#price x you

[dumbbitchgalore]

Old Man!Price craves a pretty little housewife to waiting for him at home 🎀

As John gets older, he has this visceral urge to domesticate you that it also seems obsessive of him.

Hand in hand, John'll bring you back home to his cottage in the Cotswolds causing your eyes to widen at the home in front of you. As if your pinterest board has come to life, stained glass windows and a garden full of peonies. 

“God, this is exactly how I imagine my dream home to be like,” You say in awe before shrugging your shoulders, “Well that is if money wasn’t an issue.”

Your words earn a chuckle from John as he ushers you inside, giving you a tour of his home while you such over every little detail. 

‘Oh, that backsplash is literally my dream!’

‘Oh my god, a reading nook?!’

‘No way, you have a bloody walk in the pantry?!’

The smirk ever leaves John’s face as you continue to gush over his house well into dinner.

John is a very committed and detail-oriented man and that is why he needed to get everything perfect according to your Pinterest boards. He never leaves anything up to chance so all he did was look through your phone, browse your inspiration boards getting an idea of what you’d call home. 

His plan was coming into fruition. John had the house and now he had you inside of the house now all he has to do is to ‘accidentally’ get you pregnant. But there was a nagging fear at the back of his mind, a fear of potentially ruining an unborn child’s life with his obsession. As much as he wanted you to be at home taking care of his kids and tending to his house, John did not want to be a bad father. 

Every time he’d fuck you raw, John would try with all his might to cum deep inside of you over and over again until your pretty cunt could no longer hold his cum in anymore as it seeps out of you causing John to plug you up with his fingers. But every single time, John would back out at the last minute opting to cum on your back or something. 

He wanted to baby trap you but at the same time, he didn’t want you to blame him for everything that might go wrong in his life. The guilt will weigh too heavy for him to think that he ruined your chances of a better life without him. 

So when tonight you suggest for John to wear a condom because you forgot to pick up your birth control, John doesn’t hold back. He on longer has that stupid harpy of a voice in the back of his mind telling him not to ruin you and to ‘fucking not destory the one good thing in your bloody life, John!’

Rutting into you like a teenage boy who stuck his cock for the first time into an actual cunt, John thrusts were quick and deep bringing you to the brink of an orgasm over and over again only to stop his hips for a few seconds to once again pummeling into you, his cock bully your sweet, sweet insides. 

For once John is grateful for a condom, cumming inside you without a guilty conscience knowing that the condom didn’t let his cum paint your insides. He slumps against you, rolling onto his side as he holds your body flushed against his own, kissing your forehead and muttering words of thanks for ‘putting up with his old arse.’

It came to a shock when John sees the positive pregnancy test in your hands, the two blue lines mocking his efforts to not get you pregnant. A day later, he takes you ring shopping and proposes that same night. 

Now who’s gonna tell John that you were the one who poked holes in his condom?

[oceantornadoo]

ch10 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader is a kidnappee

masterlist | next

“How do you think we would have met in the real world?” You ask. His fingers tangle with yours, raising them high to your bedroom ceiling. “Hm. Regular customer at y’r store.” He answers. The bright Sunday morning light filters through the bedroom curtains, making the room glow like a dream. “You think I’d still own a bookstore in another life?” John nods against you, his head on the pillow next to yours. “Y’r made fer it. Tha’ I know.” You smile at the thought.

“What would you do?” He’s silent for a moment, thinking. “Military. I’m built f’r violence, can’t imagine anythin’ else.” You frown, hoping for a more positive answer. “It would be dangerous. And you’d be gone a lot. I don’t think you’d qualify as a regular.” You protest against the fake scenario. He squeezes your hand, comforting the sudden rush of emotion that made your last word wobble. You hoped for one future where a little boy named John could chase his interests, not living in a warzone. “I’d get a desk job when we got married.” You turn to your side, meeting his eyes with a grin.

“You’d marry me?” He turns on his side as well, hand catching the side of your face. He strokes the softness of your cheeks, calluses pulling against moisturized skin. “I’d marry ya in any universe. Flirt with ya at the checkout counter. Find your favorite books an’ get th’ author to sign them. Bring back stories from foreign countries. You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.” Your breath catches. It’s the closest thing that he could give to a love confession. It’s tailored to you as a person, not just empty platitudes. You peck him on the lips, pulling back before he can distract you. “I’d find you too, John.”

When you wake, you’re cotton headed with a bitter mouth. You try to lick your lips but are stopped by the gag in your mouth, so jarring it took you a second to realize it. As the fog clears, you take stock of the situation.

A gloomy room, water dripping in the corner with a singular light hanging on the ceiling. It’s a bit chilly, air rushing through the thin button-up you’re wearing. (John’s. But you can’t think about him right now.) You’re still in the jeans you wore to work, thankfully. Hands handcuffed behind you to a cool metal chair, your legs secured to the bottom of it. And of course, the fabric gag in your mouth, reflected in the mirror in front of you that has to be watched by your captors. You glare, hard.

You were kidnapped after lunch, and thankfully you’re only a little hungry. The only sense of time you have is your bladder, pleading you to get to a bathroom. It must have been a few hours at least, since you’d only drank a little at work. You guess it’s around 6 pm, before night peaks around the earth in full. All you do is stare at your reflection and wonder how you let two enemies into your bookstore.

The metal door at the corner of the room creaks with effort. When you turn your head, Phil is standing there, sealed plastic water bottle in hand. “How’re ya feelin’?” You stay silent behind the gag, content to glare at your former assistant. He sighs and closes the door. You hear someone lock it from the outside. Phil approaches cautiously, opening the water bottle as he walks.

“‘m takin’ your gag off and you’re gonna be a good girl and not scream.” The phrase good girl is like poison to your ears. Something only your husband is allowed to call you. You stay bitterly silent as he tugs down your gag, dirty fingers brushing your face. You force yourself not to react, eyes trained on him. Phil brings the water bottle to your lips, tilting your head back to drink. While you would refuse out of spite, you don’t know the next time you’ll get water. Drops of water slip down your jaw, cooling your skin even more.

“Now, I’ve got some questions for you, sugar. Answer ‘em and you’ll be outta here in no time.” He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. You have a feeling you won’t be getting a bathroom or dinner anytime soon.

-

Stupid Kate and her no-phone rule. She’s notoriously strict with devices when meeting with clients, especially potential ones. John was in that meeting for many grueling hours with a potential gun vendor, watching the clock hands tick by. He needs to call his wife, needs to hear you reassure him that it was just a fight, that you’ll talk it out and be okay eventually. 

Finally, Kate lets them free a bit after six. John immediately grabs his phone from Laswell’s secretary and frowns at the slur of notifications on his screen, mainly from Gaz. He forgoes reading them, calling him while mentally calculating how fast he could see you.

“Sir, we need you at the bookstore immediately.” It sets off alarms in his head. Why would he be needed there? “What aren’t ya tellin’ me, Garrick?” John finds his driver waiting outside the office and signals to him to get going. “Shepherd got ‘er. The two assistants were his. We’re tryin’ to find her but she’s gone, sir.” John barks at his driver to step on it, then puts the phone back to his ear. You’re gone. You can’t be gone. You’re supposed to be waiting for him at the Castle, brows furrowed why he explains why he really couldn’t take you on that trip. Why you seem to be the person he forgot to search for in a past life, with your unruly snickers and magnificent brain. You’re not supposed to be gone.

John bursts into the half-made store, panting from anger. His people are untying Terrance in the corner, a medic pressing an ice pack against a nasty bump on his head. Kyle’s on the phone, barking orders to someone on the other side. 

Their movements stop when their boss bursts in. Tie half-done, hair wrecked from hands going through it. Flustered. A hundred eyes track him and none are the ones he wants. There’s only one thing on his mind.

“Where is my wife?”

-

Simon shoots out of bed, breathing hard. Johnny’s used to his nightmares, tugging his shoulder to bring him back down. Unlike other nights, his husband stays sitting up. It’s enough to raise an alarm.

“Bad dream, lamb?” Moonlight traces Simon’s scars reverently, turning them into rivers of silver. Sometimes it hurts to look at him for too long, but Johnny wills himself to focus. “Somethin’s wrong.” Simon murmurs. He reaches for his phone and dials someone. Johnny can guess who. The call goes to voicemail at the first ring. “Ye ken she’s on do not disturb.” Simon calls again and while usually it would go through on DND, it cuts short again. While he tries for another call, Johnny turns to grab his own phone, calling the man he loathes.

“Garrick.” He sounds angry and out of breath, unusual at this late hour. “Ghost is wonderin’ where his sister is. The lass’s phone isnae workin’.” Instead of biting out a sharp comment, Garrick takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself. Johnny sits up on instinct, putting the phone on speaker and preparing himself for the worst. “She’s been kidnapped.” Johnny goes to speak but Simon covers his mouth, shaking his head. “I was about to call y’. Shepherd’s men took ‘er at the shop. Two were workin’ on the inside and slipped through. We don’t know-“ Simon snatches the phone and barks out a reply. “We’ll see you in 2 hours. Fuckin’ find ‘er Garrick.” He hangs up and the men get ready robotically, grabbing their respective guns before calling the pilot. Before they head to the helipad, Johnny grabs his husband’s neck and brings his forehead to his own. “We’ll find ‘er.” Simon nods and that’s that. There’s no other option.

-

“An’ here’s the security code f’r the guns.” Simon gestures to the passcode locks on the hundreds of secure cases. “And I need to know this because…?” Your brother sighs, then peeks down to check something on his iPad. “In case Price forgets. In case ya need to launch a coup. In case you wan’ a new weapon. Take your pick, kid.” You punch his arm, then crowd the tablet so you can memorize the code. Only Simon, Johnny, Price, and now you know this code. Not even Price’s head of security. You leave for wedding preparations tomorrow, and instead of watching Sex and the City reruns with Si, he’s forcing you to train like a military recruit. Running you through security codes, showing you how the weapons transfer will work between him and Price. He’s always let you shadow his work but this is different, a new responsibility on your shoulders. 

