#scottish hard rock

[thefugitivesaint]

David Fairbrother-Roe (1945-2013) 'Nazareth - Hair of the Dog', 1975

[bbizbellsblog]

"To dream the impossible dream"

The sensational Alex Harvey: a cheeky, naughty boy who didn't want to grow up. A misunderstood musical genius ahead of his time. He almost made it to super stardom at the age of nearly 40 years old. Then everything crumbled and he silently fell into despair.  A true tragedy.

If it wasn't trough my researches on Bon Scott, i would have never heard his name. He seems forgotten by most execept those who were there at the time and experienced the magic. 

On stage, Alex was a character larger than life. Just like a twisted Peter Pan, with a sprinkle of fairy dust, he would take you into his magical world of pirates, gangsters,  super heroes and hoes. 

Alex was as a sexy little chonk of a man. No bigger than 5'3, he reminds me a lot of Joe Dalton of the Dalton brothers in Lucky Luke 😆.

He was so intense that his band mates were often terrified of him.

Alex Harvey opened my eyes to a world of possibilities with rock music that I had not even once conceived in my head.  The mix of theatrical, and decadent burlesque/vaudeville with heavy hard rock is absolutely incredible.

[djfrancuz]

Nazareth - Little Part Of You Live Mix #softrock #bluesrock #hardrock...

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Iron Claw - Strait Jacket

[metalsongoftheday]

Wednesday, November 8: Heavy Pettin', "Roll the Dice"

Shortly before they became arguably the first semi-noteworthy band to imitate Def Leppard’s blend of crunching guitars and glam rock hooks, Scotland’s Heavy Pettin’ was another New Wave of British Heavy Metal act putting out singles on Neat Records.  And that single was a corker: “Roll the Dice” was much more fast-paced and energetic than the High n’ Dry and Pyromania ripoffs they would soon roll out, though Steve “Hamie” Hayman’s yelping and yowling were always a goofy blend of Joe Elliott and David Lee Roth.  The music had similar traces of very early Leppard, but it was more like the hard rock wing of the NWOBHM done right, radiating the same simple joy in rocking out that defined the era.  These guys didn’t totally know what they wanted to be, and that ultimately did them in, but “Roll the Dice” was a really fun track.

[lisenberry]

Feral Friday 141 Thoughts     

NSFW/MDNI/18+    

When you really need to ride him...

...He’s sitting on the couch, watching the day’s match.  Knees spread wide and taking up half the cushions.  You’re cuddled under his arm with your feet tucked up, reading a book or a download on your phone.  It’s in the middle of a steamy scene in your latest bodice-ripper.  After chapters’ worth of fighting and resisting, the heroine is finally going to come all over the big mean villain’s engorged appendage.  

You’re so engrossed, you’re sure he can feel your breath change and your cheek heat up where it rests against his chest.  Can he sense your arousal as it dampens your knickers underneath the old, softened t-shirt you claimed from his bedroom floor the first time you slept over?

When the whistle sounds to end the half, you vaguely notice, until he stirs next to you. “Hey, babe?  We got any snacks?”

“Umm, I th-think so.”  You pull your attention away just in time to meet his eyes.  And he immediately knows. 

“Got yourself a good one there, do you?”  You’ve bitten your lips raw, you’re sweating, and your chest is nearly heaving with lust as you nod desperately.

“Do you mind if I take the edge off?”  You squeeze your thighs together and feel the slick dripping past the fabric.

“Your finger or mine?” he asks, keeping one eye on the telly and one on you as your maneuver out of your underwear.

“I’m going to need something a bit more this time,” you nearly whine as you launch onto his lap, careful not to headbutt his chin in your urgency.

GAZ – He doesn't miss a beat as you nestle your excited little pussy just over his cock.  He’s already rock-hard and it doesn’t take much to pull him out from the sweatpants he wears slung low on his hips.

“Take what you need, love.”  He smiles proudly as you drop down onto him, slipping and sliding on your own slick. 

And you do, pitching forward to settle him against the bundle of nerves deep in your belly.   He’s so long, he doesn’t just graze it, he impales it.  You swear he’s in your lungs, stealing your breath with each rise and fall.

He cheers you on the whole way. 

“Look at you bouncing so well on my cock...So pretty all flushed and sweaty...Fucking hot, you are.”

Your unfairly handsome, quick-tongued rake tenderly wipes the hair and perspiration from your face, and lets you use him until you're shattered and worn out. 

SOAP:  He lets you grind against him for a bit through his gym shorts, dick fully chubbed like the pommel of a saddle. 

“Please tell me it’s a Scottish highland warrior that’s got you so bothered, and not some prissy English lord.  You’ll hurt my feelings.”  He grins, his eyes already rolling back in his head at your steady stroking.

“Keep talking, Johnny.”  You hump against him faster, knowing the second you put him in, you’ll be done for.  A weeping, overstimulated mess before he even catches his stride.  His burly, veiny length has an upwards curve like he was molded and kiln-forged just to fit you. 

And he could go for hours if you didn’t wind him up good.  Tease him and test him, get his attention exactly where it needs to be.

“Let me suck on your tits, bonny lass.”  He deepens his brogue and his voice an octave as he tries not to laugh, while he strips your shirt off and buries his face into your bosom.

You are quite sure that the hot-headed highland scoundrel in your story didn’t use the word ‘tits’, but you let it slide.  The one between your thighs is everything you need, and more.

GHOST – He’s wearing jeans, so it’s a bit harder to get him free.  After you let out a frustrated huff at the complexity of his wardrobe, he cups you under your ass and stands you both up.  Undoing his belt buckle and the fly one-handed before setting you back down astride him again.

“Needy little dove today.”

“Just let me try, Si.”  You rarely ever ride him.  The few times you’ve attempted it, you give up when your thighs turn to mush and your cunt aches from being split in two.  He’s just too thick for a quickie.

“Are you going to let me help this time, or are you going to be stubborn?”

“Help!”  The strangled sound escapes your throat as you fit him in to the hilt.  He takes up so much space, you can’t tell where you end and he begins. 

“You’re fucking soaked.”  He rolls his hips to stretch you further, to find the right spot, as your slick trickles down to coat his balls.  You feel them wet and sticky against your seam.

“Mmmh-uhhh, that’s it.  Right there,” you bellow gratefully to the ceiling.

“What are you going to do about it?”  He grabs your hips rudely, fingers pressing to dimple the skin and hold you down as he spears your nerves like a spike.

You fight against his hold, knowing that’s what he's looking for.  Just a little fire in your belly, a little steel in your spine and your merciless, battle-scarred rogue will give you anything you want.

“That’s it, dovey.  Fuck me good.”

PRICE – He’s watching you with awe, wide-eyed and slack jawed, so immersed in the act of being milked by your warm, soft walls that he’s relinquished control completely.  You know that look too well.

“Do not come yet, John.  Please.  Think of bullets.  Hollow points and grenades.  A...ummm, a panzer!”  You’re almost there.  So...close your mind is just pulling words from memories of past conversations you were only barely listening to.

“A panzer?  Like the bloody old German tank?” he asks with the sort of clarity of mind you need of him in this situation.

