lushrue

[lushrue]

pregnant!omega!Reader being insatiable at five months pregnant and driving your alpha mates wild with your neediness. — [ 18+ ] PRT. 1 | Kyle & Johnny

You keep whining and yowling dramatically, calling out to all four of them in your cozy nest, and smiling slyly, when you hear their swift feet carry them to you—like a pampered princess ringing a tiny bell for her servants.

Only that instead of food or drink, you require their fat knots and hot mouths instead.

"Steamin' Jesus," Johnny groans, dragging his tongue over the curve of your large baby bump, up to the valley between your swollen breasts. "Gonna give us a bloody heart attack one o' these days, hen."

Next to you, Kyle nuzzles your throat, tugging on your hair to gently tilt your head back for better access.

"Let her be, Soap, our sweet 'mega needs us." He sucks a mark into your neck, eliciting a moan from you while his chest rumbles with a growl.

They're both as naked as you are, warm and solid as they surround you just how the doctor said they should whenever you get anxious and needy; filling the nest with their calming scents, pheromones oozing oof their skin, aphrodisiacs tangy in their saliva.

Johnny peppers wet, open-mouthed kisses over your swollen breasts, lavishing them with sweet attention while your darkened nipples peak and tighten, causing your toes to curl and your breath to hitch with a pained whine.

Both alphas growl softly, all too aware of your sore body, and the strain the two unborn pups are putting on your lovely body.

"Lemme help ye, luv," Johnny husks, licking his lips as he gazes up at you with dark eyes, dark like the deep blue sea. "Lemme taste ye, aye? Ease tha' pressure in yer bonnie tits."

Kyle utters a breathy curse against your spit-slick skin as Johnny's words affect him, too. He pulls back to look at the other alpha before cupping your jaw to smooch your lips, murmuring: "I want to help you, too, baby. Can we?"

You nod, panting softly as your eyes flit between them. They both look utterly wrecked already—lips swollen, eyes hazy, cocks hard and pulsing between their muscular thighs.

"Yes, okay," you mewl, huffing as you prop yourself up in your elbows while Kyle helps you. "I need your help."

Their nostrils flare at your pathetic little mewls, bulging muscles flexing with restraint as they shift their positions, laying down on each of your side.

"Been fuckin' dreamin' about tastin' yer milk, luv. Fuck." Johnny is beaming, his cockhead leaking clear droplets of pre as he slowly ruts against your thigh, dragging the sticky mess along your supple skin. "Am starvin' f'ye."

Kyle cups your left tit reverently, thumbs over your stiff nipple before rolling it between rough fingertips until a small drop of pale golden liquid dribbles over his knuckles.

"Holy shite, lookit this, baby." He swallows thickly and his throat bobs. "You're leakin' for us." Johnny snarls at the sight, something wild and feral clawing behind his ribcage, and Kyle growls at him. "Easy there, Soap. Don't scare her."

"S-Sorry," he mutters, and his buff chest heaves with panting breaths; sweat matting the dark hairs on his pecs and running down his taut stomach. "Ah'll behave, hen."

When they both finally latch onto each of your ample breasts, plump lips closing around puffy nipples, your eyes roll back so hard, you fear you might faint at the sudden jolts of relief and pleasure wrecking through your body.

Kyle suckles gently, circling your sensitive areola with the tip of his tongue while massaging the underside of your breast with his hand to make you leak more milk into his eager mouth, his hazel eyes shut in bliss, dark lashes fluttering over his high cheekbones.

Johnny, on your other side, sucks on your tit like he's at the verge of dehydration, one hand splayed on the curve of your large belly possessively. His moans are muffled, his jaw unhinged to fit more of your flesh into his mouth while he drools and huffs breaths through his nostrils, eyes twinkling like azure gemstones as he stares at you adoringly, unblinking.

Words leave you as your body and mind succumb to the feeling of your alpha mates taking care of you so eagerly, so loving. Your head lolls back, your back arches as the tension leaves your chest only to pool between your legs, wet and warm.

When your angled knees fall apart and the scent of your arousal becomes more prominent in the air around the master bedroom, both Kyle and Johnny act instinctively—two different hands sliding between your legs to cup and toy with your mound.

Fingers petting your bush, parting your folds until you mewl and moan, exposing your slick heat to the air until your clit swells even more, pulsing with need.

"S' fuckin' good, luv," Johnny mutters around your nipple, liquid dribbling from the corners of his mouth to run down his stubbly chin, looking like a fat puppy high on mommy's milk.

"Taste bloody divine," Kyle agrees, flicking his tongue over your nipple with a lewd groan before kissing the spot where your heart flutters rapidly while his fingers rub figure eights over your swollen clit, changing between fast and slow strokes until you're panting and dizzy with arousal.

"Ngh–Kyle–" you sob, nails digging into the plush blankets underneaths you as your legs begin to tremble; your climax building up deep and intense at the base of your spine.

Suddenly, Johnny slips two fingers into your sopping cunt, grinning against your tit as you yip wantonly. "Tha's right, lovie," he murmurs, his voice a low gravel. "Feel us both, aye?" He curls his fingers deeply inside your silky walls, brushing against your sweet spot repeatedly as he fingerfucks you slowly.

Their simultaneous stimulation and the lewd suckling and smacking of their lips against your tits is enough to make you combust, bracketed between them—all warm and needy and safe.

You cry out when you climax, face twisting in pleasure-pain as your spine curves against their bodies, belly bulging while your pussy quivers and clenches; gummy walls sucking Johnny's thick fingers in, clit throbbing under Kyle's fingertips.

They watch with glee and awe as you fall apart between them, eyes glinting with pride, and cocks twitching and drooling precum with raw desire for their perfect omega.

"Beautiful," Kyle breathes, leaning in to nose along your jawline before helping you ease down on your back again. "So bloody gorgeous, babe."

You go pliant, blood rushing like warm molasses in your veins, eyes glossy and unfocused as you shudder with pleasant aftershocks when Johnny pulls his fingers out of your fluttering hole.

"Aye." He grins, gazing down at you with a cheeky grin. "The bonniest 'nd best fuckin' omega there is, and ye're all ours."

And then he brings his fingers up to lick your syrupy slick from his digits with a lewd moan, eyes rolling back into their sockets as the saccharine taste of you bursts on his tongue, mixing with the aftertaste of your sweet colostrum.

"Oi, ye muppets!" Price's voice suddenly booms through the house, causing both younger alphas to duck their heads, eyes wide with shock and slight fear of possible consequences.

You're too blissed out to care, fully aware that no harm or reprimand would ever come to you in this state, while both Johnny and Kyle whimper deep in their throats, squirming and rather panicked as they look at each other for help.

Then, two pairs of heavy steps can be heard marching up the stairs.

Price and Simon. You giggle softly, rubbing one hand over your pregnant belly as your puppies stir at the commotion.

The door to the master bedroom flings open, revealing two more rather pissed looking alphas.

"Oh... shite," Johnny grumbles, curling up behind you while Kyle glares at him, huffing: "Bloody coward."

"You both knows she's supposed to be resting," Price growls lowly, hands tightening into fists as he assesses the scene.

Next to him, Simon rucks his balaclava up to sniff the thick air sharply before he snarls: "Could've called us, too, ya fuckin' twonks."

[lushrue]

kyle garrick feeds you every time he feels like he can.

it's not uncommon for him to feel self-councious about his desires – maybe thinking he's a bit weird for it, or whatever. but when he sees the opportunity to deep dive in them he's done for.

so seeing you busy writing something down like your life depends on it, he can't help but say "hey, baby? food's ready," knowing damn well you'll say you're going to eat later.

"sorry, but i'm busy right now. just let me finish this real quick..." you mumble, not even paying him a glance. he smiles at the notion because, considering your headspace, you'll either brush him off or agree blindly to whatever he has to say.

"can i feed you, then? you don't have to move, i'll bring our food for us to eat here." he offers, and you answer with "okay, thanks, love" like you usually do after he says he'd be waiting for you, automatically, not even registering the fact that he didn’t say that.

once you realize it, it’s is too late. he's sitting by your side, a plate twice as big as you usually have in his hands – because he'll eat out of the same plate he'll feed you – as he pushes a fork filled with your favorite salty food to your lips.

you don't brush him off immediately like he expected you to, you simply glance over a him before taking a bite. he hums in appreciation as you chew – like he's the one eating – and takes a bite himself. and that goes until the food is all gone, you keep your task until you feel sleepy from eating so much and he kisses your lips before getting up to leave the dishes in the sink – you'll do them later.

he watches silently as you gather your things and put them away before going over at him, kissing him once again. "thank you for feeding me..." you say honestly, mumbling into his neck as you hug him by the waist.

"i love to do it, baby," he answers, kissing your temple. then, he adds: "what do tou think we lay down for a bit now, eh?"

and you gladly comply, the both of you cuddling under the covers until you're both asleep and dreaming of each other.

[lushrue]

fem!afab!reader

wandering into a cave to seek shelter from the storm only to come across a slumbering dragon!price. he’s massive with radiant golden scales. you freeze, adrenaline shooting through your chest and piercing your ears. you slowly back away, trying not to wake the beast, when your back crashes into a thick wall of flesh. you look up to see another dragon!gaz blocking your exit.

“hmm, what do we have here?”

you face him, stepping backwards to make some distance. gaz isn’t as large as price, but his red scales still intimidate you to no end.

