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ghostlycod · 14 hours ago

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꒰ঌ·Heaven is with you·໒꒱

+18 K Garrick x black!reader

a.n: a love letter to my boy Kyle 'Pretty Boy' Garrick. This got pretty long. Part 1 of 2

POV: K Garrick

Summary: Kyle thinks about his angel.

Kyle Garrick would never forget the first time he met his golden angel. He often reflects on how the relationship evolved, and he is glad to have found her and the secret life she came from. The fated happenstance occurred in a dimly lit bar during a happy hour. Soap had dragged everyone out, citing that they needed to decompress (which really was code for 'lets go find birds to get laid with').

That's when he saw her, a mirage if he had to describe what he saw that night. The hazey bar glow and dim lighting seemed to make her glow like an angel that was out of place. His eyes refused to look away, afraid that the laughing angel wasn't real. A blink and you miss it moment. She moved and flitted about her friend group, clearly the life of the party, and he supposed her world was just that.

A party.

No true troubles. No true worries about bullets, grenades, or insurgents. Her world from his vantage point gave the impression of a golden sphere, impervious to whims of man. Everyone around her was drawn in, relaxed, carefree, and hanging onto her every word as she told some outlandish story. Her gestures were grand as she waved her hands about, trying to pantomime her points and convey the extravagance of her tale.

If you ask him how he started talking to her, he would tell you his version of events. He noticed what she was drinking, some cute little fruity concoction, and he bought her one and walked it right over to her. He said some type of smooth line that made her laugh, and she insisted that he stay and talk to her. He would say how he knew he was hooked from when she told him, "You're not as slick as you think you are. Getting me all liquored up so you can convince me to go home with you?" She giggled, and the mirth that exudes from her palpable. "I'm not that kind of woman. I'm not breaking my celibacy for a pretty face alone."

And admittedly, she had caught him. He was going to sweet talk her. It would have been a bit underhanded that he would use his charms to ensnare her. Trap her in his grip just so he could admire her golden glow for the night and bite into her soft and sweet flesh. She called him out, and beneath that veneer of care free golden angel, he spotted a sharp and lethal mind.

He can admit he floundered and fumbled with what to say. The only thing he could think of at the moment was "I wouldn't ask that of you."

And they both knew he was lying.

There was a loud boom of laughter coming from her friends. They were all grabbing jackets and coats, pooling together cash, getting ready to pay their tab, and leaving. One of the girls had turned to look at him and her and smiled. "Come on! We're going to Marcus' place to see his new snake! I totes don't believe it's a rare morph!"

His golden girl looked at him with an inviting smile, and before Kyle knew it, he was leaving with her and three other people to go look at a reptile in some random person's house. Now let it be known that Kyle isn't scared of much these days, but he was unnerved by the rather large reptiles that everyone seemed to be familiar with. He was a bit worried when her friend Marcus insisted that everyone hold and pet his newest baby Rainbow while he went and fed his other pets. Eventually, someone breaks out alcohol and suggests shots and games once the animals are put away.

"You don't do this often, do you, Kyle?" She turned her warm eyes to him, and he was caught up with how much happiness radiates from her. He's frozen, sitting in this random apartment filled with people he is starting to know, and he's at the edge of a world that he wants to be in. The sound of her voice still rings in his head like wind chimes, soft and sparkling.

He chuckles and leans back in his seat, body turned towards her fully. "No, I'm not often one for finding myself at someone's apartment, looking at snakes on a random Saturday night...but I also don't find myself with such interesting women doing this type of thing."

She had raised her brows, and a grin broke out on her face. "If you don't mind just being my friend, you can find yourself doing it more often. Next weekend, if you're free, my friends and I are helping my aunty on her farm. We treat it like a fun weekend away, and she gets free labor, and we get good food and fun lake to swim in."

Kyle is taken back by her words. An invitation into her golden and soft glittering world. A respite from the dark and gritty reality he finds himself in through work. Despite Johnny complaining that he should go with him the following weekend to do, God knows what, with God knows who he opts to go with the angel he met to the world's most idealistic farm out in the countryside.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

He was happy with this decision in the end. Getting to see his angel in a sun flower yellow sundress, with the sun bouncing off of her brown skin and the wind in her hair, was a sight he'd keep with him forever. It felt like standing right outside of heaven, the air is sweet and cool, the world still or moving slowly with no true rush to be anywhere, and even the farm animals seemed relaxed. Her friends welcomed him, pats on the back bright smiles, quips about the army boy actually being put to work. His angel, his golden glowing girl, he had to have her after this sweet weekend. He wouldn't survive without her soft smiles, bright eyes, her perfumed scent of cocoa butter, or the colorful way she brightened everything she touched. He was not immune to her brightness, and he relished in it.

