ficmashup

[ficmashup]

sometimes u see something that makes you so stupid horny you black out

anyway this is dedicated to @readbads and their centaur!Ghost art. this is just monster blow job porn

he's a mean mother fucker, but you've yet to meet a stallion that wasn't. they'd caught him wild, tattoos swirling like pitch over his arm, no herd nearby. he'd kicked the big Austrian that found him first in the head, rescuers found him half tied in a field next to the body. given how smart the species is, you almost suspect he let himself get caught. not that anyone thought to ask what he was doing out alone near a known poacher's property. he was already gagged by then, and by the time he made it to your barn he'd been put on a short leash.

multiple short leashes.

one latching his collar to the floor to keep him from biting, one keeping his arms tethered to a wall behind his back, and a bar keeping his back legs bound.

you sort of felt sorry for the guy. being forced to kneel on the hard ground couldn't be comfortable and the way his shoulders moved when he bent down to drink made your own ache. fuck, you were supposed to be rehabilitating him and here he was bound and gagged on your barn floor. you had meant to at least take off the leg bar when you got him, start building some trust-

but the way he looked at you when you got too close, the hungry following of his eyes as you refilled his food and water, it frightened you. you could almost forget that he was well over twice your size when he was kept so small, but when he looked at you like that, like you were a piece of meat? well, it was easy to remember that centaurs were omnivorous. the way he drooled didn't help,

but then again neither did the heavy flared cock that unsheathed itself every time you walked past him.

that-

you could almost deal with the aggression if it weren't for that.

you could almost deal with the way he leaned close every time you reached to unhook his gag and told you,

"smell that bloody cunt of yours." in that low underused growl that had you forcing yourself not to respond, your legs steeled from shaking as you stepped back to let him eat, and he sneered, "just beggin' fer me ta break ya, fuck ya so full it comes out yer fuckin' nose."

you usually leave after that, scurry away to hide and pretend you arent sneaking a hand down your pants at the thought.

rehabilitation, you remind yourself, he's here for rehabilitation.

you're supposed to be helping the guy. in a way, you suppose you are.

its not like crawling on your hands and knees to lap at the slitted crown of his cock is hurting him. nor is it hurting him to paw at the long heavy shaft and press your thighs together as you trace the veins. he's still locked up, he can't hurt you —though now you're not sure if he wanted to eat you or eat you— so why not? why not lick the slow drip off pre-come that beads at the head of his cock? why not stroke his shaft and palm the fat balls the sway beneath it? you're not fucking him. you're just-

you're helping him find some relief. that's what you'll put in your notes at least, helping to curb his aggression with intermittent... stimulated tension releases.

nobody needs to know you're indulging yourself, rubbing your poor aching cunt through your jeans as you try to fit the head of his cock in your mouth, imagining the way he would stretch out your holes, the way he come would leak from them after he'd gaped them open. you imagine rubbing his cock over your naked chest, feeling the soft slick skin against your nipples. you crawl forward to lick and suck at the hairy skin of his balls, enjoying the weight of his cock in your back. you measure yourself against him and shudder at the thought of his cock bulging out your stomach.

"knew they sent me to the right place," he grunts, hips twitching as your slick tongue drags up the seam of his sack —the short hair tickles your tongue but the scent of him is making your head swim, you don't care, can't care about anything but that warm musty scent— and over his sheath, "soon as I smelled ya drippin', knew ya knew yer place."

you groan, the skin of his cock is so soft under your tongue, dragging along with the motion of your licking. his cock is too heavy to fully hold itself up and the way it rests on your head makes your eyes roll. satisfaction shiver through you, pooling in your core with the frantic rub of fingers over denim. you want more, need more. you shove your hand under your belt as you suck around the flare of his head.

your fingers toy with your clit, pinching and circling the bud, letting tension grab your legs and shudder through your body as you suck. wet kisses, and haphazard attempts to wrap your lips around him are all you can manage as you start to fall apart. you lick and rub, your ass wagging as you indulge your base instincts. you're only glad "ghost" can't see you, the way he talks to you is humiliating enough without giving him further proof how right he is.

it's proof enough when he comes. the viscous liquid coats your tongue as well as you cheeks, and you know you'll be washing it out of your hair tonight. you're all too pleased with yourself, until ghost pipes up.

"you get a breeding bench, we can put on a real show."

and nods towards the barn cameras.

[ficmashup]

NSFW

If there was one thing you never went without, it was Simon’s dog tags. You kept them on you at all times—at the store, under your hoodie; over your dress, even if they don’t technically go together; dangling between your breasts, or wrapped in your hands as you sleep naked.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, that Simon appeared to be physically affected by your wearing them. You liked to watch his eyes dip low, then flick back up to yours, watch his head tip when he heard them jingle, watch him clench his hand to keep from reaching out and touching them. Whenever you’d walk around nude, wearing only his tags, you grin to yourself whenever you saw the bulge in his pants, or under the sheets, even if you’d just gone a round.

It’s also not uncommon for him to come back from a mission insanely keyed up by adrenaline. Before you, he said he’d go lift weights after every mission, no matter what time it was, just to get his body to calm down. After you, though, he came home ready to go.

Just like tonight, in the shower, with your head thrown back just out of the stream of water, your cries carrying over the glass with the steam. Simon’s positioned himself between your legs, face buried in your pussy while his tongue laps at your clit. The only thing holding you up is his face, and the hands half on your thighs, half cupping your ass, spreading you apart for him.