“i-i’m sorry, i didn’t know this cave was occupied. i was just cold and needed a place to hide! i-i can leave and never come back!”

a grumbling resounds from behind you. it shakes the ground you stand on, making you shake from more than just the frigidness. a third dragon!soap appears, picking you up in claws and bringing you to his piercing yellow eyes and green-scaled maw. “poor li’l sapphire. didnae know this was a dragon’s nest?”

you curl in on yourself. “n-no! i swear! please don’t eat me! i promise i meant no harm!”

gaz laughs, stomping forward to look at you closer. his maw is so close—just one sharp exhale, and you’d be a pile of ash. “trinket, we won’t hurt you. you’re too cute to eat.”

“ye. we only want tae play with you a bit,” soap adds, using his other paw to ‘gently’ pat your head. it jolts your whole body.

you sniffle. “what do you mean?”

“mating season.” from the darkness, a fourth dragon!ghost appears. he’s taller than the two, all black scales and authority. you gasp, eyes widening.

“si!” soap scolds.

at the same time, gaz says, “don’t scare her even more than she already is!”

the former huffs. “why waste time when we can get to the point?”

gaz pulls away slightly to give you space, but his gaze still holds yours with intensity. “look, trinket. we dragons mate in autumn, and you caught us at the right time. if you help us, we’ll reward you handsomely.”

“john has quite the hoard,” soap continues, “and he’d be willing to give ye whatever ye need to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”

“all we ask is that you let us breed you,” gaz finishes.

you gulp, the adrenaline now pooling somewhere else. somewhere wet and hot. the idea of four dragons fucking you makes you keen, thighs pressing together unconsciously.

“but how would this work?” you ask, looking over at ghost’s underbelly. from a slit on his abdomen, you can see two large cocks starting to poke out, and from the heads alone, they each look just as big as you.

the three chuckle, and soon a fourth voice joins in on the laugh. price finally makes a move, standing up and walking over to fully cage you in soap’s palm.

“oh, treasure,” he rumbles amusedly, “dragons can shapeshift. we wouldn’t want to break you, would we, boys?”

the three grunt in response.

you feel awed by their power, and when you don’t respond, price barks out an order. “kyle. simon. johnny. show my treasure what i mean.”

soap places you back on the rocky floor. suddenly, the sound of cracking and contorting echoes through the cave. and before you know it, three massive humanlike men stand before you. sharp horns protrude from their heads, human flesh surrounds random patched of scales, and their backs sport gigantic wings and a tail. most importantly, however, they are naked and proudly presenting two scaly cocks between their legs, tips weeping with seed.

in that moment, any doubts or reasoning went out the window. drool ran past your lips, and your tongue quickly followed to lap it up.

soap laughed, crouching in front of you to caress your face. “li’l sapphire likes what she sees.”

“does that mean we can ‘ave ‘er?” ghost grumbled, claws moving to fist his aching cocks.

gaz sneaks behind you and whispers in your ear, “it’s up to her.”

you take them in, lustful eyes raking over their faces, their bodies, their everything, desperate to find out what pleasure they’ll give you. craning your neck up to where price still towers over you all as a dragon, you call, “can i see you, too?”

a contented sound leaves price’s throat as he shifts into a burly man just as aching as his pack mates. he stalks to you, those eyes still gleaming like the apex predator he very much is, and he turns you to face him. “well? are you pleased with your mates?”

you nod.

the four of them purr, finally putting their hands on you.

“good treasure. now just sit there and look pretty for us. we’ll take good care of you.”

writing smút is hard >_< maybe i’ll continue this one day but for now enjoy dragons bc they hot asf

[lushrue]

price who scolds gaz after he puts himself in harm's way during a mission

price who shoves gaz into a utility closet, blinded by the overwhelming fear of losing him and being left alone with the weight of everything he has to carry on his shoulders

price who shouts him down like a brute for disobeying orders, saying things like "what the fuck were you thinking?" and "didn't your parents teach you to do as you're told?"

price who sees red when gaz's cheeky reply is "yes, daddy, want me to go clean my room now too?"

price who pushes gaz down on his knees to show him just who daddy is and how cruel his punishment can be

price who wipes the tears off of gaz's cheeks as he chokes on the captain's thick cock, thrusts harsh and relentless as he fucks his best sergeant's throat

price who gentles when gaz has swallowed every last drop of his spend, cooing that he was only mad because gaz was in danger and his best boy wouldn't do that to him again, would he?

gaz who has to think twice before shaking his head if disobeying orders gets him this

[lushrue]

He married you immediately after his discharge, deciding rather quickly that why wait, he knew what he wanted, he had all the time in the world now that there wasn't a lingering cross hair on the back of his head 24/7.

So he tied the knot, a quaint ceremony with only the lads and a few of your family members, nothing too fancy while appealing to all of your demands.

Next was the house, Simon insisted on building himself only to be joined by his old team, who refused to leave him alone despite not being in the military anymore. They all spent years together, side by side, in some of the shittiest places imaginable, and now they were helping him build his dream cabin a bit a way from the city, his little peace and quiet.

Price teases him for gaining weight, a testamant of your cooking. Johnny jokes about Simon needing to share, earning himself a glare that could boil water and Gaz? Well, he couldn't help but snag a couple bites of your food whenever possible, eating from the retired lieutenants lunch.

The ongoing peace was something Simon never imagined for himself.

Truth be told, he wouldn't have retired at all if it wasn't for the uncontrollably shake in his hands when idle. Simon tried to hide it—get control of the tremors. But nothing could, and eventually, it became an issue. No longer was he able to sit in long perches. The insistent shaking left him mixed focused, unable to concentrate.

Simon wasn't a man who liked to admit he had a weakness, so the true nature of his discharge had always been a mystery to you. Until he returned to your temporary home one night, struggling to pour himself a glass without his hands battling their own ongoing earthquake.

All it took was your gentle touch on his arm, cooing if he was alright to ease the trembling. He didn't know how or why you had such an effect on him. Simon placed the cup away, hands sinking into your plush hips, face buried in your hair, your softness a palm to his unease, salve to his wound, an angel sent from heaven just for him, a sinner who didn't deserve this life.

What would he do without you?

[lushrue]

price who scolds gaz after he puts himself in harm's way during a mission

price who shoves gaz into a utility closet, blinded by the overwhelming fear of losing him and being left alone with the weight of everything he has to carry on his shoulders

price who shouts him down like a brute for disobeying orders, saying things like "what the fuck were you thinking?" and "didn't your parents teach you to do as you're told?"

price who sees red when gaz's cheeky reply is "yes, daddy, want me to go clean my room now too?"

price who pushes gaz down on his knees to show him just who daddy is and how cruel his punishment can be

price who wipes the tears off of gaz's cheeks as he chokes on the captain's thick cock, thrusts harsh and relentless as he fucks his best sergeant's throat

price who gentles when gaz has swallowed every last drop of his spend, cooing that he was only mad because gaz was in danger and his best boy wouldn't do that to him again, would he?

gaz who has to think twice before shaking his head if disobeying orders gets him this

[lushrue]

bringing this back for mermay

[lushrue]

[lushrue]

pt. 2 to this

cw: petplay (sort of?), oral (m! receiving), unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation

your bouncing leg was shaking the table.

you could see it in the way water sloshed in the glasses, hear it in the subtle rattle of cutlery. your eyes darted between your husband and johnny, watching as they ate like there wasn’t a storm brewing inside you. you’d been buzzing with excitement ever since johnny accepted the invitation to dinner again. memories had plagued you all week, the phantom feeling of johnny’s hands on your thighs or his tongue between your legs making you fluster at the worst of times. even Simon couldn’t settle you like he normally could.

now, sitting here and watching johnny’s tongue dart out to clean some sauce from his lips had you sweating and blushing like a schoolgirl. you only realized you were staring when simon’s fingers snapped in front of your face, pulling your attention back to him. “where’d ya go, dove?” he asked teasingly, a knowing smirk on his face. you press your thighs together beneath the table, trying to give yourself a snippet of pleasure to tide you over. just get through dinner, you thought. then I can have what I want.

“nowhere,” you lie, bunching your dress up in one fist and forcing your fork into the other. you took a bite of the food you’d prepared, trying to put up the most natural facade you could. “just thinking.” johnny let out a huff of breath through his nose, amusement shining in his eyes. “i ken wha’ yer thinkin’ about,” he replied, a teasing lilt to his voice. there was movement under the table and johnny yelped, shooting simon a glare. he started to protest, but simon’s eyes darkened and he withered. you fight back a whimper, squirming in your seat and stuffing another bite into your mouth to stifle the sound.

displays of dominance from your husband were commonplace. he was a domineering man and you never begrudged him an opportunity to throw his weight around at home. he was used to being in charge, and you were used to letting him take the reins. seeing him do it to someone else was even more thrilling, though. the idea of you and johnny both melting into him, giving yourselves over to his control, didn’t do much to help the heat steadily building in your core. simon sighed, his fork clattering against his plate as he set it down.