“Yes, keep thinking of dusty relics rotting in museums.  While I ride your big, beautiful cock—”

“You’ve done it now.”  He groans, and you feel him stiffen inside you.  The sensation of it, coupled with the hot spurts of his spend hitting your most sensitive spot, get you there just in time to join him.

You don’t even mind that it was so quick.  It warms your heart, and your cunt, that the callous, domineering war hero falls to pieces so completely for no one but you.

[txttletale]

Due to the exciting successes of 'weird horror' and 'hopepunk', we're happy to announce a new slate of literary genres for release in Q3 2023. From now on you can expect to start seeing marketing TikToks and insufferable thinkpieces responding to marketing TikToks about:

Nicepunk

Eastern Orthodox Fantasy

Old Adult

Cosmic Horror But Without The Racist Parts

Yiffbong

Ahistorical Romance

Political Snoozer

Erotic Mystery

How Does This Have A Netflix Show It Just Came Out?

Mormon Realism

Dog Isekai

Shampoo Ad Novelization

Rock-hard SciFi

Smileglad

Nasty Fiction

Cosmic Horror But It's Only The Racist Parts

'The Scottish Genre'

Penis Books

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Ice Nine Kills - Welcome to Horrorwood 2021

The Silver Scream 2: Welcome to Horrorwood is the sixth studio album by the American heavy metal band Ice Nine Kills, released on October 15, 2021. It is a follow-up and sequel to the band's previous album, The Silver Scream, which was inspired by horror films. The album is also inspired by horror films, and as with the previous album, each of the videos are based on the films that the tracks were written about, while also having an overall story arc across the sequence of videos. It became the band's biggest commercial success, reaching number 18 on the US Billboard 200 and number one on the Hard Rock Albums chart.

In the UK, The Silver Scream 2: Welcome to Horrorwood was the band's second album to chart on the UK Rock & Metal Albums Chart following The Silver Scream, debuting at number 15. It was also the twelfth most downloaded album of the week in the country. When the album was released on physical formats in Europe, it resurfaced on the UK Rock & Metal Albums Chart and peaked at number 11 just missing out on the Top 10. While falling to chart on the UK Albums Chart, it did however debut and peak on the UK Albums Sales Chart and Scottish Albums Chart at number 54 and 70 respectively. It peaked on the UK Physical Albums Chart at number 51. The Silver Scream 2: Welcome to Horrorwood spent a total of three non-consectutive weeks on the UK Rock & Metal Albums Chart.

The music video for "Welcome to Horrorwood" is available here for those of you who have verified your ages on your Youtube accounts.

"Welcome to Horrorwood" received a total of 67,1% yes votes!

[drgnflyteabox]

Mdni 18 + no big warnings

Ghoap x reader thoughts... invading my brain...

Simon and Johnny who value their alone time together with you, who get back from deployment and immediately sequester you to a rocky hillside cottage where you can listen to the waves crash against the rocks..

Where you can watch them wrestle in the long grass, wet with dew but needing the roll around to get excess energy out..

Where you can take long, isolated hikes, blanketed by fog (no panties on for a wilderness fuck at the end)

Where you can cozy up in Simons thick knits and Johnny's worn sweatpants and read or fall asleep on them or be fed Johnny's signature Scottish beef stew :')

Where you can fuck until you're exhausted, pussy so oversensitive you keep your legs splayed wide open lest anything touch it again

Where you can watch them closely, Johnny on all fours on top of you, simon fucking him hard from behind. You're making out all sloppy, spit on your cheeks, exhausted tears burning at your eyes when he reaches down and tweaks your clit again

Arching against him, seeing simons hand on Johnny's nape and the other holding your ankle, keeping you in place while Johnny ruts his cock on your sore cunt

Sigh

[chaosbarelycontained]

The English Captain

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, 18+, sexual content, 2nd person, no use of y/n

Words: 5.3k

Synopsis: Life is hard in the Scottish Highlands in the 1740s. When your brother, Johnny, returns after a long absence with not one but three hated Englishmen with him your relief quickly turns to fury. You couldn’t have predicted how effortlessly they would fit into your lives, particularly the handsome Captain…

(puthair = sister, mo cridhe = my heart)

Hoisting the laundry basket onto your hip, you made your way out into the courtyard, rocking slightly to compensate for the extra weight. You may have been lady of the house but in the wild, unforgiving beauty of the Highlands, everyone pulled their weight. You weren’t one for sitting idle and, with your older brother vanished for nigh on two years now, you’d had to make sure that your land and people were well taken care of. Times were hard but you MacTavishes were made of sterner stuff.

There were already a row of sheets and blankets on the line, swaying gently in the fresh breeze. You dumped your burden on the floor at one end of the courtyard and bent to retrieve a chemise from the top of the basket but as you rose a figure caught your eye, standing at the gate in the back wall. You straightened, your brain not able to process what your eyes were telling you to be true. Sheets wafted in front of you, blocking your view, and you cursed, batting them out of the way with your hand. They tangled around your wrist and arm and you yanked hard, almost dislodging them from the line in your frustration. Finally you were freed and you whipped up your head to confirm what you thought must be your imagination, but no. Your eyes did not play tricks on you. There he stood, boyish grin causing the bright, cornflower blue of his eyes to twinkle.

“Johnny,” you whispered in disbelief before taking off across the courtyard and launching yourself into your brother’s arms.

His deep, joyful chuckles resonated in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up into the air, twirling you once before setting you back down onto the cobbled floor. You stepped back an inch or two, eyes raking over his tall frame - leaner now than when you last saw him. He sported an impressive growth of stubble which did little to hide the angry red scar that traced from his ear and along his jaw and it was the sight of it that reminded you of why he left.

Anger rose quick and hot within you and you pulled back your hand and gave him such a smack across his cheek that it echoed across the courtyard, bouncing off the grey stone walls of your family home. His head whipped to the side and he gripped his jaw, wiggling it back and forth a little, but he snorted out another laugh as he looked at you fondly. You stood before him, five and a half feet of unbridled fury, with your hands fisted on your hips in an effort not to hit him again.

“It’s good to see you too, puthair,” he chortled, reaching out to ruffle your hair but you smacked his hand away with huff.

“Two years, John MacTavish. Two years since you went off galavanting, looking for a fight, and narry a word since. And then you turn up again with all your smiles and laughter as if you’d never been away?” You leaned forward slightly, your finger jabbing in his chest to emphasise your anger. “Don’t think for one moment that you’re getting the laird’s chamber back from me, you can sleep in the damn stables for all I care - you smell like you belong there anyway!”

“Definitely a MacTavish,” came a voice from beyond the gate. An English voice.

“Oh, absolutely,” sounded a second, and there was a hum of agreement from yet another.

Your hand went to the small knife that hung from your belt as your eyes darted agitatedly to Johnny and then to the wall, as if trying to see through the stones. Your brother held up his hand placatingly, although he began to look a little sheepish.

“Before you start raising merry hell, puthair, just listen,” he began, in the tone you had long known to associate with some form of mischief.