He knows he's not deserving of this, of her, or of softness. He is a good man who unfortunately does bad things. He is hit with dichotomy of himself and her when her aunt requests that three chickens be slaughtered for dinner later, and his girl is in tears while he is unbothered. She says she's okay, that she's only sensitive.

"I could never stand killing them, Ky. I know that's what they are for, but still." She whimpers while he coddles and comforts her. He wouldn't even allow her to see the upsetting process and had walked her little ways away from the deed.

How could he ever hold or comfort someone who has always cried over the butchering of a food animal? Maybe he would be best as only a friend to her, anything closer and he would have to reconcile with his blasé attitude about killing and death, admit out loud that he doesn't deserve her heaven that she cultivates so effortlessly.

After all things and people aren't killed in heaven. And her world is just that. A perfect heaven that he doesn't really belong in.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

"I want you to be my girlfriend."

It takes all of ten months to work up the courage for Kyle to ask her to be his. He knows her well enough, studies the scripture of her life, and can quote every little detail perfectly. Despite this, she hesitates, her sweet eyes looking sadly at him, and Kyle knows he won't be getting the proper answer.

"I want to Kyle..." The but is hanging thinly between them. They are hidden away in her favorite tea house. It's a ritual for them to get tea and for her to bring him back to life and slowly back into her glowing shimmering world when he comes back from deployment. She is perfect for him.

In the dark recess of his mind, he's already figuring out what to say. His years from studying the human mind, learning how people tick, has molded him to be able to talk his way into anything. The cringe that shoots through him with that thought is lethal. How could he even think of playing with his Angel's heart and very soul. No good. He's a no good man.

"I want to Ky, but in ten months, I don't know you." The soft words punch the air out of him. "I know of you, I know you like being my friend. I know you can't talk about what you do. But beyond that, you haven't let me in. You hide so much with that charm of yours, I want to know when you're not okay or when you need me to hold you. I want to know your friends and family. I don't want to do this if you won't let me in all the way."

The air in the tea house is both cold and hot. The thrum of his heartbeat is loud in his ears. The way that the mid-morning sun gleams off of the fancy fixtures practically blind him. He's hyper aware in the same way he is when he is out in the field desperately trying to remember orders and faces of insurgents, his position, and his team's positions. Except this isn't a mission. This is his angel, his golden angel telling him she feels the same way and that she just wants to be let in.

Be let in his world of grime, dirt, blood, death, and the copious amount of nightmares that follow him. He was so busy trying to keep her away from the blood and gore stained part of himself that he didn't consider how she would take it. Kyle Garrick is an idiot.

"I'll never shut you out, my love."

She smiles as she takes his hand in hers to hold it gently. The light bounces off the glitter of her lip gloss, and he wants to kiss her desperately. He mentioned once that he liked it and whenever he saw her, she wore it. He mentioned another time that he adores when she wears cute ribbon chokers with little dangling jewelry. She is almost never seen without it. Little things such as that make him warm because his girl (and he can't believe that she's his now) like to show that she listens. (It makes his sin of not letting her in all the more egregious in his eyes. He'll spend years trying to repent to her for that.)

He takes her back to her flat. It's eclectic filled to the brim with art, colors, shiny doodads, and plenty of light and plants everywhere. Each time he comes by to visit for game night with her friends (and they were nice to welcome him even if he came and went from the group), he is always amazed by his golden angel's way of life. Every surface reflecting the opposite of his own home (that he's almost never in, so it's mostly clean lines and dark furniture).

"You know Ky, everyone else thought you wouldn't ask me to be your girlfriend." She laughed and made her way to feed her own little collection of pets. She got four guinea pigs and two song birds and the one tarantula (and while he isn't afraid of things, he is, of course, unnerved by the tarantula). "My girls," She nods to her piggies, "were betting against you. But my little song birds were rooting for you."

His eyes watch and follow each of her movements as she putters around, situating her pets. A slow smile stretches across his lips. It still doesn't feel real that he is being allowed to be close to her and to be a permanent fixture in her world. When the last treat has been delivered to her animals and she takes a moment to clean up her hands and go find her telly remote, Kyle steals himself for what's he's about to do.

