#141/reader

[last-starry-sky]

Had a dream last night of alpha!141 discovering omega!reader through her small “daily life” youtube channel.

Just the thought of four massive men pressed together, jostling one another to watch you on one phone screen (held in a fucking death grip) as you film yourself setting up your nest or making a smoothie.

[readgoods]

finally, it is complete (has audio)

[pricetagged]

I really want to write a poly 141 au loosely based on 'Ready or Not', but I don't know if I have the time (or ability).

I'm picturing reader marrying one of the boys, either Gaz or Soap. Either of them could be charming, winning you over, just a little vein of that too-bright intensity thrumming under the handsome face and sweet words.

Whoever it is (leaning towards Gaz), they bring you to meet the rest of the lads. 'Just a little ritual we have,' he'd reassure you. 'Just meet the squad, play some games, get to know each other.' You mean so much to him! And they do too, so naturally you should meet.

You'd have dinner together, a little awkward as the big guy in the mask just wouldn't stop staring. Wouldn't stop making comments that err just the wrong side of unsettling. Johnny, too. He'd be overly familiar, shockingly handsy, but your husband just wouldn't react. Instead, he'd lean back in his chair, fingers stroking yours as he did little more than watch. And the Captain... You'd feel weighed and stripped under his gaze. You came hoping for their blessing, hoping to please Kyle, but the approval in John's eyes would glint with something hungry.

Your shaking hands would pluck the 'hide and seek' card from the box, and Kyle would coo false comforts in your ear while the others at the table perked up. Bloodhounds catching a scent. You just have to make it through the night, that's all. There are lots of places to hide around the cabin, in the forest. They'd even give you a head start!

Of course, you don't stand much of a chance. You'd hold out surprisingly long, and there'd be a few near-misses. But eventually, your luck would run out...

I'm not sure how to go about it, how to show the violence (since obviously reader survives! But i kind of want a slasher vibe too?). And once they catch you, the real fun begins 👀🖤 (obvs this is going to be dark).

___________________________________

Anyway, I'm swamped with finishing other fics on my list. Don't know if/when I'll get around to this.

[connorsui]

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

Imagine accidentally walking into a military dive bar by yourself, not knowing that the customer base was mainly military folk, and just kind of rolling with it

Imagine you dressed cute, your hair was done, and it had been a long week- you deserved a good ol' night on the town, damnit, and you didn't want to pay another Uber to go to another bar

Imagine you making your way up to the bar to order your first drink of the night and when you order a simple cocktail, the bar goes quiet for a split second because who orders a cocktail in this place?

Imagine not knowing that since the second you walked in that door, you've had eyes on you. Of course you've had eyes on you since you walked in, but one pair in particular stayed glued to your form as you walked through the bar

Imagine looking around after getting your drink from the bartender to see where you'd try to sit for a bit to sip on your drink

Imagine there being an empty table near the far end of the bar that you decide to claim as your own as you continued to scope out the bar patrons

Imagine finally locking eyes with the one man that has had his eye on you since the minute you walked in the door

Imagine freezing as you look into his eyes from across the bar, suddenly aware that this huge, masked military man had been looking right at you

Imagine deciding after a second fuck it and you just gave him a smile and a small wave before sipping your drink. After all, he had been looking at you first, right?

Imagine seeing him look away briefly after your wave and you finally turn to look around the bar again, idly sipping at your drink

Imagine not even a minute later, that very same man is now standing right next to you- how the hell did he get there so fast-? And so quietly-?

Imagine the silence that ensues, neither one of you wanting to say the first word (well, it was either not wanting or not knowing what to say)

Imagine the first thing you speak to Simon 'Ghost' Riley, unknowing who he is or what his reputation was, being, "So, uh... Come here often...?"

Imagine that really being your best line for this strange man

Imagine Ghost letting out a soft grunt as he nodded, "Often enough. Never seen you here before."

Imagine you giving him another smile, this one softer and more genuine as you reply, "I didn't realize this was so... Military oriented. Am I even allowed to be here?"

Imagine hearing a small huff from the man, his eyes indiscernible as he says, "Course you're allowed. I'd like to see them try to kick a bird like you out."

Imagine giggling softly, "A bird like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

Imagine all the while, Simon 'Ghost' Riley's teammates are still sitting at the bar, watching this all go down like it was a soap opera. It was, wasn't it? Their Lieutenant going out of his way to flirt with the little bird who accidentally wandered into a military-centric dive and still ordered the little cocktail you liked.

ugh just imagine

masterlist

[cinnamongrl2006]

Simon Riley is a loverboy warnings: established relationship, mentions of pornography, very fluffy Simon Riley blurb

He loved you, that much was obvious. Your initials were carved onto the handles of his guns— messy handwriting, all passion and longing— and a wrinkled polaroid of you accompanied him everywhere he went. He'd stick it to the wall beside wherever he slept, stick it to the ceiling if he got to sleep in a bunk bed (one of those with the loose springs that shriek at every movement, that poked into his back and made him miss your touch more than ever).

Johnny had asked him about it one day, half mocking Simon, he was just in disbelief that their closed off lieutenant had found someone, and reasonably so. It was late at night, they'd been sitting still for hours, the target had yet to exit the building they were watching— Price had told them to wait.

So, he tried to make small talk, gossip a little. He said he'd seen that old polaroid in his quarters, seen it get tucked away in his pocket, tacked to walls and ceilings. He'd seen Simon hold it in his hands when he sat in bed— his breathing leveled, face hidden by his mask, mumbling something under his breath before he laid down to sleep. He'd made some stupid comment like what porno she sneak out of?, a comment that would usually earn him a chuckle and a tap on the arm, but that this time earned him a slap to the back of his head and a grumble.

"Respect my bird, Soap." He'd said, deep voice coated in annoyance, almost venomous.

It was obvious he loved you when, you came to pick him up after he got back from being deployed. Obvious in the way his gloved hands immediately found yours, in the way a weight seemed to lift off your shoulders; in the way his gaze, concealed with a balaclava, was so soft, so loving.

They all heard it in his voice, sweet, almost saccharine; saw it in the way you'd touch him, and he'd let you. You could poke his side after making a joke, and he wouldn't flinch, wouldn't bend your arm back or slap it away; he'd laugh, he'd hold your wrist in his big, calloused hand and laugh lightheartedly.

Soap and Gaz watched, enthralled, as you completely took over Simon's personal space, your hands moving up and under his t-shirt, your face settling in the crook of his neck as you held him close, squeezing him tight "to make up for lost time". They watched as Simon grunted out complaining, but lifted up the lower section of his balaclava and kissed your forehead, then your lips.