You know it took a lot for him to allow this. Your brother distrusts everyone, like he believes he’ll be betrayed every morning. “Thanks for showing me this, Si.” You murmur, trusting eyes meeting his. The basement of your mansion, where the weapons are stored, is cool and sterile. An opposing force to the figure of your brother, warm and painted in nostalgia that you’re already trying to not think about. “Can’t have ya in the dark, love. Now tell me the code again.”

“I don’t know the codes.”

Phil glares at you. His personality is so at odds with the assistant you trained in your store. Gone is the happy-go-lucky Southerner that you knew would charm all types of clientele. In his place is a stone-faced man tasked with extracting every single one of your secrets. What a waste of time. You might not be your brother, but at the end of the day, you’re a Riley through and through.

“You’re askin’ me to believe that the Ghost didn’t give his sister the codes to the weapons he was sellin’ her for?” You shrug, unaffected. “Like you said, he sold me. I was more concerned with that than learning how his weapons worked.” He frowns, hands flexing in his pockets. “That don’t make ya feel bad? Gettin’ sold like a cow?” You snort at the comparison. “At least cows get slaughtered. I’m in purgatory in this never-ending marriage with John.” Phil comes closer. He switches from standing to squatting on his haunches, his eyes a little under yours. You wonder why he wants the codes. Does this mean John’s security holdings are compromised? The cases were designed by Johnny himself, impervious to any sort of hacking software.

“From what I saw in the store, you seemed pretty in love.” You shrug again. The best lies, you’ve found, are woven with a thread of truth. “He’s hot. We fuck. Don’t tell me you can’t separate love from lust?” Phil doesn’t say anything. He wants you to keep talking in the uncomfortable silence, but you won’t give in. The shade of his eyes are all wrong, too light. You prefer blue eyes dark and possessive, gripping you in their stare.

After a few seconds, he breaks the staring contest, looking down at the floor. “If you don’t have the codes, you’re not of much worth to us.” You shrug again, willing your hands not to shake. “Then I guess you’ll have to get rid of me.” When he looks back at you, there’s an unnerving grin on his face. “Nah. You know them, I’m sure. We’ll just have to use other methods.”

-

“Favorite takeaway cuisine?”

“Indian. You?”

“Thai. Love me some yellow chicken curry.”

John doesn’t know what that is, so he stays silent. You drop your spoon in your cereal, eyebrows strung together in disbelief. “You’ve never had Thai?” It’s almost a shriek. He’d laugh if he wasn’t sure you’d fling milk at him. “Gaz’s allergic to tofu an’ real superstitious about it. Thinks it’s in the curry even if we get meat.” You bark out a laugh. He’s so glad he didn’t have any morning meetings today. It’s a rare weekday breakfast together and he’s enjoying the get-to-know-you questions you’re flinging his way. 

“Childhood pets?”

“One dog. Got forced to turn him out to the street when I was eleven.” Instead of answering the question, you frown with a pout. “That’s so cruel.” He nods, flicking his eyes away so he doesn’t have to see the pity in them. “My father was a cruel man. Didn’t like things tha’ made a mess, includin’ pets. Or his son.” When he looks back, though, it’s not pity in your eyes. It’s understanding. There’s a new bond of solidarity between you, formed by men that weren’t supposed to become fathers. “I think you’d be a good father, John.” He shrugs, grabbing your free hand on the table and stroking your knuckles.

“Know I’ve got to be one, but not the most excited about it.” It’s a confession he’s never told anyone. He knows he can be a good father, a good leader, but there’s never been that need inside of him to create new life. The way he lives is not good for children. He can imagine it in another life, packing school lunches and doing pickup, but it feels so limited in this one. Restrained to the house, no playdates or public swimming lessons. Anything is too dangerous for someone with his name.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You murmur in a serious tone not meant for the morning. He squeezes your hand before meeting your eyes, wet with unspoken emotion. “I know how to be a good mom, but I don’t really want to be one.” His stomach drops. He’s never heard someone say it so resolutely as him. “Why’s tha’?” He croaks out. “This life…it would be like an animal breeding in captivity. They never get to experience the joys of the wilderness. They’re restricted to the four walls around them. I’d become a captive too, never my own person again. Mother first. I respect others who do it but I just…dread it.” This time, it’s John nodding in understanding. He pulls his chair closer to yours until your legs tangle under the table like a secret.

“What if we didn’t have kids?” You whisper. He shakes his head regretfully. “I need an heir, sweetheart. If I don’t have one, there’d be mutiny.” You bite your lip in concentration and he’s entranced by it. The push of your teeth against the plumpness of your skin is magic. “What if we adopted?” Again, he shakes his head. He’s thought about that avenue too many times to count. “Can’t willingly bring a kid that’s not even mine into this shit.” This time it’s you shaking your head, moving closer until you’re practically in his lap.

“Unofficial adoption. Someone that’s past 18.” It takes a second to register. You both say the same name at the same time: “Gaz.” It’s not unheard of, passing to a non-biological heir. Mainly when the couple has problems with fertility. Usually, the new heir would change their last name for the sake of tradition. You push out of your chair and plop down on his thigh, hands running through his beard in that way that grounds him. “We could tell them I’m infertile.” He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe invent a miscarriage to really get that pity.” You move to his thick head of hair, massaging his scalp. “Wait two years to make it look like we really tried. Announce it on our wedding anniversary for full effect.” You kiss the tip of his nose. A goddess in his lap and you want him. He still can’t believe it.

“Would he want it?” John rarely asks questions, but this one is important. You nod immediately, self-assured. “He loves you like a father, John. I think he’d protest, but eventually say yes.” John captures your lips in a kiss, rough and fast. He pulls away, leaving a string of saliva between you. “I’d get a vasectomy. I’m not fuckin’ you with a condom the rest of my life.” Your eyes flare and he suddenly worries he said the wrong thing. “The rest of your life?” He nods, squeezing your hip. “If you’ll have me.” You grin and it’s the start of his demise.

-

i know this is a little shorter than usual but the kidnapping will be multiple chapters so pls stick with me :) im hoping to finish by the end of feburary but tbd. also taglist is full so she's closed sorry about that!

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

@mismatchsposts

@nova-willow-541

@throwing-up-butterflies

@grossitsluca

@evans-dejong

@popcornlauncher

@earthcole

@backfromthedeadhehehe

@baduzzxy

@thegreyjoyed

@cutelibrariangf

@dearghostling

@mrsmalfoy1005

@all-by-myself98

@snburntandsad

@baklovers

@rmikaelson01

@leon-thot-kennedy

@the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@barcelonaaababe

@brokenandemptyhearts

@sleep101

@ontopofthefridge

@lilynotdilly

@teenagellamaangel

@harperdoodle

@ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii

@violetisheresworld

@lolwey

@polyfandom-blogs 

@burrowedinnature77

@sharkerino

@ashy-kit

@aikojwhpa

@thriving-n-jiving

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@grayskel

@rpgsandstuff

@hisuccubus

@lumi-kalyke

@gimmeabreak1

[miniwheat77]

Cherry. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!nsfw, SA, reader is attacked, smut, fingering, p in v sex, virginity loss, virgin!reader, unprotected sex, pining!

For the most part, you were quiet.

By far the most quiet soldier on base. Soap and Gaz liked to joke about it.

You might’ve been silent, but it’s because you’re an observer. You watch and listen. Most of all though, you’re watching him.

Your captain.

You’ve had an obvious crush on him since the day you met him, and when he recruited you for his task force, you wanted to scream. Working alongside him every day. Seeing him every day. It was torture really but you looked forward to it because than, you’d be around him. Before, you seen him a couple times a year, now you see him every day.

Some days are harder than others, you want him so bad but know you can’t have him. That’s tough, but you’re managing.

Nobody has clued in on your little crush yet, thank god. If someone else found out, you’d never hear the end of it.

Captain Price feels bad. He feels bad because he recruited you for hands on missions but you ended up being so much better than everyone else at paperwork that you usually get stuck with the work load. You didn’t exactly like it but you liked the quiet time. Even though you usually got left behind on base to do it. You liked that you spent some time in his office though, seeing as it smelled like him. You were too scared to snoop through his desk, but the smell of him lingers and when you’re in his office, sometimes the both of you are inside. He makes small talk with you and those days you look forward to.

You’re making your way through a stack of paperwork. It’s tedious really, reading over everything, filling out mission reports. It’s all the same repetitive paperwork. But Soap always screws up and Ghost will weasel his way out of any paperwork. Gaz is capable but gets distracted so easily that only half of it will get done. When Laswell isn’t here, there’s no one to do it. So here you are.

Your phone dings in your pocket, technically you’re not supposed to have it on you since you’re actively working but you did anyways. You sigh when you see who it is.

A newer recruit to the base had gotten your phone number from Johnny. Told him some lie about needing to ask you about your watch together. So Johnny gave it to him. Now he’s done nothing but message you nonstop. More specifically, wanting to get closer to you because he liked you. The messages were starting to get a little threatening. You’d been meaning to talk to Captain Price about it but hadn’t gotten the chance yet.

You ignore the few dings that go off, finally digging it out of your pocket.

Hey, what’re you up to?

Soap said you’re in the captains office doing paperwork again, need some company?

Hello?

I see, playing hard to get. I’ll come to you than.

Nerves set in right as you see the last message but before you can react, the door handle twists.

Your lips part, eyes wide. Relief floods through you as your Captain steps inside. You quickly appear to be doing something else, not wanting to incriminate yourself.

A knock at the door right after Captain Price sits down has your hair raising. “Yeah?” Captain Price calls. The door opens and there he is. “Ryan, how can I help you?”

“I just wanted to speak with Y/N for a moment sir.” He nods. His eyes glance to you, seeing that you’ve gone completely rigid at the sight of him. Why are you apprehensive like that?

“Uh.. I’ll be done in a couple hours, can it wait?” You mumble.

“Suppose so.” He nods. He stands there for another few seconds before leaving.

“That was awkward.” Captain Price chuckles. “Tell me about it.” You mumble. “Something going on between you two?” He asks. “No. He wants there to be but no.” You mumble. “I’m not going to be that hard on you. Whatever happens off base happens off base.” He shrugs. You shake your head. “I- no. I’m not interested in him at all.”

