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„...You know better, babe, you know better, babe Than to hold me just, hold me just like that...”

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You cannot tame the mane.

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Wouldn't that be overkill for a tumblr?

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on my hands and knees begging for more cowboy logan crumbs.........................

"Cummon baby," Logan murmurs, his face buried against your neck and your hands gripping his biceps. You can feel the flex of his muscle with each thrust of his fingers into your cunt, your pussy fluttering around the thick digits in an attempt to - fuck you don't know, keep them inside? Get them to stop thrusting so hard against that sopping spot inside you? You so rarely get to hear his voice, the deep throaty sound of it reserved only for you, you don't want to miss it. But you can't help eclipsing it with your cries, the pointed jabs of his fingers, so quick and precise, make you wail. You're sure you'd wake the whole house if Hesh hadn't found a reason to go into town this morning. "Cummon," He begs, "come on my fingers mama."

Your eyes roll, your spine snapping taught. All the wet heat in your core breaks and shudders through your muscles. Your pussy clenches so tight around his fingers you worry it'll break them, but they just keep thrusting into you. The wet squelching of your orgasm fills the room, aches in your worn out cunt. It's bad enough you can hear how wet you are, but you can feel it coating your thighs too. You can feel Logan's lips against your neck, desperate and panting as he fumbles with the fly of his jeans before shoving them and his boxers down. You glance to see where the fabric has been hooked under his balls, just in time to watch the fat head disappear into your loosened cunt.

"Like when I call you that?" He licks a strip from your pulse to your ear, "Like the idea of makin' me a daddy?" You shake your head. God it burns when he pushes into you, fat all the way down to the base, you can feel the veins dragging against your walls. You hitch your legs around his waist, feel his wet fingers helping you, pressing one of your knees towards your chest. "Fuck I can't help it," He breathes, "make me want more of you," His teeth scrape your earlobe, "make me greedy."

"Chatty too," You whine, and he hums. You can feel the curve of his smile against your cheek.

"Like you ain't screamin' for me." He chuckles, leaning back to thrust into you hard enough you see stars.

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i love an "oh fuck" moment during smut.

picturing simon stopping his thrusts momentarily to hook his arms under your knees and press you open wider, using more of that hulking weight to bully his cock deeper into your weeping cunt.

it was already toe-curling, already mind-numbing and delicious but this new position and how absolutely soaked you are allows him to sink impossibly deeper. it's like lightning shooting through your entire body when he gives an experimental thrust, your eyes shooting open before rolling back into your skull as his cockhead rubs against some previously undiscovered sweet spot. it hurts, but in the best way possible; the pressure sensitive in a way you've never felt before.

"oh f-fuck.." you can barely gasp out, your hand reaching down to press against his pelvis. to stop him or urge him further, you don't know, but simon simply continues the slow roll of his hips, satisfied grumbles leaving him as he watches you grapple with the newfound sensation. "'s so deep..." you sob through clenched teeth and furrowed brows, and simon swears you've never looked more beautiful, taking his cock like the angel you are. like you were made for it.

that's when he really picks up the pace, hips slamming against your own, and you're making sounds you've never made before. it makes simon feral, the need to draw more of those unabashed sounds bone deep. it isn't long before you're cumming with a shriek of his name, and you don't even register the gush of liquid that comes with it. you don't register the gleam in simon's eye either as he leans down to press his lips to your ear, huffing out his praises all while never stopping the movement of his hips.

"sweet girl," he rumbles, suppressing a shiver when you keen in response, your orgasm having turned your brain to mush. "give me another."

you're in for a long night.

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John Mactavish lactation kink send tweet

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I just know Simon "I hate my dad" Riley was standing in a crust bar bathroom at 3am piercing his ears with a thumbtack at 15, sitting on a milk crate letting some goth chick pierce his tongue, standing in line at the market and picking up a random earring to force through his cartilage just to feel something.

Poor man forced to lose all his piercings when he joined the military, but he's still got the scars to prove they were there.

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Alright here's some Cowboy Ghoul Omegaverse for you featuring Soap being the menace he is. Reminder that I have Soap as a Beta on the Alpha end of the spectrum, and his darling as a Beta leaning to the omega end of the spectrum. Also that Ruts/Heats don't make people sex crazed, that's just Soap.

ALSO ALSO: sub!Johnny :)

You smell like sweet incense, powdery in the nose and utterly intoxicating, like dark smokey rooms and good liquor, like old money changing hands and shadowed dancers. It's all Soap can do on the best day not to press his nose to your neck and breathe deeply, but now? Now his hormones have kicked into high gear, his body is burning with heat and need and he can't find it in himself to care about propriety or social rules.

Soap presses his nose to your neck and inhales, losing himself in your signature. You squirm in his arms and he tightens his grip with a warning growl. Impossible to pass up. He's lucky his rut had hit him while he was picking up Goose's order, because you may as well be heaven served to him on a silver platter. His mouth waters, his teeth itch, he opens his mouth to taste your scent. Fuck, you're so sweet, almost almond-y under the incense smoke. Soap drags his tongue along your pulse, calming the shivers that rack you with a low purr. One bite wouldn't hurt.

You whine when his teeth touch skin, arch away from him so he has to grab your throat and hold you in place. He feels the press of your skin under his teeth, the give of musculature, the softness of you. He opens, releases to pant against your neck, and drags his lips along the gentle impression of his teeth with a heady groan. It's a quick motion. Arm grabbed and twisted behind your back. Knees knocked with his leg. You hit the ground with a pained, "Johnny" and he can't bring himself to care if your knees bruise.

The way he's twisting your arm, maybe he should care about that, but he can't have you hitting him. It'll only make this worse. He's hanging on by a thread already. Still, hearing you say his name like that. Well, even a sane man might grind their hard cock against you. Soap presses his teeth against you again, sucks at the skin as he marks it.

"Can ah fuck ya, bonnie?" He asks, his voice rough beside your ear, "wanna see- wanna feel ya, fuck- ah dinnae ken-" He presses his achingly hard cock against your ass, rocking it against you to try and relieve some of the pressure. Fuck it hurts, he can feel his muscles straining, his stomach churning. The light is too bright when he buries his face against your shoulder. This is good enough. The pressure on his cock, the warmth of your body, your scent wrapping around him, he could ride out his rut just like this, doesn't even have to fuck you.

One of your roommates walks in and promptly spins around to leave. "No, wait-" You try desperately to get their attention back, giving a pained whimper when your movement applies pressure to the arm behind your back. At this rate Johnny's liable to dislocate your shoulder. You'd rather not have to deal with that. "John." He whines, you know he doesn't like when you use his proper name, "let-" Your words die on the fingers that press between your legs.

Your arm is released to Johnny can bunch up your skirt and stroke quick fingers over your panties. His breath is so heavy against your back, hot and dripping with saliva. The mahogany and pine of his signature is starting to make the kitchen smell more like a forest, and you can hear keys being grabbed off hooks as your fellow nuns vacate the building. Traitors.

Johnny's fingers tease your hole through the thin fabric of your panties as the hand around your throat tightens. Johnny babbles nonsense against your shoulder, his teeth scraping against the fabric of your dress as his fingers push into your clothed cunt. You jerk in surprise at the feeling, the uncomfortable drag of cotton against your sensitive walls, the pull of fabric over your skin, bunching to try and follow Johnny's lead. You're almost ashamed to admit that his desperation is making you wet, your body responding to a well known scent and helping him slide his fingers against you.

"Johnny," You try again and he whines.

"You said I could hen, you said-" His teeth grab your dress, his cock presses against your ass, and to avoid pressing back into him you twitch forward onto his fingers. It's a mistake, but he growls all the same. His fingers leave their desperate attempt at fucking your cunt through your underwear, to rub at your clit instead. "Let me make you feel good hen, let me fuck my pussy."

You bump your forehead against the floor, try not to wiggle your hips at his insistent rubbing. He's going to give you a rug burn if he keeps this up. You have things to do today, you can't sacrifice an hour to being knotted, and you certainly can't have that happening on the kitchen floor. "Johnny," You ignore his whining and pleading, "upstairs, bed, please." He freezes, his brain churning over the possibilities that offer opens up to him, before he's pulling you up. You're tugged along with him as he stands, and he almost seems to forget that you aren't actually attached to him in his haste to get to the creaky old staircase. Which is to say he hauls you up over his shoulder when you stumble.

Only to kick your bedroom door closed and throw you on the bed. You scramble away from the grabbing hands that threaten to pin you again as Johnny crawls onto the bed as well. You barely manage to slip your feet to the ground before you tumble off. Johnny pouts at you, his cheeks flushed and his hair starting to stick to his forehead. Poor thing. You know he can't be having a good time.

