chaosundcoffee

[chaosundcoffee]

IDEA FOR A BUG HYBRID

dragonfly hybrid that likes hunting one of/the whole 141 and always catches them bc dragonflies like the best hunters in the world

Hey was this ghost written by @tooloudarts 🤨 I see you

Price made the decision in the humvee back from a horrible mission. Too many flying hybrids, more than the expected zero, had left his men scrambling and injured. Barely making it out alive and losing key intel they needed.

So he gathers them into a truck and drives out to the agreed meeting spot, a thick forest far away from civilization. "Alright, listen up," they all have thier gear on, and price hands out duffle bags with bb guns and survival gear. "We cant afford a repeat of the last mission, got it? So I contacted a good friend to help us train."

He motions to the only other car in the small clearing, and the guys prace for who they'll meet. Maybe a hawk hybrid, battle-worn and brutal? Or a bat to hunt them when night falls? Maybe he got the infamous soldier, known only for their brutal kills, monarch? Someone whos seen years of battle? The door slides open and out walks...a bug?

They eye you up, from the delicate wings protruding from your back to the forearm crutches you use to step out of the car. None of them say it, but its clear in the silence that they don't think you can train them. Ghost has worked with a few bug hybrids before, pretty rare, and he knows them to be timid things. Nothing compared to even a cardinal hybrid.

Yet, when you turn your eyes to them, you have the unmistakable intensity of a hunter. Locking onto each weakness with a wide smile. "Really john? You said these were your best soldiers! They look like nothing more than weak flies."

You prove it, too. How weak they are.

For the first few hours they could hardly last longer than ten minutes before you caught them. Feet slamming into ghosts back and shoving him to the ground. Knife thrown right next to soaps head where he hid in the bushes. Grabbing price by the bitch-strap and hauling him into the air. Pinning gaz to the trunk of the tree he was hiding in.

It was difficult to counter you, too. Able to fly in every direction and totally impossible to predict. While the guys were fighting for their lives, you were having a great time. Laughing as you flew between trees and over streams, hunting them. Like this was nothing more than a game of tag, shouting teasing words before throwing knives. Brutal and oddly energetic.

That night, while everyone is resting before the night hunt, you tell price this is the most fun you've had in a while. At that point soap finally breaks and asks who the hell you are, nursing more bruises than the time he accidentally pissed gaz off.

"Oh? John didnt tell you?" You ask, biting the head off the fish you caught earlier. "He used to be my captain on a different squad, but now I run solo covert ops. What is it they call me? Monarch?"

Monarch. The soldier who can clear out bases single-handedly. Suddenly, it makes sense why price chose you.

[chaosundcoffee]

Whenever you cant sleep, too much energy and too much screen time, price is always the first to step in. Pulling you against his hair chest and rumbling "hold still for me yeah kid? Feel free to sleep, i know its past your bedtime." While he gently works you open. The sensation enough to stimulate your brain but not enough to keep it awake, gently pulling you into sleep. Its a win-win, price gets a nice body to keep all of him warm, and you get sleep that lasts longer than two hours!

[chaosundcoffee]

Uhm...werewolf!soap who does everything to make sure his scent stays on you while hes deployed.....

Mostly he makes sure to scent all of your clothes and blankets, and that works fine, but for extra long ops he had more intense methods. Like covering your favourite plushies in cum so his scent rubs off onto you when you cuddle them at night, or letting your favourite hoodie soak in piss so it reeks of him for weeks. No werewolf dares to even smile at you too long, even when soap isnt around.

Oh and yeah he does those two things because he knows it grosses you out and lowkey getting scolded over text or hearing your mortified voice over the phone gets him horny :)

[chaosundcoffee]

Going out with ghost is always the worst, especially if its to a bar or club.

Literally every five minutes some new girl is coming up with a wow! I didn't expect to see you here! You ready to go? because they assume ghost is some creep trying to take advantage of you. Which is a nice sentiment, but god it gets annoying looking these nice women in the eyes and telling them youre actually very happy getting lowkey choked out in the corner of some club.