You crossed your arms over your chest and raised your eyebrow scornfully, waiting for what would surely be one of your brother’s most colourful tales. Before he spoke he called over his shoulder, inviting the owners of the voices to step into the courtyard.

“Ach, you need back-up for this, aye?” You sniffed, resting your weight on one hip and tapping your foot impatiently.

“These men are the best I’ve ever met,” Johnny said confidently. “I would not be back here now if it weren’t for them. At the least I owe them my hospitality. Gentlemen, may I present my sister, Mistress Galbraith.”

You bobbed down automatically, the politics of being lady of the house winning the battle with your anger and frustration, but the sound of that name caused a pang of grief to well up inside you. It passed over your face like a dark cloud and of course your sharp-eyed brother noticed.

“Where is Angus?” He asked. “Is he away to the village? We did not pass him on the road.

“Angus is…gone,” you said, your chin raised in defiant strength against your grief. “He passed from a fever not two months after you left, Johnny.”

“Ach, no,” he responded sadly, wiping his hand down his face. “I am so sorry. He was a good man.”

“Aye, that he was,” you agreed, “and he didn’t shirk on his duty to our land and people. He treated them with a fair hand.”

Johnny had enough good grace to look embarrassed; he had never planned to be away so long, or for his now-deceased brother-in-law to pick up so much slack.

“We are sorry for your loss, Mistress Galbraith. I see that our arrival here is inopportune. My men and I will take our leave and find alternate lodgings elsewhere. We do not wish to cause any problems.” There was a rich timbre and genuine emotion to the words and you found yourself being drawn to the speaker.

He was tall, a couple of inches taller than your brother, and bore himself proudly. A beard graced his cheeks, with a fuller moustache, and he had kind eyes beneath his dark felted cap. You took in more of his countenance but hissed at the sight of the battered and torn coat that he wore, the redness of it showing distinctly through the grime of the road.

“You’re not just bringing Englishmen to my door, John MacTavish, you’re bringing red coats? Have you lost your mind? What if the militia pass by, hmm? Do you want us all to hang?”

“Puthair, I owe these men my life a hundred times over. I could do no less than offer them place to stay and the food off my table.”

“Your table? It’s yours now, is it? Fine,” you spat, turning on your heel and stalking off across the courtyard.

Halfway to the house you halted, having heard no indication of anyone following.

“Well?” You snapped over your shoulder. “Do you want feeding or not?” With a jerk of your head towards the house you resumed your journey, a hidden smirk on your face at the sounds of four men scrabbling to follow along behind you.

Hums and mumbles of appreciation spilled from hungry lips at the food you’d set before them in the kitchen. It wasn’t great fare at such a lack of notice - cold meats, cheese, and hunks of bread - but the men acted as if it were the first proper meal they’d had in weeks. As you looked more closely at them you began to suspect that was not too far from the truth.

Through mouthfuls of bread and ale, Johnny began to introduce the men proper. There was Sergeant Garrick, Lieutenant Riley, and then their red-coated Captain, John Price. He humbly scoffed away Johnny’s attempts at explaining their escapades, saying that your brother had a talent for over-embellishing a tale. Whilst you knew the latter to be a common occurrence, there was something in Johnny’s eyes that spoke the truth. These Englishmen had risked their lives to rescue your brother from Fort William and you were grateful enough not to question their reasons for turning coat on their own army.

“Alright then, gentlemen, you may as well stay,” you sighed, as if it were the world’s greatest burden. “We have rooms enough but you’ll work for your keep, mind.” You waved your bread knife at them but your amicable threat was dulled by the blush that rose in your cheeks at the sight of the Captain’s grateful smile.

One night turned into two, and then more, and the three Englishmen became a common sight around the house and its grounds. They were with Johnny more often than not, helping out wherever it was needed, and you began to appreciate the hum of conversation and low chuckles of laughter. Your home had been too quiet for too long.

Having had the burden of clearing the supper table taken from you by the often-brooding Lieutenant Riley, you found yourself alone in your small parlour, relishing the quiet of the evening. You selected a book from the small collection that had once belonged to your grandfather, the leather-binding soft with age, and settled yourself onto one of the comfortable, overstuffed couches. You read with a rare self-indulgence, taking sips of whisky from the glass you had poured, and sighed deeply in satisfaction. Your little haven of calm was not to be such for long, however, and you rose to your feet, book in hand, when the door opened and a figure stepped inside.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Madam,” the Captain said, quietly apologetic. “I thought the room empty.”

“You are not intruding, Captain,” you replied. “I was merely reading.”

“Milton, I see?” He asked.

“Aye, not bad…for an Englishman,” you replied with a teasing tone to your voice and Price responded with a gentle, self-deprecating smile.

“It must not be easy for you, having us here.”

“I find I have grown surprisingly accustomed to the company,” you said. “This house has been quiet for too long.” You did not mean to taint your words with sadness but the astute Captain noticed regardless.

“Still,” he said, “three foreigners do not make for the ideal houseguests. I will take my leave and allow you your peace.” He placed his hand on his chest and bowed then, about to turn and leave.

“You…you may stay, if you wish,” you rushed out, making him pause. “It seems you know this book and it would be nice to have someone to discourse with. There is whisky in the cabinet too, Captain, if you would care for a dram?”

Price looked at you for a moment, as if he were searching for something, and then nodded brusquely, pouring himself a glass of Ferintosh. He took a seat at the other end of the couch that you occupied, angled to face you, and sipped from his glass with an appreciative hum.

“Considering recent events, I do not think I am able to wear the mantle of Captain,” he said with a wry smile.

“I may not care for the English,” you begin, your answering smile taking the sting from your words, “but I know that titles must be earned. No-one can take that from you.”

“Officially they can,” he said, taking another sip.

“A man should always be measured by his deeds, Captain. You brought my brother back and to me that is worth more than even the King could bestow. Now, tell me your thoughts on Paradise Lost.”

You talked long into the night, finding yourself entranced by the opinions and ideas of the English Captain. What began as an unexpected interruption continued into evenings of enjoyable companionship that you found yourself yearning for at the end of a long day running the house. At times you were joined by one or more of the other men but John Price became your constant.

Things had fallen into such a peaceful routine that the MacTavish household grew complacent and it was the panicked arrival of Rabbie, the stable boy, as you ate luncheon with your brother and his friends that sent you all into a frenzy.

“Mistress, the militia, they are…they are coming!” He wheezed, having run at full speed from the other side of the valley.

The four of you leapt from your seats and looked at each other in distress. If the militia found the Englishmen here they would be hanged and more likely you and Johnny alongside them.

“How long?” You snapped, your anxiousness making your tone sharp.

“A quarter hour, perhaps less,” Rabbie panted, bending over with his hands on his knees.

“Take a breath, lad, you did well,” Johnny reassured, patting him on the back.

You rested your fists on your hips and cast about for inspiration, chewing your bottom lip.

“We could ride…” Garrick began but you cut him off with a glance.

“There’s not enough time to saddle the horses. You’d be seen,” you said, and your brother nodded his agreement.