"Clothes off," You tell him, you try to be nicer with it, but... you've never been good at being soft. It doesn't matter, Johnny very nearly rips his shirt off, and just as quickly pushes his jeans down. You watch him kick at the denim before remembering he's got boots on. It gives you a moment to fuss with your dress, deciding to keep your habit on in case you get another knock on the door. It's not like any of the other sisters can answer it. Traitors.

"Lay down," You order when he grabs for you again. Johnny's eyes roam your skin, touching on everything he can as he struggles against his own wants to comply with yours. Slowly, he lays back against the pillows, his eyes fixed on you and his fists clenched tight against your duvet. You shuck your soaked panties and climb back onto the bed. His hands attach to you like magnets, immediate and not likely to be broken off. He isn't stopping you from moving though, that's progress.

Actually he seems to get your idea almost as soon as you throw your leg over his chest and shimmy up to settle your knees next to his broad shoulders. His eyes trace greedily over your pussy, his hands already squeezing at the soft flesh of your ass. Spreading you apart to give him a better look as you position yourself over his mouth. You watch his lips part and his tongue roll out. Like a dog, you think to yourself. His hands tug at you, attempt to ease you down for a taste, you hold yourself still.

"Are you going to be good for me Johnny?" You ask.

"Aye, be so good for ya."

"No knotting me?"

"Aye, no knotting, I'll be good." You don't think he actually heard what you were saying, or what he repeated back. That's alright, he'll figure it out soon enough.

"And you'll let me up when I tell you."

"Aye, aye, hells fuckin' bells are ya sittin' on mah face or nae?" He looks up at you finally, his pupils blown wide and his brows drawn together. He's red to the tips of his ears when you finally take mercy on the poor man and settle your cunt against his waiting tongue.

And oh. Oh. He's burning up. You haven't been with anyone going through their cycle before, too worried about the social pressures that came along with it, and you certainly haven't let anyone into yours, but oh lord. His mouth is like a furnace, his tongue hot and wet as it slurps through your folds, every inch of him is warm to the touch and warms you in turn. He wastes no time sucking the taste of your slick into his mouth, his lips finding purchase anywhere and everywhere. Johnny sucks at your folds, laps at your slick, draws the letters of his name up and down your cunt. His tongue flicks against your clit after the in depth exploration and your hips jerk.

You can feel his toothy grin and take the opportunity to settle more heavily on him. You're rewarded with a soft groan and a firm suck at your clit. Johnny's arms wrap around your thighs, forcing you down and holding you in place. He sucks in a breath through his nose, shaking his head to bury himself in your cunt. His eyes are dazed as they look up at you, his fingers dig into the plush of your thighs, making little divots in the soft skin. You grind your cunt against his mouth, moving ever so slightly with the greedy rise and fall of his chest. You glance back, watch his heavy neglected cock twitch with need, pre-come drooling onto his stomach from the flushed head. He'd keep you locked in bed for the next week if he had his way.

"Look at you," You coo down at him, the hitch in your breath lending a hand to your shaky confidence, "this is where you belong isn't it?" Johnny nods, dragging his tongue along your folds with the motion, lapping at you until he can focus his attention again. Lost in the heady taste of you, the absolute devotion of desire that drips from your pussy. He takes you like sacrament, like he never needs anything else. You stroke your fingers through his hair.

"Just-" He sucks hard, watching you all too close as you curl over him with a whine, "made to eat me out." His hands are tight, his eyes fixed on you, there's a fire in them you don't think is just from his rut. There's going to be bruises on your thighs tomorrow you just know it. "Don't need to fu-uck me," You moan, your stomach clenching as pleasure tingles up your spine. You reach back to wrap your fingers around his cock, it's absolutely wet with his drooly pre. Your first stroke is slick, and makes Johnny's breath catch. His eyes roll, his lashes fluttering closed. You yank at his hair to get his attention back on you.

"Good boys ignore their dick, and lick." You squeeze your fingers around the base, shit you can already feel the firm expanse of his knot, how wound up is he? Johnny's eyes open, barely a hint of blue left to his iris as he looks at you. His hips may jerk, trying to hump into your hand while you stroke him, but his mouth keeps moving. He sucks eagerly at your clit, his nose pinching to hold back the groan you know is trying to rise up his throat. His tongue works over you, tight circles, long licks. Hot and wet, and zipping like electricity through your muscles. You shudder, pant out a moan for him as you stroke his cock. Your own hips twitch against his hold, stomach wound too tight.

You want so desperately to beg him for more, but you know exactly what would happen if you did. You'd wind up on your stomach with his cock bullied inside of you, locked in place with his teeth in your neck. Being stretched out on his thick cock is a tempting thought, but you told him you were open to quickies, not week long maintenance.

Johnny pushes his tongue into your hole and you buck against the intrusion, your breath quick as he wiggles it inside of you. You want his fingers, his cock, something thick enough to burn. You whine and his hands push at your thighs. He raises you just enough to work two fingers into you. It's tight, you're sure it's uncomfortable for him, but you don't care. You push yourself down his fingers and moan, they fill you just enough, just enough that when he scrapes his teeth against your clit and sucks hard it pushes you over the edge. Your legs shake on either side of his head, your fingers squeeze tight around his cock, and your back bows as pleasure washes over you.

A hot splash of come hits your back, pools over your fingers. Johnny moans your name so beautifully, so desperately. Poor thing. You ride out your high, grinding your clit against his tongue while his fingers stretch you. His pleasure barely registers in your mind. At least not until you take your hand off him, and raise your fingers to your lips to clean them off. Then you find yourself face to face with his pleasure. And what a wild thing it is, burning a scorched earth path across his face, from the wetness of his beard to the redness of his lips.

You spend just long enough admiring the picture he's made to let him get his hands on your hips and flip your positions.

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[mausinly]

This is just Regency!Ghost eating pussy... another aggressively typed piece from midnight that I fell asleep immediately after writing... When are these two gonna get married so they can fuck properly?

You barely have time to pull your skirts up as Simon falls to his knees, pushing you bodily back against the closed door as his arms wrap around your thighs to spread your legs. He makes room for himself, makes you accommodate his large frame. His head tips, eyes lidding as he stars at the space between your legs. He pulls his mask down, his lips already parting as his tongue teases between his teeth in anticipation of your taste. The black fabric bunches around his neck as his fingers leave it to dig into your plush thigh. Getting him between your legs isn't the problem, getting him out from between them is.

Terribly tempting though. Awfully tempting to see him on his knees; to see him so sincerely hungry for you. You swallow down your trepidation, raise your skirt higher for him, and feel him rock that much closer as you reveal more bare skin and soft sticky wetness. Simon's breathing is shallow, his chest heaving with each inhale, gulping down air like each breath might be his last. It might be with the way he attaches his lips to you.

He's so nice, starts so gently with you, kissing your slit like it's something precious to him. Lips press to your folds with a reverence you haven't even seen in church pews, pulling away only to press to another few centimeters of skin. He takes his time with you, thanking you for the blessing of your cunt, paying homage to every millimeter of worshipful skin. Heat throbs through the little bundle of nerves at the top of your slit, your cunt fluttering under his gentle ministrations. His tongue darts out to lick you, one long swipe that dips between your folds and laps at the slick dripping from you. It leaves him groaning. You tip your head back against the door and push your hand to your mouth in an attempt to stifle the whine that forces its way up your throat. It's a pathetic, needy, thing that makes Simon go back to his chaste kisses.

"So pretty for me," He tells you, his voice graveled and rough. You're beginning to wonder if swallowing down the wetness that flows from you like a faucet for him has some sort of negative effect on his voice. It never sounds worse than when he's between your legs, never sounds rougher, never makes your skin prickle with quite the same heat. He kisses your cunt, his lips parting to breathe a shaky exhale over your skin. He swallows, and opens again to scrape his teeth against you. Your hips jump into the feeling, his brows furrowing and his eyes fixed on the mess he's making.

"Cunt's gonna kill me," He rumbles, his cheeks flushed and his tongue swiping to drag the lingering wetness off his lips, "I can't wait." His mouth fixes itself to you and you keen into your hand at the hard suck to your clit before he starts to eat you in earnest. Your stomach twists tight, your pussy warm from the heat of his mouth and the heady drag of his tongue. You can't stop the soft breathy moans that drip from your lips, your clit still tingly and desperate for attention when he leaves it to swirl his tongue around your opening. You're halfway to grinding your hips against his face when he presses a finger into you.

You feel the burn of friction and stretch, the slow drag of his finger tugging at the soft muscle and exploring the fluttering walls of your cunt. His eyes meet yours, his lashes sweeping against his ruddy cheeks with each slow blink. Simon's tongue rolls over your clit, he lets you see it, lets you watch the way he moves as he laps at you. You feel like you must be pouting, your brows drawing together with want at each sinful pump of his finger. Your body responds to him even when you can't put the words to what you want, clenching around the digit to try and keep it inside. You feel so terribly... empty. It takes too little time before the stretch isn't enough, too little time before that delicious burn has evened out into a thrumming heat.