And of course, Ghost thinks it's the hottest thing ever. Leaning down and boxing you in further the second they leave so he can mutter "See that baby? They still think they can save you. Maybe I should bruise you up some more? Make you look properly broken?" Which is how he ends up releasing you into the woods so he can chase you down and really break you in :)

[chaosundcoffee]

cw: omegaverse, attempted noncon

you take a job at the healthcare device company because the pay is obscene. sure, they're specifically looking for unmated omegas—a huge red flag—but rent is due, and you figure a couple months of skimping and saving won't kill you before you move on.

you sign a hefty stack of paperwork and waivers, and pocket the sign-on bonus. almost immediately, they put you in a new bite protection collar. the material is puncture-proof but flexible enough to be comfortable, high-necked so it can't shift easily, nor can it be removed without your consent. you test it, giving feedback on mobility, comfort, and aesthetics.

then comes practical testing.

one day, without warning, you're ushered into an observation room, and before you can even ask what's coming, they shove another subject in.

he's broad-shouldered, with dark stubble lining his jaw, and an slightly overgrown mohawk. his hands are bound in mitts behind his back, but you can smell the rut on him, heavy and sour. rolling off him in waves. there's a wild, desperate gleam in his gaze, and it locks onto you the moment the doors shut.

and then he lunges.

despite the restraints, he's strong enough to take you down swiftly. his weight presses into your middle, thick thighs bearing down on you as you scream and claw at him. he dives teeth first at you like a piranha, snapping and snarling in desperation. his hips rock against any part of you they can, a blunt and heavy length rutting into your hips, your pelvis—whatever he can catch.

panic laces every second, your arms and legs thrashing futilely against his bulk. yelling for help.

ten minutes stretch into eternity.

finally, security bursts in and drags him off, and you're pulled out for immediate questioning. your anger, your distress, your horror—the research team brushes it off with a reminder of the papers you signed.

the practical application testing was included plain as day in the contracts, they say. one supervisor sneers that you should consider yourself lucky it "wasn't like last time", when the collar was still a prototype.

(later, you hear rumors. some poor former tester ended up accidentally mated to a behemoth named simon; no one has seen or spoken to her since they both resigned. after digging online, you also discover the company has a history of their r&d department intentionally triggering heats and ruts, with complaints and settled lawsuits stretching back years.)

when the collar comes off, you flinch at the deep, teeth-shaped gouges in the material. they photograph your neck, the collar, and take meticulous notes. it'll take a couple weeks to make improvements.

after they tell you they'll call you back for the next round, you catch snippets of conversation as you head to the omega break room: something about depriving 'soap' of a fix until then.

within the hour, you hand in your resignation. later that night, the news catches your attention: something about 'an alpha in distress' seen fleeing a building that looks way too familiar...

[chaosundcoffee]

Can we get more of reader self harming? Maybe some hurt/comfort? Love the way u write it :>

Check tags yall <3

The urge never really leaves you.

You wouldn't call it a desire, more of a backup. There's always that reassurance that no matter how bad it gets you can always work the blade deeper. Even years since you "recovered" and joined the military, you keep a blade close.

So is it really a surprise when things start getting bad again? Somewhere between the gunfire and the bodies of a family on the side of the road. Whatever life you had slipped out from you and into the flood drain with a comrade's grey matter.

It's pathetic. You know.

Having to turn to the blade just to keep yourself tethered to your body. As if in the act of being fully healed, your mind would finally decide to leave. Leave you, drifting, going through the motions. It's a terrifying thought.

The cuts keep you present. Small, at first, nothing more than a nick. But it grows, that urge that follows you doggedly through battlefield and linoleum landscape alike. It clouds your mind, clouds your vision to the point you are blind to others.

Blind to the concerned looks Kyle and Johnny share when you stare off into nothing for half of breakfast. Blind to the way Simon carefully watches your expression when your shift, clothes snagging on half-healed gashes. Blind to the quiet acceptance price wears when you are alone with him.

Soon, the corpses you pass by start to change under the veil of a dream. Warp into you. Body crushed, organs spilling out and covered in flies. Rot seeping out and limbs bloated.

It starts to feel...appealing.

A corpse. Dead, decayed. You would be no Hector of Troy. There would be no one to reverse your desecration. Just another smear of gore in the journal of war.

And it would be so easy. You stand atop a building, rifle packed away after another clean op. Clean, but not without death. Casualties under a certain number, deemed acceptable. Corpses another statistic to quantify the cost of war. They have no names once they die. How would that feel? The ledge is right there. Would your chest burst open like a cantaloupe on the sidewalk? The ledge is under your feet.