You can’t help the way your hips grind against his mouth, riding his face, hands balled tightly in his hair. You’re balancing between the tip toes of each foot, glancing down to meet his honey-warm eyes.

“Simon, please,” You breathe, thighs shaking uncontrollably, “you’ve gotten me to come twice now.”

He hums, and you yelp at the feel of it against your clit, “You can give me more than that, love.”

Your back arches at the sound of his voice, making his dog tags clink together between your breasts. His eyes lock onto them, and you can see them darken as his tongue slows to a heavy, unrelenting circle over your already swollen clit. You whimper, pulling his hair tighter, as he reaches up to roughly fondle your tit, making the tags jingle even more.

“Mm, fuck.” He says low, voice hoarse, “My name looks good between your tits.”

Arousal hits you again, your thighs clenching, “Simon—” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sounds good when you’re practically coming on it, too.” He drags his tongue again, the hand not rolling a nipple between its fingers dipping one into your dripping hole.

“Oh my god, Si.” Your hips grind hard against his face, “Gonna come again.”

“Ah, ah.” He tuts, pulling out his finger and ducking out from between your legs, “Thought you didn’t want to come again.”

“Simon!” You groan, watching him rise to his feet with a smirk, wiping his face on the back of his hand, “I was right there.”

He crowds you up against the wall, “Come on, dove, what kind of man do you take me for?”

Before you can even think to respond, he’s kneeing your thighs apart, leaning back and down to level his cock at your pussy. His fingers twist his tags around themselves with one hand, pulling you forward while the other helps stuff himself up into your hole.

You gasp as he slides in deep, clinging to his shoulders as his thrusts go rough right off the bat. Almost immediately, you’re coming on his cock, crying up to the ceiling as he fucks you through it. His eyes watch every face you make, every look he’s able to draw out of you with his cock. He tells you how pretty you look for him, whimpering for his cock, how lovely your tits are, bouncing while he takes you.

Sex with Simon is always intense like this after missions, but it’s not always this way. Sometimes it’s incredibly intimate, overwhelming in an emotional way. When he’d fuck you nice and slow, the head of his cock catching on that one spot inside you that drove you nearly mad when he found it.

His lips crush to yours, snapping you out of your little reverie. He groans into your mouth, teeth biting gently at your lips as he thrusts you into the wall. When he pulls away, he keeps hold of your gaze, lips quirking as your feet slip against his ass, your legs trying to keep their grip around his waist.

“Open up.” He says, and you let your jaw fall open as he commands. He stuffs his tags into your mouth, closing it for you, not hard but not gently, and holding it closed with his hand.

He groans when you don’t protest, his cock throbbing as it drags inside you, stretching you open and filling you until your mind was numb to anything but him.

“Taste good?” He asks, knowing damn well they didn’t.

You nod anyway, tears springing to your eyes because the man was hitting you just right, and he knew it if the sudden slow roll of his hips had anything to say about it. You moan against his hand, staring into his fuzzy eyes as he rests his mouth against the back of his hand.

“Drives me fucking crazy, you wearing those.” He breathes, voice strained, quivering the way it does when he’s close, “Every fucking day.”

You moan softly, pussy clenching around his girth.

“But I fucking love it.” He all but growls it, and then slams into you, pounding up into your pussy for a few more harsh thrusts until he stills, panting and grunting into the crook of your neck. You can feel the pulse of his cock as he comes inside you, twitching and jerking with every moan.

Later, when he’s cleaned you up and made sure you’re properly taken care of, you’re held in his arms while his thumbs run over the tags.

“Does it annoy you that I wear them so often?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at his wide eyes, “I can stop if you want.”

“Now what would go and make you think I wouldn’t want you to wear ‘em?” He kisses the top of your head, “Thought me coming at the sight of you with them on was enough.”

“Just making sure.” You smile at him when he pulls back.

So, you greet him at the door when he comes back from his next mission, wearing his dog tags and only his dog tags.

He doesn’t even get his vest off.

✨⋆｡°✩₊💜₊✩°｡⋆💀⋆｡°✩₊💜₊✩°｡⋆✨

Masterlist

[ficmashup]

I’m fucking gagged thank you for getting my first post to 1500 wtf guys 🤍😵‍💫 ANYWAY have some bear!price on the house 🐻

Bear hybrid!John Price x sleepy!reader

Cw: smut v little plot, slight dubcon (sleepy sex ig)

Wc: 2k things got a little out of hand…

It starts when he has to wake you from a well-deserved nap. A what-year-is-it kind of sleep. It was the first thing taught at military school, how to fall asleep on your feet. You took that personally and made it an artform. That's how Price finds you, knocked out on the rec room couch after cleaning up after someone else’s mistake as soon as you got back from deployment. Poor little scrapper.

He’s horribly endeared by it and his deep-seated instincts pull him to join you when his duty demands otherwise. Not his fault you look so cozy, curling around yourself and burying your nose in the blanket Gaz threw over you when he found you.

He tries calling out to you but you are dead to the world, so he lays a warm palm on your shoulder, rocking you gently to ease you back to the waking world. He answers your soft sleepy sound with a deep chuff, his bear endlessly pleased you feel safe enough to sleep so heavily around him and his team. You’re awake but definitely not alert, so he lets himself sit by your legs as you shake off the grip of sleep.

“Cap?”

“Meeting in ten, grab some joe.” He tells you, paw heavy on your head as he gives your adorable bed-head a ruffle. You’re too gone to sleep to wrinkle your nose at the treatment.