You press your hand harder against your lips to stop from begging for more. You have to be content with what he gives you. Canting your hips in a silent plea until he fills you with a second finger. The way he shifts his attention, his teeth scraping your clit as his fingers jab something tight and wet inside you. You press up on your toes, trying to get away from the feeling even when your hips push into it. He's relentless, quick and dirty, with his fingers. Your legs shake from the effort of holding yourself up, your stomach jumping and swirling with molten heat as he twists and fucks his fingers into you.

Simon holds his tongue out, lets you grind your clit against it while he works you with his fingers. You're too desperate to care for the propriety of it, eagerly moving your hips to try and push yourself over the tight edge you feel poised on.

"Simon," you whine, taking the chance on talking. You're quick to press your hand back where it was when he jabs his fingers against your sweet spot again and again. His pace is relentless, so fast you don't have the time to think of anything but the tight twisting heat that rips through you.

"That's it love," Simon encourages, turning to kiss your thigh, "say my name."

You don't get the chance to, your breath catching in your throat as every muscle in your body locks in place and you feel something warm and liquid drip from you. Simon groans low, knowing, and kisses your stomach, still pumping his fingers into you. When you can get your lashes to stop fluttering at the electric feeling of his fingers dragging over your sensitive walls, you glance down at him. He's got droplets of, well you assume it's from you, all over his shirt and jacket. He pulls his fingers from of you and drags them over his waiting tongue.

His eyes burn into you, making sure you're watching as he sucks them clean. As if he can't get enough of your taste.

[mausinly]

Me when daddy hesh walker

'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will)

Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact) Words: 3.7k Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is. Next Chapter > ao3

You’ve always been smart. You don’t know if you’ve always been pretty, but you try not to be too harsh on your younger self. You also have bills to pay. You’re fortunate enough to be doing what you love, working a job you’re passionate about, and getting paid shit all for it. Luckily you’re not the one paying your bills. You have sugar daddies for that.

Like you said, pretty, and smart enough not to rely on one stream of cash. You have a couple men you sugar for, all old enough to make sure they know you’re not looking for love, and with enough experience to get you off at the end of the night. It’s a good situation, everyone gets what they want, and you don’t worry about your job paying you barely above minimum wage. When one man drops you, you hit up your favorite sites for another. Which is how you got here, staring at Hesh with a cup of coffee held tight between your hands and a hangover that throbs like a lobotomy.

What you don’t know is how he got in, but you’re more focused on his offer than anything else. Drop the other men you sugar for to be his exclusively, and he’ll double every dollar they pay you monthly. You’re not greedy by any stretch of the word, but your mouth waters at the proposal. That’s a lot of money he’s laying on the table.

“And what about sex?” You ask him. It’s been months of dating him, and Hesh still hasn’t touched you. In fact the smoldering tension between you has made all your other relationships feel cold. Forcing you to rely on your toys after sex these days when your other daddies fail to perform. That doesn’t mean you want to cut it off cold turkey. You can’t, not when he still makes you throb eagerly even with the hangover migraine. If he doesn’t want you, there’s no deal. 

There’s something steely in Hesh’s eyes when he leans forward, his elbows settling on his knees. His smile is wicked, predatory, it makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. Your blood runs hot, and follows his eyes as they drop to stare between your legs.

“Baby,” He purrs, “I’ll fuck you over this table right now, all you gotta do is say yes to me.”

(six months ago)

You check your makeup in your compact mirror. Not your favorite, but you find the men you date appreciate the femininity of it. There’s something terribly alluring about swiping your pinky over the corners of your lips with a compact mirror in hand, and you don’t get that sort of sex-out-of-the-bag flavor with your phone camera. You really need all the cards you can get tonight too. You’ve got a date with a new man, a new sugar daddy. You don’t usually go for them when they’re this close in age to you, but he seemed nice, and paid in advance(no strings attached), so you’re taking the chance on him. He offered to pick you up, but… you’re not about to get trapped in a car with a man you don’t know. It’s better having a quick escape route if the date goes south.

You snap your compact shut and tuck it neatly back into your purse when you spot your date. He hands his keys to the restaurant’s valet, and offers you a smile. He’s wearing a suit, you expected as much with the caliber of restaurant he suggested, but it’s nice being dressed up for. You hold your hand out in greeting as his long strides carry him close. You’re pleasantly surprised when his fingers grip yours and raise your hand to his lips. He just grazes your knuckles, his eyes heavy on yours as he kisses your hand. They’re green, you note. Not just his eyes either, his suit too. It’s so dark you’d mistaken it as black, but it’s green, and it makes his eyes positively electric looking.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” He smiles, dropping his hold on your hand and slipping his around your back as you turn to walk into the restaurant.

“I just got here,” A white lie, you got here with ten minutes to spare, never early or late for the men you date. Your date hums, his thumb rubbing against the small of your back, right where the zipper of your dress ends. His hand splays wide, his pinky grazing the swell of your ass. It sends a little shiver through you, the touch quickly removed as your date gives his name to the host.

“Walker.” He voice, sure and even, louder than the intimate softness of his voice when he’d greeted you, makes something warm slither down your spine. 

“David Walker,” you feel the name over your tongue, adding the last name to the one he’d had on his profile. You feel the way his attention slips back to you heavily, it may as well be another hand with the warmth that it draws over you.

“My friends call me Hesh,” He sounds proud, but not like he’s puffing out his chest. There’s no bragging to the nickname, just the simple exchange of information.

He settles his hand on your back again when the host leads you to your table. The firm pressure not pushing you, not hurrying you, but steadying you. You wonder if he doubts your ability to walk in the heels you picked, or if he’s simply the touchy sort. You suppose you’ll figure it out soon enough. He pulls your chair out like a gentleman, helps you scoot in to the table, and takes his seat across from you without a wasted movement. You’ve never met a man that seemed so immediately comfortable in his own skin.

You suppose that comes with the territory. The men that pay you, pay you for a reason. You’re arm candy, or a kink, or an easy lay that’s a step better than a prostitute for men too important to “date down”. You know all sorts of men, but Hesh… Hesh seems like he could find a partner easily. Maybe it’s a time issue. You’ve only dealt with some of those. The type of man that doesn’t have the time in his life for dating. You slot the possibility into your mental file for Hesh, and settle your elbows on the table, leaning against them with a smile.

“So,” You draw the word out, give him time to eye the way your breasts push together against the low cut of your dress, “how was your day?”

It’s a simple question, one that never feels out of place, but busy men will always talk about their work. Hesh’s eyes drag over you, flicking to meet yours from their brief rest on your chest. He smiles, taking the menu set in front of him to look over as he speaks.

“I’m in the military if that’s what you’re askin’.” You feel yourself falter a little, regaining your composure, your smile, when he glances up at you.

“You must be busy,” You try, keeping your tone interested but light. You dislike intelligent men, the ones that can see through you, see through your questions, it makes it harder to play the game when both sides know the rules. But a date is a date. 

“Hard to date with deployment looming,” He admits, or perhaps supplies, helping you build your mental catalog for him. You nod, you can see that. It would certainly make it hard to keep someone around without an incentive, hence the use of a sugar baby. Ah, got it. You file him neatly into the correct box and reach for your water glass. 

“I can imagine,” You raise a brow, taking a sip, busy men like talking. Busy men tell you about themselves, what they can do for you, what you should do for them, how busy they are and how little time they have for you, as if you’re meant to be grateful for every second they allow you.

Hesh waits. He sits patiently, watching you with interest as you swipe your thumb over the lipstick stain you’ve left on the rim of the glass. He’s quiet, observant. Unnerving. Busy men talk, and Hesh isn’t talking. He’s watching, taking you in like he has all the time in the world. He sets his menu down and laces his fingers together on the table. You wish you couldn’t feel the hesitance in your fingers as you take another sip of your water, delaying the inevitable.

“Do I make you nervous,” He asks after your third sip. There’s a keen evenness to his tone, low and deep enough to shiver goosebumps over your skin. You set your water down and plaster on a smile that feels as fake as you’re sure it must look.

“Of course not.”

“You done this before sweetheart?”

“Sugar?” You can feel Hesh’s hum, the warmth of it spreads through your chest, his eyes soft and his smile inquisitive. “Once or twice.” You lie.

“Once or twice,” He turns the words back to you. An interrogation technique you often employ during these sorts of things. It works though. You bite down the need to correct him, to tell him maybe it’s more than just once or twice.