“Johnny,” you said, voice cracking like a whip. “Take the Lieutenant out to the water meadow. Put smocks on and from a distance you’ll pass as farmers. They’ll likely ride on by. I’ll hide the other two here and pray the thieving bastards only raid the kitchen.”

Your brother nodded, managing a laugh at your profanity despite the situation, and led the Lieutenant out of the back gate. You looked at the two remaining men, who seemed rather ready to fight, and tilted your head towards the back stairs. Without another word you guided them up towards the second floor. Reaching a specific point in the hallway you pressed on a section of panelling which moved aside to reveal a narrow stone alcove.

“Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to secrete yourself in here?” You asked, barely waiting for him to enter before you closed the panel behind him.

Despite the size of the house there were not many spaces large enough to accommodate even one burly soldier, let alone two. You paced the corridor, wracking your brain for a place to hide the Captain that you had grown so fond of. The clatter of hooves became louder as the men of the militia drew closer and your pacing became even more frantic, panic brewing at the thought of him being discovered above all others. A hand on your wrist stopped you in your tracks and you stared up into Price’s concerned blue gaze. He held his belt knife in his hand as he pulled you closer to him.

“I will not let them harm you,” he grated, his jaw set and determined.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart began to pound with something other than fear. Your skin burned at the gentle hold around your wrist and you placed a hand against his strong chest.

“Let us hope it will not come to that,” you whispered. “I have an idea.”

Pushing him backwards into your chambers, you latched the door behind you and toed off your boots.

“What-?” Price began but you shook your head.

“Hurry now, get out of your outer clothes and climb under the covers,” you urged, turning your back to him.

A pounding on the large oak doors echoed through the house and you hurriedly divested yourself of your skirts and stays, leaving you in only your chemise. Thankfully, you heard the rustle of sheets and blankets and could only pray that the Captain had done as you asked. Loud voices and heavy footfall sounded in the corridor outside your room and then the handle of your door rattled ominously.

“Hide your face and say not a word,” you hissed over your shoulder as you waited another moment, taking the opportunity to muss up your hair a little.

Once the rattling handle changed into the pounding of a fist you hurried over to the door and, with a deep breath, turned the latch and opened it a crack.

“What do you think you are doing here, you oaf, disturbing a lady at rest?” You raged, your breathy voice and flaming cheeks giving your ruse an added realism.

The militia man before you peered over your shoulder at the moving figure in your bed and then glanced down at your state of undress. His face flamed but he maintained his confidence, even in the face of your cold glare.

“We’ve heard tales of Englishmen in these parts, Mistress Galbraith. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Does it look like I know anything about any Englishmen, Willie Morris?” You said, opening the door just that little bit wider and gesturing inside so that he could see the distinctly male clothing on the floor.

“Who’s tha- I mean- I didn’t know you had taken another husband Ma’am,” Willie said, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the man occupying your bed.

“What I do or don’t do is none of your concern. Now get out of here and make sure that the kitchen isn’t completely emptied by you and your scavenging companions,” you snarled, shutting the door in his face and fastening the latch.

You stood before the bedroom door with balled fists, vibrating with anxiety until the clatter of horses hooves sounded once more from the courtyard. As they died away a large hand landed gently on your shoulder and you turned and buried your face into the Captain’s warm chest. His arms wrapped around you, calming your nerves and he murmured words in praise of your bravery.

“I thought they would find you, John,” you whispered hoarsely. “I thought we were done for.”

“I’ve never met a soldier with such ingenuity as you,” he rumbled, his hand ghosting over the back of your head, clasping you to him as if you were his to protect.

You stayed that way, comforted in his embrace, until the sound of your brother’s voice startled you from your stupor. You opened your eyes to find yourself staring down at a pair of bare feet and legs covered only by the long tails of his linen shirt. It was then that you remembered your state of undress and you gasped, turning away from him with your face aflame.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, moving to shrug back into your stays, resisting the urge to turn and stare, “but I would rather my honour be sullied than see your neck in a noose.”

You finished tying your skirts and slipped back into your boots before heading towards the door. As you reached for the handle so did John and your hands met awkwardly, causing you both to freeze. You looked up into the face you had grown so accustomed to in the candlelight of the parlour and drew in a shaky breath. His other hand reached out and grasped an errant strand of hair, holding it carefully, as if it were the most precious thing, and tucked it behind your ear. His fingers brushed over your cheek and along your jaw and his awed expression was one that you knew you would treasure for many a long year.

John parted his lips as if to speak but the door burst open and your brother appeared with Garrick and the Lieutenant; their relief at the sight of you was almost palpable.

“Where did you manage to hide?” Garrick asked, scanning the room.

“Under the bed frame,” you offered a little too quickly. “I convinced them I was changing the linens.”

Supper that evening was a little more raucous than usual. Even the stoic Lieutenant was into his cups and grinning along with the antics of the others, the tensions of the day obviously requiring some form of release. There were two who remained apart from the revelry, however. Seated at opposite sides of the dining table you tried to avoid paying any close attention to the Captain. Each time you caught his eye you were reminded of the warmth of his arms around you, of how tenderly he caressed your face…

You waved off any offers of help when clearing the table and tried to ignore John’s look of dismay when you announced you would be retiring straight to your chamber. Changing into your nightdress, you brushed out your hair and climbed beneath blankets and sheets that were still rumpled from your earlier escapade. You closed your eyes and tried to force sleep upon yourself but no amount of tossing and turning could find you comfortable enough. Thoughts ran rampant through your mind that you desperately tried to shut out; a gentle hand on your face, the rumbled vow of protection, the slight parting of lips that held words left unsaid.

Leaving the warmth of your bed you reached for the door handle but stopped, muttering curses to yourself as you paced nervously before your door. What would he have said if you hadn’t been interrupted? Your curiosity could wait no longer and you yanked on the door handle, pulling open the heavy wooden door and stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.

A movement at the other end drew your attention and you stilled, your heart pounding in your chest at the sight of the Captain, frozen just as you were, wearing only his shirt. He looked to be in as much disarray as you felt, his usually neat hair rumpled as if he had raked his hands through it a dozen times.

There was a moment of stillness and the world condensed into the space between you. Your chest heaved and your pulse fluttered wildly in your throat as the heat of his gaze fanned the flames of your own desire. He looked almost crazed as he stalked down the hallway towards you, his bare feet silent on the wooden boards, and you trembled with nervous anticipation.

He halted before you, a mere hair’s breadth away, his hands tensed at his sides as if he were desperately holding himself back.

“John,” you whispered, reaching for him and resting your hand over a heart that hammered as hard as your own.

It was enough to break the tenuous hold he had on himself. He cupped your cheek as his mouth crashed against yours with a desperate groan, the momentum carrying you backwards until you hit the doorframe with a soft huff of air. His other hand cradled the back of your head, making sure you were not harmed even in the throes of your passion. You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him as you gave in to your fervour.

Your bodies moulded together as if they had always done so and you threaded your fingers through his hair, moaning sweetly into his mouth as your kiss grew even more urgent. John’s hands slid down your body, tracing the outline of your curves through the thin linen of your chemise before coming to rest on your waist. A tightening of his fingers was the only indication he gave before he lifted you with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling him press against you as his lips left yours to trail hot kisses across your jaw and down the column of your throat, his beard scraping deliciously over your tender skin.