It's gentle at first. He grabs her hand and pulls her down into his lap on the couch. This feels right, more right than anything else in his life. He cups her cheek with one hand and pulls her as close as possible with the other. The universe seems to know what's about to happen, and she does too, which makes sense because to him, they are now one in the same.

"Don't do it if you don't mean forever, Kyle Garrick." She whispers, and it's almost like a plea. He doesn't know what made her look towards celibacy. He's been sly with asking her friends before, but that information couldn't be water boarded out of them. He commends them all on that. Loyalty and respect mean a lot to her and her friends.

He searches her eyes and isn't surprised to find them filled with wanting and love and fear and everything in between. He knows that if he kisses his girl, his golden angel, he will be sealing himself to her covenant for life.

He would not have it any other way.

"I'm only ever going to want forever with you, my love." He swears to her without a second thought, and then he kisses her.

On a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. Kyle enters heaven and it's with you.

Part 2

a.n: haven't written anything good in weeks. I'm feeling better, and I will admit this was more self-indulgent than I was planning. I hope you all enjoy reading it. Thank you to everyone who has been patient with me as I took time away from writing.

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ghostlycod · 14 hours ago

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ghostlycod · 14 hours ago

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cw: manipulation, possessive reader, suggestive language

You told him you didn’t do casual.

You didn’t make it a big deal. You just said it like you meant it, not trying to sound dramatic or emotional about it. Just honest.

“I don’t do casual,” you said, eyes on your drink. “It always ends up messy, and I’m not built for that.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s alright,” he said eventually. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You nodded. No reaction on your face, no shift in tone. “Then we can just be friends.”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying to figure you out. “You sure?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I like hanging out with you. We don’t have to fuck.”

“…Alright,” he said, after a pause. “Friends.”

And that was the start.

Except friends don’t show up to his gym when he’s meeting a girl for a workout date.

Friends don’t slip him a text during his Tinder dinner like,

“you left your hoodie here again. i’m wearing it. smells like you.”

Friends don’t show up to the pub when he’s got plans with someone, all dolled up like you just rolled out of a damn music video, giving his date a once-over and offering a tight smile that says run, babe.

You’d always act surprised when things didn’t work out. “Oh no, she ghosted you? That’s so weird.”

And Simon? He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was tired, and lonely, and honestly kind of lazy when it came to trying to figure women out, and you were just so easy to be around, so warm and funny and low-maintenance and somehow always around when he needed someone.

So when he started seeing you more than anyone else, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

He told himself it was just friendship.

Even when you leaned against him on the couch. Even when you started sleeping over. Even when he started feeling a little sick thinking about you with anyone else.

The night it finally changed, he had just come back from a shit deployment — nothing too dangerous, just long and annoying and cold, and you’d been waiting at his place (with your own key, because somehow that had happened), and you were in his clothes, curled up in his bed with takeout, and when he saw you like that he just… stopped thinking.

“You’re perfect for me,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blinked, looking up from your phone. “What?”

“I was so fucking stupid,” he muttered, dropping his bag, walking toward you like something magnetic was pulling him in. “I didn’t see it. I don’t know why.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him for a second, then smiled, slow and easy, like you’d been waiting for him to finally figure it out, like none of it really surprised you, but you were still happy to hear it out loud.

From there, it was easy.

The relationship happened fast. Slipped into place like it had always been there. He’d gone from “I don’t do serious” to leaving his toothbrush at your place, to falling asleep with his face buried in your neck, to holding your hand in public without even realizing he was doing it.

He was happy. Stupidly happy. The kind that made his friends suspicious and his coworkers tease him. The kind that made you look like the hero of some cozy domestic fantasy where nothing ever goes wrong and love is enough.

It wasn’t one big moment. It was a bunch of little ones that slowly added up until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Like how you always just showed up when he had plans, how his phone would buzz with a text from you right before he left for a date. Or how you’d casually mention how certain girls “weren’t his type,” even when he never brought them up to you.

And then one day, while you were going through an old playlist together, you said, “God, I remember this song. I used to listen to it every time I thought about you with someone else.” And you didn’t even blink after saying it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it starts adding up.

You’d played him. You’d baited him.

And now he’s sitting on the couch, watching you walk into the room in one of his old T-shirts, holding a bowl of snacks, looking like home, and he honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off or bend you over the arm of the sofa and remind you who he is.