Would you feel in control again? The ledge–

A hand curls tight and sharp around your forearm, yanks you back so hard your back slams into gravel. Ghost is looking down at you with wide eyes, hand placed firmly on your shoulder like he expects you to fight. "What the fuck, kid?! What the hell was tha'?!"

You look at ghost. His eyeblack is smudged with sweat. He grabs his comms, shouts something into it without ever looking away from you. When he lets go, his other hand comes up to snap in front of your eyes.

You feel...distant. disappointed. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Kid? Kid! What the hell were you planning to do?" He sounds frantic, his hand feeling over your body and undoing the straps for your holster before you can respond.

"Suicide, innit? Thought I'd give it a go." You shrug, turn your head to press your cheek into the gravel. It's warm, soaked in the sunlight. Your body would have been warm. Warm and hot long after you died, so long as the sun shone on it.

Ghost pauses, takes a shuddering breath. He takes your knives next, palms patting over your gear. He's surprisingly gentle with your arms and thighs.

When he speaks, its with a watery voice "shit. Okay. Lets uh- lets go kid. We need to rendezvous, and then uh‐ debrief with price, yeah? Cmon, get up, lets go."

His grip is tight around your forearm, and he takes the long way to avoid the ledge. You would have been warm.

[chaosundcoffee]

Older ftm!ghost shoving his hand under your shirt so he can stick two fingers into the hem of your binder and check the fit. He scoffs when he can barely even fit the fingers under, pulling you into the nearest closet. "Seriously, kid? I thought I fuckin' taught you better than to do some dumb shit like this." He pulls your shirt off, and holds your hands above your head so he can cut the binder off of you. Making sure you wont be able to wear it again.

You walk out of the closet wearing ghosts hoodie, legs a bit shaky from the 'apology' he gave you for ruining your binder. Ghost tells you from now on you need to meet him in the mornings so he can apply your tape, make sure you aren't hurting yourself.

[chaosundcoffee]

Ghost flopping down next to you on your bed, having just picked the lock because he cant stand waiting for you to stand and unlock it when he could be laying in your arms.

Huge body taking up all of your precious mattress space, thick arms wrapped around your torso while he buries his face into your stomach. Ghost whines into the flesh, and you frown. You reach down to pat over his head, wishing he would take his balaclava off so you could brush his hair. "Whats wrong baby? Overwhelmed? Or just tired?"

He grumbles more, hugs you tighter before just barely turning his face so you can hear him. "....m' stomach hurts. An' my head."

You hum along, already knowing exactly what the problem is. "Uh-huh, and what have you eaten this week?"

Dead, guilty silence. Long enough for you to know the answer is solely mess lunches and protein bars. You sigh, and ghost turns his head back to hid against your ribs. The action has you cooing, thumb gently massaging his temple. You dont say anything, letting ghost sit with the provided information, then "do you think that might be why? What about the meals we talked about?"

He just huffs, embarrassed. "Forgot them."

Exactly as expected. Its fine, because you know how to take care of him. Giving ghost some water and pain meds, letting him curl into your blankets so he feels comfortable. While hes dozing off, you go make a decent sandwich, lots of greens and meats, essentials.

Ghost sits in your bed to eat, holding the sandwich out for you to bite every so often. You dont mention the crumbs that undoubtedly fall into your covers. Not when your sweetie is finally getting the nutrients he needs.

[chaosundcoffee]

Nikolai takes you out on father's day, makes a reservation at a nice restaurant and buys you the dress youve been wanting. He tells the waiter just how proud he is of his daughter, tells them hes so happy "my little girl can make time for me" after your promotion, and its so sweet, right?

Then he ruins it by full on making out with you, holding your jaw so he can properly force his tongue inside. When a server corners you in the bathrooms later that night, you have the mortifying experience of telling her No, im not in danger, thats my husband. Yeah he's just like that

[chaosundcoffee]

Shifter!gaz would totally buy a stuffed animal that looked like his shifted form and rub his scent all over it before he's deployed, giving it to you.

And ofc you get the joy of placing the little "mini kyle" all around the house and sending him pictures! Kyle will ask what his mini did that day, and usually get a photo of the plush in front of a bowl of cereal or tucked into bed! Then one day he asks and nearly trips and eats shit in the hallways when you reply.

Youve sent a photo, thighs bracketing the plush and an unmistakable gleam on its fur with the text "your mini helped me when I was missing you today!" Kyle makes a beeline for the bathrooms when you start sending videos too.

[chaosundcoffee]

Being artist!soaps muse and hes desperately trying to sculpt you...