“Yeah, you kind’ve got all tense there.” He laughs.

“He got my phone number from Johnny. Sometimes his messages give me the creeps.” You shake your head. “Really? What does he say?”

You read out some of the things he’s said. Seeing his smile. “Think he’s just interested and doesn’t know how to express it.” He mumbles. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before so I don’t know what’s predatory and what’s normal.” You snort. He freezes up. “Wait.. are you still a virgin?” He asks. You can feel crimson rising up your cheeks. Fuck. You’d just incriminated yourself. You shrug your shoulders, avoiding his gaze. He laughs. “Well. Maybe if you get laid you won’t be so uptight, hm?”

You look away from him. In disbelief that he’d just said that to you. You try to laugh it off, but it doesn’t sit right with you.

After a few more minutes, he ends up getting called out by Johnny for something else. Leaving you alone in his office once more. You feel gross, the pedestal you’d put him on. Refusing to believe that he wasn’t like every other guy, and how he’d just proved you so wrong.

Later that same night, when you’re getting text messages from Ryan again, you’re not in your right headspace. He’s out drinking with Johnny and Ghost, they play pool sometimes off base. He stays out, and tells you to come join him.

Maybe your Captain is right, maybe you do need it. Clearly it’s never going to be him. You don’t know what you’re thinking as your feet carry you down the sidewalk. Catching a cab to the bar.

You step into the dive bar and see him sitting on a stool at the bar, clearly chatting up the bartender. You swallow hard, making your way up to him. You sit down next to him. “Hey. Finally joining me?” He laughs. You smile, every cell in your body is telling you to run but you stay. You’re in the military, when your body says to run, you run. But you don’t.

You buy a couple of drinks, he never offers you any.

What a gentleman.

“Hey, cmon.” He grasps your arm. You can hear it in his voice that he’s trying to get lucky. You swallow hard.

He leads you out to the back alley of the bar, pushing your back up against the old brick wall. A gasp leaves your lips and you try to turn your head but he forces you to kiss him. “You’re so sexy. Been waiting for you to come out with me.”

As his fingertips glide past your waistband and into your jeans, you feel bile growing at the back of your throat. “Wait- Ryan stop.” You breathe. He forces his lips over yours, muffling your sounds. “S-stop!” He clamps a hand over your mouth.

He forces a finger between your legs, the intrusion and tearing feeling has you crying out. On instinct you throw your face into his, forehead knocking into his face, sending a knee into his groin. He cries out and topples over into the ground. You try to rush away from him but he snatches you by your arm, pulling you back into the wall, the back of your head hits the brick wall and stuns you.

He forces you to the ground and you try to fight him but you’re still dizzy. His hand meets with your cheek in a harsh slap, knocking your face to the side. He forces your arms above your head with one hand, the other going for your waistband. He’s about to line himself up with you and seal the deal when you slam your face into his once again, this time bloodying his nose completely, and yours in the process. You get your feet up onto his chest and kick him off of you, knocking the air out of him. You stand up and run away in a hurry. He tries to call out to you that he didn’t mean it but you don’t stick around.

You run until your lungs burn. The muscles in your legs crying out for relief. But you keep running.

You don’t know at which point you stop. Calves still burning as you walk back into the base. Luckily the tears have stopped falling and now you were just cold. The pain you feel between your legs is dull and aching. How dare he.

You’re speed walking to your room where you know there’s a lock on the door but you turn the corner and slam right into someone, you scurry back. Scared that it’s him again but Ghost reaches out to steady you, Soap standing right at his side. “Woah! What the hell happened?”

You’re about to hyperventilate when Soap reaches out.

“Y/N!” Ryan calls out to you from the hallway. Had he really caught up that fast? That means he was so close to you…

You scramble to get away but Soap holds you still. “What the fuck is going on?” Ghost growls. “It… it was just a misunderstanding. Y/N, can I please talk to you?” You break free from Soap’s grasp and take off running at a full sprint to your room. You’re terrified. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Soap asks. “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that. Go to your room, I’m gonna be watching.” He threatens. Ghosts eyes are stone cold.

You try to forget about it for the night.

—

The following day when you’re sitting in your captains office, the dread you feel is unmatched. He notices that there’s something off about you, every time you move, you wince like something is hurting you. You’ve also got makeup on when he’s told you it’s not allowed, but he ignores it. Just this once.

You’ve also got a small bruise on your forehead with a cut in the middle which means something hit you, something you couldn’t hide with makeup. He chooses to ignore it, maybe you’re just sore from sitting all of the time or something. Maybe you’ve just hit your head. A knock at the door draws his attention away from you, and he looks up. “Yeah?” He calls. “Uh. Sorry to bother.” You hear his voice. Captain price narrows his eyes when he sees Ryan has a line across his nose and a bruise around his eye, where he’d clearly been hit. “Y/N, can I talk to you? In private.” He mumbles. He’s bold.

Captain Price can see how rigid you’ve gone, how you clearly are even more uncomfortable than the day before. “No, you need to leave me alone Ryan.” You mumble. This raises a massive red flag and Ryan hoped you wouldn’t bring it to your captains attention. He leaves quickly after. Captain Price sighs. “Alright. What happened?” He mumbles, turning in his chair. “Nothing.” You mumble.

“Y/N.” His voice is deeper. “Don’t you lie to me.”

“Hey.” Johnny's voice startles the both of you. "Captain. A word?" He nods. John stands up from his desk and follows Johnny out.

A while later, they come back.

"Sweetheart." Johnny nods.

You look up from the table toward the door, seeing Soap, Gaz, and your Captain standing there. “Uh.. hey?” You sit up, trying to hide the wince.

“Uh… We talked to Ryan. You know... You looked hysterical last night. I just.. wanted to come check on you.” He swallows hard. You look down. “I’m good, Johnny.”

“Y/N. I’m sorry I gave him your phone number. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault.” He sighs. You laugh. “It’s not your fault Soap. I think he wanted my number bad enough to get it from anyone.” He sits down in front of you. Your captain pulls up a chair next to him. They’re cornering you and it’s making you nervous. “Why don’t you take the day off?” He mumbles. “I could do this or I could go sit in my room alone.” You smile. “I’m alright Johnny. Is.. something wrong?”

“We uh… got the whole story from Ryan.” He mumbles, looking at your Captain. “Oh…”

“You made it sound like it wasn’t that bad. So.. maybe we should hear your side?” He mumbles.

“Uh.. alright? I guess.” You shrug. “I.. agreed to go get a drink with him and he pulled me around to the back of the building, I’m assuming to get me alone. He.. tried to kiss me and put his hand…” you swallow hard. Clearly getting choked up. “Down my pants and I pushed him back but he wouldn’t move. Than he… forced his fingers in… so I headbutted him and got him off and tried to run but he grabbed my arm.”

You roll your sleeve up, the handprint bruise where he’d grabbed you still shows. Even darker now. “He slammed me back into the brick wall and it stunned me a little bit. He got me onto the ground, hit me, and than…” you freeze, eyes boring into the desk. “Tried to uh.. tried to-“

“Okay.. we don’t need anymore alright but Y/N.” Captain Price gets your attention. “This is not something I should be finding out about the next day, this is something you come right to me over. This is serious, he attacked you.” You nod. “Yes sir.” He stands up. Walking out of the room, clearly pissed.

Johnny sighs. “It’s going to be alright. You need anything just ask alright?”

You nod. “Thanks Johnny.” You smile. Once he’s gone, you’re alone again. Thank god. You needed the space. You feel like there’s a massive weight on your shoulders. It doesn’t take long and you’re losing track of time. Zoning out and losing yourself in the endless paperwork.

The sound of yelling and commotion in the hallway drags you away from your thoughts, you stand up to go find out what it is. As a soldier you learn to run toward the danger, not away from it.

You make your way down the hallways quickly, turning the corner and running straight into your Captain. He's got his arms crossed, watching Ghost try to contain Ryan.

Your eyes widen and you step forward, your Captain realizes it's you, putting a hand out to stop you.

“What? Now that you’re with him, you’re big and bad huh? Couldn’t defend yourself alone?” Ryan taunts you. Something you've grown to really hate in the military. Taunting.

You grit your teeth.

His words fade out but he’s still talking, your ears begin to ring and you hear no more of the mess around you. He breaks free out of Ghost's grasp and moves toward you. Before you realize it, you’ve got your Captain’s gun out of his waistband and you’re aiming it at Ryan. His eyes widen as you line up with his body.

“Y/N NO!”

They try to get to you but don’t reach you in time.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Soap grasps your arm and raises it in the air, eventually knocking the gun from your hand. Everything moves in slow motion as Ryan topples to the ground.

———

It’s hours later and Captain Price is out looking for you but he can’t find you. It’s passed midnight and you’re not in your room, he doesn’t even think to look in his office still. There’s no way you’re there still. But he checks anyways.

To his surprise, you’re still sitting right where he’d left you. Only now, there’s no paperwork left and you’re just staring off into space. You’ve still got blood all over you from the incident. It's amazing how far blood travels when the body is penetrated by a .45.

“Y/N?” He asks. He doesn’t get a response. He approaches slow not wanting to startle you. “Y/N?” His hand on your shoulder is what finally drags you out of your thoughts. You jump away from him, eyes going wide. When you realize it’s him, your heart settles. “The hell are you still doing in here?”

“Oh- I don’t know. Lost track of time I suppose.” You mumble. “I’d say so. It’s passed midnight darling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Got through all of that paperwork.” he nods toward the empty part of your desk that was once piled. “Oh.. yeah. That was a while ago.” You mumble. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” He drags his chair toward you to sit down near you. His close proximity sends warmth pooling between your thighs. It feels like your veins are on fire when he’s this close to you. “Yeah. I’m good. Just.. out of it.” You look down. You’re fumbling with your hands and he knows why.

You feel like what happened the night before is your fault.