“It’s hard to pay the bills with just my work.” You explain, though you’re not sure why. Something in your stomach flutters to explain yourself to this man, the desire shakes itself through your bones. He reaches for his own water glass, draws the moment out as you watch his Adam's apple bob with the motion of swallowing. You've done this a good dozen times, but no one has put you on your toes as quickly as Hesh has. You take the moment to give him a once over. There's a slight shadow over his jaw, we'll groomed stubble that feeds its way into close cropped brown hair. Young-ish, with an age to his eyes that makes you wonder what he's been through, what he's seen. He's just at what you would call “acceptably older” if you were actually dating him, but he still wears his youth in the gleam of his smile. He watches you like a hawk, and you in turn watch him like a rabbit.

“Non-profit, right?” Hesh confirms, and you nod, before quickly giving a verbal affirmative. Verbal answers are more confident, and you've done this too many times to be losing your confidence now. Hesh is outside of your normal routine, but a sugar daddy is a sugar daddy, and at the end of the day they all want one thing. A pretty thing on their arm. They don't care about what you do or who you are, as long as you go home with them at the end of the night. “Do you enjoy it?”

The question takes you off guard. Or, not the question itself, you've heard that a hundred times at least, it's the genuine interest disguised behind an impassive smile. You blink at him.

“I-” you don't give details about your work, they don't want details, you give the necessary ‘yes’ and move on to talking about him or playing footsie under the table, “I do it’s-”

Your waiter stops beside the table, and you feel Hesh's attention leave you like a weight falling off your chest. He speaks with conviction, orders wine for the both of you, and where you usually feel as though that sort of move is right out of a “how to show women you’re the boss 101” handbook, on him it feels natural. He’s used to commanding attention, to giving orders. No wasted breath, no wasted words. Hesh orders and you wonder if he’ll do the same for your meal.

“What did you say you did in the military?” You ask when the waiter leaves, and Hesh’s eyes feel all the heavier on you for your interest.

“We were talking about you,” He corrects. The way he sits and looks at you show a man that holds not just himself to high standards, but everyone else as well. The weight of his full attention is crushing now that you’ve felt it leave you, and yet it sparks something in you. A desire to please. A desire to live up to those expectations.

He’s here for you, you don’t want to disappoint him.

You’ve never had a conversation with a man who makes you feel so aware of yourself. You can feel the brush of fabric against your skin like a touch, and each breath you take seems to tease you as your dress pulls over your chest. And his eyes… He touches every inch of exposed skin he can with them, drawing warmth over you until you’re positively alight with want. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom. He stands with you, old school manners you’ve only seen in movies, and offers a hand to help you around the table. You think you feel the brush of his fingers over your hip, his touch burning through you even when you must have imagined it. 

You fix your makeup in the bathroom mirror, attempt to clean up some of the mess you’re making in your panties. God. It’s been so long since you had a date that stoked the fire low in your stomach, a man that looked at you like something to be desired not just a sure thing. When’s the last time your date seemed so interested in you, asked questions to further your answers, brought up topics that related to something you’d mentioned and not just something he could brag about? When’s the last time you had a good date with a hot guy and weren’t worried about whether it would be worth your time?

God have you really not thought about the money this whole time? You’d been so swept up in the way Hesh spoke to you, the way he looked at you, that you couldn’t think of anything else. Even now you can’t help thinking of the way he’d purred, “Anythin’ you want,” when you’d asked what to order. The memory of his voice makes you press your thighs together. You want to know what he’d say to you without the filter of public decency. You want to know how he’d touch you behind closed doors.

He stands again when you make your way back to the table, waits for you to sit before taking his seat. You notice he’s barely touched his food since you left, only picking up his knife and fork when you do. You slot “slow eater” into your folder on him. It doesn’t matter you suppose, he sips his wine, always pours another swallow for you when you run low, and yet he seems to finish with you. His food is gone just a bite after yours is, and he leans against the table as the waiter whisks your plates away. Like he’s waiting for something.

It’s easy to slide your foot against his calf, easy to see the heat that burns in his eyes. You’re careful of your heel, but you’re well practiced in this game. He wants you, you know he wants you. That’s how these things work, pick a pretty girl off the site and take her home at the end. You get first right of refusal and some extra cash in your pocket, he gets to boast about the pretty thing he’s screwing.

“You hopin’ for something sweetheart?” Hesh catches your ankle under the table, firm fingers stopping you from trailing past his knee. His tone is casual, playful, his grip is not. “Gotta use your words like a big girl.” 

“I’m hoping we can get the check,” You purr. Your dates usually rush for it, signal the waiter as quickly as they can to shuffle you into the back seat of their car, or the nearby hotel. You don’t think you’ve had a date ever end at dinner, the same way you’re sure you’ve never had a dinner last quite as long as this. 

“We?” Hesh smiles, his thumb rubs your ankle, the friction making you shiver, “You offerin’ to split the bill little one?”

“Of course not Daddy,” the title falls from your lips with an invitation to touch further. You try not to stretch too obviously into his grip, feel the slip of your skirt as his fingers push up over your calf like a curtain drawing the evening to an end, “Just thought you might like to have dessert elsewhere.”

Hesh’s hand is warm and appreciative as it strokes your leg. You feel the drag of calluses, rough palms skating over your soft skin, and wonder how those thick fingers will feel once they’re inside you. Men like him… they like when you’re a little bold, they like knowing that you’re not too shy to avoid falling into bed on the first date. You’ve honed your edge against the predictability of the men you date, and you know you’re right by the way he catches the waiter’s eye and taps his fingers against the table.

You settle into the warm feeling of victory, and the knowledge that you’ve snagged another source of income. Not to mention the added benefit of sex. Hesh touches you with an idle sort of intimacy that makes heat throb between your legs, he touches you like it’s his right to, like he holds command over the how and when of it. You don’t think he’s the sort of man people often say ‘no’ to.

He drags his fingers over your shin, settling your foot against his knee as he takes his hand from under the table to take the check. It’s a bit of a stretch, the burn in your hamstring of keeping yourself looking presentably seated while still abiding by his placement is a wonderful precursor for the night ahead. You keep your eyes on him as he pays with barely a glance at the bill as he hands the waiter his card. The whisper of wealth. No, you don’t think people say ‘no’ to Hesh often. If ever.

Hesh slips his card back into his wallet as he stands, and moves around the table to offer you his hand. You don’t need it, but you like the way his fingers curl around yours, the firm grip he holds you with as you stand. You brush your hands over your skirt, letting the hem fall back into place. You don’t miss the way Hesh’s eyes follow the sway of your chest as you lean forward. Men are all alike, perfectly predictable.

You press close to his side, letting him feel the soft curves of your body as he leads you out of the restaurant. He hands the valet his ticket and you make a mental note to call one of your friends to come grab your car. Although you suppose you don’t have to spend the night, you can uber back here in an hour or so and grab it. The restaurant staff know you well enough they can let you park here for a bit.

“Are we going back to yours or finding a hotel?” You can’t say you aren’t interested in seeing where he lives, but a hotel is closer, and you’re ready to go.

“Neither,” Hesh hums, “you’re going home.”

He’s not- he’s not interested? Your confusion must read too clearly on your face because Hesh’s hand finds your waist and drags you close. You tip your head to avoid bumping your nose against him and he takes the motion as permission to kiss you. His lips searing yours as his hand squeezes the meat of your hip. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his shoulders, quick to press against the length of him, your chest to his, your hips to his. You can feel the thick twitch of his cock where you push yourself against it. (Fuck is that all him?) He’s like a furnace, radiating warm want that soaks into your skin. The night air feels freezing on your exposed skin

Hesh’s lips part, his breath a sigh as his head tips. The soft push of his lips against yours is exceedingly gentle for the hunger you can taste behind it. It shivers down your spine, aches in the creek of Hesh’s grip on your hips, a want that you can’t quantify. Your lips slide over his, his stubble tickling you a little as you part and kiss, part and kiss, again and again. 

He presses, forces you to lean back, arching into him. You’re reliant on him to keep you standing, trusting your balance to a man you barely know. It makes your skin prickle, makes you want. You wiggle your hips, try to entice him to give you what you know he’s looking for, even slip your tongue in the part of his lips. His fingers tighten until you squeak with pain and pull away from the kiss.

He pulls you up, lets you go to take his keys from the valet. You can still feel his spit slicking your top lip, the tingle of his stubble against your bottom. You balk, the dark fabric of his suit does enough to hide the outline of his cock in the low light but you know what you felt. How can he just leave you like this?

“You’re serious.” You realize, and Hesh pauses with his hand on the top of his car.

“I am,” No wasted words. You hesitate, worry your lip between your teeth before you can stop yourself. Hesh waits you out, patient as a saint.

“But I thought-” You try to blink through your confusion, “I thought this went well.”

