Hi I'm Alex! I'm 19. I am into K-pop. My top favourite bands are Ateez,Stray Kids and Seventeen.
I am a Switch who is pan sexual and polyamours, Not take.. Yet ;)
Hi! you can call me Alex! I am Genderfluid! My pronouns are They/He/Her
I am 19, and i am a switch! I am polyamours and pansexual, DM's are open! I'd love to have a sub to take care of and love! I'd also love a dom to take care of me and treat me like the puppy I am. I am a little. I can also be a very needy little and a very needy puppy, that needs strict rules to help me behave!
Kinks: Pet play, spanking, BDSM, size kink, biting, bondage, voice kink, hand kink, little space, breeding, collaring my sub, More that i can think of rn
Limits: Scat, blood, gore,photos (of myself)
Things I like (non kink):
Reading
Swimming
Music (Rock, specifically 80's-90's)
K-pop (Han and Hongjoong and Seonghwa and Lee know)
Skateboarding
Chocolate
bowling
History
Singing (14 yrs. of experience)
*Note: I will not send photos sorry, unless i get to know you in DM's
If you do not have your age in your bio i will block you, Minors DNI!! 18+ only
i imagine the live camera feed goes off one night while youre lying in bed. new sheets still hugging you warm after the dryer. the boys are off doing their personal night routines, heavy guard dogs lay at your feet.
with the chime of your phone, a notification alerts you of outside movement. you consider it to be a waving branch or passing car, yet check it nonetheless. something about inner intuition.
youre glad you did.
watching silently as someones shadow skirts along the darker parts of around your house. passing the kitchen windows with a ducked head, then round the back.
"fuck," you bite your lip. sighing quietly as you toss your phone. "johnathan!" four heads from the bathroom peek around the doorframe slow, eyes open with the use of a full name. johnny fights a grin, ready to watch his captain get chewed out by their lady.
"..ye' love?"
"theres some weird guy wandering 'round the house outside," you inform dryly. plucking your phone back up and leaving said comment there. you reach for your wine glass on the bedside table, sipping as their hearts fall to their ass.
sure, anxiety stirs low in your gut. nipping at your reason and concious. but youre also keen of what your boys have lived through, the dirtest negotiations and most horrific actions.
alway do they come back home into your arms.
you could blame it on pure lack of sleep, but its nicer to pin it on the assumption youre probably the safest person in town.
so you continue with scrolling through ao3.
paying a half mind as military tense rounds over their bodies. simon whistles for the dogs and grabs his pistol. grunting and rolling his bare shoulders in atonished anger at somones sheer audacity. i mean for fuck sakes the mans tired. 
johnnys sneaking grin falls, replaced by a flat face as hes quick to grab a flashlight and gun. moving out the door on simons heels. big dogs herding around them.
"stay 'ere yeah love? dont open the fuckin' door," johns voice is a low growl. grabbing a hunters knife ( anniversary gift from you, his names carved in the wood ) and moving to the window. room lights flipped off when johnny left. scanning the open grass with an annoyed brow twitch. "kyle, wi' me."
kyle nods, glancing back three times to make sure youre content. careful to lock the bedroom door and leave a weapon with you, which he drills in not to touch less you hear the burglar. with a final glance, hes gone with the rest of them.
your ears perk for movement outside. glass shatters and a door kicks open. youre pretty sure you hear the guy shriek — most definitely simons doing, weird fucker was waiting in the dark — a brisk struggle before the house falls silent, words they dont want you hearing are exchanged then hes thrown out onto the grass.
hes quick to jump up and scurry off, wet pants uncomfortable and now stinking.
you sigh with annoyance, replacing windows was the biggest bitch. but whatever, sukuna is realizing his love for Y/N.
I have a hucklerabbot soulmate idea with lots of angst and repression on all sides.
Essentially, Dennis was born into a religious sect that believed soulmates shouldn’t be of the same gender. Also, it’s only “pure” to have one soulmate. If someone is born with more than one soulmate, or a soulmate with a gender-specific name that matches the one the baby has? They’re burned off.
Dennis grows up with two scars, a long one along his collarbone and one across his hip. He learned long ago to not grieve what he’d never find. Even if he doesn’t believe what that sect believes anymore, he also has no hope of finding his soulmates.
Cue Robby and Jack who are both shocked to hear their second soulmates name come out of this little MS4 who looks like if he misses one meal, he’ll fall apart. There’s no reaction from him when they say their names and they don’t want to pressure him so they decide to keep a low profile and let him come to them.