Ghost was their closed off lieutenant, but Simon Riley was completely wrapped around your little finger, and he loved every second of it.

────୨ৎ────

tags:@laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss

[goatgoesmbe]

f!reader

Reader who always wear a mask, and was more secretive than Ghost who had no problem showing his face to the team once in a while.

And just like with Ghost, the others joked about you being ugly, which you similarly replied with confidence that's not the case.

When you were tired of keep getting questions about the mask, you'd respond with a joke.

Putting on your best act, you sighed with a solemn look, telling a story about how you used to be obsessed with Shrek and had him tattooed on your face, which you were ashamed of now.

"..Are you serious?" Kyle asked.

You simply shrugged "I guess you'll never know".

And they could never guess whether you were lying or not, being known as the master of psychological warfare and often sent for espionage because of your skill with people, manipulation.

And acting.

What they didn't know is that, you gained that skill from your previous job, when you were a big deal in the entertainment industry. A professional actress that started in many movies and got into a really big scandal that got you hiding.

And somehow ended up here.

That was the reason as to why you needed to hide your face, your identity. Not even your captain knows about it, only Laswell who knew a bit of your story.

Lounging around in the recroom, you silently observed the others arguing about a certain movie to watch before it somehow ended with them fanboying for a certain actress who played the main character.

You.

"Ah swear, Ah saw this porn where the lass looked just like her. Had folk arguin’ if it was really her or just a doppelganger… haud on, where is it—" You heard Johnny rambled as he fumbled with his phone.

You shifted in your seat and hid a smille.

Oh yeah, that side gig you took a long time ago.. almost forgot about that

Dropping this idea before class so i wont forget abt it UPDATE : yes, im def writing this

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Fuck me if I'm wrong but- Ghost: Wrong. You are wrong Y/N: I haven't even said- Ghost, taking his shirt off: You are WRONG

[partiallysame]

Being Price’s lil wife

-Task force 141 knew Price was married. Man wore his ring religiously, always putting it back on the second they were in the helicopter/plane/whatever after each mission

-He’d come to work with a lunch packed with a cute lil heart note

-To be honest they all assumed you were the same age as Price (old) He always said he’d been “married for years” (3)

-They never knew your name, Price only ever referred to you as The Missus

-Gaz swore Price had a photo of you in his wallet (he did) but they never knew what you looked like untilllllllll

-You called your husband simply to complain. The AC had gone out and the repair man wouldn't be able to get there for a couple days. No no this simply would not do, his perfect lil lady could not be uncomfortable in her own home he wouldn’t have it but fuck he’s out of the country for a few more days. His team however is not and while stupid, they do know how to do maintenance work (why? Just because.)

-He called his team for a very important mission. Gave them the address, accompanied with “I don’t want to hear a fucking thing about you causing any trouble or being disrespectful to the Missus you hear?” The boys were absolutely giddy to finally see the ever so important Missus.

-The second you opened the door Soap was apologizing for having the wrong house and oh so politely asked if you knew where the Price household was. This had to be the wrong one because there you stood, pretty young thing, big doe eyes. Standing in just a big shirt ending at the very tops of your thighs, lashes batting at the three soldiers standing at your door.

-“You’ve got the right place. John told me you were coming, please come in.” You had to hold in a giggle, watching all of their eyes go wide. Gaz immediately looking at the sky, the floor, anywhere but the wife of his captain that he was just undressing with his eyes.

-When you turned to guide them into the house they all saw PRICE printed on the back of the large tshirt just barely covering your ass (this is your own home pants are never required and its hot as hell without the ac). Now it was Ghost’s turn to look anywhere but at you.

-As they worked you’d bring them water or snacks. They now understood why Price kept you hidden from them. The perfect lil housewife. The woman of all of their dreams already taken.

-When they were finished they went to the kitchen to inform you they were done only to find a full meal set on the table waiting for them but worst of all? There you were reaching up to the top cabinet. On your tippy toes, your shirt (Price’s shirt) riding up enough to expose the bottom of your ass and lacey pink panties. Soap had to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. Ghost grabbing the tops of his teammates heads, turning them away from the incredible sight in front of them.

-Price was right to keep you hidden from them

-They might just have to sneak in and break something every time Price was out of town if it meant this is what they got to see.

Price's lil wife Masterlist

[skyrigel]

me: feels unloved *searches x reader tag*

[last-starry-sky]

like – comment – subscribe

alpha!141 x omega!youtuber!reader

[MDNI – MIND THE WARNINGS: 2.5k, poly/pack!141, nothing nsfw, baby’s first omegaverse fic, (mentions of cycles/heats) pls be gentle.]

shorts

It was quiet in the little room. At least, as quiet as a room can be with four large men stuffed inside it. It was nothing special; just an unused office one of them had claimed as an ad-hoc rec room. This base’s rec was . . . okay, but it served all comers. It was too bright; too loud. Too many scents. Too many unknowns. It was just better this way, to be away from everyone else and around only each other.

Despite it’s size, it had slowly collected everything they needed: Soap’s gaming PC shoved in the corner, a recliner for their old man Captain to “rest his eyes” in. A collection of beat down, worn-in, chairs and couches curled around one wall. The perfect place to pile together at the end of a stressful day; to melt into each other’s warmth and scent, for their pack bond to silently strengthen. They wouldn’t call it a den, per se, but it was as close as they could get here. It was a place for the four of them to relax separate from the rest of the base. A place they could forget their bloody, awful work didn’t exist outside the concrete brick walls and dingy lights.

Though they had been working separately, they all had filtered in one by one over the course of the afternoon. Ghost had been first, sprawling in the middle of the jumble of couches in the most comfortable spot. He was absorbed in his phone, scrolling away as snippets of soft music and voices started and stopped, when Soap came in. They had given each other a tired nod, communicating all they needed as the other man plopped himself down in front of his computer. Ghost watched him while he sat back in his rolling chair, rubbed his eyes and groaned. He hooked a pair of old headphones over his head while he waited for his game to load. Ghost scoffed under his breath as he flicked to the next video. He didn’t understand how Johnny could spend all day either behind a computer or a gun, and then choose to relax to both of those things, but he had respect for the man so he let him be. At least he didn’t have to listen to digital gunfire and kids with scratchy mics anymore now that he had the headphones.

Gaz and Price rolled in together. Nothing new there. The stripped down scent of artificial musk and spice wafted in ahead of them. Ghost’s eyes wavered between the two men, down to his screen, then back up. Gaz was literally still wet behind the ears. Price’s shirt was damp where it pulled over his chest and under his arms. Oh. Humph. Had a shower together, had they? He gave the two the same tired nod as they strode in, letting his attention soften back into his phone as they found their places.

