#soap being like 'damn why the fuck is everyone hot'

[natelia-aldelliz]

"So what's his damage," Soap whispers to him as he's floating above Ghost's sleeping form, in the plane on their way to Mexico.

Roach snorts. "Would be faster to tell you what's not broken, honestly. Though I guess his fiancé dying on him was probably the final straw, what convinced him to just... Close off, I guess."

Soap's face contorts in earnest empathy. "Ah shit, sorry," he says. "Did ye know them well?"

Roach just stares at him. From the little he's seen of him in the field, he's extremely competent, smart and resourceful. He's also apparently quite dumb. He's lucky that's exactly the kind of person Roach likes.

He sees the exact moment the realisation hits him, his pretty blue eyes going wide. "Oh, you're the- okay, damn, sorry man."

Roach chuckles. "You should have said 'that's rough, buddy'. It's been five years, I've accepted my fate. I'd just... Like for him to do the same."

Soap hums. "It's a complicated issue," he whispers. "But I have to say, most ghosts that haunt their partners like it better when they haven't moved on."

"Why would I want that," Roach frowns. "I want him to be happy. I want him to have friends. I want him to live his life."

Soap smiles.

"I'll have ye know I'm trying really hard to be his friend," he says.

"Don't take it personally when he treats you like an arsehole, it's on purpose, to make you flee and allow him to keep wallowing in his misery."

Soap nods. "Thanks for the tip."

"... You really mean it? You really wanna be his friend?"

Roach finds out right now and then that Soap's smile holds the power of the fucking sun.

"Yeah! He seems really cool and I love making friends."

That's a golden retriever in human form, Roach is sure of it now. A really pretty human form as well. Anyway-

"He's also really hot under his mask." Why did he say that?? Roach tries really hard not to facepalm. The man just met them, it doesn't matter if he knows he's Simon's type (and his), he just wants to be friends, what is he doing... He doesn't even know if he likes men! He can only blame that on the five years he spent without social interaction.

Not that he was that good at social interaction when he was alive, but that's not the point.

Soap sputters for a few seconds, cheeks pinker. That's... Interesting. Damn, he really has a one track mind sometimes...

"Hum, guid tae knaw," Soap says finally, his accent thicker. Is he that flustered? Does that mean Simon has his chances?

If someone had told him years ago that he would be flirting with a co-worker, as a ghost, on behalf of his unaware still living fiancé, he'd have laughed probably.

[certifiedyapperx]

Captain John Price • broken.

PAIRING: John Price x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: the result of my poll. in short, you tell your captain that the reason you’ve only dated one man is because your ex said you were broken due to your inability to orgasm; and price offers to show you that the only thing broken was your confidence.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k (got carried away.)

TAGS: 18+, PURE FILTHY SMUT MDNI, Slight Degradation, Praise, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Absurd amount of swearing, Fingering, Price being daddy as fuck.

"What about that ex girlfriend of yours, Gaz?"

As soon as those words left the Scottish lads lips, everyone in the room was giggling like a lot of fucking schoolgirls. You'd be lying if you said that didn't include yourself.

"You want to talk about ex girlfriends now, Soap?" Gaz sat forward in his chair, eyeing his grinning teammate from across the room, the grip on his glass so tight you were worried it'd shatter between his fingers. "What about that woman you boned in Prague? The one that wanted, oh--how do I say it...a little ride on train 141."

"Nuthin' little about that train." Ghost added through a choked chuckle, barely able to get the words out.

Your fucking abdomen was starting to get sore from the amount of laughing you'd done tonight. These men were absolutely ridiculous. You'd never heard more obscene sex stories in your damn life, and they've got a bloody abundance of them--the back and fourth taunting over who fucked who and who did what never seemed to end. It was almost three in the morning and they were still going strong.

"Aye," Soap leaned back in his chair, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip, wide eyes gleaming as he reminisced. "Fuckn' wild one, that one. Had her nice and tamed for me by the end of that deployment.”

"Aye, the fucking woman whisperer, this one," Ghost chimed in again, his balaclava half pulled up, exposing his stubble-donned chin and grinning lips as he took a hefty swig of bourbon. Not even fazed. "Almost as smooth as Price."

Everyone in the room chuckled, nodding and muttering words of agreement, but you were stuck in place--still absentmindedly staring at Ghost while turning the words over in your mind, curiosity piqued.

"Price?" His name left your lips before you could even attempt to prevent it.

All eyes in the room shifted toward you, and Gaz cocked an eyebrow. "You've never heard any of his stories?"

Ghost shot him a look. "Clearly not."

"I mean, I've heard some..." you mumbled, awkwardly trying to fix the mess you've just made. Your gaze darted between the three men staring at you, each set of eyes glazed with confusion, clearly trying to figure out why you were so taken aback. "Captain is far more secretive than the rest of you."

You'd been on the team for a solid eight months. Since recruitment, you'd worked alongside Price every single fucking day, yet the man hardly ever spoke about his personal life.

Unlike the others, who seemed to never stop.

"Around you, yeah." Soap mumbled with a smirk, shooting a knowing glance toward Gaz who instantly returned it.

Your brows knit in confusion. "Around me?"

"Aye." Ghost replied for Soap, and you were practically sitting on the edge of your goddamn seat as you knew he wasn't finished. He shifted lower in his chair as his eyes traced up and down your form. "You're new. You're hot. You've never spoken a word about your own personal life. The man's a bloody nutcase, but he hides it well when he needs to--he probably doesn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" You had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor. Trying to mask your confusion, you cleared your throat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

At your reaction, everyone chuckled again, and your face immediately flushed with blood--shading you the same crimson colour found on a ripe fucking tomato. If there was some joke happening here, it'd clearly flown way above your radar.

And yet, before you or anyone else could even consider speaking again, the man of the hour appeared in the doorway, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"Valid question." He didn't even acknowledge you as he spoke, eyes fixed on Ghost as he took a step into the room.

Gods, he was fucking attractive—every molecule in your being screamed at the sight of him. You'd done everything you could to ignore that fact for the entirety of your time here, ensuring your focus was trained on keeping things professional--but after two glasses of whiskey and the current topic of conversation, the flood gates were wide fucking open.

"Go on, Ghost," his voice was low, deep as the depths of your desire as his ocean eyes slowly danced around the room. "...I'd like to know the answer as well."

Price took a seat across from you, slouching slightly and nodding toward Soap who promptly poured him a glass of burning brown liquid and slid it across the table. Ghost pulled down his balaclava in attempt to hide his cheeky fucking grin, shrugging as though he had no idea what his Captain was on about. 

"Not sure what you mean, Cap." Ghost quipped, and you could practically hear the beaming delight in his words. "We're just talking."

"Hm," Price side-eyed him, humoured. "You always talk about me?"

"Only when you're not around." Soap chimed in, snuffing a groan in his throat as he'd downed the rest of his drink and stood up, shooting an inebriated nod to each of you. "Well, would you look at the time--I'm gonna' hit the sack. Duty calls, y'know."

Your stomach churned with confusion, your eyes glued to the Scottish bloke who decided it was convenient to make his exit the exact moment Price entered the room. You almost wanted to reach over and yank him back into his seat.

"Keep it classy ya filthy bastards."

He shot you a cheeky wink from beyond the door frame before disappearing into the abyss, only for Gaz and Ghost to rise from their seats as well, seemingly following Soap's lead, muttering excuses about how late it was and how exhausted they were.

Your mind raced at lightning speed, trying to make sense of the sudden exodus. You were going to kill those fuckers in the morning.

Price broke the silence before it had the chance to linger for too long. "It's not personal, you know."

Your heart slammed your sternum. You sucked in a breath and trapped it there. You needed to calm the fuck down--though that seemed like a goddamn impossible task at the moment. Prices' voice was the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. It stirred every last atom within you.

Avoiding his eyes, you straightened in your seat, clearing your throat. "I know."

"Do you?" He cocked an eyebrow, two fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm not so sure."

You looked up now--almost immediately regretting it as your eyes caught his. You forced words out of your mouth before you could acknowledge how the way he was looking at you made you feel.

"It's because I haven’t opened up to you..." you murmured. "Yeah?"

Price nodded, choosing to remain silent, his gaze anchoring you to the floor—every muscle stiff as stone.

You cleared your throat again. "Well. What do you want to know? My family? Where I grew up-"

"No." He cut you off, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as his stare intensified. "...I already know all that. You're my recruit, I know everything about your past..." his head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glass to the side, clasping his hands together infront of him. "What I don't know, is why a woman as skilled, as smart, and as undeniably attractive as you, has only ever been with one man."

Blood crystallized in your veins, every ounce of your skin vibrating with an emotion you couldn't identify. He was so close—closer than you'd initially gauged—and that closeness ignited dormant desperation, one you'd nearly forgotten existed.

Your throat was thick. Saliva lodged inside it. "I..."

There was a reason. There was a very good reason as to why you've only been with one man, why you promised to never put yourself through that shit again. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it, you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words aloud. That would mean being vulnerable, humiliatingly vulnerable--one of the many things soldiers were trained not to be.

Captain Price hummed, leaning back slightly, and a swarm of unpreventable desire roared alive in your chest. His attention flicked over you. Like he'd felt it.

He remained silent. He was waiting for an answer.

"It's...um..."

Your brain filtered through pages of plausible excuses until it landed on one. Inhaling a breath, you forced the fibbing syllables past your teeth, shrugging in an attempt to make it believable.

"I just...never found anyone I jived with.”

Price paused, his scrutiny skinning you raw. It was like he knew what was waiting on the edge of your tongue, like he could smell the smoke swirling off the fire below your waist. He wasn't buying it.

"You can't lie to me." His words only confirmed your thoughts. "I mean, theoretically you could, though I'd advise against it."

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to your hands. "I'm not lying."

"Perhaps not," he replied, voice cool as ice. "But you're certainly omitting."

Fuck, he was good. And of course he was--there was a reason he was Captain. He was fucking bred for this. You were certain he could detect a lie from light years away.

"It's embarrassing," you replied, ignoring the thrilled leap your heart made that he'd read you so well. "You'll think less of me."

John Price leaned further across the small table, nibbling the distance between you. The intensity of his focus made your insides tangle, something was undoubtedly churning within his mind. A breath caught in your throat as his eyes held yours.

"I don't care," he stole another inch, and you could now comfortably say that he was well within your personal space. "If this is going to work, there has to be trust. Because you should trust me—as your Captain, and as your friend..." in a single abrupt movement, he stood up, towering over you, eyes boring into the top of your head until he shifted toward the door. "...when you're ready to open up to me, I’ll open up to you."

Ice braced your veins. This was the most conversation you'd had with your Captain since you joined the team, and you were about to blow it with your inability to talk to him. To just telling him the fucking truth. He took a step back from the table, began moving toward the door, and you panicked.

You let him get two steps from reaching it before you jumped up, out of your seat. "Wait!"

Time was a relative concept. But as your Captain spun, and as you linked eyes with him, it slowed. Stopped.

You cleared your throat for the millionth time. "It's because...it's because I'm broken."

Price's eyes widened, only momentarily, before they narrowed--out of curiosity or skepticism, you couldn't tell.

"You’re broken." He said, drawing the words out on his tongue while taking a slow, lengthy step toward you. "Elaborate."

You dropped your eyes to the floor again, catching sight of his brown, rugged combat boots as they stepped into your line of sight. Heat flashed your face, and you shifted on your feet.

"My...my ex...um," your voice was barely above a whisper. Something felt gut-wrenchingly humiliating about having this conversation with your fucking Captain. "He, he kinda fucked with my head, I guess. Made me never want to date again."

You heard an exhale, a huff of enticed breath leaving lungs.

"I think," Price eased closer, and you caught whiff of his cologne--the scent engulfing your senses, sending hunger snarling and snapping for relief. "...you're omitting again."

"Why?..." you blurted, trailing your gaze past the vast expanse of his strong chest and up to his gleaming eyes peering down at you. You blinked. "...do you think that?"

Price raised a brow. "Am I wrong?"

"No, it’s just…” you closed your eyes, took a breath. Let it out. No point in lying. Just rip off the fucking bandaid. "He broke up with me because I couldn't orgasm. He said I was broken because of it. It’s dumb, but it hurt.”

Gods, it felt so fucking stupid that you had to smile, had to damn near laugh at yourself. As much as it sounded so foolish, you'd always just considered that maybe something was actually wrong with you. After all, he was your first, and your only—and the fact that you could never orgasm bothered you, too.

However, when you finally reopened your eyes, swallowing whatever ounces of pride you had left, you found a depth to your Captain's ocean irises that was not there before.

There was something floating inside them, now--something primal, something depraved.

"Interesting." His hand raised from his side, grazing over your cheek and coming to a slow on your neck, the tips of his fingers skimming over your racing pulse. "Broken."

Any blood that had been left in your head was now plummeting to your core.

"Broken." You whispered.

Price exhaled, his breath caressing your face, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to thrust itself past your teeth. Never once would you have considered the thought of actually fucking your Captain--but right here, right now, with the way he was touching you, analyzing you, palpably tempting you--it was becoming more difficult to deny the physical need steaming from your pores.

"This,” his voice was so deep it made your blood sweat, his thumb stroking your pulse. "Doesn't feel broken at all."

Adrenaline surged you, ambushing your lungs with rapid breath, flares of lust sparking over your skin. You leaned into his touch, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a hum and a straight up growl.

Your pulse soared, your hand finding his wrist. “Captain…”

It would be lying to say you thought this was a good decision. But you couldn't find a fuck within you. After years of denying yourself any sort of physical touch due to the shame that consumed you, Price had perceived it without effort and ordered you strip yourself of pretense in his presence.

"Let me show you...." Price wedged a boot between your feet, his hips brushing yours, other hand finding your hip. "...that the only thing broken is your confidence."

You nearly whimpered. "Please."

Without further contemplation, your eyes darted to his lips the same millisecond his darted to yours, and you both moved at once. Price groaned, one hand shooting into your hair, the other supporting the small of your back, tugging you close. His hungry mouth captured yours, teeth nipping your lower lip as he spun you around and pushed you back against the table.

You groaned into his mouth, your ass hitting the cool metal with abrupt force. His lips attacked your jawline, moved down to your neck, and another groan escaped you, this time in bliss.

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, throwing your hips into his, allowing desperation to guide you. "Captain..."

A low, menacing noise reverberated in his throat and he seized your neck again, bringing his mouth to your ear.

"My name," he took the lobe between his teeth, earning a squeak. "Say it."

"John—" You gasped, clawing at his back. "Shit."

"Mm. Good girl. So obedient..." he purred, tracing his mouth along the curve of your ear. "So responsive."

"Fuck." Every new beat of your heart brought a desperate pulse to your cunt. His fingers found your hair again, curling into a fist. "John...please..."

Your Captain hummed, just as his lips moved back to your pulse and attacked it, sucking rough rabid marks to the surface, his hips grinding against yours. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and he moved lower, releasing your head to work on removing your clothes.

Before your belt even hit the floor, he was tearing off your shirt and tugging off your bra--exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dimly lit room, surging goosebumps to life that he was quick to cover with his hands, taking the fresh tissue between them and kneading it.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, to himself you presumed. "You're fucking perfect."

There was one brief second of thought surrounding the notion that any one of your teammates could walk in and find the two of you here—but that thought was quickly lost as Price leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You squealed, squeaking in pleasure, and his grip possessed your hips.

"So sensitive..." he said with a grunt. Your Captain wasn't just hungry—he was starved, more voracious by the second, spurred on by your reactions. "Fucking hell."

He leaned back, hooked his fingers under the waist of your pants and pulled, unconcerned for the ripping seams as he forced them down the curve of your thighs. Your head rung, entire body tingling. Paralyzed, you watched your Captain tear off your boots and rip your pants free, tossing them all to the side.

"Fuck me." He muttered again, returning his sights to your figure. "Look at you."

Price examined you like a meal, gaze traveling from your collarbone to your breasts, down past the curve of your belly to the swell of your hips, coming to a slow between your quivering thighs.

Adrenaline had got you this far. Reality was setting in. "Captain..."

"Shh," calloused hands found your hips, urging you back against the desk, spreading your legs further apart as he inserted himself between them. "I already told you what to call me."

You shuddered, twitching from his touch, and the corner of his lip quirked. Smouldering blue eyes searing into your skin. "John, I—"

His thumbs slid close to your heat, dipping into the crease and teasing close to the edge of your thong. Reality was a plummeting star, crashing down into your mind without regard. Nerves were consuming you, fingers digging into his biceps in attempt to stop them from shaking.

"You...what?" His voice was practically a lullaby. How something so deep could be so soothing was beyond your comprehension. "Go on, pretty thing..."

"I just..." you shifted your hips, trying to balance fear with desire. "I'm just...I don't want to disappoint you..."

Price assessed you, only for a moment, gracing your thigh with a stern yet gentle smack before trailing upward.

"Enough." It was an order. "I want you out of that beautiful mind."

He brushed his finger across your cunt, grazing over your swollen clit, and you choked, hips snapping toward him.

"Don't think..." the power in his words was intoxicating, a command given with the confidence of knowing you'd obey. He teased your clit again and you whinged, gripping him harder. "...just feel."

