above his parted lips. You rode his helmet unashamedly, caring only for your own demented pleasure.

Your orgasm felt like a slow motion electric shock. His face was obscured by the wet mess you’d made. It bubbled and dripped obscenely.

Your panting breath matched the rise and fall of his chest below you. Slowly you began the return to reason, to the reality of your situation. Reality is changeable, though and yours took a turn before your eyes even adjusted from the post-orgasmic haze.

You were on your back in a flash. Ezra was caging you in and smiling bodefully down at you, triumphant. Your face was still flushed from your orgasm, but your joy quickly soured. Your panties lay in tatters beside your head.

“Have you had your fun now?” He mocked. Your release still clung to his helmet and you licked a defiant stripe through it, never dropping his dark gaze. Ezra chuckled and held both your wrists in one hand while he flung off his helmet and tore at the closures of his suit.

“What was your plan? You use me and then what? Leave me high and dry?” He shook his head, feigning disappointment in your carelessness, all the while fighting his way out of the dirty canvas suit, pulling at buttons and straps until one arm was free and his thin, sweat-damp undershirt clung to his broad chest.

You didn’t notice when you’d stopped struggling in his grip, but Ezra certainly did. He clocked the trail your eyes made from his lips to his neck, to his shoulders and down his torso to where the elastic band of his boxers peeked out. He loosened his grip, shook his other arm from its sleeve, and puffed out his chest. His suit sagged down his narrow hips, as he reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift motion. What a sight he was. Muscular but soft, rough but tender. The thick swell of his now turgid member pulled at his boxers.

He palmed over it, emphasizing the length with the slow drag of his hand.

He licked his lips. “Go on.” He challenged. “Tell me to be good again.”

The air inside the pod had become thick and heavy, your skin was warm and your joints all felt too loose. The snarl you had intended came out as a ragged plea of his name.

Ezra was gentler than you’d expected. He let go of your wrists with a pointed look meant to keep you from doing anything rash, and began to explore your body. He squeezed your hips, kneading the yielding flesh, then sliding his hands up your sides, letting his fingers follow the shape of your ribs. He caressed over your belly, circling your belly button with his thumb. He watched as your chest rose and fell. He slid his palms up, flat against your skin as he pushed your bare tits together.

You could feel his hips shifting against you, feel the weight of his bulge against your cunt while he dropped to his elbow to bring your nipple to his mouth. His touch was firm. You could feel the hunger and need in the way he licked and sucked at your pointed nipples. He was holding back.

“Tell me.” He repeated. His voice was deeper, gravelly.

Your eyes fluttered closed and for a moment you wondered what came next. You knew what he wanted from you in this moment, but after that? You didn’t have the strength to fight him again. You released the breath you had been holding and asked him once more: “Be good, Ezra.”

There was little resistance when he plunged into you. He watched your face as you took what he gave, the way your mouth fell open and your head tipped back as he buried himself deep in your wet heat.

He hooked his arms under your shoulders, keeping you beneath him, as if you’d dream of leaving now. He grunted with the force of his hips pounding down into you, each heavy stroke forcing breathy cries from you. “Ah! Ah! Ahh! Ezra!”

“Is this good enough?” He asked, slowing his pace and looking down into your unfocused eyes. He looked further, down the planes of your sweat-slick bodies to where he stretched you in his cock. He rolled his hips just so, catching your clit with the wet hair at the base of his cock. You came, and he could feel your pounding pulse through the thin skin of your neck where he nibbled and sucked. When your body settled he redoubled his thrusts, palming your breast and panting into your neck until the moment he pulled out and spilled across your cunt.

The pod was silent, save for your heavy breaths, and you watched Ezra with caution. He was looking around, taking in the blinking lights and muted beeping of the control panel. He looked curious. Maybe resigned. He rubbed your thigh and you lay beside him on the floor, too aware of how your initial plan of escape was now useless. Your brain too scrambled from the force of your orgasm to formulate a new one.

Perhaps fortunately, you didn’t need to. Ezra squeezed your knee and leaned over you. He kissed you slowly and tenderly. Then, quietly, he whispered against your lips “give me the starter.”