“can’t enjoy a nice meal without the two of you pawin’ at each other, hmm?” his tone carried no malice, but it was a clear scolding. you almost felt ashamed, like a puppy who’d disobeyed its master. simon’s attention fixed on johnny, who hardly looked as surprised as he had the first time this happened. this time, he was eager, knowing the prize that awaited him if he behaved. “a mutt, tha’s all you are. filthy mutt tha’ can’t keep ‘is paws to ‘imself.” your breath caught in your throat and johnny whined, high-pitched and wanton. your eyes widened, staring between the two of them.

the meal was long forgotten at this point. you’d slaved over the roast, but that was the least of your concerns. not when whatever was happening between your husband and his subordinate seemed much more delicious. “remember wha’ we talked about, yeah?” simon asked, and johnny nodded obediently in response. they’d talked? you felt out of the loop, but it didn’t scare you as much as you felt it should. simon never let anything happen to you; it always happened with you and he would tell you as much as you needed to know.

simon’s gaze fixed on you and you flustered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "gotta earn the right to touch my pretty princess, yeah?” you caught johnny’s nod in your periphery, and all of a sudden, your throat dried up. the weight of both sets of eyes on you was heavy, but not oppressive. it was safe, like a warm blanket straight out of the dryer. it made you gooey at your core, the weight of being so thoroughly admired. you couldn’t say that you hadn’t planned for that; you’d pulled your tightest dress out of your closet with the object of being fawned over.

simon reached for the burgundy napkins you’d carefully set on the table, folded artistically before johnny arrived to give your wandering thoughts something more appropriate to focus on. he wiped the corners of his mouth, folding it tactfully and laying it back down beside his plate. both yours and johnny’s eyes followed it, sharing a secret wish that simon’s fingers would show either of you the same kind of care. 

simon noticed, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth as he pushed his chair back to stand. as if commanded, the two of you stand not long after him. johnny’s eyes were shining as he bounced on the balls of his feet, anticipating the treat he would get for his obedience. “c’mon, then,” he muttered, and the two of you fall into step behind him.

you go to the bedroom this time. this didn’t feel spontaneous the way last time had. there was a plan in place, even if you didn’t know the specifics of it. both johnny and simon moved with a practiced ease, tactical and confident. they knew what was happening, and it made it easier for you to fall into the desire that had been practically consuming you all week. you take your place on the bed, leaning back onto the pillows like you did for simon when it was just the two of you. you position your arms to bracket either side of your chest, pushing up your breasts and looking between the two men.

the heat of their gaze on you was enough to burn, both of them admiring you in their own way. simon’s was a quiet possessiveness, a comfort in knowing that you belonged to him. he’d looked at you the same way on your wedding night. johnny’s eyes, though, wanted. he looked at you like a candy display in a store window, the best rifle on the market or the tastiest MRE the british government could supply. simon made you feel wanted, but johnny made you feel desired.

heat rises to your cheeks, your gaze averting to escape the intensity of theirs. simon snaps his fingers and you raise your head again, watching johnny move. the signal meant nothing to you, but it was a command for johnny. he toed off his boots, removing his socks and shirt after that. everything was folded neatly and placed on a chair near the bed until he remained in just his boxer-briefs. simon snapped again, and johnny sunk to his knees by the bed. you were breathless watching the display, how effortless simon’s dominance was and how easily johnny yielded to it.

“good lad,” simon praised, and you both shuddered. he chuckled at the evidence of his influence, stepping over to johnny’s side and laying a hand on his head. “you remember last time, righ’, lovie?” he asked, addressing you. you nod, unsure of where to look. simon enjoyed your eye contact, but johnny was such a vision on his knees. simon hummed, looking down at johnny as well. “got a little impatient, didn’t he?” you nod again, and so does johnny. simon’s fingers tighten around johnny’s mohawk, tugging his head back. your breath catches in your throat at the whine johnny lets out. your chest was heaving now, rising and falling sharply as your heart pounded in your chest.

“we’re gonna teach ‘im a lesson tonight, pretty. you an’ me. nasty pup needs to learn ‘ow to think with ‘is brain and not ‘is cock.” your eyes widen, understanding the purpose behind all the planning. it seemed simon had taken johnny’s education upon himself, making sure it was done just right. it was so like your husband to take in a stray, train him up to be an obedient guard dog. that was exactly what he was doing with johnny: training.

simon released his grip on johnny’s hair, letting the scot’s chin drop to his chest. he was breathing just as heavily as you, the heat of desire flushing his skin and turning it a pretty shade of pink. your lips were parted as you stared down at him, half wondering if he’d get to have you at all tonight. perhaps simon would be cruel and make him kneel on the rough carpet while you relished in all the pleasure. or perhaps simon would let him have another taste of you, but keep a tighter hold on the leash. you pressed your thighs together as the possibilities raced through your mind, feeling the stickiness that was steadily growing.

the sight of johnny was eclipsed by simon’s broad torso. you looked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded but alight with the anticipation of what was to come. no matter what simon did with johnny, you’d get your due. he always made sure of that. “jus’ pretend he’s not even there, dove,” simon murmured gruffly, the gravel in his voice vibrating in your chest. shivers traveled down your spine, rattling each bone on the way down. “gotta ignore ‘em when they’ve misbehaved. only way they learn.”

beside the bed, johnny whimpered, nails digging into the calloused skin on his knees. it felt cruel to give johnny no attention, to leave him wanting and aching while you and simon had your fun. despite simon’s command, you let your eyes fall to the scot while your husband is distracted sucking a mark into your neck. you expected to find johnny looking uncomfortable, maybe giving himself some pleasure in the absence of yours or simon’s hands. instead, his gaze was heavy on the both of you, just watching. his cock stood at attention between thick thighs, red and leaking precum from the tip.

your cheeks instantly flush, tucking your head into the crease between simon’s shoulder and neck. simon hums affectionately, feeling you clam up with embarrassment at realizing what was going on. “he’s jus’ a stupid dog, lovie,” simon soothes, and your cunt clenches at the moan johnny lets out. “no’ like he knows wha’s goin’ on. jus’ focus on me, yeah?” your eyes drift back to his, glassy with tears that want to fall. “there she is,” he croons, stroking your cheek with one hand as he eases the straps of your dress down with the other. “tha’s my pretty girl. let me make ya feel good, huh? earned it, workin’ hard on that dinner like ya did.” you settle back against the mattress, nodding slowly. simon seemed to be enjoying this immensely, and if the glance you stole johnny’s direction was any clue, so was he. they wanted a show, so a show they’d get.

you relaxed into simon’s hold, movements slow and syrupy as you let desire consume you. you’d been waiting all night for this, so it was only right that you got to enjoy it. simon eased your dress over your full breasts, down over your plush stomach and hips. as each inch of skin was bared, the carpet rustled beside the bed with johnny’s impatient shifting. his hands twitched with the phantom sensations of undressing you himself, feeling you squirm under his fingertips. simon’s calloused hand brushing across your chest brought you back to the present, rough skin catching on your sensitive nipple. you jolted and simon grinned with delight. “sorry, doll. gonna be more careful, yeah?” you nod, and simon’s hands continued downward.

he brushed over the curves and valleys of you, taking time to sink his fingers into the fat on your stomach and hips. as much as you were putting on a show for johnny, arching your back and playing up your blissed-out expressions, so was he. every pause, every hum, it was all to show johnny how much he was missing, how much simon was enjoying you. it was one thing to see how much your husband adored you in private; it was another thing entirely to have another man watch you being worshipped. that’s what simon was doing, in truth. worshipping you, paying homage to every curve and divot.

caught up as you were in the excitement of it all, it took you by surprise when one of simon’s fingers pressed into you. it didn’t hurt, not with how wet you had been since the bedroom door shut. the stretch was just sudden and you keened, hips bucking up off the bed. simon’s forearm came up, holding your hips in place. “don’ run from it,” he teased, crooking his finger to brush against that spot that made you melt. the moan that left your lips was guttural, uncontrolled. johnny let out one to match, which made simon chuckle. “hear that, lovie?” he asked, a certain cruelness in his tone. “poor mutt can’t help ‘imself. just too pretty when she’s gettin’ fucked, ain’t she, pup?”

“uh huh,” johnny choked out, thrusting into the air on instinct. there was nothing to sink his poor, neglected cock into, but his body didn’t care. “please, simon, please let me touch her!” simon hummed thoughtfully, as if considering, before turning his attention back to you. you’d been writhing under his hand the whole time, teetering dangerously close to an orgasm. “what do you think, doll?” he asked you, pressing his finger up into your gummy walls. “want me to stop so johnny can have a turn with you?”

you weren’t really thinking anything beyond how desperately you needed to come. you’d been practically edging yourself all day, clenching your thighs and rubbing yourself against the edges of the dining room chairs to get some relief from the overwhelming desire. all you heard was the word “stop,” and you knew you didn’t want that. you shook your head, pressing your hips down to urge simon to continue. simon chuckled, clicking his tongue. “sorry, pup. looks like she ain’t ready for you yet.” johnny whined, but made no move to disobey. one of simon’s many talents was caring thoroughly for his lovers, and johnny trusted in that.

with simon’s attention fully back on you, you felt closer to the edge than ever. his eyes alone made you want to come, deep chocolate focused on nothing but your pleasure. you imagined he stared through the scope of a sniper rifle with the same intensity, trained on his target and eager for his reward. “wanted to come first, didn’t you, baby? wanted my finger just…like…this.” each word was punctuated with a crook of his finger, your toes curling at the intensity. every exhale was a moan or whine or plea to keep going, fully out of your mind with the pleasure you were receiving.