He broke away from you and rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathless and trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips reverently to your skin. “I shouldn’t have…I just could not…”

You tightened your legs around him, afraid that he might pull away and set you down and your actions caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and set his jaw as he tried to regain some vestige of self-control.

“No,” you said placing your hand on his cheek to force him to look at you, “John, please, don’t stop.”

His eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze with a mixture of amazement and pure, unadulterated passion.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, pulling his lips to yours once again.

Shifting his grip on you slightly he lifted you away from the door frame and carried you through into your chamber, fumbling blindly behind him until the latch was closed. By the depths of the desperation that you knew you both felt, you half-assumed he would toss you onto your bed but he did not. He crawled into the centre of the large oaken frame with you still in his arms and lay you down gently. It was only then that he broke away from you, his hands running down your sides almost reverently, skimming the edges of your breasts and across your hips as he sat back on his haunches.

John ran a hand over his face and he let out a huffed sigh of disbelief at the sight of you laid before him, your hair spread in a halo around your head. You lifted your hand and grasped the bottom of his shirt, pulling him down to you but the anticipated kiss did not come. His lips ghosted across your cheek, along your jaw, his beard leaving a tingling trail on your skin. You gathered more of the fabric into your hands and lifted, pulling the linen over his head with only a little assistance.

You let your hands wander down his defined chest, tracing the outline of his muscles and ran your fingers through the dark hair that decorated them before finding his face once more. His eyes never left yours, boring into you with such a passion as you had not felt in years and you almost squirmed beneath him as desire and impatience collided.

You felt his hand on your knee, firm yet gentle, gliding up over your soft skin and lifting your chemise with it. It was no effort at all for you to shuffle your hips and release the fabric from beneath you, allowing him to draw it over your head and bare yourself to him.

He whispered a curse, his eyes flying back to yours, the blue of his irises darkened to a storm-filled sky.

“Are you sure, my sweet heart?” He murmured thickly, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

“If you do not put your hands on me, John Price, I fear I will combust,” you replied breathily, raising your eyebrow in challenge.

Your words had the desired effect and his face brightened into a delicious smile.

“Well then, I mustn’t leave my woman wanting.” He smirked, leaning down and nuzzling into your neck.

“Say that again,” you breathed, arching into his touch.

“My woman,” he growled, nipping along your collarbone and when he slotted his lips against yours you met each tantalising stroke of his tongue with your own.

Your hands touched and explored every part of each other, ardently stoking the flames of your desire until they threatened to consume you both. Cupping your breasts in his large hands, calloused from years of toil with his regiment, John teased your nipples into firm peaks with his thumbs, sending a flash of heat straight to your core. You moaned into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip as you scraped your fingers down his spine before venturing even lower to squeeze the taut muscles of his arse.

Impatient and eager now to feel him inside you, you pulled away and scanned over his face. John looked as wild-eyed and breathless as you felt, his lips moist and kiss-swollen beneath his moustache. Gripping his hefty bicep you scooted backwards up the bed, pulling him half on top of you as you lay back and carded your fingers through his thick brown hair. He trailed his fingers over your soft belly and your hips, marvelling at the tingling goosebumps they left in their wake. The simple sensation of his warm skin against yours had you shivering with pleasure and, by the growing hardness that pressed enticingly against your thigh, you knew John felt the same.

You used the hand on his face to guide him back to you and he nudged his nose against yours with a smile of such heat and affection that it caused something to bloom to life in your chest. John’s hand trailed lower, closer to your core but he held your gaze almost in challenge, wanting to watch every nuance of expression on your face. He was not disappointed for, when his fingers slipped between your slick folds, your eyes widened and then grew heavy-lidded as he worked over your most sensitive spots, drawing out whimpers of pleasure from your lips.

Lowering his mouth to yours once more he rocked his hips against you in search of friction to soothe the ache in his cock. A gentle yet determined hand against his shoulder urged him to lay back and he went willingly, with your soft lips planting kisses over his jaw and down his neck. To his wonderment you moved your leg over his body and lifted yourself to sit astride his thick thighs. By his expression you thought he would have stared at you all night but his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned in pleasure as you took his cock in your hand, stroking his shaft in a tantalising rhythm.

Lifting yourself up onto your knees, you lined up the head of his cock with your entrance. John’s eyes flew open and he hissed out a curse as you began to lower yourself onto him. The delicious stretch as he filled you had you moaning salaciously and your head lolled back when you reached his base, stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Your name spilled from him in a cry of pleasure when you started to move atop him, circling your hips around as you raised them up and down. His hands gripped your waist, in truth to steady you both.

You gazed down at him, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes as you writhed above him. One of his hands left your waist, sliding down to tease the sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs, rubbing tight circles around it as you ground down harder against him. He bucked his hips, meeting you stroke for stroke, and planted his feet on the bed for extra purchase.

“Yes, John, yes” you gasped, gripping his thighs, your fingers leaving indentations in the hard muscles.

Your brows drew together as you began to lose yourself to the sensations running through you and your movements became almost frantic. He reached up to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger, matching the rhythm of his hand between your legs and it was that which sent you over the edge of your pleasure.

Biting his cheek to stave off his own pleasure for a few short moments, John slowed his thrusts and eased you through your climax before pulling away just in time to spill his release over his abdomen with your name on his lips like a prayer.

You collapsed to the side of him with a breathless giggle, reaching behind you to pass him a crumpled shirt to wipe himself with. Nuzzling into the crook of his arm, you could feel John’s heart beating as rapidly as yours. He squeezed you tighter for a moment before loosening his hold to pull out the blankets from beneath you and covered you both. He wrapped you in his arms once more and pressed a kiss against your damp forehead.

“Have no fear, I shall sneak out afore morning,” John murmured softly. “But I would beg a few more sweet moments with you until then.”

“As lady of this house, Captain, I do declare that there will be no sneaking.” You poked his ribs playfully, earning yourself a deep chuckle. “I take no shame from this, mo cridhe, and any who say otherwise will not be welcome here.”

“No sneaking then, sweet heart,” he said, with a kiss so soft and gentle that your heart ached. “I could dream of no greater honour than to stand by your side, if you so wished.”

“I wish it,” you whispered, sinking blissfully into the arms of your English Captain.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

PUT A WIFE BACK IN HER PLACE

KINKTOBER DAY 25 - SPANKING WITH MARTIN

Pairing.| Martin x fem!reader

Summary.| When Martin’s attempt to win your heart back with a nostalgic trip on a secluded Scottish island fails, he has one last resort to remind you who’s wife you are.

Warnings.| Dubcon, dry humping, spanking, arguing, infidelity, implied breeding.

Word count.| 1.4k

Notes.| This ain't that good but yolo because Martin is hot.

In Martin’s defense, you couldn’t say that he didn’t put in his all to revive your marriage, it’s been on the rocks for months now, every opportunity for intimacy always resulted in bickering at the best outcome. The arguments were daggering to the heart, zero remorse on either of your ends at times. But Martin was devoted to you, you were his world, he needed you more than oxygen. 