He rests his hand on your thigh. “I know that you probably think that this is your fault because you think you initiated whatever happened between you and him, but it’s not. A grown man knows that when someone tells him to stop, he stops. That’s just that. Doesn’t matter who started what or where you thought it was going, when someone says no or stop, they’re supposed to. This isn’t your fault and you don’t have to stress like this over it. You owe him nothing.” You look down at the ground. Knowing that he has a point. “Yeah.. I know. I just regret being stupid enough to go in the first place. But I’m fine. I get shot at and kill people for a living. He doesn’t bother me.” You roll your eyes, looking down at your desk. “It should bother you, and I don’t believe you when you say that. I can tell that it does. But I’ve taken care of it.” He sighs. “What did you do?” You ask. “He’s off my base and away from you, that’s what matters.”

“Did.. did he survive?” You ask. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. But I have to say I’m impressed, all three shots you took even without aiming still hit.” He laughs. You smile.

“Captain?” You ask. “Yeah?”

“Why do you think he was so persistent?” You ask. He sighs. “I don’t know Y/N.” He chews on his lip. “There’s obviously something about you that captivated him bad enough to want to hurt you in that way.” His voice is low. “But you’re a real pretty girl and you’re a genuine person. It doesn’t surprise me, but his persistence was terrifying." He’s exasperated. “I’m okay. I’d rather take a punch than be-“ you freeze before the word can come out of your mouth. He swallows hard.

"What made you even decide to go out with him in the first place? I saw you yesterday talking to him. You clearly didn't like him.”

You sigh. “I.. tried to take your advice.” You mumble.

“Fuck.. can’t you take a joke? I was only pulling your leg.” He sighs. You roll your eyes. Turning away from him. “Y/N. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen to you.” He asks. You pause for a minute, unsure of what to say. “Hey. Look at me.” He grasps your chair, forcing you turn toward him. You swallow hard, stiffening at his close proximity. Despite the situation, your body still fucking wants him. Curse this. He grasps your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

You tug your face away from him.

“Y/N.” He mumbles. He rests his hand on your thigh. “Let me take a look at you. You refused to get looked at by a medic.”

"He just hit me. Nothing I can't handle.” You mumble. “That’s not what I meant.” he glides his hand up your thigh, seeing your eyes widen. “What? I don’t know about that.”

He laughs. “It’s nothing weird alright? Just to make sure you’re alright. I can see you wincing every time you sit down. I just want to make sure than he didn’t.. hurt you too bad. Because if it’s bad enough you’ll need to see a medic.” You look down. Nodding your head. “Okay..” you mumble. He helps you up, nodding to the couch in his office. “Sit down.” He makes his way to the door, locking it. You sit nervously on the couch. Seeing him laugh at your nervousness. “Nothing weird alright? You can trust me.”

He helps you remove one of your pant legs, seeing you still making an effort to cover yourself. “Just lay back, let me see.” He mumbles. He pushes your knees apart, hearing you gulp. You turn your head to the side, you jump when his fingertips touch you. “It’s okay, I’m just getting a good look.” He mumbles. You clench your eyes shut. “I can see where he hurt you, it’s just red but he didn’t draw any blood.” He mumbles. “Does this hurt?” He asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the wound. It’s right at the entrance. “It’s.. a little sore. Yeah.” You breathe.

He chews at his lip.

You shouldn’t have let him do this, because if he was ever suspicious of you having a crush on him which he was you’d just showed him the truth. He clears his throat. “I’m going to try something. You trust me?” You nod your head. “Use your words darling.”

“Y-yeah, yes. I trust you.” you breathe. He can hear your heart thumping in your chest. “Deep breath okay?” You take in a breath, but it gets caught in your throat by his finger penetrating you.

You gasp out, flinching away from him slightly. “W-what are you doing?” You shudder as he curls his finger up. You reach down, grasping hold of his wrist to still him, but he moves yours away with his free hand.

“Tell me I’m not mistaken sweetheart. But.. he hurt you just right at the entrance. And.. you hurting?”

He glides his finger back almost completely out, adding another and hearing you gasp out as he pushes them back inside of you. “No- no it doesn’t hurt.” You gasp, trying to move away from him. “That’s two fingers darling. You’re fucking soaked.” He laughs. He holds you down against the couch, so that you don’t wiggle away from him. “You must really not like him for him to have hurt you so easily. And you must really like me.” He laughs. He draws them back, plunging them back inside of you, starting to pump them into you until you’re crying out and squirming. The burning sensation from where Ryan had hurt you is gone now, replaced by pure bliss. You’re crying out, unable to control your sounds. You gasp out, clutching at the couch as he holds you still. Fucking you with his fingers.

When you cum, you let out a mewl. It’s how he knows you cum. His fingers piercing into you, like being touched by a god himself. When he draws his fingers back, you’re panting. Sliding away from him and holding your knees to your chest. Making an attempt at covering yourself up. Staring at him in complete disbelief. How he’d touched you and was so nonchalant about it.

He laughs. He’s resting on the couch, one knee on it, one foot still on the ground. His hand hangs beside him, strings of your arousal drawn between his fingers. He’s still chuckling. “What? Cat got your tongue?” He stands up completely, moving closer to you. You look up at him like you’re mesmerized by him.

“I know about your little crush on me, have for some time.” He breathes. “What I said yesterday, I was just being a dick. And I’m sorry you got hurt because of it.” You nod your head, eyes still glossy as you look up at him. He steps back.

He’d just touched you.

Not only had he touched you, but he made you cum.

The first person to ever do that.

“Captain Price?” You look up at him again. “Yeah darling? Maybe we should get going, it’s about time for bed, it’s la-“

"You're right. I do have a crush on you. I have since I met you."

“I know.”

“How?”

“There are ways you act around me and no one else.”

You smile. “I thought I was better at hiding it.”

“I would’ve never picked up on it if you hadn’t been around me every day.” He laughs.

You smile. Looking up at him.

He smiles. “How do you feel? Still hurting?”

“Not really. It’s weird but that kind’ve helped with the pain.”

“Just opened you up a bit more probably.” You nod, eyes avoiding his once again.

After a moment of silence, you break it.

“Will you have sex with me?”

Those words take him completely by surprise. He freezes up at the request.

“Y/N… I really think you should do some healing first befo-“

“I’m fine.” You smile. “I swear. I’m fine. It just.. it scares me that he came so close to taking my virginity like that. I want you to take it.”

He thinks for a second. “Y/N…” he warns. “You don’t have to, not if you don’t want to of course.” He snorts. “It’s not that I don’t want to, of course I do. It’s just that… I don’t think now is a good time.” You look up at him, smiling. “Neither was a minute ago, but you still fingered me.” You smirk. He rolls his eyes. “Cmon.” He grasps your wrist gently and tugs you out of the office, leading you to his room. “If you really want me to do this, I’m going to do it right.” He mumbles. You nod your head. “Slow. And if you feel any kind of discomfort and don’t want to go any further, I’ll stop.” You nod. “Yes Captain.”

He cups your cheeks and kisses you.

You melt right into him, and you know that this is exactly how it’s supposed to go.

Before you know it, he’s on top of you. He’s got you in his bed. It’s warm, he’s got soft sheets and it smells like cologne. You’re dazed, in a trance by his touch. You feel high off of him. All of this time you’ve waited and it’s finally happening.

He's gentle with you. Something you didn't entirely expect out of a man like Captain Price. He seemed so rough around the edges. He was usually a stern man.

Feeling that his rough hands could be so gentle, running over the most sensitive parts of you.

You'd seen him out on the field. You saw him earlier with Ryan. You knew how violent he could be. All the man really seemed to care about anymore was his task force. You happened to be on it.

"Deep breath for me okay? It's going to hurt."

You nodded your head. You were breathless as he laid over you. His bare stomach pressed to yours as he brushed his cock over your folds. Letting you feel him. He wants to keep you grounded. He doesn't want you to feel forced.

Your eyes are glossy as you look up at him. It eats him alive really, how much you trust him.

You were too trusting with him. He was nothing but a man, a man who you barely knew. Yet here you were. Exposing your most precious parts to him. For no good reason at all, other than the fact that you'd had a crush on him for a while. You were lucky that he was such a good and caring man. Because he would take care of you. He'd do his best to protect you. He always had anyways.

He pushes into you. Inch by agonizing inch, and the saddest part was it hurt nothing like when Ryan had hurt you. But that's how this was supposed to be.

That's why he's walking around with 3 holes in him.

"Look at me."

He grounds you again. He can tell your mind is wandering, and not to a good place. "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me a story." He forces you to focus on him. "Tell me about the day we first met."

While he's got you distracted, he's sliding in further.

"I- I was on a mission in Iran. Your force stopped at our base to rest for a couple of days." You freeze, closing your eyes.

He draws his hips back and thrusts back in. He'd successfully buried himself to the hilt and was going slow to keep you focused. "Laswell was walking to my superiors office and saw me inside. I was in the back doing paperwork, but earlier in the day s-she-" A moan leaves your lips as he thrusts in. "Keep going. Stay focused."

"She had seen me training a couple of new soldiers to our base. She thought t-that I would be a good fit for the task force, so she went to find you. She brought you back and when you walked in I-"

You gasp out. "I saw you- and than I met you. Found out who you were and you offered me a spot on the task force and I took it."

He chuckles. "Tell me darling. Did you take it because you wanted to be here or did you take it because of your crush on me?"

You smile wide, a grin on your lips that he hadn't seen from you before. Crimson rose on your cheeks.

"Naughty girl." He teases.

"You did so good. You feel me?"

Only now do you realize that he'd been freely thrusting himself inside of you, pain free.

"Holy sh-" Your eyes widen slightly, seeing your body take him. "You're doing so good. Not even bleeding darling." He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. "I knew you were a good fit. You didn't mind doing paperwork. I didn't expect you to follow orders as well as you have. That's your best quality." He smirks.

He lowers himself into you. His body weight completely on yours. Your bare chest presses to his and for a moment it feels like he's trying to suffocate you but he's trying to keep you focused. He's starting to overwhelm you. He uses his right hand to move your hair out of your face, kissing you again.

You close your eyes tightly, trying to keep quiet.

You've got a knot forming in your stomach and you know what it is.

You tilt your head, whining out. "Do you trust me?" He asks. You nod your head.

He presses his hand against your mouth. He's testing you.