“go on, then. you’ve got a captive audience.” the reminder of johnny sitting there on his knees, watching, was all you needed to fall apart. your orgasm slammed into you, making your thighs tremble and your back arch. you gasped and whined through it, simon’s finger slowing until it finally stilled and eased out of you. your eyes opened just in time to catch him holding his finger down to johnny, wiggling it in front of his face. “well? gonna lick it up like a good dog?” he said sharply. even though he’d asked, his tone made it clear there was only one correct answer.

it’s not like johnny would have refused anyway, the scent of your juices too intoxicating to resist. he leaned forward, lapping at simon’s finger with his tongue. he sucked and licked, making sure to get every drop of you that he could. the sight made your walls flutter around nothing, lust building up again as quickly as it was sated. “so you do know how to use your mouth,” simon snapped, pulling his finger away from johnny’s lips. “must’ve been a fluke last time, then.” johnny nodded, shifting on the carpet to take some pressure off of his knees. “yes, sir,” he replied obediently, and the tone of his voice made your pussy clench around nothing.

simon got up from the bed, yanking johnny up from the floor by his mohawk and pushing him towards the bed. johnny yelped, but went easily, vibrating with excitement. he’d been patient, so now he got a reward. “can’t trust your mouth near ‘er,” simon said, and you felt a bit of disappointment at that. “but you can use yer cock just fine.” both you and johnny perked up, your heart beating faster in your chest. without hesitation, johnny got up on the bed, positioning himself between your legs. you willingly opened them for him, ready for the pleasure of being filled. the thickness of him had felt wonderful in your mouth last time, so you could only imagine how well he would stretch you out.

before he could indulge you, though, simon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. johnny gasped, his fingers digging into your thighs as he fought to hold himself back. “gotta set some rules first, though,” simon said, releasing johnny’s neck and petting his mohawk. “you do exactly as i say. that goes for both of ya.” you and johnny nod, eager to get to what you’ve both been waiting for. “and for johnny,” simon began, tone darker. “if you cum before she does, i’ll make sure you never feel her sweet cunt again. understand?” johnny shivered, the threat clear. that wasn’t something he wanted to chance. “yes, sir,” he replied, and simon finally moved away.

with johnny’s metaphorical leash dropped, he was free to do whatever he wanted to you, and you were pliant enough to let him. his teeth scraped along your collarbones and the tops of your breasts, licking up the sweat from your skin. you shiver and moan, bringing up your hands to dig your fingers into his shoulders. you earn his teeth clamping around your nipple, the blend of pleasure and pain making you whine. satisfied, johnny raised his upper body, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it. it wasn’t like he needed to get hard enough to fuck you. no, he was showing off.

“gonna give ya all o’ this, lass,” he rasped, eyes fixed on your dripping wet folds. it was like you weren’t even there, johnny’s gaze locked between your legs. “she’s gonna swallow me up so nice. so warm and wet, can see how bad she wants me from ‘ere.” he wasn’t wrong. every word out of his mouth had your walls fluttering, begging for the pressure of his cock to fill them out.

johnny didn’t make love to you slow and gentle like simon did. simon treated you with care, like a porcelain doll that would shatter if he squeezed too hard. johnny fucked instead, thrusting all the way to the hilt in one go. you arched off the bed, nails digging into johnny’s back as you fought to stay grounded. the pleasure went straight to your head, making you almost dizzy with the force and the overwhelming stretch. in the moment it took you to catch your breath, simon’s weight made a dip in the mattress beside your head. the smell of his musk hit your nose, thick and potent, and you knew in an instant what was going on.

johnny groaned, the thought of what simon was about to do enough to add force and speed to his thrusts. simon ran a hand through your hair, tilting your head up to the angle he wanted it. his eyebrow quirked up, a wordless question to make sure this was what you wanted. you let your mouth fall open as a reply, sticking your tongue out for him. simon’s moan was all you needed to know you’d made the right decision.

it was almost too much, the feeling of simon’s and johnny’s hands on you at the same time. simon was petting your hair with one hand and holding your chin with the other, angling your head so he could fuck all the way down your throat. johnny was touching and squeezing, his hands exploring your thighs and ass with the hunger of a feral animal. the difference between them, simon’s gentleness and johnny’s roughness, made you clench down on johnny’s cock. the scot threw his head back, hips stuttering as he struggled to stave off his release.

“‘s too good, sir,” johnny babbled, thrusting his hips forward once more before stilling. “don’...don’ think I’m gonna last.” the assault on your throat was relentless, simon’s pace remaining steady as he reached over to grab johnny by the neck. “remember the rule, pup,” simon said, voice strained as your tongue caressed the underside of his cock. “gotta make her cum first. you know wha’ to do.” johnny’s thrusts slowly resumed after that, but that was secondary to the electric shock of his thumb on your clit.

there had been so much stimulation, so much feeling, that the circles he was making felt like pinpricks under your heated skin. you gasped, spluttering around Simon’s cock for only a moment before the pleasure evened out into something more bearable. you clenched around johnny’s cock each time he crested the top of your clit, which only made him thrust faster. “c’mon, bonnie. give it to me, i wan’ it so bad!” johnny was practically sobbing above you, his cock twitching inside you with how much effort it was taking to hold back his release.

simon groaned above you, salty pre spilling down the back of your throat. his hand braced on the headboard, he looked like adonis above you, glistening and blissed out with pleasure. “you heard ‘im, doll,” simon breathed out between whispered curses. “mutt’s earned a treat. best no’ keep ‘im waitin’.” johnny’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, and that gave you what you needed to fall over the edge again. your walls tightened around him, clenching down with the force of your orgasm. you could hear johnny above you, babbling about how good you felt, before the warmth of his cum filled you.

seeing his wife and his subordinate losing themselves was enough for simon, too. a few more thrusts and he spilled down your throat, salty cum painting the base of your tongue. you swallowed, giving him a bit more stimulation before they both pulled out of you, leaving you empty.

you didn’t have time to feel the coldness of it, not when johnny was draping himself over you and peppering your cheeks with kisses. “did so good, lassie,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your torso. “such a perfect cunt. thank ye, thank ye for lettin’ me use her.” johnny’s compliments made you fluster, the weight of his adoration almost too much to bear. you mumble back a response, something to placate him, but your tongue is too heavy and your mind too empty.

by the time simon comes back with water and towels, you and johnny are both asleep, his sweaty body plastered to yours. simon could only smile and join the heap, holding you both close. yes, he thought, again hadn’t been such a bad idea.

[lushrue]

imagine soft bunny girl wanting to play a silly little prank on sugar daddy!dilf john price by paying for the check. only an harmless little prank, nothing serious, right?

not for him. as an old fashioned gentleman, he wouldn’t take that well. he’d never let you pay for a single thing, you’re his sugar baby after all (his unconventionally too young girlfriend)

let’s say you’re on a date. restaurant, sweet treat break, anything you’d like, and when you’re done, you stand up in your frilly little skirt, glossed lips, strawberry and vanilla perfume that swirls around him when you lean down to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, right above that mustache you go crazy for.

“be right back sir, lady needs” you use the bathroom excuse, he gruffs out a “aight doll” but instead of heading to the toilet, you secretly go pay. innocent, naive little bunny, you think he’s gonna laugh at that, find it hilarious.

little does he know, you slip to the front and quickly pay the bill, before slipping to the toilet.

but after you actually hop to the bathroom, he stands up. broad shoulders, straight, imposing stance that exudes confidence, pure masculinity that stretches like leather with every step he takes, a cigar that’s not lit yet hanging from his mouth.

he doesn’t say a word, leisurely takes his wallet off the back pocket of his expensive suit jacket and proceeds to hand the card to the waiter, who, cluelessly, just smiles at him,

“the bill has already been paid, sir”

john blinks, once, then twice, maybe his ears are starting to play on him, given his seasoned age. he’s not sure he’s heard that right. so he mutters a rough “ ‘scuse me?”

“yes, the lady who’s here with you paid earlier”

those words feel wrong in his head, unwelcome. he wants to spit them out, but he’s always a man of undeterred and outmost control, composure. only the way his jaw clenches underneath his thick beard, salt and pepper like the mixed thoughts running in his mind, says otherwise.

he doesn’t how how long he remains still like that, buff muscles somehow becoming thicker, building a stonelike wall that prevents the boiling fire within him to flow outside. unmoving, like the endless times spent eyeing the target from afar, waiting like a statue for the perfect moment to bounce on them.

feigned stoicism and broodiness decor his mature face, as he tucks his wallet back inside his pocket with more strength that before — he nods to the waiter, and waits for you outside. when you come back, careless, sugary bunny that hops close to her brown bear, unaware of the way she’s offended his sense of manliness, you grab his hand with both of yours, smiling sweetly, blinking your long lashes. “we can go sir”

“what did you do, doll?” his rough tone should’ve made you halt, but you, sweet soul, think that his usual half, lazy smile is going to appear on his mustache. you shrug, like it’s nothing, really, giggling playfully soft.

“treated you for once,”

he’s gonna find it funny, you thought.

but he doesn’t.

“did i give you permission to do that?”

your smile falters. you blink, bunnies are slow in their movements when they’re processing their surroundings. but then, they haste.

“what? oh, no, but i just wanted to pay for once. it was a j—“

“get in the car, now.”

oh no. you hope you didn’t ruin your date with your little prank. it was supposed to be harmless, just a mere little thing to take him off guard. but—

“it’s fine, you always pay, sir, i thought you’d find it funny that i paid for once” you try to justify yourself, but he doesn’t laugh. his characteristic authority and intimidating nature comes out, a second skin that fits him perfectly.

“i said get in the car, doll, don’t make me repeat myself again, angel”

and when you do arrive home, you don’t even have time to take off your heels. you’ve always been a good girl, obedient, well mannered. you never disobeyed him once.

he never had to punish you for anything.

you squint when he pats his thigh, sitting on the edge of your bed. the rustling of his leather belt being unbuckled. manspreading his legs, he invites you.