You plop into his lap like you do it every day (because you do), nestling in like you’re settling into your rightful throne, and he wraps his arms around your waist automatically, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You know what I realized today?” he asks, voice low.

You hum. “What?”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. “We’re together because you manipulated me.”

You pause for like… half a second. Then?

“Yeah,” you say, nonchalant. “And?”

He squints at you, mouth twitching like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or frown. “You sabotaged every girl I tried to hook up with.”

“I did,” you say, and lean forward to grab the remote. “Most of them were trash anyway.”

“You tricked me into thinking you weren’t interested.”

“Mhm.” You don’t even look at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

There’s this long silence, and then Simon groans and lets his head fall back on the couch dramatically.

“I should be mad,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” you say, smiling down at him like he’s your prize. “You love me.”

“Fuck, woman,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours. “That turns me on.”

You grin, shifting your weight so you’re straddling him properly, hands sliding up his chest slowly until your fingers curl around the back of his neck. You squeeze—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“You belong to me,” you whisper against his ear. “Always have.”

He shivers. Actually shivers.

“…Jesus.”

You kiss his jaw, slow and smug. “Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Good boy.”

And yeah. He is.

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

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ghostlycod · 14 hours ago

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more simon photos

photos you took of simon

photos of simon that kyle/johnny send you:

photos that simon sends you:

+ this qmazing photo i found in pinteres and wanted to share with you :D bcs LOOK AT MY HUSBAND

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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Also I need HIM

#We interrupt your regularly scheduled CoD men smut to bring you my second favorite porn category: the monster from Predator

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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This might be a wild one.

But hear me out okay.

Simon has his hand somewhere intimate at all times whenever it’s the two of you together.

NOW okay stay with me…

At first, it was somewhat innocent. You’d both be watching a movie on the sofa, he’d deliberately have you lie across him just so his hand can rest on your ass. Casual couple things y’know.

But as your relationship progresses and he’s very used to being able to touch his pretty girl whenever possible…he tends to stray to more intimate places.

There would be one time, you’d be standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner for him on the rare occasion he gets to have a home cooked meal for once. And he’d stand behind you, humming some dumb song that’s been stuck in his head for days. But his hands will be on your tits.

Now, there’s nothing sexual about it really. He just likes holding them. Likes touching you. He’d probably give the occasional squish now and again because let’s face it he’s a man and they’d all do it.

But the only time his need to be touching you would turn sexual, is by complete accident.

(Hear me the fuck out okay?)

So you’d both be lying in bed, you’d be scrolling through your phone as he’s reading beside you (he reads, it’s obvious).

But his hand, would be down whatever pants or shorts you’re wearing for bed, underneath your underwear if you are wearing any at the time…and his hand would simply be resting on your cunt.

Like I said, it wouldn’t be sexual at first and it was an accident this time around.

Because this man can’t sit still at home, it’s too quiet…too calm…he needs something to do.

So what does he do? Play with your cunt.

The pad of his middle finger would idly rub up and down over your clit, not even trying to put any effort in all whilst he focuses on reading. Even if you’re there slightly squirming from the pleasure that the rhythmic motion of his finger creates, he wouldn’t really notice straight away.

He’d circle it a few times, all the while you’re trying to keep quiet as to not disturb him. Having to hold in every moan or soft sound your body aches to let out.

And for the most part, he seems completely focused. Even when his finger would slide down and gather every drop leaking out of you and bring it back to your clit just for more stimulation.

It’s only when you’re close to cumming from the lazy but constant stimulation that he’ll lean down slightly just to whisper in your ear.

“C’mon…give it to me love…please…”

He knows.

He always knows.

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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I love possessive ghost, but lately I’ve been thinking of self-loathing ghost

Instead of pulling you into the bathroom of the pub to fuck you stupid when he sees how well you’re getting on with Johnny and Gaz, he just sighs heavily once you’re home.

“Why the fuck ya still wastin’ time with me? I can’t… I can’t be good f’you. Be what you deserve…”

So you’ve gotta do the right thing and crawl in his lap, kiss him, and then slide yourself down, pulling up his shirt and kissing down his stomach while telling him how in love with him you are, before dipping your fingers beneath his waistband to show him some real worship. Leave no doubt in his mind that he’s the one you want.