He knows you're getting close, he can't deny the fact that he is getting close too. You're wrapped perfectly around him, milking him for all he's worth. You're so tight on him.

You stay relaxed and he's impressed. He knows that you trust him which is what he wanted. He wanted you to stay focused enough on him that the event of the night before would be washed away to the back of your mind while he took your virginity.

You cry into his hand when you reach your peak. Your chest heaves as you take in air like it's limited. He grits his teeth and buries his face into the crook of your neck as he finishes inside of you. The way he sounds is intense.

When he pulls his hand away, you take in a deep breath.

"You alright?" He draws away. You nod your head, still panting. "Your lips are flushed. It's pretty. Like cherries." He smiles. You turn away from him. Already intimidated by him enough.

"It'll get better. The more we do it." He breathes.

"So there will be a next time?" You smile. Cheeks pink.

"If you think you aren't mine after this, you're mistaken."

"Was hoping you'd say that, sir."

———

You make your way down the hallway, head held high. Like you hadn’t taken a beating or shot one of your own the day before. You walk into the mess hall and go right for the coffee. Everyone goes quiet. “Uh.. hey!” Gaz smiles. You turn and smile at him. “Hi.”

“You’re up early.” He mumbles. “Nah, got watch in like… ten minutes.” You look down at your watch.

“What? Y/N, I’ve got your watch covered. No worries.”

You laugh. “I got punched in the face, not shot. I’ll be fine Gaz.” You walk out of the room, everyone exchanges a glance. They don't know the real reason you're in such a good mood.

“She’s one tough girl I’ll tell you.” Ghost mumbles. “Yeah she is, sometimes too tough for her own good.” Soap sighs.

“Wonder what Cap told her about Ryan.” Gaz mumbles.

“Probably some story about him being alive and well.” Soap mumbles.

“Yeah, he might’ve been. Had Ghost not finished the job.” Gaz laughs.

Simon rolls his eyes. “I like Y/N. She’s a good girl. And I don’t like rapists. So.. now we’ve got one less to worry about in the world.” He continues eating his breakfast like nothing has happened.

You stay in the unknown. They think that's the perfect place for you. At least for now.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How To Plant Snapdragons | 17

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / Discord

You jumped off the back of the pick-up, scanning the place where Ghost guided Hesh to drive. You reached your clenched fist skyward, groaning as you heard your bones pop. “A great driver, you are,” you mumbled, glancing at Hesh who was already flipping his middle finger at you. You grimaced at him not bothering to say a word anymore that might make Keegan combust any minute now. You followed behind Soap and Ghost, while the Americans walked at your your back.

“Where are we?” Soap questioned, looking from left to right. Whereas, you slowly turned yourself a three hundred and sixty degrees, before settling your eyes upon the house before you.

“Alejandro’s safehouse,” Ghost claimed. “He gave me the location just in case.”

Soap frowned at him just as you looked at the Lieutenant. “Why didn’t he tell me or Shampoo?”

You frowned at Soap, taken aback by the sudden call sign, and heard a snort behind you. No doubt, it was Hesh. You raised a middle finger over your shoulder.

Ghost turned his head to the side, and muffled a cough, before facing ahead. “It was a need to know.”

“What if I and she needed to know—”

“I’m a criminal, Mactavish,” you talked over Soap, walking faster to walk beside him.

He looked down on you, raising a brow. “So, what’s that—”

Ghost hushed him and slowed down on his tracks as the group approached the house. He looked down at the planks of metal underneath your feet. As just the members of Task Force 141 got into a conversation about it, calling Alejandro a ‘smart bastard’, you turned to the side, once again taking in the entirety of the house’s outside look. Enough to hold an armory, several vehicles, and dozens of soldiers. Logan followed close to you and pointed at the opened window. Meanwhile, Keegan and Hesh walked to the other side, eyeing the empty land across.

You snapped you fingers, successfully gaining the attention of the group, and nodded at the window that your brother pointed at. You climbed over it before anyone could stop you and aimed your gun forward, scanning for any hostile. You waited for Logan to come right after you until a red line came across your sight, and a gruff voice instead came to your ears. “Don’t move.”

Ghost launched a knife at the root of the laser, but hit a wooden pillar instead. The person hit behind it and you lunged forward, grabbing the person out of the shadows. The person grunted as he hit the ground and you placed the muzzle of the gun on his forehead, then you took in his features. “Rodolfo?”

“Mierda, Snapdragon,” Rodolfo breathed out as you moved away from him, letting the gun loose from your grip in relief.

(Shit)

You raised a hand, watching him stand up on his feet. “Lo siento, hermano,” you flashed a small smile, beating yourself up inside your mind and feeling guilty that you forgot about him. Your mind had only been going around Keegan and the Walkers, the 141, and how to fucking survive from the Shadows.

(I’m sorry, brother)

“Rodolfo!” Soap marched forward, his arms wide, and pulled the Mexican into a hug.

“Soap,” Rudy exclaimed, delight evident in his voice, and even smiled as he saw the Lieutenant. “Ghost! You guys are alive!”

You raised a finger, about to comment about him not being happy to see you, but quickly put your hand down. Once again, you beat yourself up in your brain, having the audacity to even think of that when you tried to kill him just now. You turned back to the window, motioning at Logan to follow in. He in return gestured at his fellow Ghosts.

“Who are they?” Rodolfo questioned, cautiously eyeing the other three who just stepped inside the safehouse as he pulled out Ghost’s knife from the pillar.

“Allies,” Soap immediately answered.

Yet, Rodolfo still narrowed his eyes at the Ghosts. “Allies? The Shadows were like that, too.”

You moved in front of the Walkers and Russ, waving a hand at them to stop in their tracks and speak of nothing. Meanwhile, you merely kept the smile you were showing the Mexican, and let the 141 do the speaking, considering they were the ones Rodolfo was putting his trust on at the moment.

“Snapdragon’s friends subdued the Shadows on our behalf, and helped us get around the town,” Ghost claimed, glancing at the masked men and you. “For now, General Shepherd and anyone outside this place is considered hostile.”

At this, you stepped forward, raising a hand. “Herschel is a no-go, more than half of the Shadow Company is his men,” you told them, making the lots focus their eyes on you. “I can vouch for Kate to be on our side. She’s the one who helped me uncover the tracks of Shepherd hiring mercenaries and planting them as Shadows in Graves’ company.” You came to a quick stop and kept a stoic face. Whilst you screamed in your mind, as Soap and Rodolfo’s eyes narrowed at you.

You shouldn't have said that.

The urge to smash your head against a wall had come to the maximum once again.

“How long have you known about that?” Rodolfo questioned, gaze becoming intense as time goes.

“Not for—”

“Not for long,” Ghost finished, meeting your eyes and holding it for a second, before he averted to to the Mexican and continued. “She had recently joined the Task Force 141, too. She was in the Shadow Company, before going under Laswell’s custody, then the team.”

You watched him take a deep breath, warmth blooming in your chest. You raked your eyes over his body, imagining yourself kissing every inch of him as thanks for an answer. But you quickly brushed it off, feeling something on your back—the warmth of a hand against the chill of your clothes—and swallowed.

God, Keegan.

“During that, she had been talking with Captain Price and Laswell about Shepherd’s plan,” Ghost took his eyes back at you, but again, he quickly shifted them back to Rudy. “Price had told me about it, and I told Alejandro. He told me about this safehouse in return.” This time, his gaze settled on you, and gave a curt nod.

Fuck, a threesome sandwich with Ghost and Keegan, then. With the masks and gears on. No lube, no protection, in the barracks, Price’s desk, on his couch, the bathroom, the hallway, at the back of the pick-up truck, in Alejandro’s safehouse—

You ran your tongue over across your lips and smacked them.  “Given that the Shadows might turn against and outnumber us, I called my friends over.” You moved out of the way of the Ghosts and gestured at them with a smile.

Hesh nodded at Rodolfo, but the other two remained silent.

After some quietness and pondering, Rodolfo spoke. “ I see.” Then, his eyes locked onto you, making all of them shift in your direction once again. “What about Graves?”

You sighed. “Him, I’m still partial. But—” You crossed your arms. “I plan to take him back.” You waved a hand. “Well, more than anything, we need Alejandro back.”

With that, Rodolfo finally gave some approval to you, nodding, before he turned away. “Come.”

You patted Ghost’s shoulder—a silent thanks—and as though a welcome, he tapped your head once again with his clenched fist. You glanced over to the other three behind your back and nodded, thinking of how to introduce the Ghost to the Ghosts. Well, it should be good.

Ahead, Rodolfo tapped open a lamp, revealing a wooden desk with a map laid out. It seemed he was already planning on his own before the lots of you came. To smoothen the paper, he put some bullets over, which were also acting as legends to determine people or places. “The Shadows is holding him here. The rest of the Vaqueros are in there too.”

You scanned the map as all of you took places around the table and raised both of your brows as you noticed the familiar layout. “Oh, shit.” You couldn’t help but grin. “I know this place.” You looked up from the map, running your eyes across their questioning ones. “I’ve told you guys I’ve been to Mexico, right?” you motioned at the 141 and the Mexican.

“You said two years ago,” Soap reminded, his lips pouting a bit out of curiosity.

“Yeah, I was with them.” You pointed a thumb at the Ghosts.

“Good times,” Hesh commented, flashing a smile at them.

“Exhausting,” Keegan refuted, glancing at the younger man.

You raised your index finger. “Both. But I’ve also been here with Graves, at that black site prison.” You tapped on the map.

“For what?” Keegan queried in an instant and your face whipped at him with furrowing brows.

“For a mission,” you grimaced at him, “duh.”

He raised a brow under his mask. “Uh-huh.”