Before a coherent thought could enter your head, he pulled your panties to the side with two thick fingers, not giving you a second to brace for it before he used those same fingers and sank them into your tight, aching cunt.

"Oh—fuck-"

You groaned, head tossed back, walls tightening around the delicious stretch as he pried you open with slippery ease. The intensity, the fullness from just his fingers stole your breath, dizzied your mind, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growling breath escaping his lungs, trying to ground yourself as much as you could.

"Christ...tight little cunts just soaked..." he was right, you were dripping. You couldn't ever remember being this wet. In truth, you couldn't ever remember being this turned on, this desperate for touch. "Tell me how that feels."

"G-oh, fuck—" any additional words you had planned on using instantly died on your tongue as Price curled inside of you, pushing deep, every coherent thought fleeing your mind with a moan. Your entire body pulsed for him, like he'd shaken every cell awake and enthralled it under his possession. "John—oh, Gods!"

It wasn't like you'd never been fingered. It'd just never felt like this.

Something about the trained motion of his hand, the skilled curl of his wrist, the attunement to your body was consuming you--the need for more only increasing as he found a perfect rhythm, fucking slow, reaching to your belly while his thumb circled your sensitive clit. Your cunt throbbed, squeezed around him, as if to coax him deeper inside of you.

"Needy little thing," an amused huff at the corner of your consciousness. You forced yourself to look at him—he was smirking. "Tell me how it feels."

Desperation was throbbing at your temples, growling and coiling in your belly—unfathomable, incredible desperation stalling your lungs. Unfamiliar, but entirely absentmindedly as Price stroked your walls, stroked your clit, and you were gasping, you were—

"So fucking good—" you were practically screaming, brain a mangled mess of aimless words. "Cap—John, I—I'm-"

His free hand seized your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his fingers still keeping their pace, your vision blurring to bliss. "You're?"

You gasped. "I’m-"

"You’re close." Fire flooded your flesh, and you mewled like a nervous, helpless animal. His grip tightened. Intensity and power radiating off him in waves. "S’ that what you want, little slut? Hm? You wanna’ fuckin’ cum for your Captain, don’t you?”

“Yes!” No thought required. “Pleasepleaseplease-“

“Mhm. That’s right, that’s right—“ he was just as gone as you were. Air rattled in your lungs like rocks. Your vision blurring as you held onto him like your life depended on it. “Cum on my fingers, darling, let me feel you.”

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the gates of heaven themselves. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunting for air while he worked you through the receding tide of your release.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled, the arrogance in his tone palpable. “Look how easy that was, hm?”

Your Captian pulled his fingers from cunt and yanked you off the table by the hold on your jaw—you stumbled into him, wetness seeping down your thighs, brain given less than two seconds to process the slew of events before his slick covered fingers were at your lips and pushing past your teeth.

"The way I see it, soldier—there are two possible explanations here." He shoved his fingers deeper, reaching for the back of your throat. "Either you somehow managed to lie to me..." he pressed against you, his desire evident in the way it was jabbing against your stomach. "Or this tight little cunt has never been properly sated."

Your heart was in your feet, your lips sealed around his fingers as you held his eyes, a shade of blue so deep you'd almost thought you were staring into the depths of the ocean. His pupils were blown wide with lust, it was clear what he was getting at—and judging by the way your cunt clenched in response to his words, it was clear that you felt the same.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, looking for a response. You gave the only words you could think of. "I didn’t lie…I’ve had sex, Captain...I’ve just never done—that.”

"Well I think I've just proven that it wasn’t due to any fault of your own." His words were backing you into a corner, an explanation that was challenging to draw yet completely impossible to now ignore. "I got you there in seconds."

Your face grew hot. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he assessed you, eyes looking past you, through you. “Your ex didn’t know what he was doing.” he leaned in closer, plush lips curling into a mischievous grin. “All you needed was someone who knew how to handle you.”

"Hm." The arrogance was stifling, setting you ablaze. It only made you want him more. "Cocky bastard."

"Cocky," he repeated with a raised brow. "You have no idea, princess.”

"You know what, Captain," you teased with a smirk of your own, unable to tear your sights off him. His eyes. His lips. "I think you just got lucky."

“Luck.” He chuckled—a deep, growling thing. "I don’t do luck, soldier. I do facts.” Price shifted a hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants as he pressed against you. “Fact one, I just gave you your first orgasm.” He was possessed, hungry, borderline rabid. “Fact two, I could do it again on my cock. If you’d like.”

And you, you were his eager, willing prey.

"Shit," you muttered, the words shooting straight to your cunt. You didn’t need any further discussion. You wanted him, and nothing could stop the next words from leaving your lips. "Please...please fuck me..."

Your Captain growled. The sweet desperation of your pleas sending him past the point of salvation. He sucked in a breath. Trapped it there—internally clutching whatever ounces of restraint he had left.

"You sure you want this?" His voice was so fucking low you almost missed it. His fingers moved to his belt, and his lips moved to your ear. "I'm not so sure you can take it."

"I'm built for combat, Captain..." you murmured with a grin, spurred on by the evidence of his throbbing desire, fingers trailing toward his belt to help him along. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Price huffed against your jawline. Amused.

"You’re built for combat, undoubtedly..." you watched as he pulled free his thick, heavy cock. Your jaw slackened, your mouth watered. "But by the time I'm done with you, darling..." he seethed in relief as he guided his hand back and forth along his length, other one directing you back against the table. "You'll be built for me."

A sharp intake of breath found your lungs and then you were lying flat against the table, cool metal biting your backside and ripping goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You shuddered, seething in discomfort, but two strong hands made quick work to soothe them, coasting up your thighs until they found your hips, and then he stepped forward.

"Christ..." you whimpered as he loomed over you, the warm head of his cock rolling over your clit, teasing you with false thrusts, making sure you were well aware of just how long and fucking thick he was. "John..."

"Quiet." He purred, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Just let me break you open."

His heavy, smooth tip pressed against your entrance and then pushed in, head just barely spearing you yet somehow still splitting your cunt with a girth that stole your breath and forced a cry from your throat. With a breathless groan he pulled out, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing.

He smacked your thigh again. “Look at me.” He hissed, teeth sinking into the plush of his bottom lip as you instantly obeyed. “That’s it. Eyes on me.”

There was a mere second of silence before he sank in again, entirely this time—and though you were fucking sopped and pliant and voracious, he tore you wide with a sting.

"Oh—fuck-"

You fought for air, your body trembling, fingers clawing at anything that might steady you. He’d stuffed you full with ease, lungs heaving upon impact. Both big hands tightened around you, and he slid out, driving into you again with a hidden hiss of air, earning a loud, shameless groan from your lips.

"Fucking hell.” A dark, low voice rumbled from his throat. "Tight little whore. So fucking tight—"

"You're—oh, fuck—" words died on your tongue as he pulled out, pushed in again, sucking in air through his teeth, working you wider with each plunge into your pussy. You clenched around him, and he snuffed a moan, snapping his hips. "You're fucking huge."

"Mhm, yeah," it was a shameless admission. He placed a palm on your pelvis, pressing down, feeling himself fucking into you. He leaned back slightly, drawing long, slow strokes, forcing you to quake around every inch of his length. "That's how fucking deep I'm in you."

And deep he fucking was. Every centimeter banishing the ability to do anything other than exist as a stammering sheath for his cock. It wasn't penetration—it was pervasion, it was domination. Sex had never felt this intense. Sex had never felt this fucking tranquilizing.

"Christ—Cap-John—fuck—"

Price slid out and rocked in, driving to your stomach with a stab of blissful pain. Eyes snapping shut, you gripped his arms, seething when he thrusted again, and again. Each stroke shoved a cry from your chest, tightened your walls, and this only seemed to entice him, his cock splitting you apart. You scratched at his shoulders, fighting to find yourself in the bewildering delirium.

"There we go." His voice was distant in the sea of pleasure. "Look at you. Brainless on my fucking cock."

Your response was a moan, loud and shameless, gripping onto his arms and matching his rhythm, forcing your hips to his, a plea—faster, harder, more, more. Your Captain hissed in satisfaction, and his hand snaked between you, rolling and teasing your clit.

Your vision blurred for the hundredth time. "Oh, fuck—"

Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick. He fucked into you, his skin smacking yours, his breath heaving in feral huffs.

"Fucking perfect pussy," he growled through his teeth, shifting your legs together and directing both ankles over his left shoulder, his thrusts slowly slightly as you gasped and whimpered, clawing at his hips, the new position causing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. "Mm, fuck...this is what you needed, darling. You needed a proper fucking."

"Fuck," you replied, brain numbed by bliss. Words didn't even make sense. "Deep. So fuck—deep—"

"Fuck—take it, take it little slut." His thumb was back on your clit, swirling it in tight, fast circles, his cock fucking deep into you. "I warned you."

"John—" You needed to scream, fingers clawing at anything they could find. If you weren't broken before, you’d certainly be broken when he was done with you. "Fuck—"

Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. The feeling was so intense you didn't know what to do with yourself, you weren't sure if you could even get the words out to warn him.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck—I'm—I-I'm..."

"Yeah, that's right." He hissed, teeth barred, hips snapping. He already knew. "Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock."

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt milked his dick, your thighs spasming, your back reached for the ceiling, pleasure possessing your nerves.

"There we go—good little fucking slut—squeezing me so good," it seemed an eternity--he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, until he edged his climax. "Fucking hell."

He sputtered, pummelling your cunt with sloppy final thrusts, pouring his cum inside you, grip gouging your flesh until he descended, meeting you in the receding tides of your peaks. Both of you twitched with aftershocks, both of you seeking air.

Once he stalled, you sucked in a long inhale and peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings for the first time in however many minutes it had been. The room was still as dim and dreary as it was prior to your mind shattering, the only thing now different was your Captain—who remained looming over the table, cock still buried inside you, precipitation lining his forehead and chest still heaving for breath, piercing gaze perceiving you like a sated predator.

With a glance at your lips, he finally moved, pulling back and out of you, tucking himself away. It was then that reality struck you hard—you'd just fucked your Captain. And he'd just shattered the preconceived notions of everything you thought you knew.

You were not broken. You were perfectly fucking fine.

Price cleared his throat as you pulled yourself off of the table and stood. "Y'alright?"

You nodded, grabbing your pants off the floor. "Yes, Sir."

Shame engulfed you, for reasons you couldn't explain. Embarrassment threatened to swallow you whole.

"Hey." Sensing this, Price stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't do that."

Your eyes fixed on his. Outlining his perfectly tamed facial hair, his striking blue eyes. "Do what?"

"Avoid me." He simply stated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "All this was, was me proving to you that you're not broken. You're the furthest from. It doesn't have to be any more than that."

"I know…just feel stupid, I guess.” Your face was in flames. You swallowed your pride until it was digested. There was no room for that here, not after what’d just happened. “I, uh, I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Price regarded you with eyes warm as the summer sun, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “I wanted you to open up to me. Willingly. I never pry.”

You cracked a smile, slipping on your shoes. “You got your wish, then. Emotionally and physically.”

“Aye.” Your captain chuckled, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and plopping himself into a seat, sliding a glass across the table toward you. “My turn, yeah?”

[peachesofteal]

I got you

How did this happen? I don’t know. I’ve been watching my person play too much MW2, and then went looking for Ghost fics, so now my brain is infected.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley/female reader AO3 - Part one of the Sassy series 3.8k words - one shot Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Blood, violence, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, size difference/kink, creampie, hurt/comfort. Lots of swearing. Everyone is bad at feelings. Notes: EOD = Explosive Ordnance Disposal. He doesn't know your name. You've never seen his face.

It’s fucking hot. Belize is so hot. It’s the kind of hot that clings to every pore of your skin, the sweat slicking across your body until you’re shiny, breath coming in short pants because the air is so god damn thick. 

“Sassy. Do you copy.” Soap’s voice rings over the comms, snapping you to attention. Your fingers slip on the button. Belize would probably be better if this was a vacation, and not an Op. A gnat whines next your ear, and you press your chin into your shoulder. 

“I’m in position.” You whisper. “All clear.” An affirmative rings back as Price gives command to the others. You sit silent. Gaz spits something over the radio, but it's not directed at you, so it doesn’t register. You sit still. 

You always sit still. 

“You the demo expert?” The brunette with a Scottish accent and scarred chin looks you up and down.

“I’m a bomb tech.” you dead pan, eyes darting around the tent. There are only 3 others here. You were expecting a whole team. He chuckles. 

“Suicide squad. Nice.” Another man, rises from where he’s sitting a few yards away. You recognize him immediately. Price. 

“Sassy.” He extends his hand, and you grip it in yours. 

“Captain.” 

“It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” You nod, managing to steal another look at the others. A younger guy sits on a table in the far corner, ball cap sitting on top of his head. A bigger man, broad, stands near an open flap, arms crossed across his chest, eyes watching you from behind the skull mask that’s pulled down his face. 

You do a double take. For a second, you think he’s Mace. Your heart pounds in your chest. Price is speaking, but you’re not hearing a word. Your fingers curl into a fist as you shake your memories loose and refocus. The man in the skull mask doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch in reaction to your odd behavior. 

That’s not Mace. 

So, it must be Ghost. 

“I’ve got two making entry, east side.” You whisper into the radio, watching the men push through the door. You’re nowhere near a clean shot. You curse. “Soap. Come in.” The line is silent, and unease pools in your gut. “Captain, do you copy.” You call, the words cutting into the air. What is going on? “SOAP.” The word is a hiss that’s met with uncomfortable silence. Fuck.

“Why does the Captain call ya Sassy?” Soap asks one night. You’re outside under the bug net, sitting on a picnic table with him. Ghost looms ten feet away, a barely touched bottle of beer looking tiny in his massive hand. You smirk at the question. 

“I’m a pain in the ass.” You say affectionately, lips curling into a smile. “But I’m also the best.” 

“You’ve gotta be next level crazy to run with EOD.” Soap tilts his beer to his lips, polishing the rest off with a burp. “’Scuse me.” He stands, he stumbles, he dips into the dark where he can’t be seen. You hear the tell-tale sound of a zipper being pulled down. 

“How long you been a bomb tech?” you whip your head around at the sound of Ghost’s voice, directed towards you. It nearly makes you stutter. 

“A few years.”

“That all you do?” The presumption shocks you. Private sector or not, these guys were all the same. If you’re a bomb tech, you must not be able to handle a gun. You whirl on him fully, taking two steps in his direction, your own glass bottle pointed in your hand. 

“The fuck did you just say to me?” 

He cocks his head. 

“Can you shoot, Sassy?” your upper lip trembles as it curls in disdain. 

“I can shoot your dick off if you’d like.” He’s still ten feet across the way, but you’re shaking with anger. You watch as the impression of the mask shifts, the bottom half of the skull moving with his lips. 

He’s fucking smiling at you. 

You’re about to let a stream of expletives fall from your mouth when Soap stumbles back under the net, face goofy and carefree. He draws your attention to a specific lightbulb, drunkenly mumbling something about its color that briefly distracts you. 

When you look back at Ghost, he’s gone. 

The men are setting charges against the exit door that the 141 is planning to use. “Damn it all to hell.” You curse, slinging your rifle over your shoulder and making a beeline off the roof. “I’m vacating.” You huff into the comms. “Inspecting demo charges, east side. Does anyone copy?” The radio silence is freaking you out. The 141 is practically a machine, for Christ’s sake. Methodical, clinical, well-practiced. A small infiltration should have been a piece of cake. You’re scurrying down a ladder when the radio crackles. Your diaphragm heaves in relief. Ghost’s voice fills your ears. 

“Roger Sass. Keep me informed.” Me, not us. He’s slipping. 

The door wasn’t locked. 

The door wasn’t locked, and you really had to pee. These guys could piss in the yard, they could piss in a can, they could piss out the window of the truck for all you gave a shit. You needed a toilet. 

You shouldered through the door, eyes down until you felt it slam against solid mass. 

When you jerk your head up in confusion, all you see is black face paint and blonde eyelashes in the little mirror over the sink. The look in his eyes as he meets your gaze stuns you. 

Ghost. 

“Shit. Fuck.” You avert your gaze like you’ve seen him naked. Which is ridiculous, honestly. You didn’t even see the man’s whole face. “Sorry.” You mutter, turning on your heel. 

“You’re alright, Sass.” He steps away from the sink. “I’m finished.” You stand halfway in the doorway, halfway in the tiny bathroom. You’re not even sure it is tiny, to be honest. It just looks small compared to his giant frame. You eye his bare hand, foreign to you without the glove, and swallow. 

“Okay.” You turn to the side to give space for him to squeeze by you. He’s still wearing his tac gear, down to the tight-laced boots and vest. You already shed yours when you crossed the threshold of the tent, depositing it in the corner so you could breathe a bit. You shift when he passes, the roughness of his vest brushing against your thin sports bra and tank top. He’s looking down at you as he pauses in the doorway, with his head cocked to the side, brows lowered, eyes cataloguing your body. He lingers on the gash in your shoulder. 

“Get that cleaned up.” It’s an order. 

  You swallow, even though your mouth is well past dry. 