“Yessir.” You slur, and he has to make himself walk out the rec room at the sound of your sleep rough voice.

When he sees you again your eyes are brighter and you grip your coffee cup like a lifeline. You don’t get much of it down before you’re pulled to another task, looking down at it, forlorn, before putting in front of Price. A silent offering and he’s not one to turn down caffeine and if he does, take him out back and finish him off. And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact he gets to swallow down the lip-print you left on the rim. Honey-flavored chapstick. He doesn’t stop the happy rumble coming from his chest and you give him a small slight smile before you’re off. He adds the look to the catalogue of secret smiles he's won from you, a well-thumbed archive in his mind he keeps close as winter creeps closer.

Next time it’s you that catches him napping. You come well prepared, armed with coffee and the flask of whiskey you keep hidden in your vest. He doesn’t even hear the door to his office open, chin tucked to his chest, still gripping a pen. The approaching winter had him at its beck and call, quick to sleep and slow to wake.

“Your neck is going to kill later, Cap.” He rouses at the sound of your voice, soft and to his right. You’d lingered a little longer than you’d like to admit, barely controlling the urge to rub the fuzzy little ears he usually keeps hidden under his hat. He looked younger in his sleep, without the furrow in his brow and stern frown on his lips, like a big oversized teddy bear, but you’ll keep that one to yourself.

On que he lifts his head, neck cracking loudly. His wince has your hands itching to lift and massage the soreness out for him. You sigh, a little frustrated at yourself for fanning the flame of the embarrassing crush you have on your boss. You told yourself it was the trauma bond, nothing like shedding blood to bring two people together. It’s just the inevitable coworker crush you tell yourself, even when he’s the last thing you think about before falling asleep and the first when you wake.

It gets exponentially worse when he yawns, not looking as he reaches out to the general direction he heard your voice and patting around lazily. You can’t help but step up from your extremely respectful and professional distance away from his desk. The meaning of the words fizzle out when he catches a belt loop and reels you in.

“You got something for me?” He rasps, prompting you for an update, and the way his voice rumbles out of his chest and buries itself between your legs is beyond unfair. You start with the coffee, waiting a second before putting the flask down next to it. He lets out a grateful huff and you know you’re going to need to change your underwear after all this.

“Laswell touches down in twenty.” You ruin your own pleasant haze you’ve been floating in since he pulled you close enough to feel the heat coming off of him. The frown and furrow are back. He’s all squint, 90% bushy frown, hat forgotten on the desk in front of him.

“We best be meeting her then, hm?” He sighs, coming to a stand. You cannot be bothered to step out of his space but especially when you get a delicious whiff of his cologne and cigar smoke. Drenched. Ruined. In need of some alone time in the showers later.

You hardly breathe when his sleep-warm palm comes up to hold the back of your neck, steering the both of you out of his office. You stop moving all together when he lets go to open the door. He looks down at you when you don’t follow him through the door, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Keep up, trouble.” He chuckles, like he wasn’t the one caught napping on the clock.

“Right behind you, sir.” You hum. He doesn’t have to pretend to hear the warmth in your voice.

It isn’t long before John’s instincts have him searching you out at night, driven by your raw scent, fresh from the shower before you get ready for bed. It's getting worse day by day, so drawn in by your earthy sweetness that he lingers silently outside your door for far too long, holding his bear by the metaphorical scruff. You look longingly at the shadow under your door, fingers slipping through your folds wetly hoping he hears your need.

It’s not until he comes home limping that he finds his control slipping through his fingers, frost in the air. His senses are fuzzy and nothing feels right, his bear huffing and puffing just beneath his skin keeping him from sleeping off the pain. He barely hears the medic giving the usual warnings to take it easy before he’s bullying past them back to the barracks. His den calls to him, nearly dead on his feet when he smells you. It feels like every knot, every inch of tightness in his shoulders unravels as he breathes the remnants of you that linger in the common room. He doesn’t even realize he’s darkening your door until it pushes open under his palm. The sight of you asleep on your bunk, rolled half onto your stomach with your leg hiking up, settles him. The long line of your body has his mouth watering and teeth aching to sink into your plushest parts. You don’t stir when he looms over your bed, only when he sinks a knee down on the mattress. He lets out a pained groan when he sheds his shirt and drops down next to you, mattress squeaking violently under his weight and stitches in his side pulling tight.

“Mhm. Price?” You slur, head lifting off your pillow. He makes a pleased chuff, you don’t sound alarmed that he’s crawling in your bed at this hour, the fact you knew without even seeing him.

You try to roll over, giving him room, but he hushes you and presses a big paw on your back. You jolt, remembering you went to bed without a shirt when you feel his palm on your bare skin. He soothes you, big palm petting down your back as he urges you down with a grumble in your ear. His breath is hot on your neck as he rolls over onto you, thick pelt of his chest meeting the sensitive skin of your back as he eases his weight onto you with a satisfied sigh. You make a high pitched squeak at the contact, body going tight as he maneuvers you how he likes. Hooking a heavily furred thigh around your own and giving the padding of your tummy a grope as he settles. Your room was coated in your scent, your pillows and sheets even more so. He wanted to roll around in it until it settled under his skin permanently.

“Shush now, let ‘m get a feel cub, that's it.” He pushes a hairy arm beneath your chest, thick fingers groping your tits as he presses wet bristle-y kisses to your shoulders. You can’t stop the sleepy whine that leaves you, oh god please don’t let this be a dream, please please please-

The bulge pressing under the cleft of your ass is too hot and hard to be a dream. You can’t help but roll your hips back to feel more of him. You can feel how slick your lips are, slipping together wet and syrupy with your want.