But the Clay just wont lie the way he wants, hardly able to capture the subtle curves and dips in your body. So of course he insists on getting a better feel for you, telling you to "hold still, aye? Just need to know how you feel..." as his clay-smeared hands run over your naked body, squeezing a pinching. He has no intentions of getting you off, no matter how much you jerk and whine. This session is a good few hours, so you better get comfortable :)

[chaosundcoffee]

High of 85° today and its got me thinking about autumn with gaz....

He pulls out his best sweaters for autumn, thick yarn but overall light and oversized. Allowed the breeze to hit him just right.

With the weather so nice Kyle likes to drag you, his roommate who hardly ever leaves the flat, down to the park. Theres a nice little café around the corner that sells hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls fresh in the mornings, and you both grab one.

Kyles favourite thing is sitting with you on the pier and telling you about the latest drama on base, occasionally pausing when you hold up a piece of cinnamon roll for him to eat from your fingers. You roll your eyes when he grabs your hand to hold it still, thoroughly liking the frosting off.

"Nice try, handsome," you knock shoulders with him, take a sip of your hot chocolate, "but you promised me the library after this, remember?"

He snorts, leans into your side when a particularly strong gust of wind bites at his cheeks, face hiding in your neck. "That i did. Maybe afterwards? Please, princess?"

"Hm..." you turn your head to press a kiss to his hair "only if we can watch my show tonight."

"Deal."

[chaosundcoffee]

Thinking about German shepherd shifter!reader?? Who was a previous member of the shadow company experiencing culture shock with the 141??

Meeting price and feeling so confused when he doesn't so much as reach for your collar beyond giving it a raised brow. It feels odd not having his dominance reasserted, and it leaves you feeling off-kilter. Sure, you know implicitly that price is in charge, but you also feel like an outsider without him claiming ownership.

Then you meet soap and ghost, and truly feel as though you've fallen into some twisted reality. Both of them are undoubtedly shifters by the smell alone, but they greet you in human form. Not only that, they greet you like shifters while in human form, reaching out their wrists for you to scent them.

And god, don't they realize that price is right there? your nerves raise as he watches passively. Is this a test? Surely, it's a test. So you gently pull away, subtly turn your head in a rejection that has soap's lips curling. Still, when you hold out a hand for a human greeting, they accept.

But it doesn't stop there. Every interaction for the weeks following just feels...wrong. Like everyone was in one some ruleset that you were left to figure out. Ghost spent a lot of his time shifted, but you hardly ever saw Soap shift? And even in their dog forms, Gaz and Price talked to them like humans?

Eating is horrible, because they all seem to agree on team meals. Eating at a table always made you nervous, especially when everyone was familiar. The few times you joined your peers in the mess back with the shadows, people were constantly stealing food off each other's plates and laughing around. Except you weren't allowed to take food back because that's rude and it leaves your gums aching whenever a hand strays too close to your plate even if they never grab.

The worst part has to be sleeping, though. You're used to a crate, or maybe a small space under another shadow's bed, but now you have a whole room? And it feels so empty. It makes your skin crawl and leaves you pacing anxious circles into the floor. The space is so big, and your bed is too low to the ground to fit under it, but you don't want to move anything in case Price gets mad and– you end up not really sleeping at all.

Every single day, while you run laps in the morning before breakfast, the guys gather around and worry. Worry about you, about what they're doing wrong. How the hell they can even begin to help you when you reject them at every turn.

While you feel like all your bids for attention are being ignored, they wait desperately for you to reach out.

[chaosundcoffee]

kleptoparasitism

JOHNNY x READER (+ Ghost x Reader, smatterings of Ghoap, and Ghoap x Reader)

DDDNE: noncon oral. noncon. cum-eating/swallowing. somno. implied drugging. implied/off-screen noncon, kidnapping. sloppy seconds. Johnny, in vivid detail, thinks about Ghost ruining you. implied rough/painful sex.

Johnny is sent to Ghost's motel room to grab some document his Lieutenant left behind, and finds the sweet little waitress from the diner they've been using as a pseudo-recon spot tied to his bed, legs spread and dripping Ghost's cum.

(OR: Simon might have left his sloppy seconds behind, but Johnny's just hungry enough to make a meal out of it.)