“I’m pushing towards the door.” You cross the street like a cat, slinking against the buildings and sticking to shadows. Soap chirps something over comms, but it’s too garbled to hear. You creep around the corner, ducking your head once to check for all clear before you’re crouched, walking slowly towards where you see the blinking charges. “I’ve got live explosives.” You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead as you whisper into the comms. “Repeat. Live charges on east door.” It’s Price that answers you, a gunshot echoing from two floors above. 

“Clear it, Sassy.” 

“Copy.” 

 “I knew a guy.” You shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it off, but your eyes dart between the three of them. 

“That wore a skull mask?” Gaz’s voice is incredulous, and you don’t blame him. It’s hard to believe. You nod. Ghost’s eyes watch you from the dark. They pin you down, marking your every move. You push it further.  

“His name was Mace. I ran in a private company with him for a minute.” Soap visibly shifts, body angling towards his LT. Ghost’s hand flexes on his thigh. The fidget confirms your suspicions. You sip the last of your beer and beam it towards the rim of the metal trashcan. “It was short lived.” 

They’re rudimentary. You’ve seen shit like this before, usually in IEDs, sometimes in homemade Semtex. You can practically hear your dad’s voice as you snip and pull wires. It’s like a dance. Watch your feet, or it’l go hot on ya. The lack of sophistication is laughable, and you’re pulling the first one off the door hinge in record time. You’re nearly congratulating yourself, all cocky and stupid, when you hear the telltale click of a gun. 

The end of a barrel presses to the back of your skull. 

“Don’t move.” You raise your hands slowly as the voice instructs you. “Turn around.” Your stomach bucks into your throat as you eye the man and his wild eyes. He looks desperate. Not good. “Those your guys up there?” He nods his head upwards. You stay still. You stay silent. 

It started as a drinking game. You’d lose a hand; you’d tell a truth. 

He’d lose a hand; he’d tell a truth. The half empty bottle of tequila lubricated you both, keeping you loose and easy, little pieces of your lives slipping your from lips without a care. 

“You know mine.” 

“Everyone knows yours, Simon.” You use it for affect. You can practically see him scowling under the mask. 

“That’s what I want Sass, you lost. You spill.” He turns away from you and swipes the bottle from the table, lifting the bottom of the mask to take a swig. You sigh.

“Not going to happen. Pick something else.” 

“Come on.. It’s just your name.” the gravel in his voice sends shivers across your skin. 

“And it’s just your face.” His head jerks back in surprise, and he puts the bottle down on the table unfolding his giant legs from underneath the picnic table. He’s leaving. “Oh, come on.” You call at his retreat, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look back at you. 

“Well?” The man steps closer, and you eye the other charge that’s still live. You’re not good in these situations. You’re a bomb tech, not a people person. The gun barrel presses more firmly against your head. 

“Ye- yeah. They’re mine.” He leers at you. He’s not the same as the other two, the guys who planted these charges. He’s someone else. Your radio crackles. 

“Sass.” It’s Ghost. You close your eyes for a second and try to get a handle on yourself. You’ve been through way worse. Get it together. “Sass. You copy?” The man with the gun studies you for a second, before he’s reaching for your radio, ripping it from your tac vest as hard as he can. You watch as his finger presses on the comm button. You lunge, yelling in warning, hoping it makes it through the static. He spins, trying to dodge you but you reach for his gun, desperate to pull it from his hands before he can fire it. You hear shouting behind you, the heavy thud of familiar footsteps drawing closer as you wrestle over the weapon. You catch a glimpse of Ghost from the corner of your eye before the guy you’re fighting with is turning, barrel pointed right at your chest.  Shit. 

“How’d you get into bombs?” you laugh at the question, and then tilt your head and study him. 

“I like puzzles.” His eyes flick back and forth behind the mask, watching you as you watch him. You decide to test it. “My Dad can’t do a crossword, but he’s got a way with wires. Passed it down to me, I guess.” He nods knowingly. You don’t say anything further. The air between the two of you feels thick, and it’s not just the heat. 

“How’d you get into SAS?” he grunts. 

“I’ve got a way with guns.” 

Your eyes blink open slowly to the feel of your cheek being smashed against someone’s tac vest. The guys are shouting. An engine is roaring. Your abdomen is burning. 

“Shit.” You slur, vaguely aware that you’re sitting in someone’s lap, arms supporting your body as the truck careens around a corner. “Shot?” your mouth struggles to form the word and you look down to see a massive hand pressed against your ribcage. Ghost’s hand. Your own fingers crawl over his. They’re wet. Blood. 

“Don’t move, Sass.” His voice is low, and he only glances down at you for a second but you know. You can feel it in the way his palm presses into your wound. You can see it in the tick of his jaw. You groan. 

“Fucker shot me?” Your tongue weighs a million pounds. Gaz swears nervously next you on the seat. 

“You’re alright.” Ghost says, legs flexing as the truck takes another turn, trying to keep you from jostling too much. “You’ll be fine.” You nod your agreement. You feel thick fingers stroke through the hair at the crown of your head as you drift off, the world tinging to black around you. 

“LT doesn’t call you Sassy.” Johnny muses. You stretch your arms in the chair, twisting your back in hopes of cracking it a bit. 

“He doesn’t.” you confirm. It’s just Sass with Ghost. Always. 

“Why?” 

“Don’t know.” 

You wake again when you get back, your body still pressed the Ghost’s chest as he powers through camp, practically running towards the med tent. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, and at superspeed. You can’t see straight. The fire shooting in your nerves makes you want to gag. There’s someone else, walking next to you. They’re speaking in low tones to Ghost, and they brush their hand along your shoulder like they’re trying to grab you. He barks something at them, curling your body closer to his, and then you’re slipping away again, closing your eyes to fall into darkness. 

“Do you ever think about what’d you do, if you didn’t do this?” he shakes his head no, immediately. 

“You?” you drink a swig of water, holding the bottle out to him. His fingers wrap around yours as he takes it. 

“I think I’d like to work an office job. Something boring, you know. Uneventful.” 

“You wanna be bored, Sass?” You shrug, and step closer, your hips brushing between his spread legs. He blows a breath out through his nose. 

“I’m sure I could find a way to make it interesting.” You take another sip, letting a single drop slip from your bottom lip and down your throat. Ghost tracks it the entire way. 

He doesn’t really speak to anyone for days after you wake from surgery. And when you’re finally moving around, back with the team, he acts like he can’t see you.

It’s weeks later, when you sit next to him at the top of the stairs of the new safehouse you all moved to. The rest of the team is down in the living room, crowded around the smallest TV that Gaz rigged, watching a soccer game. 

“You good?” you ask and turn to him. He doesn’t respond, just stares at the peeling paint on the opposite wall. You reach out to him slowly, watching his eyes flicker in case it’s more than just, general brooding Simon. “Ghost?” 

“He put a bullet in your ribs.” Oh. Oh. 

“Shit happens.” You shrug and try to play it off. 

“Shit doesn’t happen to you.” He turns to look right at you, something wild lurking beneath his skin. His hand shoots out and grips you by your collarbone, five fingers folding over it with ease. He could snap you in half. You swallow thickly. 

He jerks your torso, moving you like a ragdoll until he’s leaning down into your face. 

“Shit doesn’t happen to you.” he says again, and you nod. His grip is strong, and his blatant contact with your body heats something alive between your legs. Something the two of you have been dancing around until this point. 

“Okay. Okay, Ghost. I got you.” You whisper. His ungloved hand comes up to press a thumb into your bottom lip, sliding it across the skin there. He’s wearing the mask, but you can see the blonde flutter of his eyelashes, eyes heavy as he regards you. You blink once, twice, before he’s hauling you up with both hands, wrapping an arm around your pliable body and pushing you into the shadow of the landing. For a moment, neither of you move, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay when he pushes you back against the wall, nose pressing into the curve of your jaw, fingers stroking the outside of your pants above your cunt. It stuns you, it thrills you, and you’re immediately trying to strategize how to get your hands inside his pants. He pats you softly and it’s not enough friction, so you push your hips towards him, fingers trying to loosen his belt. He grabs your wrist, and you look up at him. He’s staring at you differently, intensely, like he wants to pull you apart and put you back together. You gulp, and then he snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, down to the seam of your cunt. The pads of his fingers are calloused, and you bite down on your tongue as he strokes over your clit. Your body explodes with tiny little shocks, and you whimper, your lips pressing to the outside of the cloth stretched across his face.  “You’re wet.” His voice is rough.  “Y-yeah.” You stutter. “That’s what happens.” He growls.  “Your mouth” he thrusts a finger upwards inside you, forcing you to gasp. “is annoying.” You lean your head back against the wall give him an open-mouthed smirk.  “So shut me up then.” His head tilts, and something dark flashes across his eyes. You grin. 

He’s got your pants down around your ankles, your face pressed against the cool stone of the wall, and a hand up your shirt, fingers twisting one of your nipples as the other swirls the head of his cock through your wetness. 

“Fuck.” He growls above your ear, his cock breaching you, pushing steadily against your walls, slowly tearing you apart. Your cunt clenches around him, the burn of the stretch too good, and too much at the same time. His shoulders bear over yours, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. 

“Ghost.” You whine, palms slapped against the wall. His free hand moves to cover your mouth.

“Hush. You can take it. Hold still.” You freeze because, well, Simon says. You shriek against his hand as his cock pushes into your cervix. He’s so big. It hurts. It feels so good. He thrusts, dragging his cock down and then up, over and over until you’re a teary mess, grunts and whimpers slipping out between the lips you’re trying to keep closed. He pauses, fingertips lightly brushing over where gauze is still wrapped around your body. “Good?” he whispers above your ear, and you nod frantically. 

So good. Too good. Don’t stop. 

He fucks into you slowly, working you open with a patience that surprises you. His breathing is harsh and unsteady, one arm bracing against you to hold your body in place, the other pressing against your cunt, his fingers finding your clit with ease. It’s too much, and your body jolts backwards, nestling your ass deeper in waiting space between his hips. He holds your there, rubbing circles around your clit and sliding his cock in and out of you, the sounds your bodies are making together probably way too loud considering the team is sitting just downstairs. His hand releases your mouth, and you shove your face against the wall, desperate to find some leverage. 

His lips press against the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. His lips without the mask. Your eyes widen as you make the realization, your brain putting it together as you feel his teeth nibble into you, lips sucking blood to the surface of your pores so he can mark you. You can’t turn your head to look, and even if you wanted to, you don’t think you would. He doesn’t even know your name. He groans into your skin, the feeling of his unmasked jaw pressing against you is something you’re going to be holding onto long after Belize. He strokes your clit, pushing and pulling your body towards an orgasm, your walls clenching down on him as he ruts against you. 

“F-fuck, Sass. That’s it, good girl, that’s it. Come for me.” The praise electrifies you, and then you explode into a white-hot orgasm, coming with him lodged deep inside of you, his arm holding your twitching body against his. He fucks you through it, steadily, rushing after his own release, and he presses his nose into your hair as he whispers something unintelligible. Your orgasm is still lingering, every one of your nerves alive and on fire, and you’re a whimpering mess against him. The floor creaks under the steady movement of his hips, his body working yours relentlessly as he thrusts up into you until he’s coming, filling you up, shaking with your call sign on his lips. 

“So, you gonna let me see your face now?” you’re sitting out back on a half stack of bricks, passing a beer back and forth. He turns every time to adjust the mask when it’s his turn for a sip. 

“You gonna tell me your name?” you chew on your lip, and he nods, handing the bottle back to you as he stands. “I don’t need your name Sass. I’ve already got you.” His fingers stroke through your hair, the touch soothing and sweet, and you find yourself speechless. 

“You don’t have me.” You rebuff him indignantly. 

“That so? We’ll see.” He leaves you sitting outside with the beer, eyes staring daggers at his retreating back. It’s a different thing, to be had, to be known, in a world like this. You don’t know if you can do it. You don’t know if he can either. You glance through the screen door into the back of the house, where he stands leaned against a counter talking to Soap. His head tilts, and he finds you with that same gaze, the one he gave you when he had himself buried in your cunt. You shiver. 

Okay, Ghost. I got you. 

I’ve already got you. 

[dollsimi]

Their doll

A little series about you being a fun toy for Ghost, Nikto and König ;) this is the first part, if you guys like it I can do more. I was just bored and I was thinking of my favorites trio and I decided to share. English is not my first language so I apologize don't laugh pls. Enjoy

18+

Sub!Reader, Dom Ghost, Dom Nikto, Dom König, blackmailing, degradation, nude photos

You have a group chat with these three and get yourself into a big mess.

König Made a group chat with him, you, Nikto and Ghost just for fun. You guys were all texting each other, chatting every time someone was bored.

Recently you saw a cute Instagram picture of girls in some lacy underwear and you wanted to try to take the same photo. And you did. It was so hot...you were in pink lace with bunny ears and your tongue sticking out playfully. Of course you weren't going to post it anywhere it was just for fun. However few days after that you were chatting in the group chat and you accidentally sent the photo. You didn't noticed until you got back to your room. You opened the group chat and your cheeks immediately got red from embarrassment as you found out what you sent. And reaction of those men were not helping.

Ghost: ...*saves*

Nikto: ...*saves*

König: *saves*

You were extremely embarrassed and seeing that they saved it made you extremely frustrated and...a little wet. You immediately write back

Y/N: guys please that was an accident no one was supposed to see it! Just promise to keep it to yourself and don't tell anyone!

You wrote despretly hoping they would be gentlemen and forget about it. You saw they started to type and you were getting nervous. After some time they replied.

König: sheize! Your body is so hot in that lace liebe....those bunny ears really suits you

Ghost: adorable doll

Nikto: blyat.... just like a little whore....

Y/N: please promise to keep it to yourself guys!

Their reactions were making you feel butterflies in your tummy but you ignored it as much as you could.

Nikto: why should we keep it to ourselves? I think everyone deserves to see such a lovely bunny

Ghost: agreed. Price and Soap are gonna love this

König: guys don't be mean to her

Ghost: don't be mean? Doll was the one to send it to us she definitely wanted to be praised

Nitko: why shouldn't we show it to other guys hm y/n?

König: guys...

You were trembling a little from all the stress and embarrassed you got from these three...were they actually gonna show it to other people? You can't let that happen you have to do something

Y/N: please I'll do anything just please don't show it to anyone else...

Ghost: anything you say huh doll? Then we should come up with something really fun

Nikto: fuck I'm going to enjoy this

König didn't write anything...he was waiting to see how this is going to work out. You knew you were going to regret this... however it was better than the whole base seeing your photo.

Y/N: yes...anything

Nikto: then I have a great idea

Ghost: then share it with us

Nikto: send us another photo...but this time without that ugly lace. Just your beautiful body all naked for us

Ghost: God damn I have to see that. You also interested König? Or you gonna be the good boy and not play with us?

König: yeah....I want to see too

König replied really embarrassed but he wanted to see you naked also. You couldn't believe it...you were getting into more and more trouble...they were blackmailing you so they could enjoy themselves over your nudes. You were really angry at them...but you felt slightly aroused too... however you didn't want to admit that. You had to obey...so you got all your clothes off, sat on the bed and took a nude picutre of you laying on the bed. You send it to them with no caption hoping they would be satisfied enough

Ghost: fucking hell doll

Nikto: now that's a good girl I knew it your a whore

König: your really pretty y/n

Y/N: hope your happy I'm not doing anything else!

You replied confident that now they would be satisfied and end their game. Oh how wrong you were...you had no idea this was just a beggining.

Ghost: oh I thought you already knew who's in charge doll, should we remind you? Do you want to see your dumb pretty face all over the base or not?

Y/N: no...

Nikto: then be a good obedient whore and don't talk back.

König: I think it's going to be better if you obey, y/n

You were so done...they were being so mean. And you were getting more upset and more aroused. It was making you all so Horny and angry at the same time that you didn't know if you want to slap them or fuck them...

Ghost: alright dollface it's late go get some sleep. Your going to have a rough day tomorrow

Nikto: yeah be ready princess we are going to shape you into our perfect little doll

König: goodnight y/n

Well You got yourself into a big trouble...

[ohbo-ohno]

sometimes I rewatch the mw2 gameplay and think "Damn that's kinda gay, I wonder why the dudebros that play this shit arent foaming at the mouth calling it woke and pandering" Then I remember that Army guys are just gay. Like unironically they do gay shit and don't realize. Yeah, everyone expected this.

+That mention about the piss drinking thing Seals do (or marines cant remember) Like bro I know the bottoms who love watersports over there go crazyyyy.

Getting to suck guys off AND drink piss, and NOBODY will say shit afterwards? Maybe even praise you a bit? I know they're signing right back up for service after that.

-🗑️

military men are just Like That

that being said, every once in a while i come across a tiktok compilation of ghost and soap interacting and all the comments are like "why tf does it sound like they're flirting 💀" or "felt like i was interrupting something during this mission" which tells me that they DO see it and they just don't like it. pussies and cowards, all of them

also i loooove fics where people eroticize the military and make it basically one massive gangbang. funny (and hot!) as fuck

[whispermask]

twitter was talkin about soap's obsession with cock sucking and--

(nsfw text under the cut)

Ghost has a problem and that problem is MacTavish’s oral fixation. 