“Price-“ the want in your voice and the smell of your need in the back of his throat is all the approval the bear needs.

“Settle down.” He slurs, but the way he humps against the plush of your ass has you doing the opposite. One particular rut has him pressed right up against your heat, underwear clinging to your folds as he pushes around your slick with the heft of his cock. You can do nothing but lay there with the way he has you pinned, legs tangled together as he grinds into you with sleepy rolls of his hips.

“Perfect thing, huh? Feel so good and you’re not even on my bloody cock yet-“ his moan has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“oh-“ your throat closes up on a desperate whimper when the hand pinned between your chest and the bed falls lower and cups your pussy, playing the damp fabric keeping him from your slick and pinching your puffy lips together.

“There she is.” His hips fall harder as he stuffs his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like it would get him high. He pulls them to the side and his thick calloused fingers are there to catch the obscene amount of slick, pooling on his fingers and down his palm. He knew it would be fucking good, knew you’d drip down his fucking balls like this-

You reach back, hands patting at the thick of his stomach hanging over his waistband before finding your prize, pulling his throbbing cock free and feeling it bounce up against your thighs. He wraps both his arms around you, banding you to his chest and hooking his chin over your shoulder as his thick cock slots against your pussy, drooling pre against your clit.

“Go on, honey, just put it- fuck, yeah.” He grunts, lips to your ear as your shaky hands obey and notch his cock against your aching hole, a twisted version of the kiss you always wanted from him.

He’s rolling on top of you, nearly pressing his full weight against your back and working your hips up with a meaty paw. Your brain is leaking out your cunt at the realization he’s mounting you-

“One big push, honey, sh sh sh-“ he’s cut off by his own groan as the tip pops inside you, immediately driving further into your tight heat. Your walls seize around him and the animal part of your hindbrain tells you to crawl away, but a firm hand on the back of your neck has you still. He clicks his tongue at you, silly thing, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run from a bear?

He’s quick to remove the thought from your head entirely, arm closing under your chin to keep you still as he leans over you.

“Come on luv, just a little kiss.” He meanly squishes your cheeks with his fingers, turning your head enough to plant a mess open-mouthed kiss on you. He swallows every little noise he’s punching out of you and in their absence the steady plap, plap, plap of his heavy balls slapping your mound fills the room. The next time his gooey tip presses up against your sweet spot, you let out a desperate whine and clamp down tight on him, a foaming, creamy ring forming around the base of his cock. You feel every throb of him against your sensitive walls, milking himself with your pulsing pussy as he pants and groans into your mouth.

You are taken down with him as he flops back down on his side, cock still chubbed in your pussy. He doesn’t pull out, not even when his breathing evens out and he’s humping your sticky pussy in his sleep. His warmth and the delicious stretch of your pussy around him eases you into a deep sleep, completely surrounded by your Captain and stuffed with another load by morning. He’ll even let you yell at him in the morning for crawling in your bed wounded when you find a little blood on the sheets, it’s all worth it as long as he gets to crawl home to his little mate again at the end of the day.

[ficmashup]

Soulmate au where soulmates essentially have a mind link, able to share thoughts, sensations and emotions through the bond.

Well, you and Johnny just so happen to be soulmates. The link is useful in ops. Able to move in complete silence when you share information through the link, a lethal force with perfect synchronization. By all means, your link is used to its fullest on the field.

Mostly, though, its used for depraved horny behaviour. Because of course johnnys soulmate would be just as kinky and horny as he is.

Fucking eachother and sharing each sensation through the link, creating a feedback loop that leaves you both overstimulated and panting before the first round is even up. You could get off multiple times just from the loop, no outside input needed.

Or sending the dirtiest most depraved things to eachothers minds when you know the other is in a boring meeting.

Naturally, the others get involved too. Gaz is pissed at soap so he bends you over the counter while soap is running drills on the recruits. Ghost is training you in sniping, groping at soap to make sure your focus is solid. Price shoving a hand beneath your waistband because soap is late on reports.

Their favourite thing, though? Fucking one of you while the other watches. Pressed thick and warm between gaz and ghost while johnny kneels with his hands behind his back. Every orgasm you have is echoed by johnny until hes a whimpering mess without ever being touched. Price forcing you to deepthroat his cock so soap can feel the lack of oxygen despite being fully able to breathe.

Passed around and used as a tool to make soap fall apart, mindless and whimpering.

[ficmashup]

everyone knows that soap, ghost, and even john can be absolutely disgusting during sex, thought it kyle gaz garrick who is the biggest freak of them all.

he's blowing a load on your face and then licking it off. dragging his soaked tongue and mashing it against yours. he's fucking your face until his dick is covered in spit, then uses it as lube to slip inside you. cooing as you gasp at the stretch of him and slipping his thumb into your mouth to quiet your whines. he fucks you deep and hard, knocking you until you're at the edge of the bed and your head is hanging off.

you squeal around his finger, sending an upside down stare right towards the three men sitting across from the bed–all of them with stiff cocks and rough breathing as the watch gaz rail you silly.

"bleedin' jesus," johnny breathes out at the two of you, a wet stain on the pants he's already accidentally come in. squirming in a silent itch to get a little closer.

to his left sits john, who's flicking his darkened gaze between you and gaz, hand squeezing at his bulge every time you sob out a cock-drunk mumble of curses.

and to johnny right is simon. teeth clenched and eyes unblinking, his entire body pulses as he can't decide which one of you or gaz does he wish to switch places with...