#Yes yes yes #I have been REALLY into pathetic subby Simon lately #This is just soooooooo- skajjsjsls #yknow?#🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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MDNI 18+

talking to older! simon riley who is your sugar daddy

mentions of: age gap (legal), vaginal sex

after retirement simon felt empty, the adrenaline gone as he was now doing small labour around the house that seemed pathetic compared to what he was used to. so now he found himself scrolling on an app to find a sweet thing to spoil with the amount of money he earned from the military. then he found you, your face barely visible in the photos except the first one. you looked like a little lamb, slightly awkward in the photos as you attempted to look sultry, your body positioned slightly awkwardly compared to the other women. though he found himself liking your profile, the idea of spoiling an awkward shy thing like you was more appealing than the other women on the app.

it first started off as a distraction, to keep his mind from going crazy as he adjusted to his new lifestyle.

casual texts were exchanged, which then led to occasional calls, then dates.

simon didn’t expect much from you, he didn’t expect any ‘sugar’, he simply enjoyed your company and had more than enough money to spend on you.

he would simply send a text after transferring money to your account - spoil yourself baby

it was the way you reacted that had him hooked, the way you called him at the end of the day sitting on your bed with your shopping bags piled up next to you. you made sure to show off each piece, giving him a little fashion show. it was probably the highlight of simon’s day, seeing his sweet thing all dolled up because of the clothes he bought you. he made sure to engage with your little fashion shows giving occasional comments and showering you with compliments.

“give me a spin luvie, want to see what the back looks like”

whatever you mentioned you would get. sometimes on the late night calls you would mention about the new dress you saw, or how it was time for you to get your hair glossed. simon made sure to provide for all of those things, after all, he couldn’t let his luvie pay for it could he?

he didn’t care about the stares he received whilst he went on a date with you, not when you were so blissfully unaware staring at him like he hung the stars in the night sky. the dates were simple, usually going to a small local diner out of town to avoid the prying eyes, though that failed many times before going on a late night drive. he found himself admiring you as you stared outside the window, one of his large tatted hand on your inner thigh, gently rubbing his thumb across your soft skin.

usually the dates would end with him dropping you off, watching as you disappeared when the front door of your house closed, leaving him alone once again. though this time he rented out a small house by the lake, a small weekend getaway from everyone. he expected some cuddles and kisses here and there, you being too shy to initiate anything. but it was quite the opposite when he walked out of the shower.

a towel wrapped lowly around his waist, his chest still dripping with water ever so slightly, his scars and tattoos exposed. and there you were, kneeling on the bed awkwardly as you fidgeted with the hem of the lingerie he first bought you. a pretty white lacey set, it reminded him of you, like a lamb.

simon was a man with needs, so when you stared at him with those big eyes and your teeth sinking down to your bottom lip how could he say no?

it’s been years since he’s touched another woman like this, let alone a sweet thing like you. his hips slamming as he pressed your knees down to your chest, bending you like a pretzel. “fuck luvie, yer lil cunnie’s gripping ‘round me.” he grunted as he watched the way your soppy hole stretched out, wrapped around him snugly as your gummy walls clenched around him.

he tried to hold back on his desires, but with the sweet little noises that left your plush lips, and the way your eyes rolled back whenever his tip nudged a sensitive spot he was slowly losing control. “fuck swee’heart yer so addicting,” his voice hoarse as he snuggled into the crook of your neck.

he felt like a wild animal rutting against you, like he had no self control.

simon has a gentleman of course, he was a man not a boy. he made sure to clean you up after, gently wiping you down with a towel whilst he whispered soft praises and reassurances as you trembled. his strong arms wrapped around you as he cradled you like the most precious thing in his life, because you were. he played with your hair until you fell asleep, whispering words of affection as his body heat kept you warm.

he made sure to put a ring on your finger after that.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy

#🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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happy autism awareness day to all the girls who had “ friends” growing up who were actually bullying them . to the girls who always sat alone in the grass and wondered why nobody wanted to talk . to the girls who spoke to animals like they were listening . to the girls who created a little world in their room . to the girls who always felt ashamed for how deeply they love things and how passionately they enjoyed media . to the girls who covered their ears when they were overwhelmed by everything . to the girls who carrying a special thing around to feel safe . to the girls who never understood what they did wrong to feel so lonely . to the girls who were diagnosed later in life because they weren’t little boys who liked trains. you are so special and beautiful and you’re not worse for it, you love deeply and that is so wonderful please never try to push that down . I LOVE YOU !!!!!