Boy’s always got a pen hanging out the side of his mouth, biting at his nails, touching his lips and he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it but Ghost seriously can’t look away whenever Soap has anything even remotely phallic near his mouth and it’s driving Ghost mad. Ghost thinks maybe Soap knows he’s being watched, starts pandering specifically to Ghost’s obsession with his mouth. 

It’s the warmest day of the year when it all comes to a head. They’re on base between one op and the next and it’s hotter than it has any right to be, so much so that even Ghost has stripped down to cargo pants and a thin shirt, still sweltering stubbornly under his mask. Soap, instigator of all instigators, isn’t faring much better. To cope with the heat, he’s wearing a tank top and tiny shorts, miles of bare skin like gold slick with a fine sheen of sweat under the sweltering sun. It’s too hot to be alive, is what it is. And Gaz, bless him, buys ice cream for everyone. A sweet man, really, except that he’s bought popsicles. 

Almost as soon as Ghost sees the box, his gaze flickers to Soap, who’s already looking back with an absolutely wicked glint in his eyes. Which is how Ghost ends up white knuckling the armrest while Soap practically felates a popsicle not even three feet from him, close enough that Ghost can hear all the wet, sucking noises his mouth makes as the ring of his lips slides up and down the shaft–and really, is he down that bad that he can’t look at a popsicle in Soap’s mouth and see anything other than a red, aching cock?–his eyes close and he moans. A low, desperate sound that starts in the back of his throat and ends with a slick pop as he pulls the popsicle back out. “Wow, Gaz,” Soap says, “it feels so good on my tongue.” And Ghost can’t fucking do this. He’s done, he’s absolutely had enough. 

He stands too quickly, scruffs MacTavish, and hauls him out behind the mess hall. Despite the late hour, it’s still too damn hot, but with the sun fully set it’s no longer sweltering. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Johnny?” Ghost asks. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soap replies, always such a brat. The light from a far off building glints off Soap’s cherry-tinted, spit-slicked lips and Ghost is thumbing away the moisture without realizing he’s even moved. 

He’s practically cupping Johnny’s face and it seems only logical to lift his mask and press his mouth against Soap’s cold one. Soap tastes sweet, sure, but underneath that is something so undeniably Soap that it turns the kiss from innocent to indecent in seconds. 

Soap clenches Ghost’s shirt in his hand and hauls him forward until he’s backing Soap up against the brick wall with a forearm braced above Soap’s head for balance. He presses the huge line of his body against Soap’s, grips his bare biceps in both hands, holds on for dear life. Soap breaks the kiss, gasping for air, eyes still clenched tight when Ghost pulls away to give him some space. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while,” Soap finally says. 

“Is that why you’ve made it your mission in life to tease me until my prick falls off?” Ghost asks, overly fond. 

“You loved it,” Soap replies. “The real question is, what are we going to do about it now?” And like that, Soap’s reversed their positions so that Ghost is backed up against the wall. 

He slides to his knees in a fluid motion, and Ghost knows it must hurt, 

that the concrete digging into his skin and pressing against the bone there is likely uncomfortable, that Soap doesn’t care because he’s been just as eager to get his mouth on Ghost as Ghost has been to feel it on him. 

Soap doesn’t bother to strip him down more than is necessary to free his cock; it’s dark, but someone walking by on the main road could hear them, could even amble around the corner to see where Soap is kissing the head of Ghost’s cock, using his tongue to trace the underside of the sensitive crown, stabs the sharp end of it into his slit to lick up his pre-come. 

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Ghost says, because of course, it’s always like this with Soap, always better than he’s ever had, too damn good for him every time. 

Ghost grows impatient. He fists Soap’s hair in one hand and pinches the hinge of his jaw open with the thumb of his other. The ‘O’ of his mouth is obscene even in the low light. Ghost slicks the head of his cock against Soap’s bottom lip, pushes in until just the tip sits on his tongue. 

Soap keeps his mouth open for it, forever an exhibitionist, because he wants Ghost to watch him, always, but especially now when this has been building for too long, when it’s been ages since the last time they got to touch like this. 

Motivated by that thought, Ghost thrusts forward by centimeters, giving Soap time to adjust, to breathe through his nose, until Soap’s taken him down the root. Soap’s face in pleasure, especially this specific act, is something Ghost will never tire of. 

He’s rapturous as Ghost begins to pull back, then thrusts back in, the slide of Soap’s lips torturously tight and hot. He stares up at Ghost as best he can when his eyes aren’t rolling back on a particularly sharp thrust in, gaze worshipful, like there’s truly nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing than blowing Ghost. He keeps making these sweet little grunts as Ghost moves, the volume and pitch increasing as Ghost speeds up. 

Drool drips down his chin, slicks the entirety of Ghost’s shaft so it’s nothing but a smooth, hot slide in, in, in. Soap likes it messy, and Ghost is happy to oblige him, to fuck the spit from his mouth, to make him choke and gag on it until his face goes red from lack of oxygen. 

He sees Soap’s shoulder moving rapidly, jerking his cock off as he sucks Ghost off. “That’s right Johnny, fucking take it,” Ghost says, voice gone throaty. He can feel his orgasm building from his toes to the base of his spine. 

“Keep touching yourself. I want you to come while you’re choking on my prick.” And that’s all she wrote for Soap, who comes in his hand and onto the concrete at Ghost’s feet. This is Ghost’s favorite part, how pliant Soap gets after he comes.

Ghost braces his feet and grips Soap’s head in both hands, uses his mouth like a fucktoy, slides it up and down his cock until he’s coming too, shooting his load down Soap’s throat, letting him taste the last few spurts as he pulls out and finishes coming on his pretty, pink lips. Ghost gathers himself, then gathers Soap from the concrete, using a hand on Soap’s elbow to help him stand. 

In the lowlight, Ghost can see that Soap’s knees are pinpricked and bloodied. “Remind me to tell Gaz to go fuck himself,” Ghost says and Soap laughs. “Pretty sure you should be saying ‘Thank you’ Lt.,” Soap replies. It’s still too damn hot. 

[fixfoxnox]

I'm absolutely feral for ultranationalist Roach. Can we get head canons for this AU?

I will be writing more ultranationalist Roach because you guys seemed to like him and I have #ideas so here are some headcanons to sate you guys until the next drabble is done

Warnings: Horny unhinged Roach ahead and some dub-con:

Was military early into his life, similar to how Makarov was in his life

He got put on a mission working with Shepherd and, despite following all of his orders and doing some shitty things, he gets betrayed

He was shot and left for dead as a response but he's tough af and showed back up on base a week later

Tried to talk about what happened and only got dishonorably discharged for it

He's followed from the military by a few people who believed his story and got bad vibes (Jackson and a few others) together, he and this group form the beginnings of the American Ultranationalist party

The goal of the party is to fix the stain that they see as the current US government/military complex

Essentially they want to overthrow the government and put in a much more liberal and chill government

They gain a lot of popularity in the US and grow fairly quickly. This earns the ire of outside nations + the US government and they send someone to try to take out Roach

Roach doesn't die, but many of the men who first helped him join the party do and Jackson nearly dies.

It fucks him up bad and essentially rewires the way that he thinks about the other nations and what he's trying to do.

So now the Ultranationalists go from a mostly peaceful group to a full on militant party that is more than willing to send people in to other countries to fuck shit up if they get in their way

Their group are branded terrorists and, despite all of their kinda evil pretty much actually terrorist actions, they do still have a lot of support among the American people (similar to the Ultranationalists in MW2)

This is around the time at the 141 start coming for them with the explicit goal of taking out Roach

Brief aside to mention

Makarov starts off as Spetznaz again in this life, but rather than getting into shady shit and being discharged he actually stays on a good path and ends up taking what would have been Roach's place on the 141

Roach at this point has just fully lost the ability to give a fuck, so while he appears as this kinda out of it and wacky guy, he's actually super calculating and is always one step ahead of the 141

He first gets a sight of the 141 and he's super interested in this group because "God damn they just foiled my plans to blow up the Washington monument thats sick af"

So he starts watching them on missions and he, absolutely wild man that he is, is like "hey 👀👀👀👀 they're all hot af actually"

Yes this is a Roach x everyone concept now ajjdjfjfjfj

So he's like "hey Jackson, my dude, light of my life, guy who I've been sleeping with for years now, what would you say to me slowly kidnapping an entire military team"

"Why would you do that?"

"So you know how old kings used to have harems?"

JDNFJJFJFJFJJF

AND HE STICKS BY IT

He takes Makarov first as he thinks that he'll be the easiest to make fall for him (he's right, bro is whipped after like a week of being kidnapped)

Then he goes for Gaz next because he thinks he can bond with the man and also he's seen the way Jackson has been eyeing up Gaz's picture and he's like "ooo both at once 👀👀"

He takes Soap and Ghost next. He knows he has to take them together because he knows they're in a relationship. All he has to do is get Soap to fall for him and he knows Ghost will follow soon after

He saves price for last for several reasons

He knows the man will be the hardest to capture

He knows if Price went missing first his entire team would tear the world apart looking for him

And he knows it will break Price's spirit just enough to make him pliant if all of the team goes first

Yeah and from there he just kinda rubs it in the governments faces that he managed to not only take down one of their best teams, but also turn them to his side (sorta)

And then he takes over the world because he gets to win in this au sjfjnfjdjfjf

Honestly though even if this au didn't turn into Roach x everyone, he's just unhinged enough to flirt with all of them anyways

Roach starts the ultranationalist movement with a group of about seven other people (one being Jackson) and despite it operating as a council until most of the members were killed, Roach was elected their leader

When the assassins were sent after the untranationalist leaders, Roach actually did nearly die

He was shot twice, once in the chest and once in his hip. He managed to kill his attacker while running off of adrenaline before collapsing and being found by an ultranationalist sympathizer who helped him out.

Despite his full recover, he does get occasional issues with his hip from where the bullet shattered the bone there

Jackson also survived the assassination attempts, but lost his leg to one of the several bullets that tore through his skin

He does not have a prosthetic yet, but Roach is working on getting him one since the man only recently requested one

Soap and Ghost are Roach's favorites out of the 141, but he absolutely won't say that to any of them

Its because on multiple of the missions he was able to tap into their comms and listen to them talk to each other and he fell hard

Makarov fell the hardest for him out of the 141 members. Generally like a puppy in love

Roach probably interacts the least with Gaz romantically, just because he is letting Gaz and Jackson vibe, however he probably talks the most to Gaz in a friendship sense

He's rich rich from all the evil doing so he buys them a house where everyone has their own rooms and everything

Baby boy is bossy as well in this au as well as very pushy and touchy lol

Some other little notes:

I'll probably use Ultranationalist Roach as a character in multiple different ways. So what I mean by that is that in one drabble he might be trying to get the whole 141 in a harem, while in another he might be going for Soap, Ghost, Makarov, Price, or Gaz and only them.

It will really be up to whatever I'm feeling (if its something I'm writing for me) or whatever the asker wants (so if you guys send a request for like a Roach interested in Makarov only then I'll do that, but if you just send a general "ultranationalist Roach + Makarov" request then I may mention the Roach x everyone stuff in the background but still have the focus be solely on that character)

Really tbh, we could definitely add some drama to this au and I do have some ideas, but at the end of the day it really is more of an excuse to write horny feral villain Roach content skfjbdjsjdjfj

Also everyone say thank you to the Anon who initially proposed the idea, they're iconic

[masterwords]

minty fresh

Summary: (coda to 8x24 - The Replicator) Hotch & Morgan are getting ready to go to Rossi's team dinner in memory of Strauss and having a bit of a disagreement about when it would be appropriate to let the team know about them.

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: sex (not smut, just lots of casual mentions of them doing it), nudity

Notes: Just bickering and brushing their teeth, that's about as domestic as it gets. Happy Friday everyone! I'm hoping to fill a few requests over the weekend so stay tuned!

Read below the cut (because it's a pretty immediate mention of sex) or on AO3!

**

Derek was naked. Completely naked, pacing like a lion stalking its prey back and forth. He had three suits laid out on the bed, three shirts that could work with any of them, and an abundance of indecision lacing every move he made.

Hotch was barely dressed, clothed in a loosely draped towel around his waist and one of Derek’s t-shirts. Bare feet damp against the warm tile after two showers, two long showers. Not separate. It was just that the first shower, they were going to save time, get it done together but Derek couldn’t keep his hands to himself and Hotch couldn’t argue so they got out of the shower, stumbled to their bed and fucked as quickly and quietly as they could. Jack was napping upstairs, Clooney with him, both dead to the world. Jessica would be there soon to keep an eye on them so the two men could head out, but for the time being the house was mostly all theirs.

The second shower was thwarted by another fast, desperate attempt to make the evening not as terrible as it was going to be. After that, they jumped into the shower to clean themselves up and it very nearly devolved into another mad dash for the bed. The third time, though, Hotch had some semblance of willpower and said no.

“We’re going to be late,” he whined when Derek’s hands slicked up his sides, thumbs grazing that tender skin where his thighs curved, lips dusting feather soft and wet. Soap suds and steamy breath and a palm planted against the tile for support like he might try something acrobatic right there in the shower. “Derek…” he protested again, weaker this time.

“I can’t believe we’re finally telling the team,” Derek had replied with hot lips dusting Hotch’s pulse. “No more lies.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat and Derek tasted it, the tension in that full stop. He knew what it meant before Hotch even opened his damn traitorous mouth. “Maybe we should wait another week.”

“Man…” Derek whined this time, stepping back, no longer in the mood. Well, less in the mood. Slightly. Very slightly. “Why?”

Rebuffed, Hotch frowned. “Because Strauss just died, and the team more or less just found out about she and Rossi. The timing is awkward.”

So, they finished in silence because Derek really couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t initiate a full argument right there in the shower. He finished first and stepped out, letting Hotch shower in peace. Now, the dust had settled, somewhat. It had been ten minutes since that conversation ended whatever game of hands was happening in the shower. They hadn’t spoken, not since the hiss of the shower died out and the steam was released from the bathroom to the bedroom. Everything settled quiet and still around them. With some urgency, knowing they were running late, Hotch shaved his face and tried not to cut himself in the process.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment all afternoon?” he asked impatiently, though he supposed if Derek was giving him the silent treatment it would bode well for not telling the team they’d been lying to them for months...years if you wanted to be specific, but that was a point of contention that was currently in the off-limits-for-discussion zone. Things got too heated.

Derek sighed and wandered into the bathroom, still naked, still undecided on suit color.

“Maybe.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Derek, squeezing toothpaste onto both of their brushes because he wasn’t a complete monster, stared at Hotch through the mirror. “Look. I get that you want to wait out of respect for Rossi, but I gotta ask...if the roles were reversed, if I died which I very nearly did if you recall, you think Rossi would do the same for you? I think the hell not.”

“He might.”

“He wouldn’t and you know it.”

Hotch didn’t want to consider the fact that Derek was right, even if it would be an easy conclusion to arrive at. Rossi hadn’t ever been the best friend, he could be decent when it served him but he was more generous than he was thoughtful. It was just that with the team being faced with not only Strauss’ death but the subsequent knowledge that she and Rossi had been involved in a relationship for at least the last year right under their noses...well Rossi might not have been so thoughtful, but that wasn’t the point. He was relatively certain he wouldn’t announce a relationship at a memorial...well, somewhat certain. A little certain.

“Just because Rossi might not think twice doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

“Aaron,” Derek said, the toothbrush clicking against his teeth while he scrubbed. He spoke around a mouthful of foam, a fact that made it a little hard for Hotch to take him too seriously but he forced a studious frown and tried. As the foam accumulated in the corners of Derek’s lips, he couldn’t help the ghost of a smile as it appeared on his face. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m tired of hearing the jokes about how I’m a dog, people asking how many hook-ups I nailed over the weekend and if I knew any of their last names. I’m a grown man, never been married, showin’ up to work lookin’ single and everyone talks. They’re out there assuming I’ve been sniffing around the clubs when I’ve actually been making pancake breakfasts and coaching Little League and chaperoning field trips and...dammit Aaron, clear my fuckin’ name already.” He was posing it as a lighthearted plea, but Hotch could see he meant it and if he was being honest, he hadn’t really considered that part of the equation.

“Do people really talk to you that way?”

“To use a Penelope-ism, oh you sweet summer child…” Derek spit the minty foam into the sink and smiled. It was a little sweet, but a little unhinged. “Of course they do. And maybe they’ll say something different or worse if they find out I’ve been sleeping with the boss but I don’t care, I just...I want to walk into Rossi’s house with you. I wanna sit beside you. I wanna hold your hand. I watched your helicopter crash, I thought you were dead and when I opened that door it took every ounce of willpower I had not to pull you out and hug you and make sure you were alright...I can’t keep doing this. Is it too much to ask that we just get to stop lying?”

Hotch, spitting his own toothpaste into the sink and running the water to rinse it down, shrugged. “I suppose not. Strauss and Rossi already proved that the Bureau doesn’t mind the fraternization quite as much as they claim to.”

“That’s the spirit!” Derek exclaimed, examining himself quickly in the mirror before turning back to Hotch with an evil grin. He was about to go for the kill shot – a compromise. Now that Hotch was in his corner, he would seek out a little wiggle room for them both. “How about this? We show up together, we don’t hold hands but we do sit together. Ease them into it.”