Lots of miscommunication in this idea, btw. Mostly because Jack and Robby are trying to give Dennis the space to come to them and Dennis doesn’t even know they’re his soulmates until several months to a year in.
Happy birthday @blueangelbby !!! Here is some hucklerabbot domestic discipline spanking for you💖🌷🐬
---
Dennis wasn't in the mood tonight. That's not really the point, he just wants it on the record.
He was good today! No major issues on cases, was sweet with the staff, at one point Dana even called him her favorite! (Trinity said that wasn't true and if he came for her spot, she'd kill him-- but he'll take the win.) So he shouldn't get spanked. He just shouldn't. It's not fair. It's embarrassing. Robby's gonna be so fucking smug about about it. So Dennis is just gonna avoid it tonight. Yeah. It's just one night.
Robby is waiting for him by his car in the ambulance bay. Dennis trots up and takes a deep breath before opening the door.
"Hey, mouse." Robbys voice is tired but warm.
"Hey." Dennis gives him a kiss on the lips. Based on the sounds he makes, it's deeper than Robby was expecting. Dennis throws his arms around the older man, running his hands through the hair at the back of his head. If he's laying it on thick, that's between him and God.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Robby chuckles. "Excited to head home?"
"With you? Always."
"Oh, now you're just being a charmer."
"Sounds like me." Dennis smirks. Robby goes back in for another kiss, more chaste than the last one.
"Did you kiss Jack goodbye after handoff?"
"Mhm."
"Good boy."
---
When they get to the townhome, Dennis practically darts through the living room to the stairs.
"Ah ah," Robby tuts as he snags the back of Dennis' shirt. "In a rush?"
Dennis tries not to look as caught-in-the-act as he feels. "Uh. N-no. I just wasn't itching to go shower? It was a long day."
"Are you sure? Aren't you... forgetting something?" Robby says as he cocks an eyebrow.
"We will." Dennis is barely lying and he already feels crazy. He used to be such a good liar, what happened to him? "I just, um, I feel really gross. Can I shower first?" He pauses before he remembers. "Please, Daddy?"
"Ok, sweet boy." Robby kisses his forehead. "We'll do it before dinner."
---
Dennis showers on his own even though Robby also religiously showers after work. He's too nervous. Jittery hands scrub his body down and shampoo his hair. He loves showering at the townhome. He gets to steal Jack and Robby's bodywashes, find their biggest, comfiest clothes and steal them. Not tonight though, tonight he showers as fast as humanely possible and back down to the kitchen.
It works. He gets out a good 10 minutes before Robby and Robby finds Dennis already halfway through making dinner.
"I was thinking homemade pizzas tonight? I got out the mozzarella and fresh basil for yours."
"That's... sweet of you," Robby says while eyeing Dennis suspiciously. His hair is wet and he's in a decades-old faded shirt and some flannel pants. "I was going to suggest we order out but I guess no need."
"It's no big deal. Jack bought premade dough so that's, like, most of the work done anyways. Plus, I didn't wanna wait for deliv--"
"Den," Robby said, voice dropping a bit.
Dennis bit his lip and an honest-to-god bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. This was so stupid, he was so stupid.
"You know our routine." He closes the gap between them, voice lowering as he began to loom over Dennis. "I thought you were going to be my sweet boy tonight but, frankly, this is getting ridiculous."
Dennis shifts uncomfortably. He can't bring himself to look at Robby so he opts for staring at his own oil and flour-covered hands.
"Puppy, I am going to give you this one opportunity to make the correction on your own and be the good boy that I know you can be." He ends the sentence with a firm hand Dennis' shoulder.
He has an out. A smarter man would take the out... but Dennis wasn't feeling particularly smart.
"I... don't want to," he grits out.
"Hm?" Robby gives him an entertained look that's so genuine it deeply condescending.
"I-I was good today. I don't want to. A-and we're already started on dinner so that's that. We'll just skip toda--"
"That's not how that works."
"It could be how it works." Dennis could cringe at how whiny that came out.
"Yeah," Robby sighs as he stretches his arms out. "I'm not doing that. Couch. Now."
"No." The word leaves Dennis without thought and you know what? Yeah. No! He really didn't wanna fucking do this.
"...No?"
"No. I'm not doing it."
Shaking his head, Robby laughs at the display. "Oh, yes you are."
"No. I'm not." Dennis felt like he had 3 energy drinks. He felt like his blood was electric. He was so nervous he could mask it as full tilt confidence. As they say, In for a penny, in for a pound. "No, I'm not and you're not gonna make me. Because I was good and I'm making your favorite dinner and you're the softie so you're not gonna make me and--"
Dennis stops in his tracks, his words catching up with him. Robby's humor dies out immediately.