And it really is sloppy. Wet, messy. Your poor cunt swollen and dripping, leaking so much that it starts to puddle on the starchy sheets below. His Lieutenant is a big man, and he feels a pinch of sympathy swell at the fuckin' sight of you—limp, like a doll; wrists bound above your head, skin inflamed and chaffed from struggling to get out.

On the end table, he spots a water bottle and scattered tablets. Sleeping pills, he's sure. Something to keep you docile and quiet while he's called away from the divine split of your lax thighs, and sent halfway across the city by Price. Leaving you all alone, unattended. Unable to do anything except wait for him to get back so he can stretch that sore, messy cunt on his cock all over again, fill you right back up—

Poor thing.

But he can't really deny that the modicum of sympathy he feels is scrapped together from the sludge at the bottom of a dry well. Just droplets in the palm of his hand, and honestly—it's more jealousy that Simon got to you first instead of real pity because he'd be lying (hand on a Bible, fingers gripping the beads of a rosary—i shall not lie) if he said that the sight of you hasn't been haunting him since the moment they wandered into the diner. His mind spinning debauched thoughts of you—dressed up pretty in soft pink and chocolate brown—from the moment you wandered over to his table, looking like a dream. Like a cutout from a porno magazines his dad hid inside the shed in an old shoebox.

Just the sweetest little thing.

And he's not the only one.

They've all been prowling around you a little bit since landing in your sleepy-eyed town—asking for more coffee even though it tasted like shit and was burnt to hell, just to keep you close. To keep you coming back to their table as they soak in their fill.

Price dropping rasping sweetheart's and love's and thank you, darlin's that they all pretended not to hear. And Simon—

Well. He sees now where all those lingering stares, the ones that made Johnny's hackle raise, hair standing on end, led his Lieutenant, and what they meant. He thought it was wariness at first—or maybe that's just what he told himself late at night when he pulled his shirt up his navel, fingers grazing the thick trail of course hair to the soft, sensitive patch of skin at the base of his cock. Thinking about the way his Lieutenant looked at you. A whisper in the back of his head that screamed wrong and no and look away, she's fucking mine; little bites, nips, he couldn't hold back even when his hand curled around the base of his thickening cock, drawing twisted, ugly fantasies of what Ghost might do with a pretty thing like you.

And fuck—

What that did to him. Does.

It would be another lie if he said he's never thought of it before. Got off on the idea of it. Something that started as a cut—just this little papercut that he kept scratching and scratching until it tore, splitting further apart. Opening wide, like a chasm. This gaping hole that pulsed around the thought of his Lieutenant. A sick little thing that throbbed around the shape of him. The absurd width and the way he moved—like a mean, old dog Johnny would sometimes find prowling corners on the outskirts of town. A grizzled tiger with broken teeth, snapping it's maw at anything that got close enough to eat. Just this awful, mean looking thing in size and shape and temperament. Hard, jagged lines. Solid like a brick. And then—

You. Recoiling when he curled a massive paw around the cup of coffee. His palm swallowing it whole when you could barely get your fingers to meet around the thick of the base. The size difference clicking in a way it sometimes did when pretty, feisty things would try to step toe to toe with him and have to glare up, up, because they barely even reached his chin.

The urge to overpower. To claim. To tuck something smaller and softer than himself beneath the bulk of his body, hiding his kill from view.

He's always been the driver, not the passenger. The one in control. The main character, not the one watching from the sidelines, though—

But he really can't get the thought of Ghost swallowing up someone the way he did with the cup. A stomach-churning thought. Just a sick obsession burning in the back of his head—the massive brute rutting against you. The juxtaposition between the big, nasty beast and the pretty thing beneath him crying out because he's just too big burns him sometimes.

And he should help you.

Wants to, too. Really, he does. Wants to be your knight in shining armour, rescuing you from the big, scary man who tied you to his bed and ravaged you like this, made that poor, little pussy ache when he stretched you on his fat cock. Wants to so bad—

But he wants a taste even more.