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[ficmashup]

You meet Price, fall in love and marry pretty fast -- so fast that you don't end up meeting many of the people in his life until after the ring is already on your finger.

He introduces you to Kate when you stop by the base one afternoon, and she's lovely, and Kyle is a perfect gentleman when you meet him at an event. Johnny escorts you to your husband's office when you can't remember the way one evening, and he's a little intense, but fun.

And you feel a sense of relief that John has these people in his life. Strong, smart people, of course, but good people too. It feels good to know that these are the kinds of people he has looking out for him when he's gone from home.

Then you meet Simon. And it's ... different.

Because the man is, for lack of a better word, strange. He's bigger than even your bear of a husband, taller and broader both, and he just stares, unnervingly, with those big dark eyes. Not in a creepy way, he doesn't leer, nothing like that ... but it's the perceptiveness in his gaze that throws you off kilter.

And it's not like you can talk to him about it -- you try. Easy little jokes, bits of small talk whenever you're in his presence, but nothing takes. He's quiet and closed off.

He's a mystery. And you never could leave well enough alone.

"What's the deal with Simon?" you ask John every once in a while.

John adores you, thinks you hung the moon and to him, you outshine all the stars in the sky. But he's loyal to a fault, so he'll just chuckle when you ask, or make some soft little comment to change the subject.

"No stranger than the rest of us, just not as good at hiding it, love." "You think he's odd now, you should have met him 15 years ago." "'Least you haven't seen him with the mask, sweetheart."

But Simon does wear a mask, that much is obvious to you. It's not the skull one you've heard he wears in the field, but it's a mask all the same. Months go by with little interactions here and there, but you haven't seen so much as a smirk cross his scarred lips. There are signs of life, obviously, you can see his chest rise and fall as he breathes, but real life? Signs of actual living?

Not a one.

"Let me ask you something," John says one night in bed, a heavy arm draped around your waist. "Why do you care so much, sweetheart?"

"I don't," you answer defensively, and he laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back, before leaning in to kiss your shoulder.

You can feel the grin against your skin.

Your curiosity is one of the things that made John fall in love with you so fast. When he met you, you didn't write him off as an old broken soldier, instead taking your time to dig in deep and find all the good parts buried under the hard exterior. He'd never admit it to those friends of his you'd come to know -- only to you in soft whispers in the dark -- but you made him feel special. Like he was worth learning.

And now, seeing a similar spark of eagerness in learning about Simon, it's ... well, it's an interesting feeling. John took Simon under his wing years ago when they met as much younger men, and he's never quite let him go. He's always seen something special in him, and seeing you notice it too ...

He presses another kiss against your shoulder, and another, trailing them to the back of your neck. His hand finds your hip, pulling you back against him so you can feel his building arousal.

He doesn't quite know why, and you don't either, but things are just a little bit different that night. His calloused hands, usually so gentle with you, grip a little harder as he moves you, and when he slips inside your warmth, he doesn't take his time like he usually does.

There's an urgency there, but what it's born from, neither of you quite know.

It won't become clear until months from now, when Simon starts popping by more frequently -- for dinner sometimes, to help John with some project others.

That first time you see it, a small little upturn in the corners of Simon's mouth, paired with a little light in his eyes that warms up the darkness...

That's when you get an idea.

[ficmashup]

thinking about fucking your lieutenant but now he won't leave you alone. (18+)

you thought he'd want to keep it a secret. ghost is the most quiet, secretive, mysterious man you know. he won't even eat in the same room as you to avoid showing you any part of his face.

you don't really know why it happened. you suppose, at the end of the day, ghost is just the kind of man you always gravitate towards—off-putting, angry, sarcastically nasty with the thickest thighs and an eager tongue. he's big all-over, and that might just be your weakness. big hands, pudgy stomach, long legs, perfect cock—the kind that stretches your insides and makes your tummy feel full.

ghost is mean, though. he doesn't play favorites. you've seen others try to get on his good side, try to kiss his ass, but he has none of it. he doesn't give anyone special treatment, and you don't expect it from him now. you don't expect him to even acknowledge you. you let him come inside of you, but that doesn't mean he won't make you run laps or drop and give him an agonizing amount of push-ups.

when you leave his room, you keep your mouth shut. you expect nothing but his back.

color you surprised when a whole group of people stop talking while you're sitting with them. your head in your hands, coffee cooling in front of you, and suddenly the lively table is clearing their throats and looking anywhere but up. when you turn your head, ghost is standing there, staring at you like a hungry animal.

he makes you stay behind after drills. corners you into closets, shoves you behind walls. you're so swept up in the butterflies as he hoists you up against the wall that you don't remember which round it is that day—can't get enough o'me, can ya?

but you don't expect the display. you're running through your demolitions training, soap at your side, and when you manage to untangle the wires and solder a few pieces together successfully, you were not expecting the heat at your back coming to praise you. the grip on your neck, the pull on you until your head snaps back, and then the hard kiss through the mask.

the most embarrassing part is soap who just grins like he expected it. like he knows a secret about you that you didn't even know yourself. when ghost pulls back, dark eyes lidded and heavy, you nearly fall through the floor when he kisses his teeth under the mask and mumbles the most diabolical, "tha's a good girl, int'she, johnny?"

ghost doesn't want to keep it quiet. ghost doesn't want to keep you a secret. in fact, ghost grabs your ass right in front of his captain, thick gloved hand in the back pocket of your cargoes that squeezes so hard, you squeak audibly in the mess hall line.

it makes other soldiers angry—so she gets special treatment cause she opened her fucking legs? it makes others jealous—why is she the only one that gets to have a piece? it makes a small number morbidly curious—what does she have that's good enough to come back for?

it doesn't matter what they say. it doesn't matter what they think. it doesn't matter if they hate you or want to be you or want to kill you. lieutenant simon "ghost" riley has all but claimed you, and that means no one puts a hand on you unless they want to lose it.