You painted a scowl on your face. “What the fuck are you into—I have fucking standards! I wouldn’t have liked you even when you’re always ‘Snapdragon, don't do  this, Snapdragon, don't do that’!” You pointed in one direction, then another. “I swear to God, you’re more of a nagger than Merrick! And Graves?” You faked out a barf. “Yuck! Argh! Just thinking about it brings me back to the feeling of having maggots crawl on my skin like when we accidentally crawled on a fucking dead warthog in the Savannah, full of vermins and other organisms that should be extinct in the crust of the Earth, or when that fellow inmate of mine wiped her poop on the cubicle before I went to take shit just to spite me—do you even know how disgusting that is? Lord! Then, she did it again, so I fucking stabbed her with the toothbrush I sharpened on the fucking wall of the cell. The only time I was goddamn thankful to Graves that he pulled me out of the fucking prison Shepherd put me in was because I was finally out of that shithole worse than Hell! I swear my father isn’t experiencing that in the Gulag—”

“So you were saying?” Ghost questioned, making your mouth come to a sudden halt.

You scanned the room and pushed your lips together in a thin line. Soap’s expression was in the middle of confusion and concern, just as the same as Rofolfo who had already taken a step away from the table. You sighed. “I yapped again, didn’t I?”

Hesh raised a hand, slightly motioning at Rudy. “I apologize on her behalf.”

“Sorry,” Logan mumbled, giving a curt nod at the Mexican.

You nodded at him as well. “Yeah, sorry.” You coughed on your fist and continued, tapping on the map. “Anyways, the prison is outside of Las Almas, in a remote area. I think I’ve heard it previously had good security until the Narcos—was it Narcos?” You looked over at Rodolfo, who gave a quick nod of approval. “Then, it was permanently closed. Around eight months ago, Graves bought it—illegally, of course, and he brought me along with some other Shadows to look over it. He knew I was good at figuring out structures of buildings and possible hidden routes, picking locks. Unless he developed it without me knowing, there shouldn’t be any difference between the map we have now from the actual place. Well, now to planning on how to break in . . .”

Ghost and Rodolfo had begun to discuss the plan with the rest of you. There were some times you suggested a different route, which they agreed on. Hesh had asked some questions that Soap quickly answered, seemingly already friendly with one another. Whereas Keegan and Logan remained silent the whole time, curtly nodding in agreement with the plan. Then the group questioned what you planned to do about Graves, you spoke out your part, which they hesitantly accepted, but became part of the action. You smiled at the men’s interactions, taking you back to the time you would always discuss the plan with the Ghosts.

“So, we good?” You raised a thumb.

Rodolfo nodded. “Seems good, and a good time for late introductions.” He extended a hand to Hesh. “Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. Second-in-Command of the Los Vaqueros.”

“Lieutenant David Walker.” Your brother took the Mexican’s hand, giving it a shake. “You can call me Hesh. And this is my younger brother, Logan. A Sergeant.” He motioned at the man beside him, who took off his mask. Hesh let go of Rudy and let Logan shake hands with him next. Then, he pointed at you. “Adopted sister. Found her around four years ago, like a stray cat on the sewers—”

“Shut the fuck up, sunuvabeetch,” you rapped at him.

But he ignored your words and patted Keegan’s shoulder. “Sergeant Keegan P. Russ.”

“I can introduce myself,” Keegan rolled his eyes and extended a hand at Rudy, nodding. “At your service.”

“So, you’re a Lieutenant,” Soap smiled widely, placing a hand on Hesh’s shoulder and reaching a hand at him. Hesh dapped it and they pulled one another close as though they were long-time friends, patting each other’s back. “Sergeant Johnny Mactavish. Call me Soap.”

“Aha!” David pointed at him as they moved away from each other, then at you. “That’s why you’re called Shampoo!”

You sighed. “Shut up.”

“No.” With that, he turned Soap away from you. “I saw all of that earlier, you know? The kiss, the way you look. I say,” he patted his back again while nodding, “start questioning your preference. She’s a gorilla on the loose—”

“I heard that!” You yelled. “Shut the hell—”

He immediately turned to you. “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you have anything better to say?”

You gasped at him. “Bitch!”

Yet, he ignored you turning back to Soap. “But I don’t mind another brother-in-law? Logan!” He turned to his brother. “Do you mind?”

“Another?” Soap echoed the only word that went through his ears.

Logan shook his head.

“What the actual fuck?” You mumbled, watching Logan approach Soap as well. He might be quiet, but he was as much of a gremlin as his older brother. 

“Y’lots are siblings, alright,” Ghost commented, standing beside you with crossed arms.

You were about to answer, raising a finger to make a point, but Keegan, on your other side, was faster. “Tell me about it.”

You put down your arm. Well, this could work as a temporary Ghost-Keegan sandwich. You cleared your throat and looked up at the two of them, eyes going back and forth between the two. You watched them share a glance and then gaze down at you. You swallowed, your heart slightly running faster—heck, skipping at this point like a jolly little kid. “Well,” you began. “Lt., meet Keegan. Keegan, meet Ghost—oh shit, wait!” You grabbed the two of them. “This is where it gets good!” You dragged them towards the Walkers warning the McRooster about you, and somehow they had pulled Rudy with them, who was shaking his head so hard. “Guys!”

They turned to you.

“Okay, Ghost.” You pointed at Simon as you formed a circle with them. “Meet the Ghosts.” You gestured both of your hands to the Walkers and Russ, and he looked over the three. “And you Ghosts, plural, meet the Lt. Ghost, Singular. Well, I guess you guys are native English speakers—oh, wait!” You pointed at the singular again. “British. Bo'ohw'o'wo'er.” Then, you motioned at the plurals, and you heard Soap snort a laugh. “Americans. What the fuck is kilometer.” You raised both thumbs and flashed them a wide grin, before covering your mouth, holding back the cackle threatening to escape from you.

Soap turned away from the circle, his body trembling, trying to stop himself from laughing. “Oh, good lord.” He wiped his face down with his hand and settled it down on his mouth, muffling another snort. Because of him, Hesh had turned away as well.

“So, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost?” Rudy pointed at each of them, then you. “And you?”

“Ghost.” You copied his movements. “Ghost, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost.”

“Spider-man meme,” Logan croaked, pointing at you.

You pointed both fingers at him. “Spider-man meme!”

“Ay, fantasmas,” Rodolfo breathed out and walked away.

(Ghosts)

“Bloody Hell,” Simon grumbled and turned away, following the Mexican. Keegan shook his head at the rest of you and followed behind the Lt.

Soap and Hesh finally burst into a fit of laughter.

“Wait, wait!” You chased after the three. “What do you call ghosts’ favorite dessert? Ice Scream! GYAHAHAHAHA!”

“I’ll go first,” Keegan said, jumping down the hatch and holding onto the ladder.

“So you can admire my ass when I go down?” you questioned, watching him roll his eyes and slide down.

He hit the bottom with a soft thud. “My ass is better than yours.”

You scoffed, following the rest of them who had already gone down, leaving Rodolfo behind to watch out. You carefully landed, walking behind him, and mumbled, “I’m not even offended at this point.”

You whipped your head up to see if Rodolfo was getting down as well but staggered on your feet. Suddenly, the world seemed to have rotated, dots of black scattered on your sight, and a pang of pain hit your head like a bat. Chills went down your spine, sweat quickly formed thick on your skin. You stopped in your tracks, blinking the dimness in your eyes away that wasn’t the work of the room, and let out a shaky breath. You clenched and relaxed your fists.

Fuck.

Then, Hesh’s voice echoed in your ears—a bit muted—but you managed to take in some words, about you loving Keegan’s ass. It sounded more like a complaint than anything. Well, if he had a girlfriend and would yap at you and Logan about the girl just as much as you yapped at the Walkers about Keegan and your fictional husbands, you would also want to rip our ears out and stuff them in his mouth to make him shut up.

Then again, Hesh was more of a devoted son and older brother than a person who would want a lover. But you couldn’t deny when you went with him and the rest of the Ghosts in pubs, the ladies loved him and Kick. You didn’t bother replying to him as Simon announced that he found the security building ahead.

Keep your head yapping. Keep it running.

The group slipped out of the watch tower, blending in the night, as phantoms would do, and as though with padded feet like cats, you positioned yourselves outside the metal door of the security room.

“Two inside,” Soap claimed. “Use short-range weapons.”

“Walkers,” Keegan demanded, nodding at the brothers.

Without a word, they carefully slipped inside and shot both Shadows through their heads in perfect sync. A fucking sight to see all the time.

You whistled and stepped inside the room, then grimaced at the scent of cigarettes sneaking up to your nostril. “God, cancer sticks,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose and stopping yourself from inhaling as you took position before one of the laptops on the table. But with the colorful keyboard shining before you, you squinted your eyes and inhaled loudly. “RGB? In a prison?” You wiped the blood that splattered on the screen and glanced down at the corpses by your feet, creating little lakes of blood. Letting the curiosity beat you, you reached down on them, turning their bodies to look for their badges. You clicked your tongue when you read their call signs. Not the one who shot you.

“Know them?” Ghost asked, taking the place beside you.

You shook your head. “No.” You patted their pockets, felt some flat yet bulky objects in, and fished them out. You stashed them under your vest.

“Wallets, what are you going to do with them?” he asked as Soap and Rodolfo tapped into the cameras and took their seats before the laptops, ready to guide the way in. Logan also volunteered during the planning to stay with them and help with the computers, given that Kick had taught him well during break times with the Ghosts.

“You’ll know,” you mumbled under your breath and stepped out of the room, not able to take the smell of the room anymore. You didn’t know how these men could. You took a deep breath, glad for the fresh air aside from the subtle scent of rust and blood lingering, and awaited at the gate for Hesh, Russ, and Riley to follow you out. Once they did, Ghost cut off the lock and moved out of the way as he pushed the gate open, gesturing to you to come in first.

You nodded at him and padded towards a huge crate, peeking around its corner. You spotted one shadow beside a truck ahead, but in your ears, Soap announced there were two—the other was hidden behind the open doors of the vehicle. You signed at Ghost who was behind you, and you both sneaked towards the truck. You struck the knife down the Shadow’s throat and covered his mouth to muffle his noises, which soon died down as his body went limp.

You grunted at the sudden weight but managed to put the man down carefully to avoid unnecessary sounds. You frowned at yourself. Your hands were sweating and shaking under your gloves, and you clenched around your gun to steady them. You rushed after Ghost, and with Soap and Rudy looking out for the Shadows in the cameras, you and the boys got to work on wiping them out.