Price’s joints popped as he relaxed groaning into his ratty recliner, eyes falling shut as he breathed in deep, even breaths. Gaz chose to slide in next to Ghost, something he didn’t do often. He eyed his lieutenant nervously; big, brown doe-eyes raking over his closed-off form, carefully testing how close the other man would let him get.

Bloody fucking hell, he thought. Still acting all shy and shit? Ghost patted his shoulder, ripping off the band-aid. “Cm’on,” he mumbled with a jerk of his head that kept his low gaze trained on his screen, urging the sergeant forward. “Plenty’f room.”

He complied, pulling himself in close enough to fall against Ghost’s broad shoulder. Gaz relaxed into the larger man’s heat instantly, a low rumble purring out of his chest, his eyes falling closed. Ghost couldn’t help but smile, safely hidden behind his mask. Gaz always was the most tactile of the four of them; constantly seeking out heat and touch and giving it in return. If he wasn’t in need of both his hands at the moment, Ghost would have wound one around Gaz’s shoulders, blanketing him further in the comfort of his warmth and scent.

“Whatcha’ watchin’?” Gaz slurred out half coherently, pressed into the skin of his bicep and exhausted. Suddenly, his head lifted away from his arm. His eyes, already heavy with sleep, zeroed in on the video playing soft piano music in his hands. “She’s cute,” he commented, voice heavy. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped down to his phone. He lifted it to his eyes, squinting at the jumble of information crammed on the screen as the video replayed. A woman in fast motion was cleaning her room from the looks of it: stripping the soft pink sheets from her bed, throwing pillows, blankets and plushies to the side until the semi-circle mattress was bare. Both him and Gaz shared a low chuckle at how comical the speed of the playback made her actions look. The woman then got up on her bed, failing over and over to reach for the hook that held up the bed curtain until, with a jump, she finally grabbed it, flopping down onto the mattress with a cheer of success to the camera.

“Yeah. Cute,” Ghost agreed with a rumble, watching as the short finished with her trailing the long, gauzy curtain out of frame before popping back in front of the camera to smile and wave.

“Who is she? What’s her name?” Gaz asked, practically pushing himself into Ghost’s lap to get a better look at his screen, his fingers just brushing the side of the case as the video started replaying.

Ghost jerked his phone out quickly out of Gaz’s reach. “Cool it,” he warned. “Can find it m’self,” he said, staring Gaz down. He felt the smooth screen sliding beneath his bare fingers as he swung his arm back to his face.

Fuck, he realized too late. He had scrolled to the next video. She was gone, the two men realized with matching groans. Disappointed, Ghost still brought his phone up to his face. Happily, he was met with another video from the same woman. The two men sighed in relief together when they saw her smiling face. It was short lived. Silence fell, the room filled with only with heavy breathing and Soap’s clacking controller as the video played.

There was no music in this video. You walked out in front of the camera this time, your pretty, sleepy face and rumpled hair perfectly in frame. You scrunched your face, yawning and stretching in your soft loose PJ’s, your voice-over began as you started some sort of morning routine in fast motion in the video.

“Hi guys,” you cooed, sweet and gentle. Oh, your voice. Your voice was warm and sweet and comforting, like vanilla and cinnamon - like laundry fresh out of the dryer. You washed your face with a white hand towel, lotion smoothing over your skin quickly after.

Ghost felt Gaz’s cheeks flush against his chest, the choke of a soft, “oh” caught between them.

“Because my other short did so well, I thought I would make another one for all you lovely people!” you said as your other self brushed her hair. You were obviously happy, but your voice was toned down. Tired. “This is from my, um, morning get ready with me that I posted last week, if you couldn’t tell,” you said with an honest to god giggle.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathed against his mask, tensing his free hand, hoping to whatever higher power was out there that no one heard him.

“What’s got you two so quiet all of a sudden?” John mumbled sleepily. He popped his back as he stretched, not yet fully awake from his cat-nap.

Neither of them responded. Ghost was powerless to stop the video playing in his hands, the gentle sounds of plastic containers clicking against something hard out of frame continued in the background as you leaned in close, applying mascara. You batted your eyes for a brief second, drying them before dancing out of frame.

“Just simple makeup today: BB cream and . . . um mascara, because I filmed this right before work and I didn’t feel like being too done up. All the products I use are in the description of the original video, by the way, as always.”

Their Captain’s knee pushed into the couch, his hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he leaned in to watch. Price was beyond needing an invitation like Gaz. His presence was always welcome: warm, solid, and inviting. He was just in time to see you flounce back into frame with an outfit on a hanger: a long, soft gray sweater, black leggings, and fuzzy pink socks, then back out. Ghost didn’t need to look up to tell John was already entranced. The steel grip of his hand cutting into the meat of his shoulder was all the sign he needed.

“Don’t you just love those socks? They are SO much pinker in person, believe me. I was sad how dull they turned out looking in the video. But they are SO comfortable. I would wear them everyday if I could. Um, so yeah, just working and then doing some editing today, so I chose something comfortable but also nice enough in case I had a Zoom meeting. Always have to plan for those even though I hate them,” you said with a tired laugh.

The three men let out a collective groan when you stepped back in frame wearing your outfit. You did a little twirl, socks sliding across the beige carpet, before you stepped close to the camera again. Your face craned away; hands masking off the long column of your neck, showing off the three tiered necklaces you were wearing: a black tattoo-style choker, a short velvet ribbon with a star pendant hanging from it, and a long gold chain with a small heart-shaped locket.

Gaz kicked the back of Soap’s chair, knocking him forward hard enough for his headphones to roll off his head.

“SHIT!” he snarled as he turned. “Who fuckin’ did that? Gaz? The fuck-”

“Get over here now,” Gaz hissed at him, voice biting through the air.

Soap obeyed, scrambling onto the couch next to Gaz as your video came to a close.

“I love these necklaces too. Omg, look how they sparkle,” you squeaked. “I have the BEST light in this room. I’m so lucky. Someone asked me where I bought them and I honestly can’t remember! I’m sorry! I know they were all separate and I’ve had that long locket-thing for ages, so they might not even be available to buy anymore. Hit up your local antique and thrift stores though! If the scents don’t both you too much it’s a great place to find pieces like this. Ooo that’s a good video idea! How to de-scent second hand clothes? Let me know if you want to see that! Anyway, that’s all the time I have bye!”

The four of them sat in silence, pressed as close around the phone in Ghost’s hand as their bulk would allow, the video replaying. The mood in their ad-hoc rec room shifted like the tide. It was nothing dangerous, nothing concerning. Just the four of them, so attuned to one another, deciding within them on a single course of action. It was all internal, though; all within that basal, animal part left in them that made them alphas. The first to bring that reaction into their human brain was Soap. He sank sideways into the cushion of the sofa, smashing into Gaz, as he watched you flicker in and out of frame. He groaned when you held your hands up to display your necklaces for the fifth time.