“It did,” Hesh smiles and it isn’t patronizing or pitying, but there’s something in it that doesn’t feel entirely friendly, “I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all sweetheart.”

You frown. The first genuine expression you’ve given him all night and it’s a furrowed brow. You fix your face before you lose the next date to your pouting. Hesh’s brows are heavy, his eyes lidding as he watches you. There is something dark and unreadable in the way he looks at you, something heady that makes you dumb. The chill rushes to you when he looks away, climbs into his car, and leaves.

[mausinly]

König definitely deserved a punch to the face for insulting Goose, but then for her to continue by tackling him and dislocating his arm? Then for Ghost to restrain Bee, and Johnny having to intervene by tripping König even though Goose started the physical fight? As you said, Bee doesn’t like power imbalances (i.e. her stance on the government, and being a DA victim) so wouldn’t she end up more upset about being forcefully restrained by a man and watching someone she loves get excessively hurt? It’s not like König punched Goose randomly :( He tried restraining her until she dislocated his arm

here's how I view it and how I wrote it. König instigated the fight by insulting Goose and Goose retaliated with the tackle and then the elbow. The fight absolutely could have ended there. König got what was coming to him for picking a fight with the wrong person, it happens, the smart thing to do is to cut his losses, say uncle, put up his arms on the defensive. Goose wouldn't have dislocated his arm or kept fighting if he was clearly not going to fight back. He did in fact fight back.

König is a violent man. He is a man that relishes in violence, that is trained on brutality and more importantly, has never lost. König is always the biggest threat in a room, and he's made it clear in this fic that he doesn't respect Goose as an adversary. So, he continues the fight. He grabs Goose by the neck and attempts to strangle her. Goose's dislocation of his shoulder is not just a senseless violence against König, it is a response to his attempt at harm. She doesn't have the strength to get herself out of his grip, she even says that she doesn't have the reach to hit him. Would you prefer that she let him choke her? Does she deserve it for lashing out against a man that called her a dog? A whore?

Does Goose's reaction to a man continuing a physical fight with her make you uncomfortable? Why?

At no point did I say Ghost forcefully restrained Bee, he pulled her out of range:

"Simon's on his feet, quick to grab the city girl when she tries to intervene"

Bee tries to get involved in the fight, and Ghost (rightfully) pulls her out of the line of fire. His entire role in this fight has been one of moderation, and restraint. Trying to keep the fight from happening up until the moment that he decides it's not worth it anymore. Then his job is to keep civvies out of harms way.

I'm not going to defend Soap's presence in the fight because he was wrong to get involved. On the other hand, König is a 6'6" retired battering ram that could still hold his own against most active duty military, Goose is a civilian. Granted Goose is a well trained civilian from a military family, but at the end of the day she's an accountant.

Here's my question to you: do you think König would have stopped just at restraining Goose?

Bee watched the man she loves openly insult a woman who had only ever been friendly to her. She was stopped from intervening when said woman attacked König(very scary! She did not like this), she then watch the man that she loves, trusts with her own safety, retaliate and continue the fight. She watched him punch Goose in the face despite having an injury that would make a normal person stop fighting. She watched him attempt to go after Goose again despite her removing herself from the fight(rolling away). The fight could have been over at that point, but König continued to insult Goose, continued to go after her, and would have hurt her without a second thought if he'd been allowed to.

I ask again: is Goose not allowed to defend herself? Does it make you uncomfortable? I don't think either of them is the victim here, but the label on the can was clear that this was a fic about Goose beating up König. I don't think it's fair to be upset with her for doing what it says on the tin.

[mausinly]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSYerK2t9/

Ghoul look at them why are they so biteable.

Gnawing on them like a chew toy

Let's do some cowboy!Logan... I want him big and beefy, as he should be. I don't know what his Darling does but they're sure showing up at Walker Ranch a lot.

You spot Logan as soon as you flip out the blade of your pocket knife to slice a few flowers off the bush by his front gate. He gives you a look that asks "really? Are you serious?" And makes his way over. Honestly it's not the fact that you're caught trespassing and borderline stealing that stops you dead in your tracks, it's the fact that the man walking towards you is shirtless. Shirtless and positively glowing with sweat.

Your eyes dart down to his boobs- pecs, his pecs, they're pecs on men (you remind yourself of this hastily as you pull your eyes back to his face). His straw hat is casting little pinpricks of light over his sweat slick skin. The shadows over his face are light and playful, they fit the attempt at a stern set to his mouth and drawn brows. You're sure he's trying to look stern with you, but it's coming off terribly charming. You stare at the soft muscle of his stomach, the softly shadowed definition of abs under well fed skin. You wonder what he's been working on to get so strong... and sweaty...

You look back at his face in time to catch him signing. "Why's it always you setting off the alarm?"

He stops himself, the crooked smile dropping as he opens his mouth to speak instead. You stop him quickly. "I didn't know you has alarms." It seems an easier lead in than anything else, and it takes him by surprise. His fingers twitch, his mouth opening and closing, like he isn't sure which one to use to communicate. You raise your hands, motion for him to go on.

"You-" he stops, waves his hand to clear the sentence and start over, "talking is a lot of energy." He explains instead, his fingers pausing like he's worried you didn’t understand. Though you don't see why he would feel the need to explain himself to you, you understand him well enough to get by.

"My cousin is Deaf," you offer in turn, "and it lets me talk during movies." Logan moves to sign and you rush to add, "I'm not great at it-" his smile returns even while your cheeks start to heat, "-so go easy on me."

"Its always you with the alarm," he signs a second time, and you glance at the fence. Logan reaches to pull your attention back, two fingers guiding you gently by the jaw to look at him. "You make a habit of tresspassing?" Ok actually you don't know that word, but you can guess. Better not to answer that one, even if you think it's supposed to be a joke.

"Anyone ever tell you, you are some grade A beef? You know they're callin' this place 'can't Walk-er Ranch' right? On account of you bein' worth a baseball team." You do your best talking under pressure, and you've always been good at talking. Logan blinks at you. He looks back where he'd come from, up towards the farm house, then back to you.

He raises his arm and flexes, patting his bicep with the same pride you've seen cowboys pat their favorite horse with. It makes you laugh. Logan has a habit of doing that you're finding. He pats his stomach.

"Only thing I don't miss about the military is the food," he signs, "my brother's a good cook, and I like to eat."

"Eat what?" You blurt before you can stop yourself. God you spend too much time sending stupid ass videos to your friends. Logan's eyes trail down your body slow enough you know he means you to see when they land between your legs. He's not as slow on the way up, tipping his head to the side as his eyes meet yours.

"Anything," his hand waves, before he brings his fingers to his lips. They spread open in a 'v' and he rolls his tongue between them with a smile.

You don't need to know asl to understand that. You think you might have heat stroke.

[mausinly]

(gn!reader, mdni 18+)

just wanted to say that soap is the type of guy in a relationship to randomly text you "thinking of u ❤️" in the middle of the day and before you can reply about how sweet he is, he sends you a picture of his dick that lets you know what kinds of thoughts he's been having about you. evidently he's been thinking about those thoughts for a while bc that's a pic sent with a red, leaky dick that looks to be the culmination of at least two rounds of him jerking off to the thought of you

oh and ghost is the type to instigate you when you're mad at him by texting you and being annoying. sends things like "thinkin of me?" and you reply with a short and passive aggressive No. to which he sends you a pic of him gripping his bulge over the front of his pants and captions it "how bout now?" and you're even more mad at him because he knows that you're going to be thinking about that for the rest of the day and how dare he send you a picture of his large dick when he's still soft

[mausinly]

Johnny F**ks You in Ghost's Bed (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Voyeurism, oral (f-receiving), PIV sex, crying during sex, emotional hurt/comfort Word Count: 4.8k

Service Dog Johnny Part 6 (all part links here)

“Johnny.” Simon stops him with a hand on his arm, bending his head closer to tell his friend something.

You sit there on the edge of the bed, watching the side of your boyfriend’s mask move as he speaks, tracking his hand leaving Johnny’s elbow to fiddle with the way the skull balaclava sits on his nose. Johnny has his head tilted down like he’s listening carefully, both of them angled slightly away from you so it’s impossible to catch what he’s saying no matter how hard you strain your ears. 

Johnny shortly nods, and they break away at the same time.

“What was that all about?” you probe.

“Havin’ my bollocks if I do anything you don’t like,” Johnny teases, ambling over to you.

You know that’s not true. If anything, the deflection leads you to believe that he’s protecting Simon, like he told him something personal. You’re half tempted to twist your head around and get a look at your boyfriend, but before you can entertain the thought, Johnny sinks to his knees in front of you.

“Now,” he says, wrapping his hands around the backs of your calves and dropping his face to kiss the top of your knee, “aren’t you a bonnie thing?”