“You’re certain we can’t just wait one more week? Just let the proverbial dust settle a bit?”

“Uh-huh,” Derek replied, rinsing his toothbrush and approaching Hotch. He pressed his naked waist against Hotch’s towel, hooked his finger into the little twist at the front and popped it open. The towel dropped to the floor and Derek pressed closer. “I’m ready. And I know you are too. Besides, you’re about to be forced into her job and yours and I’m never going to see you again...this might be our last shot to even be in the room together.” That last shot put the nail in the coffin. Hotch nodded silently, uneasily, contemplating the impending explosion of responsibility he was about to take on. Sensing the shift, Derek reached around and grabbed a handful of Hotch’s ass, giving it a cheeky squeeze, the devil in his eyes. Hotch groaned but forgot all about the job, and just about everything else that wasn’t Derek. He had no choice. He needed this too.

“Fine. But we go easy. No big announcements, no drawing attention to it. If it comes up naturally, that’s fine but otherwise…”

“I’ll show you something that comes up naturally…” Derek whispered, his lips dusting a minty trail from Hotch’s collar bone to his pulse, up his jaw, and crash-landing in a bruising sticky toothpaste kiss. Hotch protested weakly. It was pathetic. He was completely and utterly whipped.

“We’re going to be late…” he whimpered, gasping between kisses. It was pointless. They were already headed for the bed.

“Fashionably.”

[dumfanting]

Tangles

AO3 Link

Rating: E, explicit, 18+ only

Warnings: Oral sex (m/f receiving), cum eating, PiV, fingering, love bites, light choking, being overheard

Another idea that hit me like a brick to the face. Enjoy!

F! Reader/ Hunter

You take a shower with Hunter. Y’know, to save water.

Words: 1753

Cid is ‘gracious’ enough to let you and the guys stay in a few rooms over the bar, and it’s not that you’re ungrateful, far from it, but some aspects of living here get on your nerves. Today, it’s the absurdly small water heater. With everyone else having stayed downstairs, you thought you could run upstairs and have a shower before anyone else in an effort to get a turn with the hot water.

However, when you get near the refresher, you hear the shower running already, and groan to yourself. It’s then that you realize you’d lost track of Hunter downstairs. You could work with this.

Another annoying thing about your quarters was that the floors would creak horribly, so even without his enhanced hearing, Hunter knew you were there almost instantly. The door was ajar, just enough to let some of the steam out, and from the other side, he calls your name.

“Looks like we had the same idea,” you say, walking closer, but not entering the space just yet. Yeah, you’d seen each other naked before, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve some privacy.

He laughed, then says “There’s not much time until the damn heater cuts out again, why don’t you just get in with me?”

You bit your lip, then push the refresher door open and walk inside, quickly shutting it behind you with no hesitation. You strip, then slip into the shower unit with him. Hunter smirks at you, then gently grabs your shoulders and swaps positions with you, letting you stand under the hot spray for a while. Making the most of it, you’re able to get your hair washed faster than usual.

As you do, you’re keenly aware of his eyes, roving up and down your form as you glide body soap around your breasts. You take a step forward, pressing yourself up against him, and you don’t need to feel his cock poking into your thigh to know that he wants you. You clasp your hands around his neck and pull him into a passionate kiss, and when he breaks away, he’s already breathing heavily.

You drag your fingertips along his spine, giggling when he groans. His hand slips between your thighs, but you firmly stop him, instead moving him back into his original place under the shower head. You then kneel before him, teasing him by rubbing up and down his strong thighs and avoiding his hard cock with another giggle. Without warning, you shift forward and suddenly take as much of him into your mouth as you can.

Hunter groans again, mumbling your name under his breath. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer, causing you to take more of him into your throat. You hum in satisfaction, the vibration making him curse. You begin to bob your head up and down, taking a little more of him with each pass.

You can tell he’s close by the way his thighs are twitching. You look up at him through your lashes, and you’re struck by how gorgeous this man is. His long hair, normally tied out of his face with a bandana, is loose and dripping with water. A few stray locks are stuck to his cheek, and others on his neck, and you so desperately want to run your fingers through it all. You redouble your efforts, moving your head faster and taking him even deeper, even managing to suppress your gag reflex.

“Fuck mesh’la, you feel so good,” Hunter says, screwing his eyes shut in concentration. You feel him shiver, and as he cums, you swallow around him, catching every drop effortlessly and humming as you do. He bends his neck back and stares up at the ceiling, the change in position freeing more of his hair as he does. With his chest taut and glistening with droplets of water you get a sudden urge to touch every inch of him that you can reach.

You sit back and release his cock with a soft pop, then carefully get back to your feet, being careful not to slip. When Hunter looks back at you, you can see how his blown pupils are blazing with lust, but it’s still mildly startling when he grips your shoulders tightly, pulling you even closer to him as he kisses you, not giving a damn about his own taste mixed with yours.

You sigh into him, holding a hand against his pounding heart and running your fingers through his hair with the other. You unexpectedly find a snag, and wind up accidentally tugging at him just enough to be noticeable. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear that Hunter had moaned when you did. You cautiously repeat the action and get the same result, but louder this time.

Hunter kisses you again, holding onto your ass with one hand and shutting the now cold water off with his other. He pulls away from you and carefully drags you by the hand out of the shower unit, and you eagerly allow it, following his lead. He slouches down and nips along your collarbone, hard enough to leave faint marks, and your legs tremble.

“Oh fuck, Hunter,” you whimper, dragging your nails down his back.

He growls your name. “Want you,” he says.

You manage to step away from him long enough to peek out into the hallway, and when you say “there’s nobody out there,” Hunter grabs your ass, and you obediently hop up as he lifts you off of the ground. You instinctively wrap your legs tight around his waist, hands clasped behind his neck again as he rushes down the hall and into the room you two share, still kissing you feverishly the entire time.

He absently kicks the door shut behind him, and lightly tosses you onto his bed, the springs of the mattress squeaking in protest. You scoot back, making room for him, but he stops you by gripping your ankles, pulling you back closer to him, then spreading your legs open and diving headfirst into your wet heat without pause.

His nose bumps your swollen clit as he pushes his tongue deep into your cunt, and you arch your back while cursing loudly. This goes on for about a minute, then Hunter flips you onto your side and crawls behind you. One hand grips your throat, just firm enough to hold you in place. Maker, the level of trust you have in him shocks you sometimes.

This thought is cut off when Hunters other hand snakes between your legs and he begins to work your clit from behind. You shiver, unconsciously grinding your ass backward against his still hard cock. You reach behind you and take a firm hold of it, steadily jerking him off in time with how he fingers you.

He hits that spot, the one nobody else has ever been able to, and when you gasp, he growls again and bites the side of your neck where it meets the shoulder, sucking a large, dark mark there.

The combined feeling of complete pleasure and a shock of pain sends you over the edge, and you cry out loudly as you come, soaking his fingers and the sheets below.

“That’s it mesh’la, cum for me like a good girl,” he whispers into your ear, making you whimper at the feeling of his hot breath on your neck.

The next thing you knew, you’d been flipped onto your back again, Hunter having thrown your legs over his shoulders and bending you into a perfect mating press as he effortlessly thrusts into you. He bottoms out quickly before pulling his hips back and snapping them back into yours with enough force to make the entire bed frame creak.

Panting heavily, he leans more of his weight down onto you while holding the backs of your knees roughly even with your head, folding you even further and pushing you closer to a second orgasm with each thrust. You moan out his name, and his head dips down into the other side of your neck, biting hard on that side too. Your hands fly up and tangle into his still-damp hair, and you tug on it again, eliciting another moan out of him.

He pulls away from your neck and kisses you deeply, his hair hanging into your face, flooding you with the smell of him. You move your hands from his head to his back, pulling his body even closer to yours. This makes the angle of his unfaltering hips hit you hard enough in just the right place, and you dig your nails into his back as you cum, crying out his name.

As soon as you do, with a final hard snap of his hips, his joints lock and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he fills you up.

Completely spent, Hunter's arms give out and he collapses on top of you, resting his head against your chest while he gasps for breath.

You slowly stretch your legs back out, eventually laying flat again, feeling completely boneless from the force of your orgasm.

Eventually, Hunter's breathing steadies, and he pulls out of you with a grunt, neither of you caring about the mess now leaking out of you. The two of you swap positions; your head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

The peace doesn’t last though, as the two of you are roughly yanked back into awareness when you hear Cid pounding on the door.

“Are you two quite finished? The whole damn bar could hear you! You’re lucky that Tiny wasn’t down there to hear it too!” She shouts.

You and Hunter both sit up, exchanging an awkward glance. You’d both been so focused on each other that you completely forgot about where you were and more importantly, who could have heard you. That’s a conversation neither of you were ready to have with Omega.

“Now put your damn pants on, I’ve got a job for you,” Cid says before walking away, the floors creaking loudly as she goes.

Hunter sighs and you lean over to softly kiss him. The kiss grows heated, and he pulls you into his lap. You giggle and push him backwards into the mattress, making the worn out springs shriek.

A split second later, you both feel a loud thump on the floor coming from downstairs, followed by a muffled “Are you kiddin’ me?” and can’t help but laugh.

————

Taglist: @kaminocasey @grievouus @madameminor @jennamelinda12

[willowser]

hi willow i was just perusing ur fic rec you just posted when i saw you mention if he’s a serial killer and of course I decided to re read it for the millionth time and now I wanted to say how much I absolutely adore it so much. The characterization of touya and his development of romantic feelings is just so, so wonderfully well done. I think about those two all the time— it’s just: what are they up to these days? has touya throttled kinjo yet? have they progressed to sleeping in the bed together rather than one on the couch? because they are just so special to me and I want to swaddle your touya in a heated blanket and make him a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream.

oh, oh !! 🥺✨️ thank you so much for sending this in !! i'm so glad you enjoy his characterization !! 🤗💐💕

what are these two up to these days !! let's see !!

warning for just dabi in general, as usual LOL also this got so fucking angsty and a bit sad ?? my b !!

dabi is — sitting in the dark of your room.

on the bed, looking at the window he's just come through, how the night has followed him in. the clothes he's wearing smell like people, weird as that is to say; not at all like the passion-blah-blah-blah detergent he's become spoiled on.

and you're — not home. before he clambered in, he knew that already, but even a shell of you is better than nothing. preferable, almost, or at least that's what he tells himself.

couple weeks ago, you mentioned seeing a movie together, asked if you should take the night off before your work schedule came out, but dabi thinks that's all a little juvenile, doesn't he? whaddya wanna do? tongue each other in the back row? as if he gives a damn what's popular these days, what everyone's watching or why. not like he's got a ton of time to consume the general media.

but he's still here now. in the absence of you and your passion-blah-blah-blah, picking the lint off your comforter. there's no telling how to work the fucking washing machine; it sings and has a lot of buttons and he's never really watched you put the soap in it, and all he needs is for you to come home and know he's been here 'cause he flooded the place.

still hasn't decided if he's gonna stay the night.

(well, he has, because he always does, but he's at least trying to entertain the prospect of skipping out. for the sake of his ego.)

a huff of laughter slips through his mouth and all his gaps, watching his mirrored image in your vanity. "fucking pussy-whipped, dude."

"oh, touya, don't say that," he raises his voice several octaves, eyes falling closed as he lays back on your bed. sinks into it, really, as if it's trying to swallow him whole. as if he wants it to. "watch your mouth, hm, hm, hm."

and then he laughs for real, because he's fucking stupid.

what do you look like right now, he wonders. how'd you do your makeup today, and if you wore your favorite scrubs or settled for the ones that are a little too big. who've you spoken to. who had the gall to make you laugh. after knowing your nearly every goddamn move for half his life, being in the dark — fucking literally — has him distracted. side-tracked, for the past two days since he's seen you.

you're asking a lot of questions lately. ones he can't answer. things are — moving into place, changing, and they're all preparing for the grand finale.

touya is supposed to be preparing for the end, and instead he has his face pressed into your pillow, trying to scent himself in you so that he'll go unnoticed, just for a little while. really shouldn't even be here because he's got real important lieutenant shit to do, but —

no. because he's fucking pussy-whipped. and he ain't even gotten any yet.

touya wonders if you'll take the night off, when he kills endeavor. if you'll take the week off, when he's killed in turn.

touya wonders who is gonna walk you home that late at night.

fight-or-flight kicks in when the keys sound in the lock, but dabi's preparing for the end, anyway, so he just lays there. watches the amber glow of your living room lamp as it's twisted on, listens to the soft sound of your footfalls and maybe a plastic bag or two. you mutter something to yourself and his lips twitch, and when you stroll into your room, your eyes are on your phone.

when the light flips on, he groans and buries his face, muffled. blinded. "ah, fuck!"

the wavering breath you gasp in has him snorting, and then the knock against the wall has him peeking at you, squinting. you've got a hand over your chest and your phone is face down on the carpet and you look like you've seen a ghost.

right now that metaphor sucks, with everything on his mind.

"touya," you exhale, and his toes curl in his holey socks like a little fucking schoolgirl. "god, you scared me half to death!"

right now that metaphor sucks.

"turn the damn light off," he groans again, "some of us are trying to get some shut eye."

your expression melts down into one he's used to; yeah, it's been two days since he's been around, but he's answered when you called — "just to check" — so you shouldn't be all pissy. a little upset, because that ain't hard to do, but this is the best he can give you, with the time he has left.

even after you flick the light off, he can make out the soft curve of your cheek and it releases him from some shitty, unnamed thing; he wouldn't call it fear or panic or anxiety, but maybe something like it, if he wanted to be honest. and he doesn't.

a little flicker of want comes to life in the pit of his stomach, at the sight of you kneeling on the bed to lay beside him. he's not gonna die without fucking the life out of you, but your touch is making him too jittery tonight. has him on edge, and not the sexy kind.

"well hello stranger," you muse, tucking hair behind his ear before fiddling with one of his hoops. tense as he is, he should probably tell you to cut it out, but — fuck it.

"i'm here to rob you. gimme all your valuables and i'll let you live."

and because you're a fucking — little weirdo, you just tilt your head and crinkle your nose, already grinning. "what if you are my valuable?"

"shut the fuck up," he gripes, back curling like a cat as he faces away from you. the lilt of your laughter drags across his spine like a fine point, making him shiver and itch. "though we were s'pposed to see a movie, or something? not kiss each other's ass."

despite the curtain he's closed in your face, you still scoot closer to him, press your face against his back. "well, i'm sure it's too late now, all the last showings have probably started." you take his silence for disappointment, and are quick to appease. "we can watch something here though, if you'd like."

"i was expecting popcorn."

you snort, "that'll probably hurt your stomach, but i can make some." silence unnerves you again and you poke at his hips. "do you mind facing me?"

dabi does mind — but moments like this are what he'll want to remember. you're so close that his nose bumps yours, but you just smile at him, a little shy, like he hasn't known you your whole goddamn life.

"missed you." gently, your eyes close, like you're so fucking content that you could fall asleep just like this. "i know you can't tell me, but...i hope everything's okay."

and — touya has to fist a hand in your hair and knock his forehead with yours — softly; he's not trying to have any repeat incidents.

"i said i'm here to rob you, now tell me where the money is," he grits, "and maybe i'll even keep you for myself. like a little housepet."

"my wallet's out in the kitchen," you hum, wrapping your hand over his own until his grip loosens. "you can have it, just don't hurt the guy here in my bedroom."

"fuck him," dabi rasps, and you gasp, all dramatics. "i'll torch the idiot."

"then i'll fight you." again with your grinning; you hitch a leg over his waist, like you'll straddle him any moment and — whew. okay, your touch isn't making him that jittery. "you'll have to go through me first."

it's fucking bullshit, how true that is; preparing for the end means letting go, unfurling the hand he's had on you for so long. the very idea has him rolling the two of you over, pressing you firmly into your passion-blah-blah-blah sheets so that you're stuck, with no means to escape. some feral voice inside touya's head reminds him that you're his, because he's fucking earned you. all the waiting and watching he did, how hard he's worked to get you like this; beneath him and laughing and unbothered by the macabre of his hands and lips.

preparing for the end: yeah, he's working on it, but it ain't something he's got time for tonight.

too bad, so sad, but — he's got a movie date.

[dawsmark]

The Hot Box -- Chapter 1

I’m sooo horny right now. 

The Wizards were getting their asses kicked. There was no need to watch the basketball game any further.  So, dick hard as a rock, I reached for the phone and called Deanna. 

It’s been a while since I’d seen her.  The last time I had, I had her pinned against the wall inside of Room 419 of the Sheraton Blue, her legs wrapped around my waist.  She had asked for us to see each other exclusively, but as fine as she was, a sex goddess on so many levels, I just couldn’t yet commit. 

Further, I needed to ask her about something.  

Something I found out earlier this week.

The phone rang six times before she  answered. “Hello?”  

“Hey, knockout,” I whispered. She took in a breath.  I chuckled inside.  “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing.”  She sounded like a sweet bird.

“Nothing, huh?  Same here.”  The fierce autumn wind rattled my window.  “I was thinking maybe, you know, if I could come—" 

“Yes.  All over me.”

Damn that was quick.

I laughed out loud.  She did too. 

“See you in a bit,” I said, and hung up.