"I'm the wha-" Robby starts.
"Ididn'tmeanit." Dennis is the stupidest fucking guy in the world. This is why they do it. He thinks. Every night my boyfriends put me over their knees because I might, legitimately, be that stupid.
"The softie?" Robby's voice was all strained and pitched upwards. Trinity once called it his "gay little insulted voice" and this is the worst time to find that funny, actually.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." Dennis braced for impact-- not physical impact rather, comic retribution. Breath held, he waited for Robby to bend him over the counter or grab the nape of his neck. Seconds ticked by but nothing came. Instead, Robby rocked back and forth on his feet for a few moments and them hummed affirmatively.
"Ok, baby. If that's how you really feel." Dennis rocketed to meet Robby's gaze. Robby didn't look mad, he wasn't angry. He almost looked... pleased? His lip curling up slightly, smile lines by his eyes creased. The sight made Dennis' blood run cold from sheer confusion. A quick kiss was placed on his forehead. "I'm gonna go watch tv in the bedroom. Call me when pizza's done. Ok, baby?"
'Y-yeah," Dennis managed. "Okay."
---
The call comes as he's taking the pizzas out of the oven.
"S-shit! Oh, fuck. You gotta be kidding be me." The shock of it startles him so bad he almost manages to drop the tray in his hands. It hits the marble counter with a clatter and both his hands rocket out of the mitts and up to his hair.
Maybe he could ignore it. No. Absolutely not. That would be so much infinitely worse. He'd dug his grave. He honestly should've seen this coming. His city boy hubris had finally caught up to him and this was the price to pay.
He picks it up on the third ring.
"Where are you right now?"
"K-kitchen."
"Anything on the stove?"
"No."
"Good. Kneel."
Dennis drops to his knees without question: back straight, well-trained posture.
"What time is it?" It's a question but it's delivered with the authority of a statement.
"I-it's, um, 8:25, Sir." Dennis' eyes are screwed shut, which makes no sense but he finds some comfort in it.
"Yes and what does that mean?" Jacks voice is so low and unhurried every syllable feels like it's dragging Dennis across cement.
"Um. It means..." Dennis' brain scrambles for the answer.
"Where am I right now?" Jack growls.
"You're at work, S-sir."
"Correct. I am at work and I'm usually happy at work knowing that my sweet boy is getting taken care of home. So, imagine my surprise at the texts your Daddy's been sending me."
Dennis doesn't speak. His hand reaches to the spot on this neck his collar would usually be sitting right now, reaching for a comfort that isn't there.
"What happened to your smart mouth?" Faintly, the sound of cars moves through the background, Jack must be just outside the ambulance bay. "This is what you wanted right? Attention? Are you happy now?"
"N--"
"No," Jack finishes for him. "Because you don't know what you want. Because we decide what you need. We take care of you. We set a routine for you so you learn to stop running your mouth and being such a brat. You think you know what you want? You don't, so Cut. It. Out."
Dennis whimpers. His knees hurt, his body aches, he wants his collar, he wants to stop feeling so itchy all over, he--
"I'm sorry!" Tears spill out of his eyes. His hands are shaking and he's so tired. "M' sorry, Sir. I w-was wrong."
"Yeah, you were. Good." Jack pauses. Then, more considered: "How are you feeling?"
Dennis breathes shakily. "Green. I- want it now, really. I feel like-- like a dumb puppy, Sir."
"That's because you are. Go. Go get it taken care of. See if you can manage being good until I get home."
"Mhm. Yessir." Dennis shoots off the floor, head spinning and brain already a little fuzzy. He catches himself before he moves off the call. "I-I love you, Sir."
"I love you too, Den. Go." The line disconnects.
---
Robby's waiting, lying against the headboard, idly watching tv with the paddle in his hands. Dennis walks in, hands twisting the bottom of his shirt. Once he gets to the edge of the bed, Robby moves to turn the tv off.
"You miss the softie now?" God. He's more smug than ever. It didn't make Dennis want to collapse into his arms any less though.
"Mhm," Dennis mumbles. Robby shifts so that Dennis can kneel next to him. His hand come up and card through Dennis' hair as he keens into the touch.
"Do you have anything to say?" He asks warmly.
"I'm sorry. I thought I knew better, I thought I didn't need it. I was wrong." He sniffles.
"And?"
"And..." Dennis buries himself in Robby's neck to quell the shame. "I'm sorry I called you a softie."