”how much did you pay?” his voice could cut on stone, deep, low and husky.

you almost shiver, poor bunny, you keep your eyes down, fidgeting with your hands,

“and don’t lie to me, sweetheart. i can check your account.”

your mumble is almost a mute one as you whisper ”sixty, sir”

his hand looks large, heavy, you knows it’s gonna leave red marks on your butt, as red as your flushing cheeks. ”good. gonna keep count until half of it, come here, princess, thirty spanks, and then you’re gonna be my good girl all over again. understood?”

“but—“

“not mad at you, princess. you’re still my good girl. you didn’t mean to misbehave, daddy knows that. but actions have consequences, angel, even if it was well meant and intentioned, now,”

he patted his thigh again, and you swallowed, docile eyes downturned.

“don’t make me wait, have to put those money back in your account”

[lushrue]

141 + könig & graves as college professors (fem!reader) nsfw, mdni

cw: p-in-v sex, creampie, semi-public sex, power imbalance/unethical relationship, age gap (everyone's legal), oral (f!receiving), bondage, oral (m!receiving)

price teaches military strategy, a more theoretical and scientific look at war and battle tactics. he’s done the field work, he knows what it takes to physically carry out a mission. but he values the skill behind the planning a bit more than the execution. would definitely give real-world examples with missions he’s carried out with as much detail as he can provide. has classes outside some days. he tells his students it’s because the weather’s nice, but he really just wants to smoke.

he’s one to stare when you show up to class in a short skirt or low-cut top. he’s not shy about it, but he’s tactful, not letting his gaze settle for too long. won’t fuck you in his office, too nervous his colleagues would hear. so he comes to your dorm room sometimes when your roommate’s out, or he’ll take you to a hotel and treat you nice with room service and the whole deal. absolutely obsessed with the way his cum drips down your thighs, takes some pictures to jerk off to later.

ghost maybe teaches something like warfare tactics. something that would only be taught at a military college, something hands-on. he takes his job educating the next generation of soldiers seriously. insists that his course have both a lecture and lab section. he’s getting his students up at the ass-crack of dawn to run drills, even if they’re not currently serving. they wanted to know how to win a war, so he’ll show them.

kinda hard to convince, tbh. he’s fine pushing the bounds when it comes to rules of engagement, but this? still, when you prove yourself, when you beat out everyone else on the obstacle course, he jumps at the chance for some extra tutoring sessions with you. the fact that you look good in a sports bra and leggings is just a bonus. he’ll definitely fuck you in the gym bathroom after a training session. he’ll drag you into a stall and lock the door, hold you up if your legs are too tired from the workout he put you through.

soap teaches something not military-related, i think. maybe chemistry or physics with his demolitions background? very into demonstrations in his classes, likes to make shit blow up or fly across the room for the wow factor. he’s set the fire alarms off in the science lab more than once. definitely has a high score on rate my professor, one of the most sought after in the whole physical science department.

fucks you in the science lab. you’d come to him during office hours, cause the subjects he teaches have a really low pass rate. it’d start with actual homework help before devolving into heavy petting and kisses as a reward for correct answers. he’ll test your concentration, making you recite newton’s laws or the ratio of reactant to product. when you fumble, he’ll just chuckle and mumble something about how your head is too fuzzy for science. not too fuzzy for him to bully his cock into you, though.

gaz teaches something intro level. we’re talking “intro to military studies” or “intro to war and peace”. he’s really lenient on due dates, doesn’t have the really strict attitude that a lot of intro level professors have. he’s chill, one of those professors that does everything he can to work with you. won’t suffer a slacker, though. if you don’t do the work, don’t expect him to round your grade up at the end of the semester.

he won’t fuck you while you’re still enrolled in one of his classes. he knows himself, the temptation would be too strong if he had to see you for 55 minutes three times a week and couldn’t touch you. so he waits until the semester is over. but best believe he’s dragging you into some secluded corner of the building the minute you hand in your final. tells you about every single time he’s wanted to touch you, every time you’ve almost made him break his own rule. he makes it up to you, though, eating you out in the hallway and making you come on his tongue twice.

könig teaches german. falling a bit into the stereotype here, but i feel like this man has a really strong love of country. he’d definitely teach the culture alongside the language. he probably has an oktoberfest celebration for his students, lets the older ones drink beer if they want. he tells stories all the time about growing up in austria and will get sidetracked for a whole class just talking about life.

when he’s trying to seduce you, he’s a gentle giant. always cooing praises at you about how pretty you are, how well you’re taking to the language, that you’re a natural. but the moment you give in, he lets himself indulge. everything he’s ever wanted to act out, he does with you. if he’s stroked his thick cock to someone else doing it on his computer screen, he wants to try. it’s how you find yourself tied up in his bed, silk rope wrapped around your body as he fucks your throat. always dirty talks to you in german, giving you praise when you figure out what he’s saying.

graves teaches something niche, a class on terrorism in America or something like that. he gets really into it too. he’s known for being really animated in his lectures, gets really loud sometimes. other professors hate having a class in the lecture hall next to his. appreciates the students who stay after class to talk to him more in depth about his lectures. he knows the material can be dull sometimes, but he always has a few that are really passionate about what he teaches.

you’re one of those few. he’s embarrassed to admit that he falls for you, the way your eyes sparkle when he starts talking about some fringe terror group he helped to squash when he was serving. you always give him your rapt attention and he eats it up. takes you on dates to nice restaurants a few towns over so you won’t run into anyone either of you know. likes to fuck you over his desk after office hours are over. once, he shoved his boxers in your mouth and fucked you in the middle of the afternoon, when anyone could walk in. that time was your favorite.

[lushrue]

simon who goes back to school while on extended leave from the sas. figures if the government is gonna pay for his school, might as well take advantage of it. enrolls himself in a one year master’s program, something to keep him busy and expand his mind.

he’d bargained for the homework, readings, late nights studying. what he hadn’t bargained for was dr. mactavish, the young mohawked chemistry professor that was hell bent on making something explode. he was loud, brash, all the things that simon wasn’t. and worse than that, he’d taken a special liking to the oldest student in his class.

he spent far too much time over simon’s shoulder, not-so-subtle brushes against his ass and hips as he passed by him to another student. praising him quite suggestively, murmuring “good boy” under his breath when simon’s titration is successful. simon wasn’t sure which was worse: that he was attracting special attention from his professor by doing so well, or that he was starting to like it.

simon had responded almost immediately when dr. mactavish emailed him, asking him to stop by office hours to discuss his latest exam. it hadn’t been his best, simon knew. it was hard to memorize chemical equations when the man teaching them was staring you up and down like a prime cut of steak. he’d ruminated all the way there, rationales and promises to do better on the tip of his tongue. but all of that faded away when he saw johnny behind his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

they hadn’t done much talking after that. that wasn’t what johnny had planned for their meeting anyway. but it was there, bent over johnny’s desk, drooling on the mahogany like a bitch in heat and stretched wide for everyone and god to see, that simon thought he finally understood what true chemistry was.

[lushrue]

there was something angry and dark festering inside of simon. (afab!reader, nsfw, mdni)

he noticed it for the first time when he went out with the rest of his team to the pub after a particularly difficult mission. everyone had their own way of coping with stress. price had his cigars, puffing away and coating his lungs with tar. gaz had alcohol, bourbon and tequila burning away in his stomach to soothe the cold grip of disappointment in himself. and johnny? johnny had women. birds of all different types, sizes, occupations. simon was convinced he didn’t even look at who it was he was snogging in the corner of the bar. as long as she was warm and willing, he was on her.

that’s when he felt it, watching johnny suck at some poor girl’s face like she held the nectar of the gods between her lips. simon had never paid much mind to getting a woman of his own. with his family life, he’d found it hard to put stock in anything akin to a committed relationship. too many things could go wrong. after all, as he reminded himself every time he came close to a woman, he had anger baked into his DNA. the desire to sink his claws into something and rip it apart until he was bloody was too tempting. he’d ruin whatever he touched, so why bother?

still, as much as he tried to deny it, he was a mere mortal. flesh and blood, hormones and urges. testosterone flooded through him the same as any other man. the sight of his sergeant indulging himself made the beast within him rear its ugly head. it was like a devil on his shoulder, whispering to him that he could have that too. he could dig his fingers into the soft plush of a woman, feel her curves and let her gentle caresses soothe the storm that never seemed to let up. ever detached, he weighed the consequences against the reward. sure, he could satisfy this hungry thing that ate at him every time johnny spoke of a new conquest. but it would mean corruption for whatever poor thing his eye landed on. he couldn’t do that to someone he knew, someone he’d have to face again.

a few nights after the incident at the bar, simon got a card for an escort company from price. “in case y’need it,” he’d said. unbeknownst to simon, his captain had noticed, seen the hunger that was building steadily in him. he remembered that same hunger building in him as a young man. lust for blood and lust for flesh was hard to distinguish in the civilian world. besides, he couldn’t have his best lieutenant unfocused. simon held onto it for a couple days, flipping it around in his fingers between rounds of paperwork. each time he skimmed over the phone number in pretty cursive writing, the beast inside him clawed at his bones, begging to be noticed. when he finally worked up the courage to dial the number, he hung up the moment someone answered the phone. it was too much, too fast. especially when he could just give himself the pleasure he was craving. so he set the phone down, grabbed his headphones, and opened his laptop.

moans and gasps echoed in his ears, a manufactured sex scene playing out on the screen in front of him. he’d barely paid attention to the setup; something about a pizza delivery guy and not having money, one of those cliches. his hand wrapped around his aching cock, thumbing at the tip as he watched the woman’s face. her expression was one of false bliss, played up for the camera and the enjoyment of spectators. simon could see right through it. he gritted his teeth, his calloused hand dragging painfully against the sensitive and dry skin. he tried to squeeze himself, milk any bit of moisture or pleasure out, but nothing came. it wasn’t the same, his hand no substitute for the sweet warmth of a woman wrapped around him.