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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simon with a dick piercing

spoke to me immediately. reader being a professional piercer, and simon getting a boner after you give him a Prince Albert.

I’d imagine you’ve been on the job for long enough that you’re intimately familiar with virtually every piercing a person could request. including genital. and as a result, you get the body is strange.

acts and reacts- sometimes completely involuntarily.

but simon classifies as a new weird.

insisted on sitting up and on the side of the operation chair, due to “back pain”. as a result, it required you to get on your knees in front of him. you swallow the uncomfortable rocks that stack from your belly to your throat as he watches you with laser focus.

wiped your hands when he pulls his cock out from his boxers, and let the unprofessional in you drink in its…breadth, before returning to nonchalance and preparing your tools and putting on your gloves.

(that was a mistake. seeing how unfazed you were by his size, an uncommon reaction, made simon desperate to see how long you could keep that facade up when he was balls deep inside your cunt.)

the piercing is actually the most natural part of it all. quick, he barely flinches, and even hands you the bottle of disinfectant. you stand, smiling at him.

“how do you feel?”

you feel something tap at your thigh, and you internally curse, before losing the battle of self control and looking down.

there, he proudly sports a swelling erection, red tip blushing where your hands pierced it, and now where your inner thigh warms it. you can practically feel it in your cunt, and you try and ignore the damp collecting between your legs

theres a laugh in his voice when he speaks to you.

“you tell me, sweet’eart.”

#And then reader breaks it to him that he’s gotta wait like however many months for it to heal 😂

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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simon would sit you on his lap and feed you meat he’s cooked to perfection after his hunt. if you let out the slightest of moan from the taste this man would instantly get bricked up. has a praise kink. loves to see your reaction to his food.

“mmm, you like that lovie?” while you just nod excitedly.

sometimes you really can’t help yourself so you start grabbing his hand and sucking his fingers into your mouth. you’re not even trying to be sexy about it! it really is that good!

too bad, because he will lose his shit and immediately drag you to the bedroom and give you another serving of #meat

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ghostlycod · 15 hours ago

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Thinking about Alpha!John Price x Beta!Reader today.

John, who leans always a little too close, presses himself into you ever so slightly, murmurs “Johnathan for you, love” and noses at your neck, coaxing out the faint soft smell of yours. Perfect darling for him, blushing so deliciously, hissing when he allows himself too much. Keeping him in line.

John Price whose hands are somehow always on you, thick fingers hooking in the loops of your jeans and dragging your hips to his, broad chest of his pressing into your back when he whispers “got you, sweetheart”.

He kisses you behind the ear, always lingering just a little to savour the taste of yours that he manages to swallow being this close to your scent gland. Licking air and not yet your skin, because you keep pushing him away, keep glaring at him like he is a dumb beast too keen on the idea of eating a local bookshop owner instead of looking for royal offspring. As he should have.

Dumb beast who is not realising that he shouldn’t rub his scent into you, that lingering pinewood and cigars kill all your chances to get a proper date with someone.

John, who hums when you protest and gently bites your neck, just holding you between his teeth, your pulse pounding into his lips.

Why’d you need dates with some boys, love? Don’t you have him? Isn’t he the best there is to get?

John, who keeps coming back just to chat you up, always with excuse to touch you, worming his way into your life until you don’t even notice that his thumb has been stroking your wrist for the last 10 minutes of your conversation.

He comes back after every deployment and rubs himself on you, smiling when you hiss and wiggle out of his grip. Feisty first thing after so long apart. He knows, sweetheart, he missed you too.

John who comes back once and has to swallow back a low growl, sound starting in his chest, his teeth itching because you don’t smell like him and you don’t smell like you.

He circles you around before pressing himself into your back, bracketing you against the counter, his nose diving into the neck of yours, beast in his head snarling when he finds someone else’s hickey there.

Kept yourself busy, didn’t you, love?

He’s been gone for too long, his scent got too weak.

John admits, he should have come back sooner, should have pulled you under a long time ago.

But he liked your little game of push and pull, he enjoyed the tag so much that he forgot he isn’t the only one playing.

An oversight, not a good thing for a captain.

John who is still hazy with the blood from last deployment, urge to tear another throat out simmering right under the surface when he presses his hips to your ass, slotting against you like perfect puzzle.

If he knew you’d get impatient, he would have taken proper care of you, sweetheart.

But he won’t make the same mistake again.

John Price, who takes leave of absence so he can stop taking suppressants for the first time in years.