A warm flood of goosebumps skitters up your skin, and you mumble out a quick thank you, because that is awfully nice and unnecessary for him to say that. His eyes raise to yours as he moves his mouth to your other knee, and your legs do a little twitch like they want to jerk apart. 

“Doin’ alright?” he asks, sliding his hands down your legs to your ankles, holding firm around your chilled skin.

“Mhmm.” From the breathy way your answer comes out, it doesn’t sound like you’re doing alright. It sounds like you’re naked and wet and just barely hanging on with the storm of impulses and emotions swirling through you. 

Johnny blinks as he smiles lazily up at you, running his hands back up to your knees, your thighs, tucking his palms underneath and pulling you a few inches nearer. You’re forced to spread your legs to make room for him, and then he tugs you even closer, hooking his hands around your hips to get you almost to the edge of the bed. 

You aren’t dumb, you know what’s about to happen. Your arms collapse down to elbows and you try to be helpful by keeping your knees up and out of his way, but memories won’t stop assaulting you. All the embarrassments in the past, when you couldn’t perform the way you were expected to. And that was with your ex who didn’t care much about getting you off, but this is Johnny, whose express purpose here is to help you cum, and it’s unimaginable how much worse it would be to disappoint him. 

“Johnny,” you whisper when his mouth makes contact with that intimate skin of your inner thigh, perusing it with his lips.

“Hmm?” He mouths at you, little prickles from his chin brushing against your leg. 

“Don’t… um… don’t feel like you need to do this for very long. I sometimes can’t cum, so don’t worry about it, if it doesn’t happen. It’s just me.” 

Johnny pauses with the softest part of your thigh held gently in his teeth, and his beautiful eyes flick behind you to where you assume Simon sits on the bed. It’s only a quick glance, but it has you a little flustered with the idea that you just said something stupid and now they’re laughing at you. 

Before you can really process the feeling, Johnny directs those ocean blues your way again, grazing his rough cheek against your skin. “Got it.”

You’re finally able to relax onto the bed, trusting the absolute seriousness you see in his eyes. You like that about him, that even though he’s pretty much always making you laugh about something, he knows when to shut up. 

A grateful sigh leaves your chest when he hooks his arm around the outside of your hip, splays his hand out across your lower belly. You don’t have to worry about a thing now, you just get to lay here with your knees spread apart and focus on the relief of having his thumb brushing down the seam of your pussy, finding your clit. It feels familiar, like maybe because that’s the angle you use when you touch yourself, it’s not quite so jarring to have someone else making those same strokes. 

A little adjustment of his shoulders against your thighs, and you’re vaguely aware that he must have spit on you because that touch suddenly gets slippery and wonderful, making you fall fully onto the bed and surrender to it. Johnny shifts your other leg up over his shoulder, those dark lashes nearly hiding his eyes as he focuses on the path of his thumb parting the folds of your pussy.

“There she is,” he mumbles, so low and quiet that you barely catch it, as he leans down to press a kiss to your clit. 

It’s soft, just his lips lingering there, and then the slow slide of his tongue against your clit. That delicious sensation has your eyes fluttering closed, your hand wandering down to hold onto his forearm. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe, to no one in particular. 

Johnny makes a pleased noise low in his throat, turning his face to mouth at your inner thigh again. He’s rough to your legs, almost mean compared to the gentle treatment your clit was just getting. You’ve never had thigh hickeys before, but you’re convinced he’s giving you some now, and the fucked up part is that you actually love it. You like that he thinks your legs are pretty enough to mark up. That they’re soft enough to enjoy dragging his chin across them, pressing his teeth into the skin just for fun. 

And then he uses his thumb to ease the hood of your clit back, letting his mouth fall open to run his tongue against you and give you a purposeful suck, and your legs fucking spasm with it. Your body goes rigid as you endure that blinding white flash of overstimulation, and thank god he seems to understand because he backs off to give you an apologetic little kiss. Johnny’s fingers curl in a comforting motion over your belly, gently lapping his tongue at your pussy for a moment to let you settle. 

As if he’s exactly gauged your tolerance level, that mouth comes for you again, and this time it’s fucking perfect. It’s a slow river of continuous movements and soft sucks, and he soon has your pussy getting hot for him, welcoming him, fucking believing in him, like he’s some god you were never sure existed. Your pelvic muscles have a mind of their own all of a sudden, tensing and relaxing at random intervals as your hips flex and you drool your arousal against his chin. 

You give up your hold on his arm to just enjoy it, but before you can pull your hand away he hooks your pinky finger with his index. As if he doesn’t currently have his face smashed into your cunt, Jonny keeps his hand there on your belly for a moment, running his thumb over your smallest knuckle. 

Maybe maintaining high levels of focus and coordination isn’t the worst thing about their job. 

Johnny eventually releases your hand, and you almost mourn it until he wraps it around the back of your thigh, pressing your leg up and out to give him room to trace his other fingers through your folds. 

With razor sharp clarity, your focus narrows on the feel of them at your opening, the anticipation of getting filled up, which you somehow forgot about amidst the heat from his mouth. You’re going to get very filled tonight, and you can’t help but clench and make a few begging sounds while you wait for it. You’ve been good, and patient, and you deserve to get some fingers inside you now. 

Instead of pushing them in, Johnny’s fingers disappear at the same time that his mouth leaves you. Your eyes spring open to glance down your naked body, only to see him dragging his first two fingers out of his mouth, coated with his spit past the second knuckle. He gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, not because it’s fake but because he looks almost dazed. Happy and relaxed and drunk on what he’s doing, he closes his eyes as his mouth lowers again, and he doesn’t hesitate before working those two slick fingers deep inside. 

You groan with the surging heat of it, your head flexing back and thoughtlessly breathing a little, “Oh, Johnny, thank you.”

“Right sweetheart, aren’t you?” Johnny muses, giving you his fingers nice and slow. 

“Proper angel,” comes Simon’s quiet agreement from behind you.

You can’t help but crane your head back to look for him, finding that familiar mask and those dark eyes trained on your face. But your gaze is caught immediately on the movement of his hand, your boyfriend’s fingers slowly tugging at the hard front of his pants.

Simon has never, not once, touched himself in front of you. You’re so stunned that it pulls you completely out of the warm bubble you were in, your gaze ripping back to his face, though between the dim light and the mask, he gives nothing away.

He feels safe enough to touch himself with his friend here, but not when it’s just you? You glance back down to Johnny, heart galloping and anxiety expanding in your lungs as you make some unfortunate mental leaps. 

Why did Simon choose Johnny for this? How can he be so very confident that he’ll take care of you? Has he done this before? Is this a thing they do? Simon gets a new girlfriend, and Johnny gets free sex? 

There’s no point in continuing now, you won’t get past this fear clogging up your throat. You reach down to grab hold of Johnny’s hair, easing his mouth away from you. 

“Johnny,” you whisper, not really sure what to do.

He must see something worrisome in your face, because he blinks quickly and removes his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

Pushing yourself upright, you do the only thing you can think to salvage this, and throw your arms around his neck, sliding down to the floor with him. 

Johnny makes a surprised sound, wrapping one solid arm around you.

“Johnny,” you whisper slowly, taking pains to make sure Simon can’t hear, “have you ever fucked one of Simon’s girlfriends before? Please be honest.”

Johnny lets out a shocked laugh. “No.”

Thank fuck. 

A deep, stuttering breath leaves you, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, burying your face in the collar of his shirt. He’s relaxed against you now that he knows what the trouble is, smoothing his hand over your upper arm in a comforting motion.

“Can we fuck right now?” you ask, breathing in the cozy smell of his skin. “Are you ready enough?”

“Mhmm.”

You pull back to get a look at his face, smiling a little so he won’t think you’re still upset over nothing. He has the same exact smile on, and when your eyes meet, you have a strong urge to lean forward and kiss him. 

“Okay,” you say instead, rising to perch yourself on the edge of the bed. “Naked time.” The faster you can get past this, the better.

Getting to his feet, Johnny merely plants his hand right in the middle of your face and pushes you backwards, the action so fast and unexpected that you fall like a domino. 

“Hey!” you protest indignantly, but he just laughs and strips his shirt off, letting the faint clink of his dog tags be his only answer. 

Fine, whatever. You scoot farther to the middle of the bed, and reluctantly turn your head again to look at Simon. 

He’s definitely not touching himself anymore, and his knee is now drawn up in a way that blocks you from seeing anything between his legs. You really hope he didn’t get scared off by your overreaction. 

“Hey, baby,” you coo softly. 

He makes that noise he does when he doesn’t want to talk, a little acknowledging rumble. 

You mouth, ‘Are you okay?’