after a few minutes of tugging at himself painfully, he slammed the laptop shut, tucking himself back into his cargos. this wouldn’t do, not at all. it didn’t feel the same anymore. the beast within growled, demanding sustenance. simon cursed under his breath and picked up the phone, dialing the escort company again. this time, he wouldn’t lose his nerve. he’d faced much scarier things than a phone call; he just had to remind himself of that. a woman who sounded like she smoked several packs a day answered the phone, rasping the name of the company and asking what she could do for him.

it was simpler than he imagined to book an escort. set a date and time, agree on a neutral location, put his list of boundaries on file, and sign a few forms to send back. easy enough. he was silent about his “date” to his teammates, not wanting the questions to flood in. this wasn’t a woman he was planning on keeping. hell, he figured she wouldn’t want to be kept anyway. all the better for him and the thing festering inside.

as much as he tried to deny it, nerves were building as the day of his appointment approached. it was one thing to see it done on a screen, it was another to make his body cooperate. simon had never experienced performance anxiety. if someone didn’t like his skills, fuck ‘em. his talent spoke for itself, the kill count in his file more than impressive. but this wasn’t killing. this wasn’t a battle, this involved no bloodshed. this was tender, intimate, gentle. this was letting someone see his soft underbelly, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself and handing them over on a silver platter. he fought it down, swallowing it and forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind to be dealt with later.

he showed up to the hotel, hoodie pulled up over his head and balaclava obscuring his face. this may be someone he’d never see again, but he wouldn’t take the risk. not when just seeing his face could damn someone to fates unimaginable. he stepped up to the front desk, muttering his last name and the room number they’d told him to request. he hated the way the girl behind the computer screen gave him a knowing smile as she handed over the key. strangers didn’t need to know his business, especially when it involved things as sensitive as this. he brushed it off with a gruff “thanks” and drug himself up the stairs towards the second floor.

he pulled out his phone to check the time, jaw clenching as he stared at the clock. he’d sat too long in the car trying to work up the courage to get out, and now it was his scheduled appointment time. he’d planned to give himself at least a few minutes to stand in front of the door and decide if he really wanted to go through with this. it was an out, a chance to tuck tail and run before anyone got hurt. he’d paid in advance anyways, so who would it hurt if he backed out now? himself. he’d just be hurting himself. two sharp raps on the door and a sweet voice called for him to come in.

that’s when he saw you, all dressed in his favorite color. a tight crushed velvet dress, heels sharp enough to kill a man, hair framing your face just so. the beast roared, clawing at his chest and begging to break free. it thumped at his ribcage, the bones prison bars containing the darkest parts of himself. he rubbed at his chest to soothe it, swallowing thickly as he shut the door behind him. you smiled, lips stretching to a thin red line over your teeth. “mr. riley?” you asked, pushing yourself off the mattress and standing to face him. “simon,” he muttered gruffly, feet planted firmly in front of the door. he was frozen, an utterly unfamiliar feeling to him. his next steps were always carefully planned. if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, someone who spoke in his earpiece did. this was all him, though. he was fully in control of his actions and it made him viscerally uncomfortable. no one to blame but himself.

“simon, then,” you say, taking a few steps closer to him. he tried to step back to keep the distance, but the door behind him stopped him in his tracks. nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. you looked so clueless, he thought, so oblivious to the fact that you were locked in a lion’s den. you stopped your advance, giving him a wide berth. he wasn’t the first man you’d booked that almost looked afraid of you. most of the time, the men you serviced were too shy or too awkward to find a woman to give them the time of day. “you can call me crystal.” not your real name, obviously. you were too cognizant of your safety for that.

“crystal,” he repeated slowly, trying the weight of it on his tongue. simon would’ve almost preferred not to put a name to your face at all. it would only make him more guilty for tainting you with his bloody hands. “you know the rules?” you asked, a bit more business than pleasure. he nodded curtly. they’d made him sign contracts and waivers, agreeing that he wouldn’t cause any bodily harm to whatever poor bird was assigned to him for an hour. he was legally bound to treat her nice, he reminded the beast. not very many pretty girls in prison. “good,” you reply, staying planted where you were until he made to move. “we can get started whenever you want. clock’s ticking, y’know.”

simon hesitated, taking in every inch of you that he could see. he tried to tell himself that it was threat assessment, an ingrained skill that everyone he met was subjected to. still, he couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t looking at you as a soldier. he was looking at you as a man. he was thinking about sinking his teeth into those supple curves, jowls dripping red. he wanted to dig his claws into the plush of your breasts, find the heart beating underneath all of it and take it for his own. mouth dry, he stepped forward, inching the smallest bit closer to you. you take it as an invitation and match his pace. you were close enough to touch now, dilated eyes looking up at him. prey, meat to be devoured.

slowly, simon reaches out, letting his bare hands brush against the skin of your arm. you shiver at the light touch. heavy petting was what you were used to, hands that sought to dominate you and bend you until you strained with the pressure. this felt exploratory, like he was testing the waters. he held his breath as his palms stroked over your elbows and forearms. if he looked too closely, he could see the blood from his hands staining your soft, pretty skin. this is why we couldn’t do what johnny did, he told the beast. trails of blood follow wherever we go.

“never done this before, huh?” you ask, keeping your tone even and light. no judgement, no pressure. simon grunted in reply, too mesmerized by the way your dress clung to your body. he could see the contours of you, the malleable skin across your stomach and the fat that clung to your hips. of course he’d never done this before. if he had, he wouldn’t be staring at you like a work of art and a piece of meat all at once. your hand snakes up, grabbing his and pulling it away from your arm. he tenses at your touch. he’s not exactly sure what he expected, but you touching him caught him off guard. your fingers close around his and you pull him towards the bed in the center of the room. it wasn’t the nicest; the sheets definitely needed a good deep clean and the mattress was likely stained with all manner of unmentionable things. but people didn’t do things like this in five star hotels.

you sat down on the bed and kicked your heels off, pulling your feet up and resting your weight on one hand. simon watched it all, eyes fixed on your every move. his hands flexed at his sides, aching to reach out and grab you. the beast was roaring for things to move faster, but simon tamed him. he didn’t want this to be over so quickly. the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more bare flesh to him. saliva pooled in his mouth, transfixed by the sight of you. he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen clean skin in person, unmarked by scars or tattoos. the mirror gave him no reprieve from it, reminders of all the battles he’d won written across his skin.

“take it off,” he muttered, not even looking at your face. you tried not to feel slighted by it. some part of you had almost expected him to be different by how nervous he had seemed walking in. but there were some things that never changed, you supposed. you reached back and undid the zipper on your dress, adjusting yourself on the bed so that you could slip it off. you hadn’t worn a bra, just underwear and a very skimpy pair at that. simon’s eyes trailed your hands as they peeled the dress off, then snapped up to admire your body. it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined it’d be. all supple skin and soft curves, the occasional stretch mark here and there. signs that you were human, that you were a real, tangible thing that he could claim for the night.

he wasted no time putting his hands on you, standing over you and squishing you in his hands. he squeezed and prodded, testing what areas made your breath hitch. you felt like a science experiment, observed and appreciated but not admired. you existed because he willed it and for no other reason. finally, after squeezing every inch of skin he could grab at, he looked at your face. not once had he touched anything above your neck. his gaze roamed over you, his thoughts taken over by the beast. he recalled all of the faces he’d seen play out on his laptop screen, imagined what you might look like with those blissful expressions. could he really make you do that?

as he took a seat on the mattress beside you, his hands drifted up to your breasts, pressing at your nipples with his calloused thumbs. that earned him a gasp, your lips parted deliciously. when he brought his pointer fingers up to pinch, that got him a whine. the blood rushed to your cheeks, simon’s cock stiffening at the sight. your heart was beating, blood was pumping. he could feel it under his hand. even with your profession, he perceived you as a saint. the crimson in your veins wasn’t tainted like his was, spilled at the hands of dogs hungry for power and control. no, you were pure. poor thing, you didn’t even realize that he would corrupt you from the inside out.

he pulled at the hardened buds on your breasts, the slight sting of pain making you hiss. “gentle, simon,” you chided, putting a hand on his wrist. with great effort, his touches eased up. his hands roamed downwards, pupils blacking out the color of his eyes as he stared at you. his full attention was on your face now, watching your reactions to each touch and stroke. it wasn’t until he got between your legs that he found what he was looking for. it was a familiar expression on your face as his finger dragged up and down the folds of your pussy through your underwear. mouth slack and hanging open, eyes closed in bliss, head thrown back. he could feel your moisture soaking through the fabric. this time, though, it hit him differently.

this wasn’t manufactured, and he wasn’t detached from it. he was making this happen. he caused those little whimpers to fall from your lips, he caused your eyes to screw shut when he pressed his palm against your heat. it made the beast grumble in satisfaction, belly aching for a good meal. he clumsily pulled your underwear to the side, trying to find the sweet spot that would make you melt. he’d heard it spoken about, that it was notoriously hard to find, but he was sure he could do it. his thick fingers prodded around, pressing and stroking while watching your reactions. that was when you realized it; he was a virgin.

the nervousness, the impersonality, it all made sense now. he really hadn’t done this before, not at all. you gently grab his wrist, dragging it up towards the top of your folds and positioning his middle finger over your clit. “i think you’re looking for this,” you say, cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink under the blush and foundation you wore. he looked down at his hand, as if committing the placement of it to memory, before stroking his finger over the damp skin. you shivered, pleasure easing over you. that seemed to spur him on, his pace speeding up and becoming rougher. the pressure was almost painful and you shook your head, reaching down to hold his wrist again.