Rut of his pounding in the back of his head, spreading through him like an infection, dripping under his skin like poisonous honey.

Sticky sweet, molten with yearning, hungry for blood.

Hungry for you.

John Price who clicks his tongue at you to stay behind your counter, as he locks the doors behind him and lowers himself down. On his knees, nudging your stance to widen.

So he can pull your jeans down, tongue sliding between your thighs, big hands holding you open for him.

No need to thrash, love. He isn’t letting go now. He isn’t backing away either, not anymore.

His rut makes you hazy, his rut clouds your head and makes you slip, bracing your forearms on the wooden counter, his ‘good job, sweetheart’ dripping slick between your thighs.

John eats you out until his knees ache, until your hips roll into his mouth, until the sweet faint scent of yours blends in with his.

Your whole bloody shop is going to smell like you have a man, love. Like you have John.

There is a low dangerous rumble in his chest when you try to pull away, to stop him from eating you out into overstimulation. Because where do you think you are going, sweetheart? You need to be nice and slick to take all of him.

You need to be soft and pliant for John to feed the thick length of his cock to your greedy hole.

“Goin’ to fuck attitude out of ya, lovie.”, John breathes out, biting your ass until you whimper trying to get him off and until the indent of his teeth is a red mark on you. First out of many. “Any bloke in this bloody country would be able to tell you are taken. Anyone who takes a step inside will know I was here.”, he growls, grinding on the plush of your buttock.

Not going anywhere now, love. Never again.

John Price who clicks his tongue when you whimper about condoms, because that’s just silly, sweetheart, you won’t need any of it with him. How are you supposed to feel his knot if you won’t let it in?

That just won’t do.

John Price who bounces you in his lap, thick calloused fingers holding onto the meat of your hips, slamming you down and pulling you up, until the knot of his pops inside of your hole, plugging you in, binding you to him for the next half an hour.

John Price who holds you in full Nelson, arms under your knees, teeth grazing your ear when he bounces you on his knot, pulling just enough so you’d feel the stretch, so you’d start whimpering for him, so you’d scent become sweeter for him.

Naughty fucking thing, you like him being mean to you?

John who lets the rut take reigns, so he can press you into the counter, biting all over your shoulders, snarling “mine, always mine, only mine” when you can’t help but arch. Whether to pull away or to press into him, he’s not sure.

John who licks the scent gland of yours, teeth itching to sink in, dumb beast in his head pulling him to rut into you. And Lord, you are slick and warm and perfect, squeezing him like you never want to let go, milking him for all he’s worth.

Perfect mate.

He humps into you like a feral dog, heavy thick hips of his pressing into yours, not letting you close your legs. Not when he’s folding you into the mating press and sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck, popping the untouched and unmated gland there. Binding you together, blending himself into you, drinking you in so your sweetness is always in his scent from now on.

Won’t be anyone else, love. Not for him. Nor for you.

John Price who presses your face into his neck, rasps out “bite, sweetheart”, his knot popping back inside of your hole — your legs twitching above his shoulders. Sweet thing, he’s too much for you without much of a preparation. But it’s okay, he will be better next time.

He will take you somewhere soft and warm, he will feed you meat and fruit, letting you lick juices off his fingers, he will suck on your tender sensitive parts until you are crying.

You just gotta bite, lovie, just sink your teeth in his gland, will ya?

John Price who licks his lips when you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, your teeth grazing his gland, your jaw trembling. Rode you ragged, didn’t he, love?

It’s okay, John will help, just open wide, aye?

John murmurs, voice half a growl when he presses your head into his neck, when he closes your jaws down on his gland, shiver running down his spine, everything clicking in place.

This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be.

John who kisses your face pulling you out the crook of his neck — your eyes gone, pupils blown wide and jaw slack when he ruts into you again.

Just one more orgasm, sweetheart, just one more. He knows you can do it, you can be good for him.

You can give him his reward for being so patient, you can thank him for not tracking down your now irrelevant suitor and not presenting you bloke’s fingers as a courting gift.

You can thank him proper and you will, won’t ya, lovie?

Come on, one more time, he rasps in your ear, fingers prying your mouth open and stuffing it until you are drooling messily all over him. Pretty thing, see how easy it is? Just had to come to your Johnathan and he would have taken care of this greedy hole.

He would have made it better. And from now on he always will.

Till death do us part, sweetheart. If he has to say anything about it.

#Hey so I’m actually going insane over this

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