“Nay any mark there,” he sighed, eyes still following you.

“Means . . . means she not-” Gaz rambled quietly, still entranced.

“No claim,” Price gritted out. The three other men groaned in tandem as he said it, something akin to a group howl.

“How?” Soap asked, scrubbing a hand futilely over this face as he tried to snap himself out of the cloud of testosterone filling the room. “How’s a pretty thing-”

“Pretty omega,” Ghost interrupted, plunging the room into silence once again. Soap was first to respond once again.

“No way,” he breathed, “You sure? How’d you know?”

Ghost flicked his thumb down the screen, interrupting you as you leaned in to scrub your face. The previous short began to play. “Look,” he urged, voice grumbling harsh and low, “Lookit the name of the video.”

They all squinted to make out the title in it’s tiny font. “Post-heat/post-cycle bedroom clean with me!” #nest #omegalife #omegasafe A jumble of sighs and keens, of possessive chest rumbles and hisses, rang out. They didn’t mean it. It was an instinct reaction that, even among the pack, they might have to fight one another for you flared before dissipating.

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Gaz breathed, speaking to no one in particular.

“She got other videos?” Soap asked, his hands reaching for the phone before Ghost snapped it away. “Cmon, Ghost. Just lemme look, please? Know she’s gotta-”

“Yeah, cmon, Ghost,” Gaz joined in, forcing the man to fend the both of them off with his arm, his phone curled protectively into his chest with the other.

Price was up off the couch in front of his three men as fast as his sore knees would let him. “Get a hold of yourselves!” he bellowed, snapping them to attention. Wide-eyed, they sat waiting for instruction. “We’re not gotta find shit about this girl fightin’ each other, actin’ like a bunch of dickless welps.”

Three, slow, “yes, sirs” followed.

“We’re a pack. We work together,” he said looking at each of them, hands on his hips. “We all want this one, right?” Price looked from man to man as they all nodded. “Then we have to be smart about it. We use all of our skills to help each other. Divide. Conquer. Reap the rewards. Sound good?”

“Then what’s the plan, Cap?” Gaz asked, breaking the knife-like tension of the room.

Price’s mustache twitched, his mouth squashed into a thin line of frustration as he thought. “First,” he finally said, “Ghost, send that channel t’ each ‘f us.” The large man immediately began tapping away at his phone. A buzz rang out around the room as a link landed in each of their messages. Price hummed in satisfaction before continuing. “Assignment f’ tonight is to watch through everything she’s uploaded. All of them. Take notes. Find what you can. We meet here tomorrow after breakfast for discussion and further planning.”

Soap made to stand up, his eyes glued to the pretty lady decorating the channel on his phone, but Price caught his shoulder; forcing the man to look him in the eye. “Don’t think I need to say this, but you three do not breathe a word about her to anyone else. This does not leave this room, understood?”

“Understood, Cap,” Soap said slowly nodding until Price released his death-grip on his shoulder.

“Good,” he said looking over at Ghost and Gaz still sunk into the couch. “See you all t’morrow then,” he said with a curt nod as he cleared his throat and turned on his heel. “I’ll be in my office.”

[tojisteddy]

Ruthless

or: Country!Simon catches you attempting to tag his property, of course he has to teach you a lesson.

cw: 3.6k words, 18+ mdni, Country!Simon, alt universe, no use of y/n, some plot with smut, dub-con, spanking, breeding kink, p in v, creampie, age gap (Simon 29, reader 23), primal play & reencounter (if you tilt your head), pet names (little girl, city broad, lucky), fingering, lite pussy pronouns, degradation, lucky!reader

a/n: a scrapped Drabble turned into a full story cause I love plot

part 2!!! <3

You were running like your life depended on it.

It was dumb for you to even attempt to tag the Riley barn to begin with.

You knew that, your friends knew that, anyone in town would’ve warned you otherwise.

It all started with a little end of college fun, wreck havoc like the good ole days. Nothing out the ordinary. Something that supposed to be a silly little prank, saying goodbye to college and hello to adulthood by spray paint and a little egging.

Was it a little too much for your liking? Yes.

Just plain rude and disgusting because at the end of the day, what exactly did Ghost do to deserve any of this? But peer pressure is a nasty, annoying, bitch. Regardless of age.

The Riley Ranch had been rumored as evil and haunted, the only people who really interacted with the land being other farmers. Even when Simon Riley, the last standing of the family, came to church (on the rarest occasions), people kept their distance. Afraid his families “bad” energy would spread over to them.

They called him Ghost.

There was a fire at the families home, started by Ghosts father who was always in a rage. Your father made sure your family stayed clear of him when you visited, he wasn’t too kind to quote, ‘big headed, posey, no good, city slickers.’ No one thought his rage would grow so large into trying to kill his whole family.

No one one besides Ghost made it out that night, there was rumored to be a large burn mark on his back to prove it.

You’d gotten found too fucking quick, “What the hell do you think you’re doin?” His voice booming on the highway road.

Simon Riley was blessed to have ears like an owl. Heard the car pull up and stop on his property, the rumbling of the engine— a beat passes— the car doors slamming shut and the far off hushed giggles. Nothing new, people had passed his property to spook whoever the hell they were with. Try to show how “evil spirits” ran rampant on his land, even if they were, he hadn’t ask for them to be there. But they’d never stop. They’d do it before.

They’d do it again.

But he heard that can of spray paint shake and his boots hit the floor before he even realized it.

Not the brown farmhouse gate he’d spent so long sanding down as a child with the help of his grandfather. Not the white ranch fence he’d spend so long getting together as soon as the land was properly handed to him and in his name, that’d he hand painted himself and fixed up the grass so people knew better than to drop any litter there.

No fucking way.

Your friends were already in the mustang you’d arrived in, those bastards, revving the engine and zooming off. You dropped the can, more spray getting on the grass fuck, fuck, fuck— your brown eyes slowly looked up, meeting a more than livid pair blue eyes.

You wanted to squeak out, ‘im sorry’ but where would there be room for that? Not in between the ranch fence that already had a squiggly line and crooked smiley face with black spray paint on it created by yours truly. There would absolutely be no room for an apology when his face was already screwed up, jaw clenching from underneath the bandana that hid his face, eyes narrowing into slits.

Well duh, babe. Move those feet!

And you did, turning at a 90 degree angle and sprinting like it was the end of the world. Ghost mumbled a ‘god damn it’, and ran right after you, his boot quickly meeting a carton of unopened eggs.

Oh you were definitely in for it now.