I sprang from the couch, and headed straight for the shower. I stripped down in front of the mirror and was a little shocked at how solid my muscles were looking.  For the past eight weeks, I had been training for the Maryland Physique Pro and the diet I was on was finally working its magic.  Last checked, my bodyfat was around twelve percent, but according to some, I needed to come down another four if I wanted to place, another six if I wanted to win.  Everyone said this one was going to be mine, that I was robbed at the last show, and I couldn’t agree with them more. 

Politics.

Having done this for the past three years, I’ve become numb to it.  That, and the scrutiny.  To the average person on the street, I’m a stud. But on stage, with dozens of other guys who think they’re studs too, eyes are like hawks.  Judges really zero in on your flaws: from the way you stand, to the shape of the teardrop in your quads, to the separation between your pecs. 

For a long time, it was hard being told you ain’t shit, you don’t measure up.  They’d say you need more balance in your back (like, what the fuck?) or you need to come in with more conditioning (what the hell does that mean?).  You just want to go down to the judges' table and flip that motherfucker over. 

So why do I do this?  Why did I put myself under such scrutiny?

Because I loved this shit.  If I get it right, the little details that others don’t see, I’d be perfect. 

I mean, I already got the perfect dick, why not the body to go with it?

Yeah…

My dick.

There it was.  Long. Thick. Straight as a sword. With a mind and face of its own, waiting to dive into Deanna’s hot box.  

I kept my hands away, because the last thing I wanted was to be drained senseless before actually feeling warm woman skin.   As quick as I could, I stepped under a cold shower.

Beads of ice water hit my body like bullets, subsiding the beast within, and turning the water to temperature to hot, I was able to lather, wipe and scrub soap all over me in lascivious-free peace.

Ten minutes later and feeling steam-fresh, I strutted to my bedroom like Ric Flair. 

Crazy Ric Flair. 

My daddy put me on to him when I was little.  If you want to be the man, you got to beat the man.  I’m a high-flying, limousine-riding, diamond-wearing son-of-a-gun!  Wooo!

I slipped into some sweatpants, no underwear, hoping to give Deanna a treat.  I love the way her eyes slides down to the bulge while I’m trying to have a conversation with her; Me standing there acting like, what’re you looking at?

I put on my shirt and kicks, grabbed my phone and keys and headed out the door.

Life sure was good.

Last week, Allison.  Week before, Lindsey.  This week, Deanna.

“Heyyy, Kevin,” as soon as I got out the door.  It was Ms. Howard sashaying from across the street. The leaves flew up from the pavement and swirled around her as she came.  I couldn’t get to my truck fast enough. She caught me just before I could put the vehicle into drive. 

“Hey, Ms. Howard, how you doing?”

“Hm.  Why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some sort of a disease?”

Ms. Howard was fifty-plus, my aunt’s age, with long Jamaican locs and strands of gray around the ears.  Her earrings were large and plastic in the shape of African dancers.  She made mad bank working for Lockheed Martin but couldn’t keep a man for shit.  Her husband, a downtown tort lawyer, left her a long time ago. 

It was obvious she wanted me to give her the D, but I wasn’t doing it.  Nope.  No way.  Nada. 

She darted her eyes over my upper body, “Wanted to know if you’d like to come to my barbecue this weekend.  My grandson’s football team made it to States so we’re gonna party.  He’d love to see you again.”

I hated that li’l nigga.  I believe he stole one of my rings that time I had him over my house, trying to be a mentor and shit.                                                                     

“Me?  Why?”

“’You know why.  How often does a young man get to actually be around a pro football player.”

“I only did two seasons.”

“Two more than anybody I know.  And him either.  You could’ve been a benchwarmer for all he cares.”

And I thought, Really?  Because last time I remember, he called me a scrub, kept throwing my stats up in my face, and kept comparing me to Devin Jones, one of the best D-backs in the league.

“Um…let me get back to you.” 

“Get back?”  She playfully gave me side eye.  “Uh-huh…”

“Don’t do that, Ms. Howard.  Please don’t do that, I know what you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?”

“That I’m too good for y’all.”

“I ain’t say nothing.”

“You don’t have to say nothing.”

“Well…Are you? Big-time football player too important to hang out with us colored folks anymore?”

“Come on now, Ms. Howard.  You know I like that corn bread, sweet potato pie and ribs you be making.”

“Yeah, right.  Never no time for us.  Where you off to this time?  To see one of your little white girls?”

“Now, now, Ms. Howard, you know it’s not like that.  Look, I got to go.”

She sucked her teeth. “Gone then,” and let me get on my way.  But not before she reached out to touch my bicep I had hanging in the window.  She gave it a delicate squeeze.  My eyes followed her hand and then lifted back to her with a silent, What are you doing?  Sensing she went too far, her hand slid off.

She said, “You better come.  If you don’t, I’m coming over here and drag you over.”

“I hear you,” I said, and drove off, giving her the peace sign.

She called after me, “Saturday. 5 o’clock.”

I beeped the horn.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw her sashay back to her side of the street.  I then turned on some music and looked to the bleak October sky.

…I wasn’t going to her raggedy cookout.

[ashes-writing]

the power of love pt seven | stranger things ; s.harrington

TAG LIST BABES || REQ RULES + FANDOMS/CHARACTERS || GOT A ? || MASTERLIST

CHAPTERS ; 

one + two + three +four+five +six can all be found by clicking.

AUTHORS NOTES;

SO... this one is a step forward. Maybe. This is another one of my attempts at a slow burn that's actually not a slow burn fail yet. But I swear, y'all. Things are going to start to heat up real,real soon. I have an idea in mind for it, tbh.

Huuuuge hugs and thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and interact whether it be a like / reblog with tags / reblog / comment, you guys have kept me going more times than you realize. You have no idea how much it means to me and how happy it makes me bc honestly. I mean it when I say that I do not post with any expectation beyond getting rid of ideas in my head as they pop up. So this blows me away, it really does.

SUMMARY;

-- steve doesn't like soap operas but he loves likes having you around so he'll endure it.

aka, the one where you start off totally unaware of Steve Harrington and then you start to tutor him. Then you become friends. And this, of course, leads to other things.

PAIRING;

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Fem reader of no physical description beyond having female parts.

WARNINGS;

Swearing. Cute awkward domestic fluff. Steve is angsty, oh my god. But that'll be clearing up soon wink wink.

TAGLIST;

The only people on my taglist for Stranger Things currently are listed below. If you’d like to be and you aren’t, please go add yourself via the link at the very top of the post.

@ALLELITESMUT

@AURUMBELIS

@ARIES-ARCADE

@COLE22ANN

@HCLOANGCLS

@HEYAITSKLAUDIA

@ICEQUEEN1371

@KRYS-ORION

@LETSBEDRAGONSTOGETHER

@MUSICHEALSSCARS

@SCOOBIESSNACKS

@SUITS-AND-SMIRKS

OTHER STUFF;

Set in S2. After his breakup with Nancy. Upside Down + all assorted monsters and fuckery do not exist here and nobody dies (Barb is alive actually) it's just slice of life stuff.

He hates this stupid soap opera, but he’d never tell you this. Because the noise -and you being with him, are what really matter. He’s not alone, left to stew in his own thoughts in a big empty house whenever you’re around.

“Why are we watching this shit again?” your brother asks the question in an annoyed tone and you glare. “Because, damn it. Today is the day Luke Spencer will finally not fuck something up, I can feel it in my bones.”

“You say this every single time. I hate to tell ya.. He’s gonna do it again. I’m calling it now.” Steve chuckles as he says it. He doesn’t have the first clue what the plot is about for today’s episode. He doesn’t care to. But when you get angry and you rant at the tv screen like what you say will have any bearing on the outcome of whatever the fuck is happening, it’s kind of cute and you look hot when you’re annoyed, he can’t deny that if he tries.

He watches for you.

“Goddamn it, Luke, no. You stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” you throw up your arms in such a rush that the popcorn in the bowl on your lap spills out a little. “I’m gonna go punch something or flip a table over. Either of you want anything while I’m up?” you ask as you lean back in the doorway from inside the kitchen.

“The remote.” Dustin deadpans and you laugh. ��Not happening, kid.”

“Damn it.” Dustin frowns and grumbles. Steve clears his throat. “This show is bullshit.”

“You agree?” Dustin’s looking at him now, interested. Steve isn’t dumb, he sees that this is possibly getting his foot in the door just a little bit more.

There’s clanging and banging in the kitchen and Steve’s head snaps around on a swivel as he raises up to peer over the back of the sofa. “Damn it. I’m buying your sister a stepladder. What is it with her, huh? She takes anything higher than her head as a personal climbing challenge.”

“She always has.” Dustin answers. And then, it clicks for him and he grins. Checking to see if you’re still out of earshot, he gazes at Steve. “Do you like her?”

Steve freezes.

And then he gulps.

“I,uh.” he messes with his hair. “I mean, she’s my friend, duh.” he snorts, laughing as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world but Dustin shakes his head. “No. I mean do you like her, like her. Is she the girl you were talking about outside of the arcade that day when you said “There’s this one girl, I don’t think she’d hurt anybody, but..” and then you went quiet?”

Steve bites his lip and squirms a little. And he doesn’t know how to answer it. If he answers honestly, he’s not dumb, there’s a good 50/50 chance Dustin will tell you, because you’re close even when you’re arguing or he’s annoying you. But he wants Dustin to like him and more importantly, he wants the kid to trust him, so he takes a deep breath. Brown eyes fix on the worn leg of his jeans and after a few seconds, he finally finds the nerve to answer. “Yeah.”

After another deep breath, he gazes at Dustin. “You can’t tell her though. Pretty sure she doesn’t feel that way.”

Dustin gapes. And then laughs to himself. He could correct Steve in a heartbeat, but you’re his sister and that loyalty is one hell of a lot stronger. Besides, you know his robot broke your mom’s vase and he is not risking any of your mother’s wrath. 

“What’s so funny, huh?” Steve questions, because it stings just a little and he’s half expecting the kid to say something along the lines of him not being good enough or his past reputation. Dustin glances back at the kitchen, you’ve apparently decided that you’re hungry and you’re making pasta with that marinara your mother taught you how to make. 

And he thinks to himself, ,, screw it. Somebody has to clue this poor bastard in.” and with that thought in mind, he speaks up. “She likes you too. Just won’t say anything. I mean, she really likes you. She went on a three page tangent in her diary about it.”

The confession hits Steve like a brick wall full speed and full force.

“Diaries are private.” Steve scolds the kid gently. Dustin shrugs. “She left it on her windowsill when I was scavenging for quarters to use at the arcade. Besides.. I’m not telling if you don’t, got it, Harrington?”

You wander back into the living room and the rich and herby scent of whatever you were cooking wafts in with you as you hold a plate piled high with pasta. Steve pretends to pout but you hold out your fork to him. His mouth closes around the piece of pasta and his teeth scrape the fork as you gently pull it free from his mouth.

“Hey! You could’ve brought me some.” Dustin grumbles, pulling himself off the couch to go and fix himself a plate. Steve groans at the taste of the second bite he’s taken and you laugh softly as you shrug. “Good?” you tease gently, leaning your head against Steve’s shoulder for a second only to shoot up, yelling at the soap opera as it plays on the television in front of you.

“I told you so.” Steve chuckles through a mouthful.

“Oh bite it, Harrington.” you retort, pouting a little. 

And all Steve can do is sit beside you, stealing bites off your plate as he tries to wrap his head around what Dustin admitted to him. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out what to do with what he knows now.

On the one hand, it’s what he wanted to hear but honestly didn’t expect. On the other, what if he’s not enough?

The thought is persistent and it’s always plaguing him, never far from his mind because there are a list of people in life he hasn’t been enough for, his own parents being right at the top.

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (268): Fri 9th Dec 2022

Kanye West has caused controversy by saying that he “likes Hitler” and that he wasn’t all bad. And I suppose he has a point, not everything Hitler did was bad. For instance in all of those speeches he delivered he never once used auto-tune. It's hard to feel sorry for this guy because he's a moron who doesn't realize he's a moron and so when he says stuff like this it never occurs to him that is might be the worst thing that a human could say. I don't think that these recent controversies are all entirely down to his lack of intelligence and self awareness. Being married to one of the sexiest women on the planet and then her leaving him has clearly delivered a devastating blow to his ego and possibly driven him insane (and he was always sort of insane already so now he’s double insane). On the plus side this is probably going to be a huge boost for Kim Kardashian's ego. Imagine how much her self esteem has risen since Kanye made those comments. She probably goes around thinking: "I'm so hot the last guy I broke up with became a Nazi". Maybe that's what drove Hitler mental. He was probably banging a sexy lass when he was younger and she dumped him for someone else without a ridiculous moustache and Hitler's reaction was to fuck the entire world.

Read about the final episode of The Walking Dead and holy shit I’m happy I stopped watching seven years ago because if I was still a fan of the show I’d be so pissed off if this was the send off I got. Outside of the predictable cameo all longtime fans are probably expecting they really don't go out of their way. I assumed that the show would end with a cure for the infection being developed or something like that and in a way I admire them for feeling compelled to hand the audience a nice warm, happy ending but the way they chose to end it would seem like such an anticlimax if I'd invested a decade of my time to watching this show. This show was so damn good for the first few season before you started to realize that the plot of every season was: survivors find a place to live then people running the place turn out to be evil (spoiler alert; that happens in the finale too). Sometimes it really works when a film or TV show has a premise or plot-line that is never resolved such as in Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. We never find out why The Birds go crazy in that movie (maybe Kim Kardashian broke up with them?) but ultimately it doesn't really matter because the events of the film are still scary and captivating regardless of what the trigger was. I don't think the same is true of The Walking Dead though, I think this is the kind of show that would have benefited from having a central mystery that the characters come closer to uncovering with each passing season. However with no end goal the show just started to feel like a repetitive soap opera and I eventually tapped out because of this. It had a good run though and it did manage to become one of those shows that seemingly everyone was talking about. It was also one of the the final television exclusive shows to go big before streaming took over so it certainly made it's mark on popular culture.

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT SAINT LOUIS

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warnings: smut, 18+

-

Harry was doing his same script, he’s been starting every show but addressing the circular stage.

“Sometimes you’ll get m’face and sometimes you’ll get m’ass. Please, let me know if y’have a preference,” He gives the crowd a cocky grin, it widens when the audience goes insane with whistles and screams.

YN is standing off to the side, where she always stands with Harry’s friends and family who come and go - visiting them.

Harry’s eyes dart to his wife, when he sees her rolls her eyes at him, he points at her, speaking right into the microphone, “And you’ll be gettin’ the ass baby!”

The arena is near deafening with the fans who are fawning and cooing at the couples interactions, they all look back to YN.

She blows him a kiss and he dramatically snatches, smacking it right on his backside with a cheeky wink and purse of his lips.

He goes on with the show in his stunning red outfit that fit for Saint Louis perfectly - YN was matching him in a dark satin orange slinky dress that was undeniably sexy. It had Harry feeling her up backstage before he went on. ***

The fans loved that the couple matched at every concert.

YN loved watching her husband perform and after that comment about her getting his ass…well, it gave her some ideas for later.

The way the shirt he was wearing wasn’t buttoned enough so she could see the glisten on his chest, how the trousers hugged his perky backside like a sin.

It may be wrong, but everybody in this arena wanted him.

They want to hug him, kiss him, blow him, fuck him - but the only one who got that was her and she basked in it.

As Harry finishes with Kiwi, losing his absolute shit, YN and everyone else starts to head backstage. YN waves to a few fans and stops for a selfie or two before disappearing.

When Harry runs back to join, after dashing from center stage, he automatically finds his wife and wraps her up into a tight hug.

“Ew, bun. You’re extra sweaty, you definitely need to go shower,” YN crinkles her nose, pushing him off as he does stink a bit and is just sticky from sweat.

Usually, Harry would coerce his wife into joining him but they had quite a few friends who came to see the concert and YN was expected to entertain them.

“I’ll be thinkin’ about you, flower,” He teases, nipping her ear before chatting with their friends for a moment before he’s trailing off to shower and change.

-

YN waits a few minutes, enough time to guarantee he was already in the shower - soaping up.

She punches in the code to his locked dressing room, a soft smirk on her face as she steps over where he’s strewn the orange ensemble to purposefully piss off Harry Lambert - like always.

When she opens the bathroom door, she makes sure to be as quiet as possible - same as when she shuts and locks it behind her.

It a modern, standard shower stall and Harry is standing facing away from his wife - scrubbing his hair roughly to get the styling gel and grime out.

Harry’s shoulders are so broad.

His back is just…beautiful.

It’s so muscular, defined, and strong as he flexes his arms forward. Then her eyes trail down to his backside.

His bum was small, she loved to tease him and pinch it but it was muscular as well from those squats and wall sits he does in the gym.

After she quickly undresses, she steps in behind him into shower - pressing her chest up against his wet back and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Harry startles, nearly jumping out of his own skin before huffing out a laugh and leaning back into his wife, relaxing - well more like melting as he puts his weight on her.

“Thought y’were some crazy fan,” He jokes, hand coming down to cup the hers on his waist but frowning when she pulls back.

“Against the wall,” YN murmurs firmly, pushing him gently until his chest is against the tile and the shower head is pounding on his back and shoulders.