His marvelous plan on resparking your attraction to one another seemed to be working like a blender unplugged from the power outlet. This will mark your third time vacating on the secluded Scottish island. You were quiet the whole boat ride, but it went unphased by Doug, he merely chatted on with Martin. Your husband would glance over at you every now and then, but you were in a different world. 

With every day passing, Martin lost a handful of hope. Nothing was working like it used to. The way you’d smile at him when he’d come back after fishing had vanished. The gratitude for the small things he did for you was no more. Your marriage was flatlining. The small talk felt unbearable, turned shoulders made him want to rip his hair out. He only wanted to look at you, hold you, feel you. When you hid yourself in the bathtub, Martin felt his stomach turn in a mixture of shame and pleasure. How could you shy away from your husband? But then when was the last time he had even seen you naked. 

He ran across the coastal shore, his expression was stern as he sprinted as fast as he could. His ears went blocked, heart pounded uncontrollably in his chest as the aches in his muscles grew. When he reached the top of the cliff, his hands formed into balls as he smacked the air. 

“Fuck!” Martin roared, a vein popped out in his forehead. 

Martin heaved out, his hands rested above his knees as he tried to catch his breath. After inhaling his asthma pump, his hands searched into his pocket for his phone. His fingers jabbed at the screen, then he scrolled to keep his motivation alive. He flicked through the countless screenshots of evidence, his grip tightened after each swipe. 

I want to be with you. 

I think of you every night. 

You’re in my dreams, I picture the day when we’re together. 

Now, Martin wasn’t sure of the details of your affair, only the little love messages George would send you, you’d always respond with something similar back, but your level of passion was lower, he was sure of it. 

I love you. 

He stared at that message for the longest, because it was sent by you the night before you two left. Why didn’t you love Martin anymore, your husband, the man you declared your vows to, the man you devoted your life for. In sickness and in health, you were his. 

Martin decided to walk back to the cottage, for the chaos would unfold that night. Every few steps, Marin would roughly rub his eyes. The smell of the seaside did little to ease his stresses, the wind was picking up, the scent of rain grew.

When he entered the cottage, you took a moment to even acknowledge him, your attention drawn to the book you were reading. You gave him a small smile, his jaw locked, he turned his heel and headed to the kitchen. Martin did try hard to remain calm, he poured himself a large glass of red wine, then another for you. As he handed the glass to you, he sucked on his lower lip. 

You thanked him, oblivious to his boiling anger. Impulsively, Martin took a large swig of the nectar and clinked it onto the table. His eyes burnt into you, but you ignored him completely, you were driving him mad. 

“So, does he fuck you good?” Martin abruptly asked. 

You choked on your wine, your eyes darted up at him as you analyzed him, surely he couldn’t know? It was as if you were a deer caught in headlights, Martin could swear he could hear your heartbeat race. You were waiting for the punchline, but eventually realized it wasn’t coming. 

“What are you going on about?” you replied, trying to remain cool as if you weren’t a kettle boiling on the hot stove. 

“Does George fuck you good?” Martin clarified, huffing out in anger, his name tasted like venom on his tongue. 

“Martin” you warned. 

“I should have figured it out sooner, I always knew he had the hots for you, but I didn’t realize you were such a little whore” Martin insulted. 

George worked with you, and yes, he did always have the hots for you. Despite your constant rejection, he kept on making sly advances on you. Until one day, when you were fed with your sickening feuds with Martin, that you just gave in to George’s affection. 

In a childish manner, you abruptly stood up and turned your direction to the hallway. Martin followed you just as quickly and you flinched, he looked unhinged. 

“Step back Martin!” you demanded as you hurried to the hallway. 

“Where are you going to go! It’s just you and I honey, a husband and his wife” Martin teased harshly as he followed after you. 

When you didn’t stop, he yanked you back by the shoulder and shoved you against the wall. You cried out as he pressed his body up against yours, his face drew close to yours. 

“You think I’m not manly enough for you? Aye!” Martin shouted by your ear, you winced at his behavior. 

“No Martin!” you cried. 

Martin’s eyes squinted together as he felt the tears forming. His hand smacked on the wall besides your head in anger, you shrieked out. 

“Why don’t you fucking love me anymore” Martin snarled, his face twitched. 

There was no response from you. His hands gripped onto your curves and you gasped out as you felt his erection grow against you. His stubble brushed over your heating cheek, you shuddered out. Quickly, he flipped your front onto the wall, you gasped out and swallowed down the ball of spit in your throat.

“You’re my fucking wife, you’ll stay with me” Martin determined with a nod. 

“O-okay, just calm down” you shuddered. “Martin!” you yelped out as he yanked your comfy pants down to your thighs. 

“Shut it, just giving you what you deserve” Martin responded harshly and he forcefully pressed your face on the wall. 

You choked on your sob as he smacked your rear harshly. His hand pressed against your shoulder blade, you were confined against the plastered wall as he spanked your cheeks. Never has your husband been so rough with you, he was always gentle, kind and thoughtful. Martin would mutter curse words under his breath as he felt his cock twitch in his athlete shorts. The sounds of his slaps echoed throughout the walls, you bit back your moans, your eyes almost rolling back as you unknowingly squeezed your thighs together to create friction. 

“I love you” Martin confessed, his lips pressed to your ear as he continued to bring his palm to your flaming skin. 

“I know you do, Martin” you panted out, your breathing rugged, hips shifting. 

“I’d do anything for you” Martin grunted as he hit you with full force.

“I know you would!” you whined. 

His blue eyes could see how your body was reacting, how horny you were becoming. Martin heaved out, his body molded against yours as he rubbed his erection over your stinging cheeks. Your knees felt weak, his body weight was holding you up. Desperately, his humps humped against your ass, Martin could hardly control his desires. 

“You want a baby?” Martin whispered, almost romantically. 

“W-what?” you whimpered out. 

“Do you want a baby, my darling? I’ll put one in you right now if it’d fix everything” Martin explained, his hands rubbing your hips. 

You stammered out as you tried to think logically. A baby was all that you wanted, for so long. But Martin just always put his job first and shooed away the possibilities of creating a family together. You hated him for it. But now he wants to change?

“Come on, how many arguments did we have over it? How badly does it make you despise me?” Martin continued on, his head rubbed against yours. 