Wants to lick your messy, abused cunt until his Lieutenant isn't dripping from you anymore. Until the only thing glistening on your folds is his spit and your slick. Maybe—if he has time—slide inside your poor pussy and fill it up again, like he wasn't even there in first place. Ghost wouldn't even know the difference, would he? Would come back to you leaking all over the sheets, just like he left you. Ready for seconds (or fifths, sixths, considering the fuckin' mess between your thighs, and goddamn, if that isn't one of the hottest sights he'd ever seen—); pretty little cunt ready for that fat, thick cock to split it apart again, stuff it full of cum all over again—

He palms his cock, thoughts of calling for help dissolved into a keening in the back of his head; just this unignorable, urgent need to eat. Hunger like he'd never felt before, strong enough that just looking at you splayed out like the helpless little victim you are, leaking and messy and full of fucking cum that isn't even his, is making his belly growl. He'd cut his own arm off at this point for just a fucking taste—

And he gets it. Drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, wrapping his hands around your thighs before he pulls you into his mouth for that first, scorching lick—

And it's salty, bitter. Thick. Ghost's cum tastes pretty fucking gross, really (something he isn't too surprised by considering the man's diet mainly consists of barely cooked red meat, Marlboros, and bourbon)—or maybe he just doesn't have the acquired taste for it—and he winces, a little, thinking about the dried remnants of it around your mouth, how many times you had to drink down the same, briny taste; but it's not—

It's not enough to make him stop.

Underneath the brine of it, the fuckin' smell of you and his Lieutenant dense in his nose, he can taste you. Sweet. Earthy. Slightly metallic—like the first lick of a papercut, and it makes him whine in the back of his throat, rasping out a muffled, slurred, poor baby before laving his tongue over your abused cunt, soothing the ache Ghost must have left behind. The stretch that was probably on the wrong side of too much, turning his milky cum a pretty strawberry pink.

You poor fucking thing—

He can feel just how swollen you are when he splits your bruised folds apart with his fingers, peeling them away so he can dig his tongue into your tender, chaffed hole to scoop out a mouthful of pink-tinged cum that pools inside of you. Salty and bitter and so fucking perfect, he could almost weep. It spills down his chin, stains his shirt, and despite the several swallows he takes, feeling the slimy, thick cum oozing down his throat, there's still so much of it. A thought that makes him whine, that has him rutting against the side of the bed like a dog because god, you're so fucking full, aren't you?

His hand presses against your pelvis—fingers pushing into the space between your lower belly and mound to push more cum from your cunt, sitting like an eager fucking thing between the split of your thighs, mouth open, tongue out to catch anything that spills from you. Fingers pushing and pushing. Swallowing it down, one mouthful after the other—

Ghost, when he'd changed after a mission that got him a little too messy, was just this jumble of scar tissue and thick pelt, and that's where it should have ended. Eyes politely averted, maybe a crass joke at his Lieutenant's expense (handsome, my bloody arse), but he couldn't stop looking at the thing dangling between his gnarled thighs. The way it hung there, swaying between his legs. Thick and fat and uglier than anything he'd ever seen before. The urge to ask—fuck, LT, how do you ever get pussy with a hideous thing like that?—crawling up his throat as he stared and stared and—

got harder than he'd ever been in his entire life, coming so fucking hard, that his belly ached after

—and he thinks of it now. Almost the width of his wrist soft, and how much bigger it must have gotten when he peeled your panties away, unveiling the pretty, slick split of your cunt. His hand slides up your belly, resting above your belly button where he knows the tip of Simon's cock would reach by memory alone, and how deep he'd speared it into you. Stretching you out around his fat cock, making this pretty pussy swallow every fuckin' inch—

He cums, then, rutting against the side of the mattress, head fuzzy with nothing but the thought of Simon ruining your cunt, coming inside of you over and over again, the taste on his tongue—sweet, wrecked pussy, and bitter, cherry-tinged cum—

He grunts, groaning into the swollen mess of your cunt before shoving his tongue as deep inside of your fluttering, swollen little hole as he can get, and still, somehow, finding the taste of Simon even after his belly feels stuffed full with it.

A dream, he thinks, rubbing his mouth and chin over your messy, wet folds; the silken, swollen split of a tender, well-fucked cunt the most heavenly thing he'd ever felt against his skin. And the fact that all that pink-tinged cum soaking into his stubble belongs to his Lieutenant is something that just wrecks him more than he thought it ever would. A fantasy spinning behind his eyes as he imagines the way you'd have cried and thrashed and screamed when slid that hideous fucking cock inside of your tight cunt, balls slapping against your seam hard enough that he feels the irritated, burning skin above the plush dents of your ass cheeks. How terribly he must have treated you, such a sweet little thing, as he heaved above you, hands curled around your hips, maybe digging into your waist, as he pulled you back into each thrust just to make sure this sweet cunt he risked so much to fuck, to ruin, took every, hard earned inch. Rutting into like a beast, a man starved. The way he looked down at you probably taking on the same shape and colour of that look Johnny saw in his eyes when you turned your back to the table, shoulders tensing like you knew there was a tiger hiding in the bushes behind you.