He dips his chin in affirmation, and his hand wanders again, touching where you can’t see. 

You smile up at him, letting every bit of relief and gratitude convey with your expression. This isn’t something to be afraid of, it’s merely progress you didn’t expect. Tangling a hand in your hair, you arch your chest up and peck a silent kiss in the air. 

Your man tilts his head, giving you that adorable, eye-crinkling smile that you can distinguish through any of his masks. It’s not even happiness thrumming in your chest now, it’s that feathery, rushing feeling of being in love. 

So you do the obvious thing, blink innocently up at him while you push two fingers deep into your mouth and close your lips around them.

Simon’s eyes flutter for a second before closing, his head thumping back against the wall. Oh, he liked that. 

The sound of a condom wrapper drags your attention back to Johnny, who’s now completely naked. From the way he’s grinning, you’re pretty sure he just saw you flirting with Simon, and he liked it too. The condom gets expertly rolled on, and you open your legs to show him that you’re ready. 

It’s not particularly sexy or graceful, that first minute or two. There’s some arranging of bodies, and it’s sober and quiet. Johnny is just as beautiful as you’d expected him to be – tan, with scattered scars and a decent stock of body hair. But it doesn’t really feel like a stranger settling himself over you, cradling your head and making sure you’re comfortable before he lines himself up. You can hear both of you breathing in the silence – your stuttered, nervous inhales, and his slow, concentrated ones. 

He keeps a hand on your mons as he begins to sink into you, rolling a finger over your clit to give you something else to focus on. Your gaze floats around, wanting eye contact but too self conscious to maintain it. You fasten your eyes on the silver chain around his neck, angling your hips to help him in.

And then it’s done.

Thighs flush to Johnny’s hips, you make a satisfied sigh and raise your eyes. The seriousness on Johnny’s face instantly smooths away to a smile, and he bumps the tip of his nose against yours. High five, friend. 

There’s no sudden barrage of guilt, no sick weight in your belly. Just an intense feeling of fullness, and a new craving in your chest, the desire for emotional connection. It hits you out of nowhere, as he begins to rock into you and your body acclimates to the feeling of him. You want to be able to talk to him, confide in him the confusing swarm of ideas that plague you, even now. You want to be able to kiss him, give yourself over to mindless sex and let his lips play with yours when they’re so conveniently right there.

But this isn’t that kind of relationship, so you fuck him instead. He lowers his head to suck on your neck, and you concentrate on that feeling of deep fullness, guiding him towards the motion you like with little throat noises when he gets it right. 

It doesn’t take long. You like getting fucked, and he’s suddenly hitting all your good spots and making heat spread down your legs. Johnny’s so good, he’s so nice. He kisses your cheek and nips at your ear, making pleased noises whenever you inadvertently clench around him. 

Maybe you should be saying something, engaging with him a little, but that takes brain activity, and right now you just want to cum. It’s blurring the edges of your consciousness, the tightening in your belly and the promise of that flood of pleasure making it impossible to think about much else. 

And then he gets his knee up under your hip a little, hitting a deeper angle that’s like fucking lightning—

There’s no time to warn him before you’re cumming, the breath caught in your throat as your head flexes back and your muscles go tight. 

Johnny makes a choked, “Sh– ite,” just as your pussy begins to spasm in earnest and your lungs unlock with a stuttered cry. 

Fuck, it’s good. It’s wave after wave of smooth chocolate washing over your skin, replacing your mortal flesh with gooey sweetness. You fucking needed that, and you lie there panting, letting him wring every drop of it out of you, until there’s nothing left but an achy warmth every time he hits the very back of your cunt. 

Johnny slows down for you, but you don’t think he finished. When you finally find the will to drag your eyes open, he meets you with a pleased look on his face, that lazy confidence of a man who knows he did good. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“‘Course.”

He seems to be in no rush to find his own finish, his body relaxed around you as he slowly moves. Your eyes trace over his face that’s so close, and it begins to catch up to you— that feeling of intense gratitude, of being given a gift you never thought you’d receive. You thought you’d spend many more years — possibly forever — never getting touched, never getting fucked. And now all of a sudden you’re here in a sticky puddle of your own cum, and that tight emotion in your chest feels almost overwhelming.

Damn you for not wanting to kiss. The way he’s looking at you right now is the worst, all soft and interested as he runs his thumb down your jaw and slow-fucks you. 

Why, though? Why do you actually not want to kiss him? Because you’re already fucking and exchanging dopamine, and realistically it wouldn’t change anything between you. Maybe it’s just the post-nut clarity talking, but you realize for the first time that the reason isn’t because you want to keep him at arm’s length, it’s because you think you don’t deserve it. 

This whole arrangement has felt like you’re living someone else’s life, someone who’s worth being looked after like this. It’s not something you’ve ever experienced before, and it feels so unsafe to venture into something new. It feels comfortable and familiar to decide that you can’t allow yourself to fully experience Johnny, that you must ration him instead, nibbling on little bits so you don’t grow too accustomed to the taste.

You’ve been subconsciously depriving yourself, as if maintaining your unmet needs is crucial to making sure you don’t grow beyond the person you’ve always been. 

“Johnny,” you whisper, curling your hand around his shoulder. “Can I try a kiss?”

“Mhmm.” He doesn’t seem all that surprised, just lines up your mouths and then hovers there for a moment, presumably giving you a chance to change your mind.

You know what you want. You raise your chin and bring your mouth up to his, closing your eyes while that sensation of warmth and newness settles inside you. Johnny’s lips conform around yours, gently nudging and seeking for a handful of seconds before you pull away and let your head drop back to the bed. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, looking back and forth between your eyes.

Fuck, why is a mountain of emotion suddenly expanding in your chest? You try to force it down, nodding your head. “Yeah.”

His thumb strokes under your ear, his other hand curling into your hair as he lowers his mouth, lingering a little more firmly on your lips as he continues to rock himself into you.

The combined sweetness of being kissed and fucked absolutely kills you. It isn’t arousal suddenly flooding your nervous system, it’s feeling. Something deep and raw is clawing at the back of your throat, prickling in your eyes. Because in this moment you do feel worthy of being wrapped in Johnny’s affection, as surface-level as it may be. You do feel like you deserve to let him kiss you like this, parting your lips and letting your tongue find his. 

You make a ragged inhale into his mouth, and just as you’re surrendering that wash of water in your lashes, you have a realization that locks up your spine.

You cannot let Simon see you cry. 

Nothing could possibly be worse than letting him witness his girl sobbing while his friend fucks her. This is a disaster, this is the most horrible thing that could possibly be happening right now, but the harder you try to force the tears away, the more they threaten to overtake you. 

You need to tell Johnny, now. You need to let him know that this has to be hidden from Simon somehow, whether it be switching positions or taking a break or something. But what if Johnny just decides you should stop? You could start crying like an idiot, and he could very well put his clothes back on and go home with blue balls again. 

Suddenly you’re panicking, brain wiped of all reason and unable to communicate what you need. You don’t have enough control over yourself to even begin to problem solve right now. With your thoughts racing through all the worst possible outcomes, you do the only thing you can and tighten your hand on Johnny’s shoulder, trying to silently convey the emergency. A tear breaks free, tickling down to your ear, and you suck in a distressed breath as Johnny pulls back to look at you.

It takes him all of two seconds to assess the situation, and he stops moving between your legs.

“Hey LT, she’s gonna be crying here in a minute.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you gasp, desperately blinking tears away, only to get a fresh wall of water blocking your vision. “I don’t know why this is happening, I’m not s—ad, I’m just f-f-feeling a lot of things.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” His thumb brushes wetness off your cheek. “You want to stop for tonight?”

You vigorously shake your head, worry gripping you as strong as ever. “No, please— I just— Just let me c-cry for a minute, I’ll be o-k—ay.” 

God, you’re mad at yourself. You want to crank your head back and check how Simon is handling this, but then he’ll see your watery eyes and you can’t do that to him.

You wrap your hand around the back of Johnny’s neck, tugging his face down to whisper in his ear, “Is Simon okay?”

“Don’t worry about us,” Johnny says back, kissing your cheek. “Do what you gotta do, we’re all fine.”

You nod, unreasonably comforted by the sureness in his voice. 

“Big breath,” Johnny instructs, habitually wiping your wet temples. 

You obediently sucking a stuttered lungful and release it through your nose, grateful to have something to focus on as the tears continue to slide into your hair. 

“That's a girl.” Johnny gives you a warm smile, cupping his hand around your cheek. “Got another for me?”

Okay, that actually lights up something completely different in your brain, nudging you out of your mental spiral with a tiny bit of praise. This… isn’t bad. It’s just a little cry. You’re allowed to cry.

And in fact… Maybe it’s good.