You mumbled out, you tried to think of George, of your plans. But he seemed to be disappearing from your mind. Martin’s hands caressed over your stomach, you moaned out gently and turned around to your husband, your lips neared his.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

im thinking about meeting the 141 as young boys at a summer camp. all of these are gonna be separate camps/scenarios because they're all kinda spread out in age.

kyle has always been a social butterfly and always is adopting introverts. at the ripe age of nine, he has a better, more loyal following than most cult leaders. however, he's intrigued by little you, with the bandaids on their knees and a hesitant, toothy smile. shows you around, attached to your hip soon after. follows you around all week, makes sure you're on all his teams for any of the games. overjoyed when you give him an origami pet you made in crafts class. even happier when he learns you're both going to the same school next year. even though you've only been friends for a short five days, he's absolutely enamored by you. on the last day of camp, kyle presses a shy kiss to your lips. smiles when he learns it was your very first one. he can't wait to be all of your firsts (and give you his).

johnny was shy when he saw you on the first day. you were very capable at everything that had been thrown at you so far and he felt so.... inadequate. especially when he lost to you at the archery range. hurt his pride, but he mooned at you from across the table. followed you around like a lost puppy until you'd acknowledge him, gave him a little pat. johnny was elated when you picked him to be on your soccer team! he loved that you had noticed him over all the other options you had. gives you your favorite treat from the dining hall when they ran out before you could get one. johnny works hard to be at your side all week and to be your rival in everything (even if it's not a competition). only lets you call him johnny, anyone else gets a "fuck yew" (im not scottish at all, more of a graves) or a smack on the head. gets your address when it's all over, and you better expect him at your door within the next few days. has to show you how much you mean to him, bonnie.

simon is so so so nervous about the whole summer overnight camp thing. only went because tommy wanted to go, and he couldn't let him go alone. simon's practically shaking when he stands by himself with his tray for that first meal at the dining hall. you, standing behind him, are nearly in the same state, but you still manage to ask if he wants to sit with you. he becomes your shadow. he likes it when you talk, loves to listen and learn more about you. tommy like you too, which is a plus. holds your hand at the firepit circles, only wants you around. you're his little kitten to protect and hold. he makes you both matching bracelets. shakes when he shows you they match and is so happy when you're overenthusiastically jumping about it. simon's cheeks are tinted a light pink when you kiss his cheek in goodbye after those fond days. you're both inseparable after camp ends.

john is a counsellor at a kid's camp for a few bucks over the summer. six grueling weeks with the little squeakers, what has he got himself into. nearly dies with all the sweaty, screaming fuckers everywhere and decides he's not cut out for this shit. he's always so confused but is putty when you step in to kiss a bandaid or hold a hand. he's unable to comprehend how you move so seamlessly through the little bastards. always seeking you out for advice or a helping hand through the weeks you spend together. you both sit on some steps outside one of the cabins after 'light's out' to talk most nights, and its then he realizes how special you are. shows you a scrape on his elbow and nearly dies when you "kiss it better." john tells you he's gonna take you out when the weekend comes and show you a great time somewhere far, far away from these screaming gremlins. by the end of the six weeks, he's made you a ring from a heart shaped rock and two paperclips.

f in the chat for everyone single (me included) and all camp counsellors

[libingan]

need their big cocks on my face RIGHT FUCKING NOW THIS IS NOT FAIR

i fear the day an irl finds this account… i mean, none of my friends think im innocentbut this is a whole nother level yk

the room is thick with heat, and you’re kneeling between them, your body trembling with anticipation as both ghost and johnny stand over you, their hands heavy on your skin. the air is charged, ghost’s gloved hand fisting in your hair while johnny’s thumb lazily traces your bottom lip. you can feel the tension between them, the silent competition for your attention building as they take turns teasing you, their cocks already hard and heavy in their hands.

johnny’s voice breaks the silence first, his thick scottish accent dripping with amusement as he grins down at you. “look at her, simon. mouth already fuckin’ open, ready to take us both.” he taps the tip of his cock against your cheek, dragging it across your lips before nudging at the corner of your mouth. “you think she can handle us at the same time, mate?”

ghost grunts, his grip in your hair tightening as he pulls you a little closer. “she’ll fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, the rough edge to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “won’t you, love?”

you nod, eyes wide as your mouth parts further, letting them both press their tips against your lips. it’s a stretch, the weight of their cocks pressing against your mouth almost overwhelming, but they don’t force it—at least not yet. they’re patient, taking their time as they nudge against you, johnny’s low chuckle filling the space between their quiet groans.

“c’mon, open that pretty mouth for us,” johnny growls, his hips rocking forward just slightly as he tries to push more of himself past your lips. “gonna make that tight wee mouth of yours take us both, yeah?”

you try, your lips stretching wider as they both press in at once, their thick heads rubbing together as they fight for space. it’s impossible to take them fully, but they don’t seem to care—it’s the struggle that makes them both groan, the way your lips part around them, your tongue flicking against the tips of their cocks as they tease you with the promise of more.

“fuckin’ hell,” johnny mutters, his voice thick with arousal as he watches you, eyes dark with lust. “you’re a fuckin’ mess already, aren’t you?”

ghost’s grip in your hair tightens even further, and he growls low in his throat as he pulls back slightly, forcing johnny to do the same. “enough fuckin’ around. i’m first.” his voice is commanding, rough, and johnny only laughs, stepping back just enough to let ghost take control.

you barely have time to process the shift before ghost’s thick length is sliding past your lips, his cock heavy on your tongue as he pushes deeper, his hand keeping your head steady. your mouth stretches around him, your lips tight as you suck, hollowing your cheeks as you work him with your tongue. ghost groans, low and rough, his other hand resting on the side of your face as he watches you struggle to take him.

johnny isn’t far, his eyes locked on the sight of you sucking ghost’s cock as his own hand strokes his length, the slick sound of it mixing with ghost’s quiet grunts. “that’s it, love,” johnny murmurs, voice still thick with his accent. “look at you, takin’ him so well. you’re gonna do the same to me, aren’t ya?”

you nod as much as ghost’s grip allows, your hand sliding down to wrap around johnny’s cock, stroking him as you keep sucking ghost, your tongue working along the underside of his length, feeling the way he twitches against your mouth. ghost’s hips move forward slightly, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts as he grunts low in his throat, his cock filling your mouth but never going too deep.

you alternate between them, pulling off ghost with a gasp as you turn to take johnny into your mouth, his cock sliding past your lips as he groans, his hand cupping the back of your head. “fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” johnny mutters, his hips rocking forward as he pushes his cock deeper into your mouth. “so fuckin’ good at this, aren’t ya? like you were made for it.”

your hand stays wrapped around ghost’s cock, stroking him slowly as you take johnny deeper, your lips stretched tight around him as he fucks your mouth with slow, controlled thrusts. they take turns, never giving you a moment’s rest as one cock fills your mouth while your hand works the other, switching back and forth until your jaw aches and your lips are slick with spit.

“look at ye,” johnny growls, his voice thick with arousal as he pulls back, watching the way your lips are swollen and shiny from the constant back and forth. “fuckin’ filthy, aren’t ya? bet you love this, don’t you?”

ghost grunts in agreement, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you back to him, his cock pressing against your lips once more. “open up, love,” he orders, his voice rough with need. “gonna fuckin’ fill that mouth.”

you do as you’re told, your lips parting as ghost pushes back in, his cock heavy on your tongue as you suck harder, hollowing your cheeks as you work him. his breathing is ragged now, his control slipping as his hips start to move faster, his grip in your hair tightening as he groans, deep and guttural. johnny’s hand strokes his cock faster beside you, his voice a low growl as he watches you work ghost’s cock with your mouth.

it doesn’t take long for them to reach their limits. ghost’s hips stutter, his grip in your hair nearly painful as he groans, pulling out of your mouth just in time for the first thick spurt of cum to hit your tongue. he watches as it drips from your lips, his breathing heavy as he steps back, giving johnny room to finish.