You ran through the Egyptian wheat, tall as the eye can see, green leaves scratching your arms and legs. You prayed to God there wasn’t any crazy animals hiding in there. You were panting, taking a quick glance behind you and you could only hear rustling of the large plants that surrounded you, feet hitting the floor.

Then you heard a distant yell in the field, “[+], you get back here!”

Well it wasn’t exactly the hardest to spot you out, you looked like your mother— who looked like her mother. You came from a family known for actually being good people, never hesitating to help or providing when need be. You’d met Mr. Riley a couple times in your 23 years of life. Quick instances that you vaguely remember. But you knew his face, and he knew yours.

Your mom had been one of the few good people making sure he was well taken care of when he was younger, she couldn’t raise him like she had wanted to with having to travel back and forth from the city for work as a children’s author. But she’d made sure he was taken care of in whatever home he was placed in, encouraged him to join the Boys and Girls club, something to ground him.

“Just needs someone to look after ‘em is all,” she’d ensisted while braiding your hair one night before heading to meet him at his group home, fingers weaving through your curls with purpose, you were around eight. “Some kids need a lil extra love, show ‘em someone’s there for ‘em. Simon’s one of those kids, so is your older brother, even though he’s a pain in my side at times. They’re all good in their core— their heart. It’s important to have someone nurture it. Gods called me to do that.”

Though, the relationship strained when the foster system let him go. “He’s just having boy troubles. Boys go through those weird hormones when they hit a certain age. Wants to prove ‘imself as a man. They get real hard headed [+]. He’ll get over it ‘nd pull through. He always does,” she’d say. So certain. Undoubting. Like a sixth sense.

And Simon did manage well enough, clearly, for him to have a proper farm for himself, one that was properly taken care of and thriving. You’d visited with your mom two years back. It was so clear to you now. Your mother practically smothering him in a hug when she got close enough. Simon was awkward at first, but accepted it. His eyes and whole body softing by her touch. She’d been family when no one else would be.

He looked towards you, you met a gorgeous shade of blue, long blonde lashes to match his short blonde hair, face with a few noticeable scars and half his face hidden under a black bandana. You were standing a ways off so you couldn’t hear what he or your mother was saying, but you saw him nod toward you. Your mother saying something and him nodding in response. She waved you over,

“[+] you know Simon— I mean, Mr. Riley since you’re a grown man now, ain’t that right.” She laughed.

“Whatever you want ma’am.” He looks down at you and extends his hand. You take it, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and give it a firm shake.

“Good seein you.” It wasn’t just words, he was sincere, caring. Like seeing an old friend.

You nodded, “ ‘S good seeing you too.”

He showed you the farm after that in his truck. The big house that was farther toward the woods, properly fixed after the fire a decade ago, the Egyptian wheat field, the horses and chickens and the new blue barn he was building to accommodate them, the horse training area used to break in horses no one else would. It was a lot of land, a lot of work, but you could tell by the sound of his husk voice, he was proud of himself and the work he’d been able to accomplish. Even more happy when your mom praised him.

It finally clicked: that barn— and right on time, you’d caught sight of it. Not the one Mr. Riley had been fixing when you visited, the old one. Large and in charge that had old wood, and was definitely falling apart. But you made a bee line for it anyway.

What other option did you have?

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, nerves on a high because you didn’t even notice how close Ghost was to you before you ducked so he couldn’t grab you. Kicking his shin and dashing towards the barn that was bones.

“You damn brat! fuck me!” He cursed, hopping to ease the new pain on his leg before running right after you.

You undid the large wooden latch, sliding the doors open and immediately trying to slide them close. But his hand shot through the opening, a shiver runs down your spin.

Up the steps you went, the only place you could go, and Ghost was right on your heels, quick, almost silent— didn’t call him Ghost for no reason. You tripped and fell on a pile of hay and wild chickens went fluttering and clucking down to the barn floor, clouding your vision. Next thing you knew, Ghost finally caught you. His hands grabbed hold of both of your arms as you rolled around and thrashed underneath him.

“You fuckin asshole! Let me go!” You grunted, trying to kick your legs where the sun didn’t shine but completely missing when the older man closed your legs, gripping them together under your knees in his hands. He had you like a pig about to be roasted.

“You ruin my property but I’m the asshole?” The fucking audacity of you. “Gonna teach you a fuckin lesson cause clearly they don’t teach you city folk manners.”

With ease, Ghost sat himself down on one of the old hay bails, bringing you over his lap. He grunts, keeping you as still as you can, and then like thunder— his large calloused hand comes down to your plump ass, echoing in the empty barn.

“Mr. Riley!” You gasp, your head shoots up, eyes widening— there’s no way- was he giving you a spanking? The next one yanks you out of your thoughts, brutal, harsh, that makes you scream his name again, “Mr. Riley, that’s enough!” But he’s completely ignoring you.

“Spray painting my fences,” SMACK!

“Tryin to egg my house,” SMACK!

“‘Nd Ruinin my fuckin crops?!” SMACK!

“You’ve lost,��� SMACK! “you’re damn,” SMACK! “mind! little girl!” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

You’re crying and whimpering, as his hand continues forming ripples in your ass. You’d gotten one singular whopping your whole life, from your grandma for breaking her good vase when she told you no ball throwing in the house. Life altering from one incident that made you into the goodest girl there ever was.

And then there’s this predicament, one that ripped your soul in two. One half fueled with hatred for doing something so crude— so audacious. And then the other that’s struggling to keep itself contained. one more hit that meets your tender bottom, one that hits you in a place you didn’t realize was boiling over— a smack to the ass that forces an egregious moan out of your trembling plump lips.

Simon stills, his eyes flicking over the state of you. You’re shaking, head down and legs finally not kicking. But he sees the way you try to hide yourself further into his lap, because you and he both know you just moaned because of a little whooping.

Oh— you're crazy.

You’d unknowingly created a fire and Simon would add lighter fluid to it.

He lifts the bottom of your short flower patterned dress, just to peak, you jump but still, your heart pounding even louder than it had before. And it’s a sight for the man to behold— your underwear soaked like the damn ocean. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to bring the hands down to hide the slick that was ever growing.

“D-don’t look.” You sniffle. Too damn cute.

But there’s a snicker, something that makes you look back at him and his eyes are shining with mischief, “My god, you’re a filthy lil thang, aren’t’chu?” It’s almost rhetorical, he’s not asking you, he’s asking your cunt. “Didn’t know you city broads were like that, learn somethin new every day, don’t you?”

You yelp when he yanks your underwear down to your knees, thrashing around once again, but Simon keeps you still. Your pretty pussys glistening as bright as sun on water, slick all over your fat second pair of lips. He brushes his fingers against them, sending shivers up your spine, you cant help but arch further into his touch.