Maybe it’s okay if Simon sees you cry, because it means he also gets to see you comforted. Maybe this is actually good for him to witness, so he can see that even if something happens during sex, everyone is still safe and cared for. This is a safe activity, in a safe bed.

And perhaps this is Johnny’s way of showing his friend how he deserves to be treated. How he can be spoken to gently and touched softly when he starts to lose himself to the panic. Maybe Johnny feels just as helpless about what happened to his friend as you do. Maybe he can’t make those memories go away, but he can show him this, and maybe— maybe that’s an opportunity he’s never had before.

You think back over Johnny’s endless patience, how considerate and soft he’s been with you. How he went so slow the last time, giving you time to mentally prepare to be penetrated, making sure every touch was comfortable and enjoyable. And you consider for the first time that maybe Johnny isn’t just Simon-by-proxy for you. Maybe in a way, you are that, for Johnny. 

It’s just enough of a comforting thought to distract you, and the tears stop coming before you really have to worry about becoming more of a mess. Even though curiosity makes you want to look over at Simon, some inner wisdom tells you that giving him some privacy for a few more minutes would be best. 

“Can you fuck me some more?” you request in a small voice, swiping at your eyes.

Johnny chuckles. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

In a way, you’re feeling better than you’ve felt all day. It’s like your heart has been freed of some burden you didn’t even know was there, and though you feel quite present in yourself, there’s a lightness to your body now. 

“Thank you, Johnny,” comes Simon’s voice from behind you, sounding rougher than normal. 

Johnny winks roguishly at him, lifting his hips to worm his hand in between your bodies. “I’ll be takin’ two wanks in the morning.”

You sigh in pleasure when you feel your clit getting touched again, letting your eyes close and your head relax back onto the mattress. You’re not sure if you can cum again, but getting fucked and rubbed is so lovely that you’re definitely not going to protest the attention, not when you’re so mentally exhausted from everything that’s happened. 

“Does that feel nice?” Johnny asks quietly, fucking you a little harder.

You make a happy sound, shivering with that wave of arousal. “Really nice.”

“Mmmm. Why don’t you touch, so I can fuck you properly?” 

You readily agree, replacing his fingers with yours and melting beneath him, empty-headed and willing. 

The first faint, small orgasm takes you by surprise, fluttering through your belly in no time at all. You’re not even touching yourself that earnestly, but Johnny feels so good and thick inside you that it remains as this churning warmth low in your belly, threatening something bigger. 

Maybe he’ll fuck you harder, and it will all crash apart. That’s what the subconscious part of your mind realizes you need, but the part that forms words is pretty useless at this point. The only thing you can manage is to give him pleading eyes and a whimpery noise.

“Fuck.” He gets to his elbows on the bed again, moving into you with those deep, steady movements that have you losing your grasp on reality. 

This is going to make you cum, there’s no escaping it. You touch yourself and gratefully take his cock, and as your pelvis floods with heat, you stammer out, “Please, I— I’m gonna cum.” 

Johnny’s mouth drops to yours, capturing any cock-dumb confessions before they can escape. His tongue sweeps over yours and he groans, and you just break apart. Shards of heat scatter through you, ripping and slicing and bleeding you out. 

You’ve never heard him vocalize like that, pressing his cheek to yours when your orgasm takes you by the throat and he’s fucking you through those internal pulses. He’s panting into your neck, swearing in unfamiliar strings of words, sounding just as desperate as you feel, and then you feel him cum.

There’s no mistaking that flexing inside you, in time to the uneven rolls of his hips. The hand thoughtlessly tightening hard into your hair is so delicious that your pussy gives you a fresh flutter of pleasure, blissing you out beneath him. 

His arms are shaking by the time you run your hand up the back of his neck, turning your face to kiss his temple. His skin is like velvet under your lips as he huffs hot air against your neck, eking out the last of his orgasm. 

“That was so nice,” you tell him softly, stroking his hair. “Johnny, that was wonderful.”

He makes a soft grunt in his throat, putting more of his weight on you while he gets his bearings. You snuggle into that warm, weighted blanket, kissing the skin that you have access to and wrapping him in your arms. 

Maybe it’s just the endorphins talking, but Johnny is now, firmly, your friend.

Next part

Really went full service dog with this one, hope you enjoyed! As always, I will do my best to hypnotize you with smut so you can't notice flaws in the dialogue.

Big thank you to @forgotten-lego-piece for beta reading the first draft of this!

[mausinly]

“You hopin’ for something sweetheart?” Hesh catches your ankle under the table, firm fingers stopping you from trailing past his knee. His tone is casual, playful, his grip is not. “Gotta use your words, like a big girl.”

I'm gonna be callin' this man daddy too by the end of this I swear to GOD

[mausinly]

This was giving your dad!ghost :((

Ghost does not handle any of his girls getting hurt well. He's been through actual hell and yet it's sitting in the hospital while his kid gets patched up that sends him into a spiral. So here's Cowboy!Ghost dealing with his kids getting hurt:

It happens in a split second. Mary's on the pony and then she isn't, the usually docile animal panicking and trying to get as far away from the wailing little girl as possible. Ghost vaults the fence while you try to corral the pony and skid to a stop next to his daughter. Big fat tears roll down her face, her little hand smearing snot over her cheek as her other arm hangs bent at her side. Simon's stomach churns, he knows a break when he sees one, and he's seen plenty. They've never set his nerves on edge like this one.

He shushes his daughter, gathers her in his arms as carefully as he can, trying not to jostle the break more than necessary. It's heart breaking to hear her cry like this, her hiccupped sobbing as she presses her face against Simon's shoulder and tells him "it hurts daddy" makes blind panic seize him. Fuck's sake he's broken arms before, he's been shot, hung by his ribs, buried alive, but somehow hearing his daughter cry twists a knife so deep in his gut it hurts worse than death always seemed to.

Simon holds her the whole way to the hospital. He lets her wipe her snot all over his shirt and soak his shoulder with her tears. His baby, his poor little girl. He should've been watching the horse, he should've been keeping a closer eye on her. He holds Mary's hand (the good one) and imagines all the worst case scenarios that could happen while you talk to the doctor. Simon almost rips the man's hand off when he touches Mary's arm and she whimpers.

Ghost sits in the ice cream shop with his daughter in a bright pink cast, watching you help her put stickers on it and thinks there's no way he can go through this again. He's bubble wrapping this girl.

-

A sharp cry of a scream, quickly cut off with a sniffled whine. Ghost whips the door open to see his daughter holding her fingers tight against her chest. She looks up at him with a glare that could almost rival yours as you ask what happened from the other room

"Daddy closed the door on my fingers!" Bibi yells back, her pout reinforced by the tears blossoming in her eyes.

"Baby," Simon chokes, reaching for her. Bibi turns tail and runs off to her room with a sniffle and a:

"No! I hate daddy!"

Simon feels something break in him, and drops to his knees. He presses his hands over his eyes, tries to get a grip on what's slipped loose inside him. You wander out of the baby's room to check on the situation and Simon looks up at you like he's killed someone. The hollowness in his eyes when he drops his hands makes you raise a brow. Simon takes a deep breath and you have to stuff down your smile when he tells you:

"I hurt her," with all the severity of a deathbed confession, "She hates me."

"Si..." Your lips pull tight, he doesn't appreciate your humor in his failures as a father, "she's three."

It takes a bit of coaxing to get Simon up and into the girls' room, even more to get him past the doorway once he see Bibi laying facedown on her toddler bed crying. He feels big and out of place sitting on the little bed, even more so settling a hand on his daughter's back. It feels awkward, like it isn't enough to make up for the sin he's committed. How could he ever think he could have children, he's not made for this.

She turns to look at him, pouting, it breaks his heart. "Lemme see your fingers baby," He implores, helping the little girl sit up. She holds her hand up and he carefully inspects the little digits, all red and bruised from where he'd closed the bathroom door on her. He kisses the tip of her fingers and she gives a watery little laugh. "I'm so sorry Abs," He tells his daughter pulling her into a hug as she wraps her little arms around his neck.

"I sorry too daddy," she tells him and Simon sighs with relief. She doesn't hate him. That's good.

-

Jackie has to be the most accident prone kid on earth and she's going to be the death of her father. He doesn't remember two being such a dangerous age, but it feels like every time he turns around the kid has knocked her head on something or tripped or- something. Simon sweeps her up out of the way before a goat can butt its head against her. She giggles as he sets her on the other side of the paddock fence and watches her run after one of the barn cats. Only to face plant into the grass.

It seizes Simon's poor heart every time, watching like a hawk as she pushes herself onto her hands and knees and gets to standing again. "Ok Dad-dy," She tells him, the same way his other two do every time they fall. No tears, just a bruise or two. Now if he could just get her to keep this "no broken bones" attitude when she needed shots...