Harry shuffles forward, willingly albeit confused about what was going on and his wife’s demeanor as the cold of the wall hardens his nipples.

“Baby? Y’alright-“

“Did you wash yourself up already?” YN asks directly, hands rubbing softly at his sides, squeezing where his mini love handles are.

“M’body? Yeah, why-“

She cuts him off again, lips on his shoulder blade, “You told the crowd and me that I was getting your ass. I’m just holding you to your word.”

And when Harry realizes what’s about to go down, he lets out a low, explicit moan that echos throughout the bathroom.

“Yeah, baby, yeah,” He babbles excitedly, it wasn’t like this was something rare for them. They normally incorporated ass play into their sex life.

It was something about catching him off guard, when he’s vulnerable, and the post-show adrenaline has already worn off - making him malleable and pliant for his wife.

“You want to be all cocky, arrogant on stage, right? But look at you now, whining for your wife to touch you,” YN teases sharply, hand drifting down to squeeze his cheek hard enough to make him squeak.

“Baby. I’m yours, I’m yours,” He gasps, voice turning into a raspy yet high begging tone.

It was a tone of his voice that nobody in that crowd had or would ever hear. No, it was saved for her when she had him like this, like nobody else ever will.

“You don’t think I know that, Harry?” His wife laughs, fingers moving to sneak between his cheeks, pressing tightly against where he’s aching for her.

She continues, “God, I think everyone knows your mine. You can’t keep your eyes off me during the concert, parade around your wedding band, make sure my tattoo is always visible.”

“It’s ‘cause you- oh fuck, s’cause y’my soulmate,” Harry moans, pushing back on her fingers - wanting more but she wasn’t willing, “Need more, darlin’, m’close.”

She really wasn’t even doing much beside pressing at him, pushing in just the tiniest amount but he was grinding his hips against the wall a bit and her tits felt so good on his back.

Sometimes when he came off stage, he had absolutely no stamina.

Normally he could last but when he was adrenaline high and had basically edge himself in front of tens of thousands of people, it wasn’t going to be a long event.

“That’s really sad, H. Reminding me of when we were teenagers and you couldn’t last,” YN ends her rude statement with a bite to his shoulder before dragging her teeth down a bit.

It was just fun to get Harry worked up, he still acted the same from when they were younger - he’d get bratty and demanding, whiney, his chest and neck bloom into a soft pink color, and his eyes are a bit wet.

“Still just as much of a fool f’you, tha’s why,” Harry puffs out, hands continuously clenching and releasing over and over against the wall - like he wants to just make Harry wife touch him, tortured by her teasing.

“Fine, fine,” YN simpers, as if he was being a pain but she slips down onto her knees - hands dragging down his back and then his lean, solid thighs.

But in typical Harry behavior, he turns back and looks over his shoulder, “Sunflower, y’knees? We can move out of the shower.”

“Shush up,” She accentuates her words with a heavy handed smack to his right cheek and she chuckles when he gasps out a quiet, “Fuck.”

YN cups his cheeks, spreading them and leaning forward.

As soon as her tongue hits where he’s hot and tight, his legs twitch, and he puts his hands on the wall to brace himself.

“Darling, baby, baby,” Harry mewls, pushing back for more and hissing when she licks into him - his ring-bare hand leaning back to thread into her hair.

YN was planning to draw this out but she only gets a few directed laps before he’s moaning obsencenly, loud enough to hear through the god damn arena.

And then he’s gripping his cock, giving one firm tug, and he’s coming with pants and unfiltered, inconsiderate shouts of pleasure.

“S’good, m’good wife. S’no one better than you. Y’the only one who makes me feel like this. Crave y’like a drug, flower,” He praises endlessly, he turns around and helps her up - kissing her harshly.

When his hand comes to sneak between her thighs, she shakes her head and murmurs, “We don’t have time, H. Everyone is waiting on us.”

He pouts with his swollen pink lips, “I’ll take care of y’are the hotel, promise.”

“Mm,” She agrees, scrubbing the leftover shampoo bubbles from his hair as he tucks his face into her neck and tries make himself smaller.

Harry always gets a little sheepish after she does anything that makes him feel vulnerable, needs reassurance from her.

“Only with you, m’yours. Y’own my heart, ‘ave since we were fifteen,” Harry murmurs into her neck.

-

When they get themselves together, dressed, and exit the bathroom into the dressing room.

Harry Lambert is irritated as he is picking Harry’s clothing off the floor and putting it back on the hanger.

The stylist gives them a look, a knowing look, as he hangs the trousers on the rack.

“Fuck off,” The singer huffs, tugging his wife by the hand out of the room and to the car waiting for them.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Warnings: SMUT, insecurities but mark just needs a lil reassurance abt how good he makes you feel, finger fucking/sucking, he cums in his pants, fluff bc yall r in love love <3

Mark knows he's being irrational about this whole ordeal. One conversation shouldn't be getting under his skin like it is, but this one thing seems to be knocking at the forefront of his brain, throwing him out of focus as of late.

So what, you masturbate. It's normal, he's not there all the time, of course you do. He does too, but he also becomes outrageously horny everytime he so much as thinks about your skin or the way you kiss him. And it's safe to say he thinks about you alot. Alot alot.

"It's different, though? I'm a guy, we jerk off an outrageous amount," he argues, furrowing his eyebrows as you stare up at his pacing form from the bed, grinning. He's cute when he's flustered.

"And girls just...aren't supposed to get horny without the help of a guy?" You inquire.

He stops pacing at this, slumping his shoulders. "that's not what I mean, I just-" he sighs, plopping himself next to you on the edge of the bed. He chews on the inside of his lip for a moment before shaking his head.

"Nevermind, I'm just tired." He runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, looking at you apologetically with his big doe eyes.

You're still amused, giggling as you reach over to cup his rosy hued cheeks, pulling him to your mouth for a kiss.

"A little toy could never replace you, my love."

You'd reassured him that night by wrapping your lips around his dick, and he was too lost in the belly aching anticipation and bliss of it all, to really pay attention to what it was you'd just said.

A little toy.

He hasn't stopped thinking about it. It's both slightly irritating, while also being the new source of his sexual frustration when he's supposed to be practicing. He thinks it may be more irritating than the ladder though, because as much as he hates to admit it, he is a jealous creature. 

It's silly, childish and he knows it. Maybe that's why he's so unsettled by this, because he knows that you love him. He knows you like his dick, from what you've expressed. But, maybe he's doing something wrong?

Maybe you just don't want to to wound his ego, and instead act like his dick is enough to satisfy you. Of course, he knows some sensations are better than others, but how often do you need to touch yourself? Does he not please you enough in the moments you two are together?

These questions still nag him when he walks into your apartment at around 7:35 pm, causing worry to crease between his brows.

You, of course, pick up on this when you round the corner from your bedroom to see him making his way towards you, lost in thought. Your arms snake around his middle and your lips place a kiss to his jaw. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"What's got you all mopey?" You ask, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort in his eyes, only to be stumped by his undreadable expression. Maybe he's just had a long day?

He hums, broken from his self depricating reverie, evidently not realizing he's wearing his emotions so blatantly.

"Nothin' just tired, wanted to come home." He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder once you've pulled him into your room, his breath warm against your neck.

You must've just taken a shower, skin the scent of his favorite soap that always has him sniffing you randomly throughout the day. He squeezes you tighter.

You kiss the side of his head, reluctantly pulling yourself away only to grab his hands and move to the bed, not believing that there's nothing more than just fatigue that's got his usual goofy smile hidden behind such a frustrated countenance.

You crawl onto his lap once his back is against the headboard, his hands slipping underneath your shirt to rub your back, a habit when he's nervous. He knows what's coming, already avoiding your eyes.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, Mark Lee? No excuses, this time." You mean business, but your voice is still as soft and comforting as ever. He can't resist looking up at you once you stroke his cheek with your thumb, featherlight.

With a drawn out breath, he reluctantly responds, knowing it'll only eat at him further if he doesn't.

"It's just....I feel like maybe I don't do enough for you...sexually? Like, I know everyone masturbates and It's totally fine you use a toy and stuff, I just feel like...like maybe It's better than...than what I can do? I know I'm not the most experienced but-"

He's stuttering, ears tomato red at the tips and he's a bit perplexed to see such a jubilant smile spreading across your face as he rubs the back of his neck, embarassed beyond belief.

"Mark..." you cup his soft, blazing cheeks in your palms, forcing him to meet your gaze as squeamish as he's suddenly become. "you're that upset over something like this?"

You don't sound judgemental nor teasing, despite the way you're grinning. But still, he wants to hide his face, wants to bow his head in shame. Suddenly he feels very foolish.

Not being able to stand seeing him so crestfallen, you reassure him, trurthfully. Your heart aches.

"Hey hey, look at me bub," wide doe eyes stare back at you, as you move some of his hair out from in front of his forehead where the strands have fallen. "you are more than enough, so good that when you're away I cant stand it. I have to touch myself, and I'm not just saying that."

His expression has regained some confidence, though you're not done yet. You've got this determination swirling in the pit of your belly, thrumming through your veins. You want him to know how truly incredible he really is, how good he really makes you feel.

"I think about your hands, your mouth, your dick. And you know what? By the end of it I'm not even satisfied, because that little toy isn't you. Do you understand? Hmm? Or do I have to show you?"

Suddenly his heartbeat is loud in his ears, adams apple bobbing as he swallows. He's hardened underneath you and you known that you've got him.

"I-I understand, now. But you could still show me, you know. If you want." His voice is a little unsteady but the corners of his soft, pink mouth twitch at the corners with an echo of a smile.

It's too much, Mark Lee absolutely will be the death of you. And so you kiss him, in a way that has his toes curling and his arms wrapping around your middle like a boa, refusing to let go.

Your fingers are tiwsted in his hair as you suck on his plush bottom lip, a gasp leaving his throat when your teeth nibble the sensitive skin. He can feel your hardened nipples through your sweater, pressing against his chest.

Your knees have tightened around the small of his waist as well, crotch rubbing against the strained bulge in his basketball shorts. You whine into his mouth.

"Mm, you should feel how wet you make me," his hands venture lower at this, until his warm fingertips are pressing into the flesh of your thighs. "go ahead Markie, touch me."

He groans, not being able to hold it back from his chest at the sound of your voice and your generous offer. His fingers, delicate and eager rub your pussy through your lounge shorts, and his jaw slacks a bit at your lack of underwear.

Your tongue slips against his, mouths parted and greedy while he slips his hand into the warmth of your shorts - and practically whines.

He wasn't expecting the abundance of your essence, the utter and complete lack of friction as his digits glide effortlessly through your silken folds. He takes his ring finger and presses the pad of it against your entrance, circling and listening to the lewd, slick sounds.

"Oh fuck," he croons free hand on your lower back and urging you against his touch. "you're s-so wet already, how are you so wet?" He's mystified, and completely fucked.

"I told you." You kiss him again, swallowing his reply and grinding your pussy against his palm. Without warning, he slips a finger in, and then another, falling apart at the way your walls so eagerly welcome them. He trembles.

"Mm, Mark." You're reaching down, underneath his arm and gripping his length, hot in your hand underneath the slinky material of his shorts. He twitches.

Suddenly his fingers are curling inside of you, and he begins to languidly pump them in and out of your sopping heat, on fire from his toes to the top of his head. You have to grip onto his shoulders, momentarily forgetting your previous endeavor of palming his dick.

He doesn't mind, not when you're whining like this, fingers digging into his skin, your body rocking against his while your walls hug and squeeze around his digits.

"Does it feel good?" He asks genuinley, but already knows the answer, too high off of this moment to not want his ego stroked. Your eyebrows are furrowed, lips kiss bitten, skin hot to the touch. You can barely make out an answer, and he swears all the blood in his body rushes straight to his dick.

"S-so good Markie - harder, please." You bury your face in the crook of his shoulder as tour thighs tremble around his narrow hips, lips trembling against his throat. He obliges you happily, anything to have you wilting against him like this. To hear more of the sounds you're making, for him.

Anyone outside the door would know whats going on, with the squelching of your wetness and the vigor in which he's fucking you with his fingers, heel of his palm nudging your clit with each thrust. You already feel that pit of pressure inside your belly expanding, so close to the brink of exploding.

He's fairing the same, if he's honest. You're rubbing up against the painful, throbbing boner in his bottoms, hidden behind only a thin layer of clothing. Your juices have leaked, leaving your own shorts wet at the crotch and the sight is erotic in a way that makes him buck up against you.

His free hand cups your face when he adds a third finger, pulling you from his shoulder to look at your face.

He damn near blows his load right then and there.

You look like you're on the verge of tears, not able to hold yourself up straight. A blush burns his skin, when you lean into his touch, fingers grasping at the front of his white tee.

"M'gonna cum soon Markie."

His heart threatens to explode from his chest when you turn your head and suck his thumb into your warm mouth, closing your eyes and bliss while his fingers pump into you, buried to the third knuckle.

This causes him to thrust into you with a sudden jolt, and the way his fingertips rub against the sweet spot deep inside of you, has the build up of pleasure finally spilling over like a broken dam.

The fingers on either of his hands are soaked now, one with your saliva and the other with your cum. You're gripping onto his wrists, letting him massage the inside of your walls while they contract around him, eyes rolled to the back of your head.

The sight, the feeling, is too much. You're a mess, a beautiful, sopping wet mess and without warning it's like a freight train is hitting him at full force, cock twitching willdy as pure bliss seeps through his pores.

You're still shivering, humping his hand while spurts of cum fill the inside of his shorts, dripping down the crease of his thigh and even soaking through the material a bit. Your eyes are barely able to open, but you will them to when you hear the almost imperceptible groan that strains from his throat when your heartbeat finally stops drumming so loudly in your ears.

Your belly lurches, skin tingly to the touch as he slumps against the headboard, peering up at you with more adoration than you can handle.

"I-I came in my pants." He breathes out, panting heavily alongside you. The thrill that runs down your spine like a tremor at the realization that he's cum, untouched, because of you, is what allows you to have half the mind to pull his fingers from your aching heat - replacing the others in your mouth.

His head lolls to the side, honey eyes trained on you like it’s impossible to look away while you suck your juices from his digits, humming around them. It's like he's staring up at the sun, mesmerized.

And then you're kissing him, and he's sure he's gone to heaven. He tastes you on the tip of your own tongue, and you're so sweet, so tender when you grasp his cheeks.

"I came in my pants too, by the way. Technically." You smile, and he chuckles warmly, giddy. His arms encapsulate you and he nudges the tip of your nose with his own.

The toy can have its fun, he thinks to himself. Because really, truly, nothing - and no one, will ever be as lucky and as enamored as he is with you.

[irrelevantwriter]

White Flag

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, slightly vulnerable Rio, declaration of feelings (sorta?)

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Part 5. Two months without seeing or speaking to Rio has left a significant mark and feelings finally decide to show themselves. Kinda.

A/N: I hope everyone had a good holiday or at least a chill Friday. I come bearing gifts with the next part of our favorite toxic saga. More smut for my lovely readers. But first, some plot. We jump right into it and just like our favorite non-couple, we gloss over a lot of bullshit and get right to the filth. But as a Virgo I love communication so I have to make these two stubborn assholes talk about their issues a little. At least in a vague way. Also, Rio has his read receipts on bc he is a petty king. There’s one more part after this and it's all naughty fun from here. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

A/N dos: I’m thinking about making the next part strictly from Rio’s POV. I feel like it’ll give us a peek into what he’s thinking and a new take on the series thus far. I’m excited to explore that so let me know what you guys think!

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 6 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

“So you’re just gonna eye fuck the hot stranger at the bar all night?”

Your friend’s teasing cut through the haze, jolting you back to the dimly lit bar. The music boomed around you while people drank and danced, enjoying the Saturday night out in the same way you and your girlfriends were.

“I was not.” You insisted, though the coy smile you wore said otherwise.

The group of women scoffed and rolled their eyes, seeing right through your faux innocence.

“Besides,” You started, taking a sip of your drink as the song changed into a bass heavy melody. “He’s not even my type.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Kara interjected with a raised brow, shaking her head.

You opened your mouth in surprise, but bit back your response when the other women chimed in.

“She’s right.” Evelyn agreed, throwing her dark hair over one shoulder.

“We knew you in high school and college, remember?” Nikki threw in, pursing her lips knowingly in your direction.

“Okay, so?” You said with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

“You were all over guys like that when we were kids. Paul ended up being the black sheep of the bunch.” Kara reminded you with a laugh, Evelyn and Nikki joining in with their own drunken giggles.

“Yeah, we were convinced you’d marry a felon with tattoos and not a real estate broker who wore khakis.” Nikki quipped, causing another round of laughter and snorts.

“Okay, okay...I get it. So I had a type. I think I’ve grown out of it.” You cut in, sounding as if you were trying to convince them as much as yourself.

“Not if the hottie at the bar has anything to say about it.” Evelyn joked with a wink.

You shook your head as you took another sip of your drink, unwilling to let them see you flustered. Or that they were in fact correct. You definitely still had a thing for bad boys...bad men to be more specific.