"why me?"

it's a simple question, but why is it so difficult?

you have such sad eyes. all wet, lips trembling. you're frustrated. did ghost know the implications of being less than discreet? did he know how people would treat you when they knew you let your lieutenant into your bed and kept him there? did he realize that parading you around like this would only make things worse?

"no one looks at me," ghost says. he says it with his face against the line of your jaw. he says it with his cock still inside of you, cum leaking down your thighs as he pulls out just to fuck himself back in to keep it there.

but you do, is what he doesn't say, and you know it, and it makes the butterflies turn into an ache, one that slips around your heart and tugs it low.

it makes you feel new again. it feels good.

so when a private with too much ego spits at your feet, you don't flinch—"i don't take orders from ghost's bitch."

he brushes a thumb across your cheek, touching where the bruising is starting to bloom. skeleton glove tracing a line down your face, over the split in your lip, over the bleeding cut across your brow.

"you give it back?" ghost asks. he leans down, crowding your space, forehead nearly against yours. you nod, lifting your hand, putting a hand on his wrist as he rubs his thumb across your bottom lip. "he broken?"

"fought a little dirty," you mumble, blinking up at him. you remember the look on the guy's face when the metal folding chair came flying towards his face. "but he had a mouth on him."

"'n 'ow is he now?"

"eating through a straw, sir."

ghost nearly purrs. it must take an enormous amount of self-discipline for him not to force you to bend over—he's done it for less, in more public places, but he's looking at you now, and you wonder if he loves you.

you wonder if he's capable of that.

[ficmashup]

john price pulling his rusted chevy over to the side of the road just to fuck you in the back of it bc you keep giving him that cute lil smile in that devious lil sundress and there’s only so much he can take

[ficmashup]

headcanons: price’s wife & the task force 141

price’s wife is the only person who can make captain john price relax after a long mission. she’s his safe place, and everyone in the 141 knows it.

soap calls her “mrs. p” too but deep down, he sees her as the closest thing to a mother he’s had in years. he tells her about his new tattoos and jokes that price will never be as cool as him.

ghost is surprisingly protective of her. he never shows his face, but he’ll let her touch his arm or shoulder when she’s trying to comfort him. she’s the only one who can make ghost eat properly when they’re home.

gaz adores her cooking. he always compliments her and says she’s “the heart of the team.” he helps her set the table and carries heavy groceries like it’s a mission objective.

whenever the boys come back from a mission, price’s wife hugs them all, no questions asked. ghost stiffens at first, but he secretly loves it.

soap teases price saying, “you’re lucky she said yes to you, cap. i’d have married her if i’d met her first.” price just rolls his eyes but hides a smirk.

she sends small notes or snacks in their gear bags before missions—like “stay safe, lads”—and ghost once kept one tucked in his pocket the whole operation.

price calls her “love” or “darling” in front of the team, and soap pretends to gag every single time, just to annoy him.

when someone gets hurt, she’s the first to scold them gently, like a mom. even ghost listens when she says, “sit down and let me see that wound.”

gaz loves how she listens to him talk about random things, like his favorite music or football matches, and she always remembers the little details.

price trusts her with his life, and the team knows she’s the only one who can pull him out of a bad mood.

[ficmashup]

I just want to share that I routinely think about wife 8 and nick. They deserve each other and they deserve to fuck nasty.

it's sort of... strange. Rationally you know that Nik must not be much older than your ex-husband, but he wears his age so differently that you'd almost think-

John had detested the grey in his beard, had been careful to cover the silver starting to show at his temples, had been religious with his health and you'd never thought of him as "older" but with Nik...

Nik preens over the way you trace the grey streaking his beard, hums with pride at the silver that glitters in his hair, smiles with crow-scratched eyes and well-worn creases across his forehead, he seems to gravitate towards music a decade older than him, to indulge in hobbies that betray his age, he enjoys the slow of a morning spent in bed and an early dinner. "Chasing youth," he shakes his head, "it's a fool's errand. The nights are longer and more enjoyable."

And he does seem happier. Happier than John at least. You sit in an innertube, drifting in the current of a softly swaying river with the other end of your line wrapped around Nik's waist. He reels his cast back towards him, flicking his wrist to send the line hurtling back towards deeper water. He'd taught you how to tie feather to flies last night, his cock buried in your cunt, refusing to move until your shaking hands had finished tying the last piece on.

"I'm getting hungry." You tell no one in particular. Nikolai's chuckle is your reply. You hear the whizz of his line being tossed out again.

"I will catch something," you can hear his smile, even if you can't see it, "and if I don't, I will eat your cunt."

Your skin feels warm from something other than the sun, you paddle to turn yourself to face him, your hand lilting lazily over the side of the inflatable as you look him over. He wears his weight better than John too, vanity strikes Nikolai through good food and better liquor.

"What am I supposed to eat?" You tease. Nik glances over his shoulder at you, his eyes creased with delight.