“here, let me help you.” you drag his finger over your clit, moving it in small, slow circles. at first, simon had been frustrated with you stopping him. he wanted to drink in your bliss, roll around in the pride of causing you pleasure. but then he saw the way your face twisted, and he couldn’t be angry anymore. you were helping, making sure this happened with you instead of to you. the beast couldn’t get to you like this, and the thought of that soothed him.

he continued his motions, his focus switching between your face and the arousal seeping out of you. your noises were music to his ears, moans and breathy whines that had his cock twitching in his pants. he was fully hard now, tip leaking just at the sounds you were making. porn had nothing on this. nothing could compare to bringing those noises about by his own hand. his digits slipped down to your dripping slit, running his finger through your folds and gathering some of the wetness on his finger. he held it up to his face, studying it almost, before slipping the finger under the mask and into his mouth.

you were salty, just as he expected. but there was a sweetness under it, something uniquely you. he could drink it in forever and never be sated. the balaclava he wore suddenly felt constricting, like it was in the way of his pleasure. he wanted to dip down between your legs and drink you up until the well ran dry. grabbing the fabric under his chin, he rolled it up over his nose and laid flat on his stomach. his head positioned between your thighs, he looked up at you with feral eyes. he was begging wordlessly, his gaze conveying what his words couldn’t. i need this, i’m starved, let me taste the nectar of the gods if only for a moment. with a nod of your head, he dove in.

his tongue was uncoordinated, lapping at your pussy like a dog. still, the broad strokes and pressure against your folds felt nice and you gave him a moan as a reward. the saccharine taste of you coated his lips and chin, almost in tears whenever he let a drop fall to the sheets. it wasn’t to be wasted, liquid gold that he had the sole pleasure of enjoying in this moment. he suddenly understood the allure of keeping something like this caged up in a two story house with a white picket fence.

your gaze drifted to his head between your legs, watching the way his eyes screwed shut with the simple privilege of tasting you. you idly wondered if he’d ever even tasted a woman. all signs pointed to no as his tongue prodded at your entrance, testing the waters and waiting for some indication that this was the right thing to do. a gasp rises from your throat as the tip of his tongue slips into you. it was thick and rough, stretching your walls just enough to make you keen. your hips jerk towards his mouth and he takes it as an invitation.

the beast purrs, a rumble in his chest that vibrates against your sensitive skin. it finally got to feed, to devour, to consume. simon’s fingers grip your thighs tightly, tips digging into the soft flesh and turning you a pretty shade of purple. the pain didn’t even register as heat shot up your core and straight to your head. you let yourself fall back against the mattress, chest heaving as his tongue plunged in and out of you at a brutal pace. he didn’t know what he was doing, that much was certain. there was no artful flicking of the muscle, no eye contact to make you feel special. this was pure instinct, messy and animalistic.

simon wouldn’t be sated until he had gathered up every last drop on his tongue, but the flesh was weaker than the spirit. his jaw ached and the way you were shrinking away from his touch made him think you were growing tired of it too. he knew the pain all too well, the blisters he’d given himself on his sensitive shaft from tugging at himself too long. no matter how long he would stroke and pull, the beast still roared. now, it was deliciously quiet.

he pulled his mouth away from your glistening pussy, grunting with satisfaction at the way your skin glowed with his spit and your juices. he wondered how lovely his cock would look all shined up by your mouth, but he wouldn’t do that to you. it would be enough to corrupt your cunt, all pliant and ready for him. your precious mouth could be spared.

simon unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out, pumping his length in his thick hand like he’d seen the men on the computer do. he almost wished he’d talked to johnny before all this, asked a real person to tell him how to do this. maybe it was exactly like the scenes he watched in the dark of his room, or maybe it was completely different. not knowing made him hesitate, hand tightening around himself at the base. you lean forward and suddenly your soft hands are on him, emptying his head. “we’ll go slow,” you coo, stroking over the pulse point on his wrist. 

you lay back against the pillows, spreading yourself out for him. his eyes rake over every inch, his cock painfully hard and twitching at the sight. heat builds under his skin, sweat pricking at the back of his neck, but he can’t bring himself to get undressed. it was enough that he was pawing at you, letting himself be vulnerable and giving as much as he took. revealing scars, tattoos, things that had meaning so deep it was etched into his soul, that was just too much. you reach down and part your lips with your fingers, letting him see your arousal. a string of slick and spit stuck to your fingers, glistening in the warm light of the motel room.

simon’s chest heaved, his hand caressing himself without conscious thought. all he knew was that you were pretty, beautiful even. a bead of precum drips from his slit and he groans at the delicious moisture it provides. touching himself rarely felt this good anymore. you smile, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you tore open the package and looked at simon, asking silently for consent. when he nodded, you rolled it over his length, taking your time to stroke over the skin. the beast rumbled in disappointment at the latex separating skin from the warmth of you, but simon rubbed at his chest to soothe it.

you lean back once more, spreading your legs and planting your feet on the mattress. “whenever you’re ready.” simon leans forward to meet you, planting his hands on either side of your body. he bucked his hips, the thick tip sliding through your folds and gathering up your wetness. you moan and he answers it with a pleased rumble of his own. each press of him against your clit makes you keen. for once, you don’t play up your pleasure. it’s for his benefit, you tell yourself, so that he knows what feels nice to a woman and what doesn’t. it helps that despite his nervous movements, his fingers are incredibly precise once they know where to go. his cock is no different. “use your hand to guide it in, it helps.”

simon nods and follows your instruction. it’s like taking orders, and that’s something familiar. he prods at your hole, watching the way your eyes flutter shut at the pressure. it feels good for you too and that spurs him forward. he sinks into you, going slowly and letting himself enjoy each delicious inch. you’re warm and wet around him, hugging him so nicely. the sound you let out when he bottoms out in you makes him twitch, his whole body shuddering. he’s embarrassingly close to orgasm already, his core tightening as he tries to hold himself back.

as much as you want him to pound into you, to make you see stars and forget your own name, this isn’t about you. all your focus is on him, his pleasure, his enjoyment. you reach up and cup his cheeks, still half obscured by fabric. “let go,” you whisper, your thumbs stroking over his face. tears prick at the back of his eyes and shame bubbles up. his breath shudders, eyes glazed over with unshed tears and pure lust as he meets your gaze. “it’s alright, simon. let yourself feel good. you’ve earned it.” 

letting go was scary, and he hesitated, the thickness of him sitting heavily inside you. it was almost uncomfortable, so you rock your hips to get some friction. he hisses, the muscles in his neck tightening. his head shakes frantically. he can’t hold it back anymore; you’re too warm, too soft, too gentle. he has to corrupt, to paint you red with the blood he sees staining his hands in his nightmares. it’s in his blood, he tells himself. a primal urge, he can’t help it. his hands roam your body, squeezing and scratching and pulling as his hips begin to move just as quickly as his head.

words of warning start to form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, his hips are stuttering, muscles twitching with his release. your ears were ringing from the sudden intensity, but you saw the words “i’m sorry” form on his lips. you weren’t sure what had happened to him to fill him with so much self-hatred, but you pitied him all the same. he pulled away from you, peeling the condom from his length and tossing it in the trash bin. his hands flex as he stands from the bed, tucking himself back in his trousers.

simon hadn’t known peace like this in a while. his head was quiet, the beast wasn’t thumping at his chest anymore. he felt like a man, an imperfect human, rather than a monster. when he looked down at his hands, they looked like anyone else’s. he didn’t see red, didn’t feel the warm stickiness of blood that always seemed to be there. you’d cleansed him, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d done it. he looked at you for a moment as if to speak, then pulled the balaclava back over his face. “thanks,” he muttered gruffly, rubbing at his chest to commit the lightness to memory. then he was gone as quickly as he’d come. just like a ghost.

you’d tried to call after him, tell him that he still had time left if he wanted it. he didn’t seem to hear you. you noted the clock, though, counting the minutes he still had left. and the next time he called, you blocked your calendar with the extra time. the two of you had plenty left to explore.

[lushrue]

johnny mactavish x kyle garrick x f!reader

tags: d/s (dom kyle, sub johnny, switch reader); smut; hinted subspace; mentioned daddy kink & puppy play

it comes in pieces—kyle slipping away from their huddle to make a call, a flash of someone johnny barely recognizes as kyle’s wallpaper, an aborted call of a name when kyle’s plastered as hell.

johnny knows that they all have things that they are keeping from each other—skeletons in the closet and prayers unsung—but johnny had always thought that he knew kyle the way others didn’t. that in the short run of their lives, his is tangled up with kyle’s in ways that mattered; of sleepless nights and whispered conversations, of the quiet comfort.

not really touching, johnny couldn’t permit enough of himself to do so, but close—hovering, breathing each other’s air, finding comfort in each other’s space.

he adored his friend in ways unfathomable, transcending languages and boundaries and labels. if he could, johnny knows that he would exist for kyle. be his cornerstone. his to come back to. his to make a home with.

but kyle’s made it with someone else; his jagged pieces sanded down—a sign of love, of growth, of comfort and protection. a sign of security, one that johnny was unable to fully promise to his friend. one that he feels is slipping from his grasp.

something dark succumbed to johnny then. something possessive and twisted—his jowls full of venom, waiting to be unleashed. he won’t hurt kyle, god knows he would rather die than do so, but—

curiosity is one hell of a drug, and johnny is desperate. needy.

then, he finds you.

oh, he thinks, watching, barely breathing. how beautiful.

kyle’s in his room when he returns. for a second, so quick and imperceptible, johnny forgets about everything and his whole being narrows down into kyle, the centre of his life. only—

“you’ve been scoping,” kyle says, greeting him.

he doesn’t look up from what he’s fiddling with. distantly, johnny realizes that it is everything johnny has of you—a nondescript, unnamed, and carefully stowed away file lest he makes the mistake of provoking kyle. he thought that he could keep it hidden for a while, until the turmoil churning can be put to rest, but kyle’s always known him; he’s always known which buttons to push, which strings to tug.

he’s always known johnny like the back of his hand.