They didn’t need a burden now. You could not be. You needed to keep proving yourself, to keep their trust running to help you. To keep yourself from getting killed. To keep you safe from your father. To help you put him under the ground.

But what if, this whole thing, you were the one putting them in danger instead? Should you have been honest from the start? No, you tried that with Shepherd, knowing his history with your father, but drew blood out of you instead. What about John? Did he really believe you or was that just an act? Did he truly tell Ghost or was it a lie to keep Rodolfo off your back?

Fuck, were you even doing the right thing? Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Damn it. How would you keep them safe—the Task Force and the Ghosts—while asking for their help, when you couldn’t even keep helping yourself and keeping yourself safe from you?

“. . . gon . . . dragon . . . Snapdragon! Walker Four!”

Someone shook you and smacked the back of your head, making the pain in your head come back with a throb. You gazed up at the assaulter and found a pair of sage eyes frowning down at you.

“What the fuck?” You croaked, but more to yourself than to him. You turned away from your brother, patting his arm off. “What the fuck.”

“Oh, see, she's gone mad, she's becoming a parrot—ow!” Hesh yelped and rubbed the back of his head where Keegan struck him.

Once again, you repeated the same words, eyes scanning the surroundings once again, and noticed that you had subconsciously followed them to the entrance of the main prison. You glanced down at your hands, slick with blood and sweat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Keep your mind running. Keep it focused. Not go spiraling in your thoughts that you would become a fucking machine to kill people!

You weren't a tool.

You weren't a weapon.

You approached the group and noticed Rodolfo and Soap had already joined. When? You didn't know. God, where had your mind run off to? Just as Ghost voiced out his command, you flung your palm to your cheek, hard and loud, making him stop instantly. All of them stared at you as though you pointed a gun at yourself.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, ignoring the throbbing pain on your head—not from David's hit but something else—the chill you were feeling, the sting on your shoulder, and now the ache you inflicted upon yourself.

“Stay frosty,” he demanded and bashed his hand against the metal door.

You nodded and aimed at the door as it opened, blasting the head of the Shadow that peeked through the crack. The group rushed inside in a hurry and as soon as you all turned to the corner, echoes of guns filled the air. You threw out a grenade, breathing heavily, and aimed ahead.

You fired several rounds and slid behind crates, looking out for the enemies of the second deck. You ducked your head as bullets rushed towards you, hitting the walls and crates. Then, you saw Keegan rushing ahead, with perfect timing as he slid into the open space, he shot down several men with minimal waste. With that, the Walkers followed through, creating a path for the 141 and Rudy.

You got off behind the crates and aimed at the men emerging from the upper level. You waited for more as the others ascended the stairs and no one came. You trailed after them, but as though your feet had stuck on the floor—became heavy and hard to move, you tripped on the flight of stairs. Yet, before you hit the corners, a hand grabbed your arm, pulling you upright. You peered at Logan, brown eyes squinting at your face, concern evident in their dark colors.

“Are you? . . .” he started, and oh, God, you knew if he started asking how anyone was, it was obvious that a person wasn't in good status.

You shook your head, hearing Hesh call at the both of you in the middle of the staircase, knowing the conversation happening between the both of you. Goddamn, you couldn't hide anything from these two. “Don't tell anyone,” you told the younger Walker and continued to climb up the stairs.

Several gunshots rang, then thuds, and you found the group in a room. Ghost took position before a metal door and took his tool out, easily cutting the lock off. Soap rushed in and a familiar shout came inside the room along with the Sergeant.

Rudy had also stepped in and you watched him grab Alejandro away from Soap, calming him down just as the Colonel recognized the Scot.

“Sup,” you waved a hand at the Colonel as he stepped out of his confinement.

“Snapdragon,” he nodded at you, then frowned at the unfamiliar faces in the room. “What do we have here?”

“Allies,” Rodolfo answered, giving you a nod as well. “Her friends.”

“I see,” Alejandro extended a hand to you, which you shook. “Gracias, Hermana.”

“Anytime, sir.” You smiled at him, but glanced to the side, looking at the several doors in the hallway ahead. “Where's Graves?”

“He's here.” Rodolfo gestured at the door across Alejandro's prison.

“You go in for him,” Ghost ordered

You nodded and gazed over your shoulder, raising a hand at the Ghosts. You knew, they knew what had happened between you and Graves—putting you in prison on behalf of Shepherd only to pull you out and make you one of his mercenaries. Considering that, the moment they see the Shadow himself, they might empty their magazine on him till Phillip becomes unrecognizable. They remained silent and you turned back to Simon.

Ghost positioned the tool on the lock and with much ease, he snapped it off.

You pulled the door open and whipped your eyes to the wall on the side where Graves pushed himself off.

“Snapdra—”

You wrapped your hands around his throat and squeezed, slamming him against the wall where he came from. “Motherfucker! Bastard! Fool, this is why I told you to watch your fucking back from Shepherd! AAAAAAAAAAA—”

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / Discord

Taglist: @yyiikes @the-faceless-bride @cassiecasluciluce @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1 @thriving-n-jiving @squidalapobre @tallicaside @eustassh

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[lyeofhell]

you know John’s petty as hell. like no one that controlling and obsessed with caretaking is normal. if you unbuckle your own seatbelt and open your own door before he can jump outta the driver’s seat and do it, he’ll run around the car and shut the door back in your face just so he can open it for you djskdskd

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[codnasties]

size kink w/price 🚬 (🌽 link)

john price is big, like have you seen the man? he's tall, beefy, and covered in powerful muscles built from years in the military, strong arms and thick thighs. huge overall. and small you, little thing, doesn't even matter if you are tall or short, skinny or chubby, because anything compared to him is small, you don't stand a chance against him and his strength.

he doesn't realise at first, but there's certain things that make him feel strong and powerfull compared to you and like he needs to protect you: standing behind you in the kitchen to grab something you were trying to get from the top shelf, how big his hand is compared to yours or how small you look in his shirts.

and oh those shirts are the worst ones, they completely dwarf you and just show his sheer size. let's say that was the full awakening for his size kink and the last straw for him, after that he just manhandled you, threw you over his shoulder and carried you to the bedroom.

once he had you in bed he just lifted that shirt to expose the lace panties you were wearing underneath, pulled those to the side, while laying one of his strong arms next to your head, supporting himself and fully engulfing your small frame under his, and dipped his fingers into your already wet middle.

and since he you were already wet and ready to take him, he just pushed himself into you, feeling your tight walls trying to fit his cock while also seeing it in your lower stomach once he was balls deep.

god does he love to rearrange your fucking insides.

[pricesprincess]

smut mdni | part two

trying not to become a flustered mess when you catch john in your dads kitchen after you two hooked up on the couch the night before.

john had come to town due to work and stayed at your old home to save some cash and you wanted to visit your father, you just had no idea how the first night would end after the introduction.

it was all sly looks and lingering touches, something about the man was captivating, and when he pulled your panties off oh so slowly as his eyes took in your glistening cunt you could've died on the spot.

he was by far the best dick you've ever had and never have you ever tapped out getting fucked before but with john you did, twice.

it was clear he ate pussy for himself, and of course, he loved hearing you whimper when his beard scratched at your plush thighs before his tongue was rimming the slick entrance to your heat.

"good mornin' love." his voice was rough and tinged with sleep making it deeper and that only made you think of how good he fucked you with slow and deep thrusts that had you crying.

all you could do was nod at him with a soft smile unsure what to say but you were glad that your dad had come downstairs to save you from saying something stupid or begging john for round two.

the men started in on a conversation while you prepared breakfast unable to keep your eyes off john. "your wife still doing ok?" your dad asked unknowingly dropping a bomb on you as you frowned.

his wife?

[dumbbitchgalore]

Old Man!Price calling his young wife 'bunny' because she's so energetic and always wanting to him to fuck her into oblivion which just fuels her breeding kink even more.

[writersdrug]

PLEASE

Price falling asleep in a chair at the store while you pick out a dress for a bridal shower. He looks stiff and uncomfortable, but he's sawing logs peacefully (well, peaceful for him, anyways), holding a bag with the shoes you just bought, squeezing it tight to his chest like a pillow. Wakes up with a snort when you find him and gently shake his shoulder: "Good grief, John, I thought they were doing construction over here."

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (141 x fem!reader, live together)

Beside you, Kyle is the first to wake up in the morning. He’ll pad towards the kitchen, enjoying the sight of you making your morning drink silently, before moving to stand right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds he bulge lazily against your ass. He just wants to feel your warmth, how nice your soft flesh press against his cock.

“Just want to feel you, baby. It’s so cold out here.” He’ll unabashedly slip his hands under your pajamas shirt, kneading your breasts and tugging at those sensitive buds, forcing you to stop brewing your drink because you might spill the liquid.

Kyle just want to get an orgasm from you, a gift for you two morning birds, he claims before succumbing to sleepiness and tuck himself back under the duvet, fully content with being the first man making you come undone everyday, and sleeps in 5 more minutes.

You know Johnny will drag you into the shower with him whenever he comes back from his morning jog. You chide him before he engulfs you in his embrace, lightheartedly calling him a stinky man and shush him to go shower first.

So his solution is hug you despite your protest, then pull you inside the bathroom together, stripping off your pajamas and his sports wear impatiently before jumping into the shower with you.

“We’re both stinky now, jus’ thought ye might need a shower too.” Johnny grins when you glare at him, shamelessly pretends he’s just ‘looking out for ye’ while his hands traveling across your body, groping and preparing you for his cock with his hard dick prodding at the small of your back. He’ll never hurt you, but as soon as you’re wet enough for his girthy shaft, he’ll pick you up, stretching you deeply and completely with the help of your weight, groans and growls at how good you are, how your precious pussy takes him so good, ignoring Ghost’s noise complaint coming from the other side of the bathroom door as he fucks you fast and feral, making you unable to care about suppressing your moans and cling onto him, let him keep scooping you in his arms and thrust into you till he empty his balls in your good little cunt.