"I'm sure this old man can fill your belly with something."

[ficmashup]

something something Ghost holding you up off the ground when he fucks you from behind, letting your legs dangle and kick as you desperately try to find purchase in the open air until they shake too badly from the way he grinds his cock into you to even do that... even better if he's stripped you naked without bothering to undress himself, making you into nothing but a desperate flesh light for him to force his heavy cock into until he pulls out to come over the back of your thighs, keeping you held aloft so he can watch the way it drips down your legs before he starts the process over again

[ficmashup]

For the incredibly lovely HoH anon who wanted more of this comic - instead here's some with Ghost!:

[ficmashup]

demon!Price

Was in a diabolical mood.

Full frontal (with a little surprise) on my Patreon.

[ficmashup]

Mint, how does Beau and Ryan’s first meeting go??? Especially if it’s too close to the full moon 👀 Is he like “must keep one hand on her at all times” or “I’m gonna tear this fucker’s throat out with my teeth”? 👀

The FIRST FIRST time? oh beau was confused how to feel because it was early into their 'thing' and ryan had clearly just spent the night.

"Oh, uh-" you cleared your throat as you answered the door, peeking through the crack. A normal person probably couldn't taste in the air how someone else's sweat, cum and cologne has settled into your skin, but Beau could. Beau could. Your shoulder was alight with bite marks, the divet of teeth still fresh. The wild part of his brain reveled in that: you like it rough, you like teeth, you want to be--

"Mr. Russell-"

"I told you, Mr. Russell was my father. Just call me Beau."

"I totally forgot that we were going in town together. I don't want to hold you up."

Beau leans back on to a support bean on the porch. It creaks a bit too much under his weight.

"I don't mind waiting," Beau replies. "You can't be loading furniture into your car. Or that damn Tesla."

Your eyes go wide. The spare car in your driveway certainly wasn't hard to miss. You allow the door to slide open more- you aren't nude, but dressed in this alluring little silk slip that nearly drops Beau's jaw.

"That's Ryan's car. He's my-"

"Husband."

The man himself shoulders in. He's surprisingly dressed, adjusting the cuffs on his suit with a smug little shake of his wrist. Ryan smiles with way too much teeth, hand out as if sealing a business deal, not meeting a neighbor. Beau takes it and both men squeeze in silent competition.

(Beau certainly wins. He has to win.)

"Ex-husband." you clarify. "And he was just going."

"Maybe I'll stay around. I can help you move that stuff," Ryan says. "We wouldn't want to bother your... friend here."

"Oh, helping a neighbor could never be a bother." Beau decides to smother the competition in southern hospitality. "'sides, I gotta go into town and buy some things for dinner. You wanna stop by and eat with the boys if you ain't sick of us by the end of the day?"

Ryan's head snaps towards you with this glowering glare and suddenly Beau understands exactly why you two are breaking up.

"We were-" Ryan starts.

"You were grabbing a flight back to New York," you say pointedly. "Goodbye, Ryan."

Ryan tsks, but leans in for a kiss. You practically straight arm the man, pushing him away.

"Goodbye!" you repeat. "Bye! Tell the lawyers I said hi!"

[ficmashup]

Hear me out...mean Dom ghost and pillow princess reader having to do all the work as punishment 🤔

Mean Dom ghost who thinks hes punishing you by making you ride him....hes very wrong.

Sure, you started out whiny, upset and overwhelmed at being made to ride him. He usually does all the work, and you cant even get a good angle! Ur thighs are working overtime, hips twitching as you experiment with different angles and paces.

The whole time, ghost is doing his usual routine, leaning back with thick arms crossed. "Hm. Looking pathetic, darling. Can't even ride me without help? Useless, aren't you?" All while mentally trying to to cum at the sight of you working urself mindlessly over him.

When he feels himself getting close, ghost warns "if you dont finish by the time I do, then you dont finish at all. 's not my problem you don't know what to do."

His warning only turns you frantic, rutting into him harshly in a way that has ghost moaning in approval. His spills into you with his head thrown back, ur hips never pausing as you milk him dry. He moves his hands to grab ur hips, fully intending to make u stop, but you smack his hands away with a growl "dont you fucking dare."

Youve never talked back to him like that, never slapped him away. Something about seeing you use his body for ur own pleasure (hes well into overstim by now) does something for ghost. He leans back when you press hands into his chest, stomach clenching and breaths leaving him in sharp pants.

You hardly even aknowledge him, fucking down until you finally, finally finish. Ghost thinks thats it, surely you must be tired, but after a few seconds ur hips shift again. And oh god- he can feel his dick twitch in interest, and thats all the encouragement u need to keep going.

By the end ghost is moaning like a whore, tears at his lashes and babbling exactly the way you do when he fucks you. "Ha- fuck, baby- please, please- i cant- fuck, like that- i dont-" unable to tell if he wants more or less. You give him mercy, coo about hoe cute he looks, and you both slip into a warm bath together. The whole time ghost is thinking about how nice is was to forfeit control, to be given pleasure and made to take it.

...hes got some self-reflection and maybe some kink negotiation to do later.

[ficmashup]

“i’m goin’ home to fuck my wife.”

and those were the last words john uttered before slamming the palm of his hand down against his desk and leaving. spoken the way most things he says are - gruff and final, with no room for argument - stunning the room into silence until the door shut hard behind him.

everyone just looked at each other, dumbstruck.

“should we wait for him to come back?”

“what the hell does that mean—”

“is that code for something?”