“aye,” johnny replies, never having lied to kyle.

kyle hums, and finally looks at him. his gaze is a blank slate; a perfect mask. even his beautiful eyes are shielded, his thoughts locked away.

it makes johnny twitch.

kyle lets out a long breath. then, he chuckles and, softly, “took y’long enough, ‘tavish.”

oh.

johnny should have known that kyle will never leave him alone for too long. that he is—

loved.

kyle makes him watch, his hands bound behind his back. you are beautiful in your shy attempts of covering up, but kyle peels back your arms and shows you off to johnny. he tells him to look, to see how magnificent you are in your pleasure.

and you are. christ, you are.

heaving chest drawing johnny’s eyes to where your tits are bouncing before the mounds are hidden behind kyle’s big hands, cupping them and massaging, only for rough fingers to tug at your nipples and making you squeal. your thighs squeeze close but kyle spreads them open again with his own legs, showing off how wet you are.

your cunt’s all stuffed and dripping as kyle’s cock fucks in with deep strokes before pulling out. johnny’s throat constricts—kyle’s cock is shimmering with your slick, all glazed deliciously. he wants to taste. to swallow kyle and lap at your juices staining that pretty cock.

“look at him, love,” kyle rumbles, his words muffled from where his full lips are tracing kisses along the slope of your neck. “look at what y’do t’him.”

his hands fall from your tits to grip the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs even wider, letting some slick slip out from your slit. it makes johnny whimper—he could’ve licked that clean; he would’ve savoured that single dollop.

“shh,” he hears kyle say and it takes johnny an awfully long time to realize that it was directed at him. it makes johnny jump, arms tugging at his bindings for a quick second, forgetting who tied him up in the first place, before jolting to a stop at the narrowed eyes that kyle sends him.

“sorry,” johnny rasps out, his voice coming out serrated. “i— m’sorry, mo ghràdh.”

it makes kyle croon, and his voice rumbles out in a way that is so patient and tender that it threatens to choke johnny and tear him asunder.

“isn’t he such a good pup, darlin’?” kyle nudges at you.

johnny’s eyes lift up, locking on yours, and oh—

bright with wonder and sticky with yearning, you gaze back at johnny. he feels so untethered like this—from kyle’s heavy gaze and forgiving trill to your crinkled eyes and soft smile.

“so good,” you murmur, still breathless in your pleasure and thick with yearning and passion. he watches as you lean back, head tipping to graze your lips on the cut of kyle’s jaw. “thank you f’r the gift, daddy.”

and, oh you mean him. johnny is the gift.

kyle says something indecipherable as he begins to rock back in you, the two of you losing yourselves in each other’s embrace. johnny has been hard for hours but neither jealousy nor frustration fill him up because there is something so sacred in this act that he feels the tendrils of hymns forming on the back of his throat and rising to a crescendo.

please. soon. thank you. i want.

it is kyle who first takes him, coaxing johnny to slide his weeping cock into kyle’s loving throat. it makes johnny cry, tears building in the corners of his eyes. he needs something to ground him, to tether himself before he falls, and johnny finds it in your touch. you pull him in, turning his head so he can muffle his moans on your chest, and johnny feels something click into place.

something foggy rouses from the base of his spine, making everything feel more. the pleasure engulfing him, the warmth of kyle’s throat, the softness of your body—johnny feels all of them twice-fold.

like his strings have been pulled taut and they are on the brink of snapping. just one more bloating. just another peaking.

a summit of cataclysmic bliss is in the horizon—

then, he breaks.

johnny heard something wailing in the room. he doesn’t realize that it is himself, razed with an inexplicable euphoria that he feels like he is being undone and then remade—an upheaval of his soul.

simon looks at johnny once and grins. it is too wide and too mean and too dangerous.

“y’ve been tamed, ain’t you, john?”

johnny snaps his teeth at his lieutenant. he knows jealousy when he sees it.

[lushrue]

tf 141 as police officers anyone? dubcon, afab!reader

this was not how you wanted to spend your weekend.

you'd graciously agreed to go out for your friend's bachelorette party. she'd all but begged you to be there for her last night of freedom, so how could you not show up for her? now, though, after three too many shots and sitting in the drunk tank of the local police station, you were beginning to wish you'd stayed curled up on your couch.

you weren't even entirely sure what had happened. one moment, you were walking to your next bar, your body floating along with the crowd. the next, your friends were catcalling some random men across the street and the red and blue lights started flashing in your periphery.

the officers that arrested you had been nice enough, you supposed. they were understanding of your situation, but not understanding enough to let you out of a public intoxication charge. the more senior one, captain price, had given you your own police car away from your friends after you'd complained about your head pounding. if he copped a feel as he helped you into the seat, no one but the two of you had to know.

his sergeant, garrick, chatted you up as you rode the couple of minutes to the local jail. he was friendly, conversational, if a bit flirtatious. you weren't sure a cop was supposed to compliment a prisoner's hair or the way her dress showed off her tits so much.

but the two cops serving as jail wardens were by far the worst. sergeant mactavish had been the one to book you in, taking your fingerprints and filling out the necessary paperwork to cite you. inhibitions lowered by the copious amounts of vodka you'd been talked into consuming, you told him his tattoos made him look hot. he seemed to take that as a green light, murmuring in your ear about how bonnie you were the whole time he was booking you.

lieutenant riley just unnerved you. you could see him staring through the window of the thick metal door, the bars not deterring him one bit. clearly, he could see as much as he needed to. he hadn't stopped staring since he'd thrown you into the cell.

your friends had taken notice too, the way the officers seemed to take a liking to you. the group of them hatched a clever, albeit drunken, plan to use you as bait to escape. if you were completely in your right mind, you would've refused without a second thought. however, fortunately (or unfortunately) for you, it sounded genius to your alcohol-logged brain.

you sauntered up to the door, standing on your tiptoes to bring your chest into view. you put on your best pout, holding the bars of the small window. "sergeant johnny?" you slurred, your fingers dancing suggestively along the length of the bars. "me and my friends are thirsty. can you and your friend get us some water?"

the giggles of the girls behind you let you know how good your performance was, and you put on the best flirtatious smile you could muster while drunk. the two officers looked at each other, seeming to contemplate for a moment, before they both came directly to your cell. the heavy door swung open, hinges squeaking.

"why don' ya come with us, troublemaker?" mactavish purred, crooking his finger at you. his lieutenant stood behind him, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"we can give ya just wha' ya need."

[lushrue]

Readers in park, Louis Antoine Estachon 1850

[lushrue]

Simon Riley got his fingers fucked up. Time spent under Roba's torture messed up the joints, made his digits barely able to flex and curl and left him with chronic pain, especially once the temperatures start to drop. It's alright, not the worst thing he came out of that encounter with, he can live with it. Doesn't bother him even that much.

It's just that Simon Riley used to love knitting.

Soft, creamy white, thick yarn turning into volumunous sweaters with huge warm collars his mother and his brother's bird could wear, safe from the nasty winter chill. Stripey socks, comfortable hats, long fluffy scarves - he could and would do it all.

Roba took it from him. Knitting needles became almost impossible to hold properly, struggling over the yarn mess for more than 15 minutes pisses him off and makes him never want to pick it up again. He can barely make a couple rows of a shitty excuse of a scarf, let alone finish a single thing.

And then Soap brings his LT over to his family home for their joint leave - two whole weeks in a household full of bustling life, hearty food and loving banter. In the evenings, when Johnny and all the younglings of the family have already spent their buzzing energy and are snoring in their beds, sometimes piled up like tired puppies, Simon and Mama MacTavish both are kept up by their insomnia. In a pleasantly dimly lit living room, this beautiful woman with white hair and noble profile sits, kitting - soft white wool of Highlands' best sheep turning into a sweater in her hands.

Simon comes to sit with her, calmed down by the sounds her needles make and the hypnotizing movements of her hands. First couple of nights he just lets it lull him to sleep before Mama MacTavish sends him off to wam bed with her snoring son already sprawled across it like a starfish.

Then Simon picks up needles himself. It's a slow, torturous process, his grip slipping, threads coming apart, frustration and anger at his useless fingers building - yet Mama's hands always come to rescue. She soothes the pain in his fingers, helps fix uneven loops, tells him stories of Johnny's childhood to distract Ghost from his angry mind. It works.

By the end of the leave he presents Soap the ugliest knitted hat with pompoms stitched to it in a row resembling a mohawk, and you bet Johnny wears it all the time, flexing in front of everyone who sees him in this monstrosity. He takes it to all the places he shouldn't, stubbornly unwilling to part with the gift, and loses pompoms - yet somehow Simon constantly sees new ones pop up on the hat.

It's Mama MacTavish stitching them on, because she knows, Simon needs a little help with this painstaking work for now.