“stick your tongue out, love,” johnny growls, his hand pumping his cock faster as he groans, the heat of his release spilling over your face, mixing with ghost’s. you stay kneeling, your mouth open, tongue out, as they both finish, the salty taste of their cum filling your mouth and dripping down your chin.

but they’re not done with you yet. johnny’s smirk returns as he grips his softening cock, dragging it across your face, smearing his release over your skin, making sure you’re marked by him. ghost follows suit, the thick length of his cock sliding across your cheek, leaving a trail of cum in its wake.

“there,” johnny mutters, his voice thick with satisfaction. “look at that. all fuckin’ marked up. just like you deserve.”

[the-californicationist]

Four Winds

AO3 was down and I panicked.

NSFW MDNI

"Fuck, Johnny. Your tight hole feels so bloody good. Takin' me so well. Good boy," Price groaned, slipping his rod into his sergeant's hole in quick, pounding thrusts, encouraging him as he straddled the captain's hips, his nose buried in his lieutenant's dense pubic hair, "Suck Riley's cock like that. Just like that."

Gaz was fucking Simon, and every time he thrust forward, Ghost's cock would slip deeper into the Scot's throat.

"You like watchin' Si getting fucked by Gaz's huge rod, don't you, Johnny? Yeah? You want me to fuck you like that, boy?" Price grunted as he pulled Johnny's hips down onto his shaft, spearing him over and over from below.

Johnny whimpered, his cries quieted by Ghost's fat dick, choking him with every throbbing pulse.

As Johnny rode Price's cock, the captain pressed him forward, bending him away, forcing him to show how his stretched hole was taking him. Then, just to make him whine again, Price fit his thumbs in on either side of his cock, pushing Soap past the point of his girth, making him feel so damn full.

Suddenly, as if spurred on by Johnny's muffled high-pitched screams of pleasure, Simon gripped him by his mohawk and held his mouth down on him, burying himself deeper, making his lover writhe for air. Price could feel his asshole clenching against him as he choked, struggling for a breath, whining and pleading for mercy.

Then, Price knew the lieutenant must have been filling the Scot's belly with warm come because Johnny stopped fighting, and his eyes gleamed with shining tears as he looked up at his tall, blond lover, swallowing his orgasm with each and every writhing squeeze.

Price didn't know how much more he could take. Gaz's thrusting rhythm was making Ghost rock forward, forcing Johnny to suck him down his throat, pressing him down onto Price's length deeper and deeper. It was heaven. He wanted to pump his pretty little Scottish sergeant so full it would be dripping out of him all night. He wanted to taste his gaping hole.

"Oh, fuck, Ghost! I'm gonna fuckin' blow," Gaz confessed, grabbing Simon by the neck and forcing his head to bend forward, hunching him over, giving his lengthy cock more access to his warm hole.

"Do it. Come in me, Garrick. Right fuckin' now," his lieutenant commanded, his eyes rolling white from the forcefulness of his sex.

Johnny fell back away from Simon's cock, drool shining on his lips, laying his back on Price's chest languidly, rubbing his own nipples and pinching them cruelly.

After coming all over his spread hole, Gaz knelt down beside Ghost, and they both began to lick Johnny's bouncing shaft, making him cry out in bright, loud shouts.

"Fuck! Oh, fuckin' hell. Dinnae stop, lads. Please! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… Yer… yer gonna make me come. Oh, my God. Oh --"

Price watched as Johnny's cock bobbed up and down, flagging wildly from how the captain was fucking him, spraying his creamy, thick load all over his belly. Gaz and Ghost started licking it off of him. Price called down,

"Oi, Gaz. Give us a taste, yeah?"

Garrick did as he was told, swiping his hand up and down Soap's softening dick, collecting his liquid joy and brought it to his captain's mouth, letting him lap up the Scot's come from his wide palm.

"Cap'n… please," Johnny whispered, turning his head towards Price, "I wanna feel it… I wanna feel yer come in me, sir. Please…"

"Alright, mate," Price gripped Johnny around his throat and jaw, his big hand covering his mouth, "I'd say you've bloody well earned it."

Filling Soap with his dripping seed was so sweet. The sergeant took it so well, like he was made for it. And the noises that came from Price's throat were otherworldly. He was blinded by his pleasure, and he had never come so hard in his whole life. Everything was wet, and he wanted to drown in it.

After he was finished pulsing, Price shuddered as he slid out of Johnny's limp body, and his men joined him in a twisted, panting, cuddled pile of limbs and torsos, kissing and licking whatever skin they could find.

They could deal with the mess in the morning.

[karlachismylife]

I just know Gaz is so fucking good at rock climbing. He's just built perfectly for it, he's got the endurance, the flexibility, the grip, the core strength, the agility, the arm spread, he's not too bulky and heavy like Soap or Ghost, his height gives him quite a lot of advantages (even though sometimes there are trails for us hobbits, but mostly being tall helps). Price could probably give him a run for his money, but since I headcanon that Price has seriously fucked up his spine and joints, especially in his fingers, he might be held back by this. Also I feel like Kyle has the best endurance out of all four of them, so he does extremely well on the long ones. He's also got that magical ability to be able to take a rest at the tiniest little handle, like literally catches himself with two toes and a pinch on a non-existent bump in the rock and relaxes as if he's lounging on a beach, all muscles resting before the upcoming difficult few meters.

Also he's one of those who will climb even in slippers, just because he gotta flex like that.

No I'm not drooling over his fingers wrapped in that tape in places where he ripped calluses off, you are.

Also this was induced by a SoapGaz thought where Gaz runs Soap through some intensive training on the climbing walls and enjoys the view of all that muscle bulk flexing and rippling as Soap struggles to find his balance and makes mistakes in dispersing his weight which limits his reach. He's so tense, he can barely slur his Scottish nonsense out, sweat streaming down the dip of his spine and soaking his tank top through.

When he finally falls of the wall after reaching the top handle, his fingers are shaking and he needs Kyle's help to untie the harness knot. Wipes his forehead, leaving a white streak of magnesia stuck to the wet skin, and huffs and grumbles about how he'll still beat Kyle's PR one day.

Gaz won't let him, of course. But he won't stop Johnny from trying either, because after that he gets to massage all those sore muscles Soap didn't even know existed, and listen to him groan as he shamelessly leaks into his boxers. Because why wouldn't Soap get off the post-gym muscle strain, really. And why wouldn't Gaz enjoy watching him get painfully hard and sensitive from barely sexual touch, exploding into his mouth as soon as Kyle wraps his lips around Soap's tip.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul

—Listen To My Voice

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.” 

Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door. 

The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything. 

It was mental torture as well as physical.

“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”

His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.

In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression. 

“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud. 

Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.” 

Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were. 

You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training. 

Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor. 

Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.

She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about. 

But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge. 

While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one. 

“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”

You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses. 

This man seemed apart from that. 

The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”

“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.” 

“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.

“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”

“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.” 

“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved. 

“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?” 

His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh. 

The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?” 

Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly. 

“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.

And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.

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