“wait, he’s married?”

price didn’t hear a word of it - by that point he was already halfway down the hall, boots pounding concrete with purpose, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, everything else dissolving into white-hot static behind his eyes.

he can take a lot of bullshit. does it daily. but fuckin’ hell - they wouldn’t stop. wouldn’t stop talking, hovering, circling him like crows. clipping questions at him in endless fucking rotations.

what now, captain? what’s next? what do we do about makarov? do we move now or wait for shepherd’s greenlight? have you seen the updated file? should we pull soap and gaz back? do we burn the safe house? double-tap the asset? what’s the protocol—

jesus fuckin’ christ.

it’d been too long. john’s mentally checked out and he knows it. doesn’t care. he didn’t want to be in that room. didn’t want to sit at that table. didn’t want to give another goddamn order with five pairs of bloodshot eyes looking at him like he’s meant to have all the answers and none of the doubt.

he needs a break. not a debrief. not another satellite feed. not another fucking decision.

he needs to go home and fuck his wife.

needs to put his hands on something solid, something that he doesn’t have to second guess. something that’d let him burn off all the static and pressure and noise building between his temples without asking anything much in return. his sanctuary where he can fall apart and come back clearer. reset his head before it spun off his shoulders.

so he peeled out of the parking lot before he’d even properly put the car in drive, and sent you one text:

‘take off anything you value and put away everything breakable. i’ll be home in 15.’

[ficmashup]

hey so since i’m in the season of ovulation here is degrading simon riley feeding my size kink. i’m not ok send regrets. 18+

“beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

——-

yeah. you’ve pushed it. simple as that.

and god, you knew better. you really did. but some might say you’re a sucker for punishment. others might say you’re a masochist.

you think it’s probably a bit of both, when it comes to simon.

maybe it’s because he’s a big mean brute. emotionless. big ol wall of mass and muscle. tough bloke like him don’t feel a thing, yeah? at least in your mind. makes it easy to needle - easy to poke and prod and toss little jabs about his eyes or mask or whatever slivered sign of life he might be displaying that day.

he’s contractually obligated not to kill you, might you add. that brings a level of safety you got comfortable with.

but what you didn’t get comfortable with — what you couldn’t possibly ever get comfortable with, is the size of him in your fucking guts. the growl of him in your ear. the clutch of him around your throat.

even big dead-eyed men like simon have a limit. and by the grace of god, you’d found it. the bottom of this particular mine shaft, if you will—

“y’alright down there?” his voice is slick. fuckin slick with glee. a first for him, you’re sure. “still with me, sweet’eart?”

you can practically feel the smirk barring those teeth to your neck. you try to toss something smart assed back, something to keep it goin, but he’s got your wrists pinned behind your back and his cock stretchin your walls in a way that screams he shouldn’t even be able to fit — yet you’re clenching around him like you’d die without it.

all that comes outta you is a moan.

and he laughs. bastard. fuckin filthy rasp right against your ear. “tha’s what i thought. mm. s’what i fucken wanted.”

your eyes roll. he’s so deep your hips hurt. he presses a palm between your shoulder blades to pin you harder to the floor of his barracks. all that pent up aggressions got you leakin down your thighs. pathetic. humiliating. delicious.

“tha’s it. fucken stunned now, yeah?” he thrusts deeper. free hand smacking your ass til it stings. “always mouthin off. startin shit—fuck—y’knew what this was. you’ve always known what’d it take t’shut you up.”

you hiccup when he hits your gspot. over and over. so goddamn good it hurts. “fuck—fuck you—“

“yeah. y’are.” his hips jerk, hissing against the back of your neck. “feelin every inch of me, aren’t you? go on. fuckin tell me how i feel. wanna hear y’say it.”

you bite your tongue. squeeze your eyes shut. he fucks deeper. harder.

“say it.” another smack to your ass.

“big—“ you gasp, choking on it. “fucking—huge—“

he growls like you’ve fed him. “tha’s right. eight inches buried so deep in your tight little cunt y’forgot how to lie.”

youve never heard him talk like this and all you can do is whimper - the airs gone thin. every inhale is like sandpaper scratching at your throat. every thrust is like being punched open. and when every sound you make comes out as something pathetic you know you’ve lost.

you twist your head to try and adjust for reprieve but he fists your hair to still you. “y’wanna tell me again you can’t take it? huh? wanna tell me m’too big?”

he is. he totally is. but it’s delicious pain. makes your eyes water and your walls flutter. something about you can’t help but egg him on.

“s-shut up—“

he slams forward. breath cuts sharp against your neck. “wrong answer.”

you jolt. cry out. the heat is a wildfire across your skin. “s-si-mon—“

“try again.” he breathes, curling his fingers from your hair to your jaw. “or i’ll just keep pushin till y’feel it in your fuckin spine.”

he makes good on the promise with a bruising thrust. you wail with it. vision blurring blue. “fuck! fuck i wanted this—but you’re so—you’re too—fuck please—“

and it’s that last little word. the syllables that slip past your teeth presenting pleas on a silver platter, that make him moan. fucking moan.

“oh yeah. shit. now we’re gettin somewhere.” he exhales with it, shifting just to drag at your walls and angle deeper. “beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

you long to tell him to shut up, fuck off, goto hell — any other circumstances you might have. but the first fuck with simon riley after months of pushing and prodding ain’t one to be won. you’ll be lucky to walk tomorrow. the monster can only be poked so many times before it wakes with vengeance.