The evening had been going smoothly so far. It was a rare girl’s night out. An event that happened only once every five years when kids were shuttled off to babysitters or their fathers, and the women were able to enjoy an adult meal with adult beverages. Schedules between four busy women didn’t often align so when they did, you all jumped at the chance to indulge in the nightlife you’d left behind in your younger years.

You’d been the one to suggest the bar. It was a swanky, sophisticated space with an air of youth. The perfect mix for your outing. You’d been here only one other time.

With Rio.

Thinking of the man made heat pool low in your stomach, despite your lingering frustrations. It’d been two months since that shit show of a night at your house. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. After that debacle, you blocked his number. As childish as it may have been, you were angry. Still were. And rightfully so. He’d been a complete dick. He’d chosen the most inopportune moment to make adjustments to your arrangement. He’d been careless in his deliverance, harsh even. The entire exchange had you questioning everything. And instead of analyzing the situation and communicating like adults, you’d decided to stop all interactions with him. You’d wanted to send a message. Just as he had with you.

After the argument, you’d been an anxious mess in the days leading up to the next drop. But it was all for nothing because Rio wasn’t there. And neither was the new contact he’d told you about. Instead, Mick was waiting for you and offering up no other information. And it’d been that way for two long months.

In the days since, your mind wandered to Rio often. Your body lingered on his phantom presence constantly. You replayed the conversation you’d had a million times over and each time it made deep fury spill over and mix with the lust still raging like white water rapids through your veins. You missed his touch. Missed his desire for you. Missed the way he made you feel, so supremely sexual and wanton. All things you’d been lacking in your marriage. And now they were suddenly hitting you square in the face and begging you to pay attention. Begging you to not lose the source of your sudden awakening.

You missed the toxicity of your interactions. You were two twisted souls fighting for control over a situation that belonged to neither of you. And in truth, the basis of your relationship with Rio was denial and attraction. It would continue to thrive on that as long as you both refused the obvious.

So maybe, just maybe you’d come to the bar in hopes of seeing him in order to test that theory. It was a slim chance he’d even be here, but you were just buzzed enough that you were willing to roll the dice and find out. Plus, your desire for him felt like an extension of your body at this point. You had to satiate it. Had to feed the raw passion that grew stronger each day without him. It demanded it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But your own hand didn’t ignite your body the same way his did, asshole or not.

“I’ll be back.” You called over the music, gesturing to the darkened hallway that predictably led to the bathrooms. Your friends nodded and went back to flirting with the handsome blue-eyed waiter.

You shot a meaningful glance in the direction of the bar. To the “hot stranger”. Whether or not he’d take the hint was on him.

You made it to the single-use bathroom easily. It wasn’t late enough for it to be crowded with the surge of a Saturday night crowd, but the place was still busy. You set your purse down on the sleek surface of the sink counter, admiring the emerald green tiles that paved the walls. The fixtures were brass and gleamed in the light of the vanity bulbs. It was a beautiful space. Carefully crafted for a magazine like Architectural Digest.

Your eyes swept over your reflection in the large mirror that sat over the sink. You made sure not a lash was out of place as you surveyed your appearance. You adjusted the low neckline of your yellow dress, the hue radiating more gold than you’d initially noticed. The silk material felt cool against your heated skin, the slit in the skirt offering some relief. The long sleeves of the garment added a sleekness to the otherwise risqué ensemble. You’d never worn the dress. But tonight seemed as good a time as any to debut it.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open made you pause, eyes watching in the mirror for who entered. You wondered if it’d be him. Wondered if he ended up following you like you’d hoped.

Your stomach knotted when Rio stepped in, closing the door and locking it with a resounding click. He was stoic. Shrouded in black and looking every bit as menacing as he truly was. A sight for your sore eyes.

You turned to face him, your chest both tightening and expanding at seeing him in the flesh. He made your heart stutter and your spine tingle, yet irritation slowly seeped into your pores, reminding you of the last interaction you’d had with him. It was a clash of sensations and feelings. It was utter chaos. And it's what you’d been missing.

Silence hung in the air as his gaze roamed your figure, appraising you hungrily. You shivered, careful to hide the gesture from his intense stare. You schooled your features and angled your chin up in confidence that you weren’t entirely sure you felt. But you weren’t going to budge. You were going to make him come to you.

He was leaning up against the door, a barely there smirk adorning his lips. His scent began to eclipse the smell of vanilla soap that permeated the air. Your eyes wanted to roll back at the familiarity of it. It was soothing. A comfort to your deprived senses.

“You miss me, mama?”

That deep rasp made your panties soak immediately. It was a question he’d asked you many times in the past, but you’d never felt it as much as you did now. Because yeah, you did fucking miss him.

You stayed silent.

He chucked at your refusal to answer. “Still mad at me?”

Again you said nothing.

He licked his lips, eyeing yours as he did. “I tried calling.”

“I blocked your number.” You finally responded, voice icy and detached.

“Damn, that’s cold.” He said with an amused shake of his head and a laugh, the sound making your nipples harden in traitorous lust.

“Why? Did you need something?” You questioned coolly, crossing your arms over your chest to hide your mounting arousal. Your thighs rubbed together, beginning to slid against each other as your arousal made itself known.

He stepped forward, heading in your direction with intent. You straightened your back, unwilling to let him get the upper hand on you. You knew what was going to happen. Knew where this was headed. So why not use it to your advantage? Why not toy with him for a change? He deserved it. 

You used the added height of your heels and eased yourself onto the countertop, parting your thighs slightly so that your dress fell between them. You leaned back on your hands, the chill of the marble countertop beneath you reminding you so much of that day in your kitchen.

Rio’s steps halted momentarily as he watched you, eyes zeroed in on the juncture between your thighs that was hidden behind the silk. Your pussy practically begged for his attention. Dared him to see your need through the fabric that shielded you.

You were still upset with him. Still displeased with the way he’d chosen to handle the situation and you. But more than anything you wanted him to succumb to you. You wanted to feel that thrill of having him at your mercy. So powerful, yet so fragile in the midst of his bliss. You wanted...no, needed him to wave his white flag first.

“Tell me then,” You began, slowly easing the hem of your dress up as you spoke. “Business or personal?” You questioned, wanting to know if he’d be truthful about why he’d tried to contact you.

He resumed his path towards you with a dangerous lick of his lips, but his gaze never faltered as it took in every new stretch of skin that was revealed. He tried to reach out and touch you, but you raised a heeled foot to his abdomen and stopped him, keeping him at a distance.

“Answer me.” You breathily demanded.

His face registered your words while his eyes took in the stretch of leg that kept him away. You eased the limb back down and waited for him to comply.

He decided to play along.

“Business.”

He continued walking when you didn’t stop him, standing between your legs and trailing his fingertips along the inside of them. His movements shifted your dress up even higher onto your thighs. The sensation would’ve tickled if you weren’t already deliriously turned on.

“Liar.” You accused, already feeling his warmth radiate onto you as he edged closer. His breath mingled with yours, mint and whiskey assaulting your nose.

“So are you.” He retorted, eyes planted firmly on your parted lips. He moved in until you were sure he could do nothing else but touch his mouth to yours. And yet you still weren’t going to meet him.

“So we’re both liars?” You asked, arching a brow up at him.

“Yeah.” He nodded and swallowed, the tattoo splashed across his throat pulling your focus. You fell captive to his spell as you got lost in memories of licking and sucking the inked flesh, remembering the way he tasted on your tongue. The recollection caused your legs to widen and your back to arch into him, pushing your chest against his. God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly that your pussy clenched around nothing, as if feeling him already deep inside you. It was a silent call to a lover. One he would never hear. But he’d feel it soon enough.

Your clit throbbed against your lace panties, aching to be assaulted by his talented fingers. With him so close you could feel just how badly you needed him inside you. It felt wrong for him not to be. Felt wrong to not have him share a pulse with you when he was this near. You were going to remedy that.

“Well then,” You whispered, leaning forward to hover over his lips. “I don’t want you to fuck me in this bathroom.”

His hands glided up your thighs while his nose skimmed along your cheek. His breath was hot against your ear as he maneuvered himself so that barely a sliver of air was left between you.

“So I won’t.” He lied in return, the words coating you like his cum had done numerous times before.

In an instant your lips were being pulled to his. His hands were suddenly everywhere and all at once, seeking out your flesh in desperation. It pleased you to know just how badly he needed you. How badly he craved you.

He slid you closer to him, letting your lace-covered lower half come into contact with his crotch. Ragged breaths and low hums filtered through the air as your bodies grinded against each other, seeking firm hands. You could feel him pressed against the zipper of his dark pants. He was hard. The notion made you moan into his mouth, scraping your nails over his scalp.

It was just like riding a bike. Except there was an added layer of intensity this time that hadn’t been there before. His touch burned hotter than usual. Your grew cunt wetter with every pass of his tongue along yours. They weren’t new sensations, but they felt different. Indescribable. Perhaps it was the public sex. Perhaps it was the underlying tension. Either way, it was remarkably explosive.

You pulled away from his insistent lips to take in air. He continued on, mouth moving over your neck and across your exposed cleavage. He nipped at the flesh, his lips sensuously soothing the area as he explored. You pushed into him in invitation, widening your legs so that he could press harder into you.

You waited for him to take the next step. Waited for him to escalate the moment into more than just heavy-petting and sloppy kisses. His hands, as if reading your mind, traveled up the skirt of your dress and found the edge of your panties. There was no hesitation or teasing in his movements as he roughly pulled them off, the elastic popping against your skin and making you cry out.

Rio licked at your neck in apology, his own hands now moving to his belt. You shifted closer to the ledge of the counter and followed the trail of heat that led to his pulsing cock. His flesh bumped against you, the feel of him hot and heavy along your soaked slit making you whimper.

Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt as he pushed forward and sheathed himself inside of you in one hard thrust. You gasped and tightened your legs around him, your right hand in search of something solid. It landed on the mirror behind you, your palm sticking to its cool surface as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

His facial hair scratched at your skin as he buried himself into your neck. He held your hips steady as he retreated and then plunged back into your welcoming walls, stretching you with a burn that made you hiss. Your pussy massaged his length with fervor, seducing him further inside and begging him to claim you once again.

You reached for anything you could to stabilize yourself as he fucked you into the reflective glass at your back. Moans and groans intertwined as your bodies rocked against each other. The soap dispenser fell into the sink with a loud clatter as you accidentally made contact with it. The stack of towels folded neatly near the faucet became disheveled as your ass knocked them out of place with the momentum from Rio’s cock. The entire vanity shook with each intensely thorough thrust of his hips into your womb. It was animalistic. The very epitome of what bathroom  sex in a bar should be.

No words were said. None were needed. Your actions led the conversation.

You squeezed your inner muscles around him, daring him to surrender before you. He twitched, his hips stuttering at the feel of you so tight and wet around him. He growled into your ear, a sure sign that he loved the gesture a little too much.

So you did it again.

“Stop that shit.” He grunted, hips picking up their pace.

“Cum.” You whispered in response, the demand disguised as a request.

“Fuck…” He groaned when you held him to you and clenched around him once more. You trapped him, giving him no choice but to experience your deliberate enticement. His fingers dug into your thighs almost painfully so, forcing you to wince.

He was close.

You reached between your bodies and massaged your clit, feeling your pussy react immediately. Sporadic tremors vibrated your walls and his cock, making both of you moan. Rio’s palm slammed into the mirror at your back as he rutted his hips harder into yours. He was rough and unforgiving, the aggression heightened by your disobedience. It had never quite been like this. There had always been a touch of softness, a soothing placation or word of encouragement. Not tonight. Not as he fucked you so hard you were sure the mirror was going to crack and rain down luminescent crystals of glass over you both.

You showed no mercy as you forced him to submit to you and your body. The precipice was there. It was within reach. You could feel that tightly wound coil ready to unravel. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Your mind was a prisoner to your pleasure. You thought of nothing but the sweet release that you knew was waiting for you. And it was. It was waiting for you with open arms as Rio finally came, triggering your own climax as he filled you so deliciously full of himself. His entire body tensed within you as he held you firm and painted your shuttering walls.

The familiar sensation only added to your high as your limbs tensed and loosened with each wave of euphoria that washed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and catapulted through space as your body struggled to ground itself once again. Rio had gone rigid, letting you ride out your orgasm in peace as you suffocated his cock. His cum was already leaking from your walls before you’d even finished, a trail of him decorating your swollen pussy.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him staring back at you, his lips pulled into a lazy smirk. You mirrored his expression, releasing a breathless chuckle. Your body still hummed in excitement, but this time it was punctuated by the deep satisfaction that radiated from between your thighs.

“You good?” You teased, hands resting on his chest and feeling the rapid beats of his heart beginning to slow.

He laughed, the sound low and tinged with fatigue. “Yeah.”

He licked his lips and took in your disheveled state, gaze catching a glimpse of the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Let me drive you home.” He said suddenly, his arrogance alive and well.

It was on the tip of your tongue to deny him, but you chose not to.

“Sure.”

**********

The car ride was silent.

After your impromptu coupling in the bathroom, you’d made up an excuse about not feeling well to your friends and explained you’d already called an Uber. They were hesitant to let you leave alone, but somehow you’d persuaded them to stay and not follow you. You were sure the alcohol they’d consumed had something to do with it.

With hugs and promises of texts that everyone made it home safe at the end of the night, you departed from the bar with Rio in his Mercedes. He’d been driving for about ten minutes, the air not as tense as it’d once been. He seemed content to let the quiet linger, but you weren’t.

“What happened to the new guy?” You asked, glimpsing his face to gauge his reaction. It was dark in the vehicle, but you could still make out his silhouette amongst the various street lights.

He furrowed his brow and pouted his lips, confusion reading easily across his features.

“What new guy?”

“My new contact. The one I was supposed to have.”

“Didn’t work out. Mick has it handled.” He replied simply, gaze still trained on the road in front of him.

“Okay.” You said with a nod, the dryness in your tone letting him know you didn’t quite believe him.

He wordlessly turned onto your street and came to a stop alongside your driveway, putting the SUV in park. He angled his body to face you, trapping you in his stare.

“It was never about you.”

The question must’ve shown on your face because he continued.

“The switch. It wasn’t about you.”

“Wasn’t very convincing.” You deadpanned, scoffing as you played with the zipper of your clutch.

He didn’t react right away. Instead, he watched you. Watched you in that way that let you know his thoughts were as impure as the counterfeit money he produced.

“You look good in that dress.” He complimented, chin jutting out and gesturing to the fabric that adorned your body.

His praise made warmth bloom in your chest. The kind of warmth that was usually accompanied by butterflies in your stomach.

“Thanks.” You replied evenly, not letting him see just what his words did to you. Though you had a feeling he did, despite not bearing witness to it outright.

“Better without it.” He added with a slide of his wicked tongue across his bottom lip, his teeth following. The action was purposeful. Erotic. Blatant. It was all Rio.

You didn’t respond to his flirting. You only sighed, mirroring his position as you resigned yourself to have an honest conversation with the man.

“So,” You started, forcing your fingers to still. “What is it that you want?”

He eyed you for a long moment. Long enough that you started to feel self-conscious.

“You.”

You nodded, disappointed but not shocked by his reply. The word wasn’t new. Though it was lacking the hollow cockiness that usually accompanied it.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke up before you could.

“In whatever way you’ll let me have you.” He admitted.

The statement caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to be cute or charming. He wasn’t being placating or condescending. He was being serious, the hardened intensity in his dark orbs softening to a tender resignation that you were sure matched yours.

“What about you? What do you want?” He repeated back to you, eyes narrowing as he waited.

You took a moment to observe him. Your eyes followed the arch of his brows and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. You studied the pout of his lower lip and his Adam's apple as it bobbed with his throat muscles. He was so many things to you. None of which you could put into words. You didn’t think a word had even been invented yet. It didn’t matter. You were both making your own rules. And it seemed, for once, that the both of you were on the same page and playing by the same rules.

“I want you to have me.” You confessed, meeting his gaze.

And there it was. He was resigned to having you in limited capacity. You were resigned to finally letting him have you. Two conclusions coming together at the same moment. You weren’t quite sure what that meant for you both, but it was a start. 

“Goodnight.” You whispered into the darkened cab, a small smile pulling at your lips.

You didn’t wait for him to react. You turned and opened the door, exiting the vehicle. He didn’t try to stop you. You rounded the front of the car, hearing the driver’s side window slide down.

“So I’ll see you next week?” Rio asked out the open window, chin resting in his hand.

“At the drop?”

He nodded.

You shook your head and laughed, though there was no real humor behind it.

“You wanna tell me again it wasn’t about me?” You challenged, a wide grin decorating your face.

He could deny it. He would probably try. But you knew the truth. And that was enough.

For now.

“Night.” He called, an amused upturn of his lips showing in the light of the full moon.

He turned to the street, starting the car as you walked up your driveway. His eyes followed you the whole way, ensuring you made it in safely.

You heard him drive away once you shut and locked the front door, your lungs releasing a long breath. You pulled out your cell phone and went to your blocked caller list. You selected Rio’s number and unblocked the listing, adrenaline releasing into your bloodstream as you did.

Almost immediately your screen lit up with a text.

Same time and place tomorrow?

You bit your lip, feelings akin to teenage infatuation bubbling to the surface. You hastily typed a response.

See you there.

The message was read immediately. 

Rio Tags:

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