Finally getting Kyle and Johnny pass out from the alcohol, John and Simon manhandle them back to the bedroom before entering the living room again. 00:13, a glance at the clock telling you it’s late in the night, but it’s just the start for the three of you. Retrieving a bottle of fine rum, John seats you between him and Simon, thighs touching with theirs as you all sip on the wine and chat quietly. “The boys will chug the rum like it’s some cheap beer, they can settle with those just fine.” John chuckles lowly and comments on the awful taste and drinking habit of Kyle and Johnny.

“Those bonkers will stick to your side the whole day and complain if they find out, old man.” Simon chimes in after huffing out a laugh at John’s words.

You snicker along with them, feeling fully content and relaxed with squished between two of your lovers, joking about the other two men you loved while the rum flows smoothly down your throat. Soon your composure slips after few nips of the wine, whining cute and groggily as Simon ravish in the kiss with you, tongues dance and tangle with each other in a slow pace, let him drink down all your syrupy moans and coos in rare gentleness, so John can slickens up your pussy with his lips and your juices, making sure you can accommodate their fat cocks later, and you can’t expect or plead him to sink his cock into you already until him and Simon can see your juices dripping down your soaked folds, praying them to fill you up.

The two men will treat you so well, worshipping their dearest girl in the world. Simon’s fingers and lips are always on you when John squeeze his fat tip into your entrance, gliding in and out slowly and heavily, so all those spongy spots of yours that can make you chant his name like a mantra aren’t missed out. When he put a load in you with a husky groan, passing you onto Simon’s lap and let you lean back on his chest, he’ll plant tiny kisses on your shoulder, murmur about how they love you—will protect you and keep you safe and sound—against your skin. Simon allows him to indulge in the heat and tightness of your pussy, grunting and praising you as he fuck John’s cum back inside you, making sure you take each drops of John’s seeds, like the reliable lieutenant he always is for his captain. The base of his length has formed a creamy froth the time he nips down slightly on your shoulder to muffle his moan, drenching your messy cunt with every bit of his release. “Atta girl.” His croon is added with John’s soothing voice “Yeah, been so good for us, princess.”

They both pick up the glass once again to finish the remaining rum, with you already drifting between your slumber and consciousness, listening to their small chatters as your own lullaby. You don’t know when they’ll finish drinking, or if one of them will nestle their cock inside your pussy again, just to feel your walls clenching down subconsciously, but you let yourself slip into a dream, because they’ll take good care of you, always do and always will.

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (Part 1)

Let's get this out of the way, the restaurant fucking sucks. Don't even know how it's still open. The food is terrible. The owner is an incompetent drunk who's never there. You got referred to the job from a friend of a friend. You did an interview with the head chef/manager, John. He hired you because you were hot.

"The fuckin ass on that one, huh?"

Just like any man that works in a restaurant, they're all horny fucks who love to tease you. You'd run back to the kitchen and ask to tweak an order. Price would wink and say:

"Next time it's gonna cost ya."

When it gets slow (which was all the time), you'd sit in the back and chat about how they met and what they did with their lives. They all get paid under the table for various reasons. Johnny takes smoke breaks with you, sometimes Price joins. Gaz pours shots for everyone after "busy" nights (busy meaning there was an hour where there were two tables to serve instead of one). Ghost... well he's strictly work. Sometimes he engages in banter with the guys, but he only acknowledges you when needed.

Your first month flies by, you basically get paid to sit around and talk with the most charming men on the planet, and Simon.

"He'll warm up eventually. Just gotta loosen 'em up, just like any tight ass."

Soap smirked as he leaned against a counter while everyone was wrapping up for the night.

"Don't you have dishes to put away?"

Ghost snapped while wiping down his station. At least he was nice to look at.

You and Gaz would roll up the forks and knives talking about bullshit, knees touching. Soap and you would light each others smokes by touching one lit end to the unlit one, all while still holding the cigarettes in your mouths (he called it a cigarette kiss). Price would constantly make food for you:

"Gotta plump you up 'fore it starts getting cold, yeah?"

He'd look you up and down while sliding you a basket of fries. And Simon? Cold as ever. Even when he started driving you to and from work because your car broke down. He drove like a madman, but it was totally silent. You made the mistake of reaching for the radio once, he gave a admonitory grunt and you snatched your hand away.

As time went on, you got comfortable with everyone and they got comfortable with you. It started with suggestive jokes.

"Simon's just straightforward, doesn't beat around the bush."

Price said one day while prepping vegetables with Ghost.

"What are you talking about? He beats around the bush all the time Price, you know that."

Soap walked by with a shit eating grin while he was carrying a bucket of dishes to the back. Uproar from the guys. Ghost storms off following Johnny, knife in hand. You want to stop him, but Gaz places a hand on your shoulder.

"Best not to do that, just let 'em settle that amongst themselves."

Johnny comes back disheveled, wearing a different shirt. Simon is stone faced as usual as he goes back to prep. It only got worse after that.

You'd watch as the boys messed with each other more; pats on the back, that turns to squeezes on the shoulders, that turned to slaps on the ass.

"They're just handsy," you think to yourself.

Eye contact that lingers for a second too long.

"They're just close friends," you think to yourself.

Compliments that boarder on harassment.

"They're just joking around," you think to yourself.

Then you entered the walk-in freezer, only to make direct eye contact with Johnny as he has Kyle's dick down his throat.

"Oh, uh-huh..." you think to yourself.

You didn't look at their faces for a week, they acted as if nothing happened. Then, the flirting only got worse.

"Behind!"

Price would yell while grinding up against Simon's ass when passing behind him.

"Yes, Chef."

He'd respond while he continued cooking, unfazed. They seemingly shared clothes: the younger guys preferred to don John and Simon's apparel all the time. You stopped going into the walk-in for a while, you figured you'd give Gaz and Soap some privacy (although they didn't seem to mind an audience). Christ, was everyone fucking everyone here?

You were taking a smoke break with Price when he leaned back on the railing and adjusted himself, it wasn't really adjusting himself as it was more him gripping his thick dick and looking directly into your eyes. You nearly choked as he smiled.

Ghost threw you a hoodie when he dropped you off one night. It started raining before you got home and you were complaining about just getting your hair done. You tried to give it back but he refused to take it.

"Keep it. I don't care about that one anyways."

He shrugged. You'd wear the oversized hoodie to bed, the smell was comforting. Smoky, dusty, boozy, like Javanese vetiver. It smelled like a grown man. Delicious. Accidentally wore it to work one day when you were in a rush getting ready. That started a trend for the rest of them to get you to wear their clothes. It less of a trend and more of a competition honestly. They'd "accidentally" spill drinks or food on you.

"No worries, I've got an extra shirt in my car!"

They'd have a wide, cheeky smile plastered on their faces while giving you their shirt. Of course, they wouldn't take them back either; so you had a growing collection of huge shirts that you'd wear around your apartment. Eventually, you had to go back to the walk-in. Thankfully, there were no exhibitionists present. You were reaching to grab some ketchup when the door opened. You and Johnny stared at each other for a long moment.

"Need help getting that, bonnie?"

Before you could respond he was reaching over you, pressing his chest on your back. He handed you the bottle while his dick grew hard on your ass. He was breathing hard in your ear, waiting for your reaction. You pushed back on him and that's all he needed, he gripped your hips and grinded into you. Even through your jeans you could feel his dick twitch when you moaned. It was a hot minute of panting while he pulled you back onto him desperately, like he was trying to fuck you right through the denim. The door handle clicked. You both froze, staring at the entryway.

"Johnny?"

Gaz's head popped in. Your face got hot while he stared back and forth at the two of you. One thing led to another, and your pants are around your ankles while Johnny is face first in your wet folds. Kyle is standing behind you, fucking your thighs and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck.

"Pretty doll, how long have ye bin waiting fur this, huh?"

Soap looked up at you with so much adoration, like he was servicing a goddess.

"Gonna cum Johnn-"

Gaz whimpered and bit your shoulder to muffle his groans as he came right between your thighs and cunt. Soap cleaned up the mess greedily, savouring the taste of both your juices. He didn't stop eating you out until you finished. Gaz held you up while your knees buckled when you came undone. Gentlemen they are, pulled up your pants for you and wiped the smeared lipgloss from your face. You stumbled out of the freezer, walking past the kitchen. Price's eyes crinkled as he saw you head out onto the floor.

~

"You shouldn't do that in there. It's unsanitary. And a health code violation."

Simon looked straight ahead as he weaved between cars. You opened your mouth, but no words came to mind, so you just nodded. Your leg bounced nervously. He grabbed your thigh, stopping the movement. His hand stayed there until you were in front of your place. You stared at him, his brown eyes boring into you.

"G'night."

He pulled his hand away, placing both of them on the steering wheel. You walked into your apartment, dizzy with confusion. "What the fuck is going on?"

[peachetteprice]

Jeweller!Price receives your engagement ring in the post, along with a candidly snapped Polaroid of how it used to fit on your finger, hand beside your face as one might show it to a best friend in a dimly lit Wetherspoons, squealing over its opulence and rarity.

Within the package, there's a note, explaining - in short - that after gaining baby weight and birthing your daughter, it no longer fits, and although you vetted it through your husband that you would fit it to a silver chain to wear around your neck, which he initially accepted, he simply won't stand for it any longer, for one poor reason or another.

The letter is sad. Sadder than Price might have imagined, littered with a thousand reasons to leave that limp-cocked (it's there, between the lines) excuse of a betrothed, that he understands you might not have meant to litter, but it exists there on the page regardless, beside the residual saline stains of your tears that you shed as you penned it.

Naturally, Price doesn't re-size the ring.

He leaves it as it is, mostly, though buffs the surface a little to dull the shine and engraves a microscopic, but fairly legible 'J.P' on the inside of the ring, then returns it to sender with a strongly-worded letter of recommendation, alongside a Poloroid of that pretty, wasted ring around the first knuckle of his pinky finger, as the rest of his fingers squeeze his thick cock, veins bulging and pulsing as if the picture were alive, dribbles of cum trickling along his inflamed head.

What a shame that your husband never manages to successfully trace your ring after it got 'lost in the post on its way back from the welder's'.

:(

Pt. 2

| Masterlist |