You whine, “Mr. Riley-“

“—Shhhhh, gotta hear her,” he murmured, slowly slipping a finger in your drenched hole. Your pussys practically sputtering out with every thrust of his finger, slipping another one and coating it perfectly. He takes them out, sucking up the juices on his tongue that you’ve left on them, spitting down on your hole before stuffing his fingers back into you. He hums in satisfaction as you lose your mind, “such a fuckin slut, you just get this wet for anyone, don’t you?”

Your eyes reach the back of your head, breath hitching, “Nooo, I don’t- I wouldn’t!— ooh- agh- Mr. Riley!” your interrupting yourself with your own moans. Whatever anger you had before, folding into nothing.

He finally let’s go of your hands and you grip on to his leg, nails clawing at his jean cover thighs. Your stomach tightens running away as your orgasm builds but Simon follows, thrusting his fingers into your gummy walls even more, curving them to find your sweet spot with determination.

“Eaaasy now, don’t want to hurt you. Be good ‘nd cum. Know you want to, make a mess all over me darlin’.”

And that’s all it takes, with a twitch and a squeal, your cumming all over his hand. Simon thrusts his fingers a couple times, watching the wave of euphoria wash over you before sucking one of fingers clean, then bringing the other to your mouth.

“Come on, don’t be fuckin uppity, taste it lil girl” he tsked, you take the middle finger in your mouth, tasting your own arousol, swirling your tongue around it. Slowly pulling your head back with a ‘pop.’ It all goes straight to the blondes aching dick.

You hear it, the unbuckling of his belt, your stomach touching the tint that had built because of you. your mind finally snaps out of the trance he’s got you in. You barley manage to get out of his lap, scrambling through the hay, tripping over your underwear, on your as knees. Giving Simon the perfect view of your tender ass and the slick that’s dripping down to your thigh before you turn when you meet a wall. Pushing yourself into it.

“We- shit- someone- someone’ll come!” You ramble out, panting, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm. Your eyes avert to anything in this barn besides the man infront of you. But he made his way over to you, slow, stalking. And once he’s on his knees and hovering above you, he springs his cock from from his boxers. The blonde is hung, large and girthy, his tip strawberry red and leaking pre cum.

He bends down, sliding his fat cock between your wet folds, and then smacking his tip on your clit creating a plap, plap, plap. You can’t help but whimper at the sensation.

“You want it don’t you?” he whispers in your ear, taunting you, goosebumps wave over your skin. “Don’t want me all the way,” he traces over your belly, and then pokes right where your uterus is, “up here, hm?”

“Don’t want me to make you feel good pretty girl? Don’t wanna feel it once?”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline that’s pulsing through you, the way he’s looking down on you like you’re pathetic, dick crazed maniac. And maybe that’s exactly what you are, just once— you just want feel him stir your guts just. this. once.

“I do.”

And your soft voice is just enough for the brute to yank your legs open, Simon throwing your legs over his forearms and spreading your pretty hole open with just the tip. The man starts bullying himself inside the tightness of your pink walls.

He’s big. He’s too big. You hiccup, shoving at his shoulder while he’s splitting you in half, “Mr.Riley, ‘s so much! hicc- can’t. I can’t.”

He croons, slowly thrust more and more of his veiny length into you. “Come oooon city broad, thought you could take it? Don’t go runnin. Been runnin from me alllll this time little girl.”

“Bet you won’t do no shit like that again, ruining my damn property,” Simon hissed, smacking down your clit a few times. “Gonna fuck that nonsense outta that lil brain ‘f yours.”

“I won’t! I promise! Mmmph- I’ll be good! S-so good just for you. Always for you.” You mewled, one hands clawing at the wall behind you and other hand at his shoulder. He finally feels it, his cock reaching the very hilt of you, balls smacking your ass crack. The damn obscene sounds your syrupy pussy is making to keep him inside you, and his tip giving your cervix the messiest and he’s sure, the first kiss it’s ever received.

A baby.

You’d look so fucking sexy, being all plump with his fucking baby. He pushes your thighs back to you head further, jackhammering into your heat rough and mean.

“Five,” he mumbles, groping at one of your tits in his hand. Squeezing and kneading it like a vice.

“Wha-“

“You’ll give me five ‘f ‘em, won’t’cha? Make me a daddy.”

He’s talking nonsense, partially. Simon wasn’t dead set on five, he’d wanted a baseball team but he’d settle for whatever you wanted. One would do if it caused you too much strain. He’d take care of you and the baby, buy you whatever you asked for, have you sat on that back porch, in a rocking chair. Your hand on your full belly, watching him as he worked all lovingly.

Simon breath hitches, rolling his hips into yours with a grunt, fucking drunk at the thought of it. The thought of you, all while your pussy was squeezing on him like you were reading his fucking mind.

“C-christ almighty, I got lucky with you huh? A snug lil cunt like this deserves to be up filled up with my cum.”

You still couldn’t believe it, thee Simon Ghost Riley, was with you in this old barn fucking your brains out like you were fucking Eve in that damn garden, on top of a pile of hay. Both of you letting out moans and groans like animals that you’re sure anyone who stepped foot on property would be able to hear. It’s hot, and sweat is forming on both of your foreheads, your skin is sticky. Simon’s big balls hitting your ass every punch of his tip into you G Spot. both of your eyes hazy, stupid off the other getting off.

“Feel so gooood M-Mr. Riley! So much!” You keen, reach for the bandana hiding his face. He always pushes your hand away but then he remembers what you’re about to be— his lover, his wife— the mother of hic children.

“Mamma’s gotta know the face of ‘er children’s daddy right? pull it off.” And you do, tugging it. And god, maybe this whole ordeal got you lucky.

So damn pretty. A scar on his nose, another one at the end of his pink lips, blonde strands swaying everytime he ruts into you, “Mr. Riley’s sooo pretty,” you slur, talking to him like it’s some secret. You’re lucid in his cock, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure while you stomach coils up.

“Uh-uh, eyes on me city broad, look at me!” He squeezes your cheeks together, planting a fat kiss on your smooshed lips. He snaps his hips forward, and your head would’ve hit the wall from how good you feel. But Simons still got your pretty face in his hands.

“Gonna have ya allll bare foot ‘nd pregnant, waddlin yer cute ass ‘round here with a ring on that finger.” He’s telling you, as if this is already happened and he’s seein it with his own eyes. All you can do is moan at his words. You can’t even form a sentence at this point. Just nodding your ditzy little head while he gives you his dick.