Pretty, dumb little prey too bracket by the idea of safety indoors and the cellphone inside your pocket to notice the behemoth of a man luring in the shadows after you clocked out for work, following you to your car before he scooped you up and slaked his hunger on this little cunt Johnny can't stop fucking with his tongue either, too eager for another sip despite how sore he knows you must be. Stretched wide around something thicker than his own wrist, insides feeling like the same papercuts he itched to madness in the back of his own head.

Poor thing, he thinks again when you stir, letting out a sluggish little whimper. But it's a muted sense of sympathy. Like the oooh and ahhh of an ambivalent crowd; humming along in obligation instead of real pity because despite how tight your little hole gets around his tongue when he curls it inside, and the darkening of that pretty, pink-tinged cum to rose-red, he's too hungry to stop.

This is the first real meal he's had in years, and no matter how much you wince and whine, he knows he has to take what he can before the predator returns to finish off your bones.

Later, with his belly full and his lips sticky with dried cum and slick, he finds his way back to the diner with the document in hand, ignoring the piercing look Ghost sends him and offering up an easy grin.

Lax and nonchalant because the man will find nothing amiss when he gets back to his room because Johnny had no reason at all to go into the bedroom at all. He'll open the door and see you splayed over the mattress, pussy wet and messy and still leaking cum—

(pink-tinged, of course, because Johnny got a little carried away himself by that sweet clench of you around the thick of him. something he'll coo about and apologise for later when he sneaks back inside for another taste—)

But what he forgot was the keen eyes and sense of smell on an apex predator, and when Simon snatches him up by the scruff of his neck before shoving him against the wall with a hungry, snarling, teeth-clacking kiss (that's more of an eating, really; a devouring that makes Johnny's cock throb and his stomach whine in longing), all he can say is whoops when Simon growls out,

"why can i taste 'er on your fuckin' lips, Johnny?"

[chaosundcoffee]

How does ghost text? Like, super smooth and flirty? Or kind of awkward?

(Cw: cnc discussion)

Ghost doesnt really flirt or anything over text when you first get together. If he has something to say he prefers to say it in person or on the phone so he can hear your breathing because he's a freak.

BUT the one time he did try was after soap told him how much fun he and kyle had, and ghost figured hed give it a try. The only thing is, hes hm...blunt. very blunt and totally lacking shame. Which means you get texts like these at 2am when he thinks of you:

"Are you free Wednesday? I want to chase you through the woods and break your ankles and rape you. Maybe sometime after dinner?"

And hes dead serious about it too :(

[chaosundcoffee]

Uhh–

Ghost training you in sniping. He tells you that a sniper cant be distracted by anything, the only thing that matters is the objective, so he brings you out to a private range. Gets you all into position, and you think maybe he'll fire a gun or set off a minor explosion or something to ruin your focus.

He shoves a hand between your thighs and begins groping shamelessly. Only stopping to smack your head when you try to jerk around and look at him, telling you to focus.

So you have to sit there and take it as ghost gropes and plays with you. Everytime you try to squirm away or move he's shoving you back into position and threatening to do worse. And of course you cant stay still when he yanks your pants down and bullies two fingers inside. Yelping and trying to kick him off. Moving much more than he allowed.

Which is what ghost grunts in your ear when he fucks you in pronebone. "Too fuckin' reactive. You need to learn to ignore it." He grinds into that perfect spot inside you until you're whining "we're staying out here until you learn to shut up and take what happens, got it?"

[chaosundcoffee]

Inspired by [this] post by @quarterlifekitty but....

Gator!price who is more than pleased to show off to deaf!reader

While everyone else gets nervous or even flinches when he bellows, you dont even notice the sound. Price gets the joy of courting in the traditional way, floating through the bases pool and letting out bellows so loud and deep it causes the water on his back to jump into his archs.

Ofc you are mesmerized, frantically waving a hand and telling price to *do that again*. Light catching the water droplets as they dance over his back. Everyone else is standing tense very far away, but you just ask if you can feel the vibrations.

Which is how you end up laying your head over prices chest as he floats in his back. Two bodies drifting in the water while be occasionally roars just for you to giggle and press hands over his hair chest to really feel it.