“Gonna be a pretty fuckin mamma too, fu- shit baby, your pretty tits all full with milk for our kin— damn, you love the sound ‘f that dontcha? You can deny it all ya wont, but she’s achin for it.”

God, you are. She is too. You didn’t even know how greedy your pussy was being as he pistoned in and out of you, “Gonna— gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna-“

“-Yeah, thaaat’s it lucky, come all over your husbands cock.”

All you can utter is a ‘s-shit’ when your orgasm smacks you, your toes curling in your converses, thighs shaking in Simons hold.

The blonde gets you in a headlock, smooshing you down into the floor further, brushing your curls with hay out of your gorgeous face. rutting into you as your walls clamp onto him, begging for his all milk he’s able to give you.

Simon growls, and the strings of cum fill your womb. Your clammy bodies are still stuck together as he rocks the last bit of cum into. Mumbling while kissing your neck, “take it lucky it’s all yours. Gotta keep you nice ‘nd full if you’re gonna get pregnant.”

It’s quiet finally. The barn itself is old and creaks but you can hear the chickens right down the steps clucking, the cicadas chirping, the breeze passing through the trees. The only think you hear are his and your pants,

Simon scoops you up in his arms, adjusting your dress to cover the mess he’s created thats dripping down on that barn floor with every steps he takes.

“Mr. Riley, where are we- where are we going?” You hiccup, gripping onto his shirt. All you can look at is him, a little in shock, a little blissed out. The only thing your able to focus on is the handsome man holding you against his chest. The way his heart pounds louder as he looks down at you.

“To the house. It just won’t take after one go.”

a/n: a draft that’s sitting since last month. Luv you bubs. Can’t wait to write more country!simon

most recent masterlist

[devil-in-hiding]

something something reader is a bartender at a popular little pub, and night after night you are hit on by men so plastered you often have to sigh and call over one of the guys you work with the idiots end up vomiting all over themselves (sometimes it’s worse than vomit but thankfully you can count those incidents on one hand)

you think by slipping on your grandmothers old wedding ring, it will sway men from hitting on you at work. And it does, there’s still some that try to test their luck, but the minute you flash that pearl on your finger they’re scurrying off to find their next target.

Cue four new regulars, four attractive military men that always flash you a polite smile and leave you a nice tip. Price comes in more than the others, claiming the stool near your register for himself, Ghost doing the same the rare nights he slinks into the pub. Soap and Gaz come in together some weekends, sitting themselves in front of you with big grins on their faces as they watch the game on the tv overhead.

They’re all sweet, a little cocky at times but nothing that one of their grins or sly remarks can’t make up for. They ask how their favorite girl is doing when they return from longer missions, genuinely listening as you fill them in on the things that have happened since they’ve been away.

Perfect gentlemen.

Until one night you forget your ring, having had to rush your shower and sprint out the door to make it to the pub before the nightly rush.

You filling glasses when you hear the chime of the bell and a familiar laugh fill the pub.

“Was wondering if I’d see you boys tonight.” You smile, motioning for them to give you a moment as you serve the other patrons.

When you slide back over to them, you immediately reach for their usual glasses, grabbing your cloth to wipe them off, when a hand clamps around your wrist and you jump, nearly dropping the glass as Ghost turns your hand over in his.

“Trouble at home pretty?” Price comments, concern etched on his face and it takes a moment for you to catch on, and you can’t help the little giggle that spills out.

“Oh! My ring… It’s kind of a funny story. I uhm.. I’m not actually married.” You laugh, expecting them to laugh along with you, but all you feel are four pairs of eyes piercing into you.

“Come again?” Gaz asks, voice a tad deeper than usual and you ignore the chills it sends down your spine.

“I started wearing it so some of the drunkards would leave me be, kind of forgot about it, just became habit.” You chuckle nervously, hand still in Ghost’s grasp and he’s eyeing you in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Hm. Interesting.”

[kkusuka]

this is in the "141 and john price's wife" universe. still gn pronouns. i also don't think price texts that much- old man syndrome.

the 141 absolutely have a group chat dedicated to pictures and information (porn) about their little wife.

it starts, as many silly things do, with johnny and a picture of you asleep on the couch. cuddled into the armrest covered in the tortilla blanket he'd gotten you as a gag gift, and it was just too good not to share. (although he only sent one of the thirty he actually took, he's gotta keep as much of you to himself as he can.)

then it was kyle with you in the yard, laying in the grass after cutting down branches in the sweltering heat (something john would never let you do if he'd know about it, but he appreciates the flush of your cheeks and the angle of the photo makes it seem as if you were under him doing another strenuous activity.)

and it continues like that for months, cute little pictures of you gardening with price, walking with simon, watching tv between kyle and johnny- just sharing the daily life of their pretty bird.

but the real nature of the group chat doesn’t start until simon sends a picture of you bent over, putting something in the oven, in the tiny, red daisy duke shorts that are only just long enough to be considered inappropriate for the public.

sr: fuckin' lucky that shit only takes 10 minutes to cook or we'd be in the kitchen all day.

soap: fuuuuuuuuckin' hell

kyle: don't rub it in simon, we'll be home in two days

sr: don't worry, i'll warm 'em up for you

price: Behave yourselves.

and it all just unravels from there.

john's the next culprit. he has loads and loads of less than decent pictures of you, perks of being the first husband, but he's not reaching into the stash for this one. he has a point to make: if anyone's getting off to pictures of his wife, he's gonna be the one sending them.

it's barely two hours after the other three left that something is sent into the chat. face down, ass up, cunt dripping with cum as price uses his thumb to keep your pussy open to the camera, the rest of his hand palm down on your ass, the ring on his finger glistening in the flash.

sr: fuckin' filthy captain

soap: BRING ME BACK, PUT ME IN CAPTAIN

kyle: tell 'em i said thank you

it's not surprising that the minute he comes back, johnny's on you. methodically placing the camera, making sure it captures all of you and his face buried between your thighs. it wasn't the first video sent into the chat but it's definitely one of the best ones.

your head thrown back, hands in his hair, gripping what you can so you can grind your pussy on his tongue. his phone is just close enough to hear your small pants and groans as he sucks on your swollen clit.

soap: i could spend the rest of my life right there

sr: you let 'em fuck yer face like that?

soap: lt i'd let 'em gag me

soap: then step on my dick

soap: then leave me on the floor to rot

*kyle, price, and sr disliked three messages*

soap: like you fuckers wouldn't

and kyle is not a man to be left out, but he is also not as keen on sharing his private time with you as johnny is. so there aren't videos coming from him, instead he has 4k close ups of your tits after he spent almost an hour sucking hickeys into every part of your chest he could reach.

and kyle is like an artist, he makes sure your hair is splayed out perfectly, and that you're just fucked out enough to give him a bright smile. he also makes sure that the locket they gave you, the one that's has their names engraved on the inside, sits perfectly above the swell of your boobs. and goddamn is he proud of his pictures. (it's not hard for you to look pretty in pictures because you're already pretty but kyle thinks he's the best at actually capturing it).

soap: another two things i would put my face between until i suffocate

*sr, price, and kyle disliked a message*

soap: go fuck urselves

and simon is just mean, fingers peaking under your panties, finding your clit just to sit there, finger pressed on your bud, only moving for a few seconds before falling still again; his other hand hold your hips down so you can't do anything but wait for him to move again. and he does it the entire length of the manchester game until your panties are completely soaked through.

soap: stone cold, lt. stone cold.

but before he can do anything, he has to take his picture so the other fools can remember what a whore you are for him. and because it's between games he'll let you sit on his dick and grind into him during commercial breaks. maybe he'll even film in and send it to the guys, let them see you drip all over his lap whole stretching to fit him in your cunt.

but whether his team loses or wins, he'll flip you over and fuck you into the couch cushions, so at least you get that!

then they're all away on a mission, and you know about their little chat (it's hard not to when suddenly they have a camera out every time you're in their vicinity.) so you take it upon yourself to give them their fix. and why not play around with them well you're ar it?

it starts when you go shopping merely three days after they left. they tear up your bras and underwear so obviously you would need to buy more eventually. but usually when you go shopping one of them is with you to share their opinions, but since they're away, you just have to send pictures instead!

a whole catalog, in facts. you've got angles, dressing room lighting, and a whole lot of time on your hands.

*you sent 22 photos to 'the bird house'*

you: i can't choose :(((

you: help me out?

kyle: give me 6 hours to fly home and i'll help you with anything

price: Looks great. But I can't tell from the pictures, you'll have to try them all on again when I get home.

soap: licking the screen isn't working, captain i think i need to go home.

*sr saved 22 photos to Camera Roll*

kyle: smooth riley, real smooth.

and of course it doesn't end there. you have a chance to torture them a little bit with zero consequences and you're going to take it.

but it takes a while for you to send videos, usually you send  your outfits, or the tiny bathing suit top you wear while tanning, even one of you in the kitchen in nothing but your tiny apron. (it's the only one that john does not appreciate, popping a boner between briefings as a captain is not hie proudest moment.)

but as the months go longer and longer, you get more and more desperate. your toys are reserved for times like this, a small bullet vibrator and a thick 8-inch dildo. it's nowhere near as nice as fucking your men but it'll have to do for the time being.

and you know them being away is not their fault and they'd be home in an instant if they could choose to be; but if you have to deal with your pent-upness, so do they.

so you set up your phone, leaning it on the lamp that sits on your bedside table, so it captures your entire body, covered only by sheer light-blue lingerie and your locket, as you sink down the length of your dildo, vibrator pressed to your clit. you send four different videos, one for each of them, in the order they came into your life (you think it's cute, they're one picture away from firebombing the whole country they're in and flying home).

you: just something to hold you over until you get back!

kyle: so good for us babe.

soap: yer evil bonnie.

soap: my arm can't keep up with this

sr: birdie thinks it's real funny now

you: i do

sr: not gonna be so funny when we get home, yeah? might have to give you a refresher about what happens teasing birds.

price: 6:30am tomorrow, get everything you need in order because you aren't moving for the foreseeable future.

*you loved a message*

[connorsui]

You know what's better than fluff? Dark fluff.

The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.

"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."

And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.

"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."

Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.

[readwritealldayallnight]

18+ MDNI

He was just on the cusp of a restless sleep, about to drift off for the night, when Johnny swore he could hear someone crying from the other side of the barrack walls

Poking his head out the door, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, he spots Kyle swinging his own door open at the same time, half asleep himself yet obviously having heard something amiss as well

“Y’hearin’ tha’ too?” Johnny asks as his fellow sergeant nods through a yawn, stepping out into the hall now and shutting his door behind him, certain now that’s it’s you they’re hearing

The pair make their way towards the source of the muffled cries and whimpers, their half asleep minds slowly trying to fill in the blanks, wondering if they’re going to find you in the midst of a nightmare, hoping that’s the case rather than finding you hurt

Turning the corner, the noises have grown louder, more insistent, your sobs sounding more desperate when the duo stumble upon their captain, stood outside your slightly ajar door, casually leaning against the door frame, gaze locked on the sight inside your room

“Cap, what’s happen-”

“Is the lass-”

“Shush.” Price interrupts his sergeants questions, shooting the two younger men a look that has them instinctually standing taller, on alert

“Wha- where’s LT?” Johnny can’t help but to ask, surprised that the man hadn’t come running when your cries began

“Got his hands full at the moment.” Price answers simply, though he can’t help the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth when he tilts his head towards your door, inviting the sergeants a peek inside

Careful not to push the door open any farther than it is, the men take a cautious albeit curious glance in to your room, eyes immediately widening and pants inevitably tightening at the sight

Laying on your back on the edge of your bed, you haven’t a single thing on you apart from the sweat you’re exerting

Well, that and Ghost’s hands on you

Your bare legs are thrown over the lieutenants shoulders, thighs shaking as the man’s large hands grip at your plush skin, relentlessly squeezing and groping your naked flesh

They can easily tell it’s Ghost in there with you, based off his stature alone, though the skeleton balaclava discarded by his feet certainly helps confirm things, seeing as the man’s face is currently shoved against your cunt, with no sign of him coming up for breath any time soon

The three men stood in the doorway couldn’t turn their eyes away even if they wanted to, feet cemented where they stand, shamelessly watching as their lieutenant absolutely devours you

The sounds of Ghost’s sloppy eating, sucking noises, even his own groans of enjoyment against your pussy are hardly heard over the sounds of your pleasure

“Oh my god- please Si- I can’t- oh god!” You moan as Ghost seems to pick up his pace, your hips unconsciously grinding up against him as you edge closer to the precipice

You’ve got one hand gripping the bed sheets for dear life, while the other is snaked in his hair, tugging at his locks with every lick, suck, and kiss he presses against your throbbing clit, feeling as though you couldn’t possibly take any more, while also never wanting him to stop

The sergeants can hardly fathom what they’re seeing right now, bulges pressing uncomfortably against the zippers of their pants as their own arousal grows, wholly entranced by the sight and sounds before them

“Bleedin’ Christ-” Johnny can’t help but to whisper to no one in particular, intent on thanking whoever built the thin walls around here

“Y’either take a seat or take a hike, sergeant.” Ghost’s gravelly voice suddenly booms from within the room, never lifting his eyes off of you. “But y’know better than to interrupt a man’s meal.”