"The softie. It was personal," Robby chides with mock hurt.
"I'm sorry!" Dennis cries, the sound muffled. "I'm... I'm ready to be good now."
"Ok, puppy. Go get your collar."
Dennis goes to their closet and retrieves the neoprene collar. He lets himself run his fingertips over the corded texture, grounding his body in a way he can't describe. He brings it back to Robby who's now sitting at the edge of the bed. Dennis kneels between his legs.
"Why do we do this pup?" Robby's voice is sweet and fond and it melts over Dennis' body, pulling every ounce of anxiety out of his head.
"For maintenance," Dennis says it with Sir's voice echoing in his head. "So I stay good. So I get it out of my system." He adds: "It's good for me."
"It is. That's right puppy. You're not going to fight it anymore, are you?"
"No, Daddy."
"Ok, up on my lap. Naked."
Sir likes his belt, Daddy likes the paddle. It's black leather, simple but nice with a supple, cushioned handle. The letters D, E, and N are stamped into the end of the contact piece. Daddy had it custom made when they'd decided on the routine.
Dennis settles over Robby's knee. He sinks his body into the cushion of his thighs and sighs. All the tension drips out of his body, his brain quiets. There's nothing to do now but take it. Let himself be shaped into something good by loving, trusting hands.
"Do I have to count 'em?"
"No, just be sweet for me," Robby reassures.
"Okay."
The first one is light, warming up his skin. The second one is pointed. It's loud, it stings. Dennis shudders out a breath, wet with tears from earlier and tears that are about to come. The third and fourth only get more intense. He's is fully hard now against Daddy's thigh.
Robby reaches around and wraps his hand around Dennis. "See, it's not so bad, puppy." He doesn't move his hand, just grips tighter until Dennis whines.
"Thank you," Dennis breathes. "Thank you, Daddy." Thank you for taking control. Thank you for making me feel good. Thank you for making me good.
Robby relents, ruffles his hair, and continues. The next couple of strikes wash over Dennis. The impacts alternate between thudding and striking. Some ground with ache on his upper ass and thighs. Some sear right on the meat of his ass. Not quite painful enough to be a punishment, but more than usual which is... fair.
At some point he starts grinding his cock against Robby's thigh, leaking and twitching. Robby lets him because he really is a softie. Halfway through, Dennis realizes he's been barking at painful strikes and letting out soft "awoos" that make his Daddy chuckle. Fresh tears leak out of his eyes in a silent stream. His skin feels hot, tingling with oversensitivity. Even soft drags of the paddle feel overwhelming now.
It's only been a few minutes by the time Robby stops but Dennis feels practically asleep. Every part of his day catches up with him at once. He becomes this floaty, dumb thing--docile and sweet. It's the best he's felt all day. How could he have wanted to run from this?
"You still with me, pup?'
"Mmm."
Robby's hand comes to soothe all marks on Dennis' backside. At some point he'll get some aloe vera, he thinks. It doesn't matter. He doesn't have to decide anything anymore.
"Did I earn it?" he asks, peaking up at Robby.
"Yeah, Den. Come here."
Dennis shifts up to kneel around Robby's thighs, practically sitting in his lap. Robby cradles his face and gives him the look that Dennis can hardly bear: like he's perfect, like he's everything Robby had ever wanted, like he deserves the world and he doesn't have to work for it, doesn't have to earn it, doesn't have to prove anything, like he's going to be loved unconditionally forever. He tries though, he tries to bear it because that's his Daddy and he trusts him.
Robby clicks the collar around his neck and Dennis is home.
In the mood to be in a sex swing, blindfolded, ring gag in, tits hanging down below, cunt stretched open and just set up in a club for whoever to use. Maybe earbuds so I can listen to music (or porn) while I'm being fucked and played with
or: just because John Price lost a bit of his memory doesn’t mean he’s letting you go.
cw: 5.6k wrds, 18+ mdni, smut with plot, no use of y/n, John! With lost memory, dad bf!Price, age gap (28 yo reader, 40 yo John), (kinda) possessive!John, avoidant!reader, angst/comfort, ex’s to lovers, Daddy kink (use of Daddy/Dad (idgaf)), humping, pronebone, sideways, creampie, choking, no proper prep, unprotected sex, a little rough but sweet, pet names (kid, baby, lovie, sweet heart)
a/n: song inspo :p. can be read as a stand alone but a continuation of this post. I’m going to hell.
The past two years, even in the current moment, it’s foggy.
Like he was living a life that had already happened, but with someone else. Something like Deja Vu. He’s still trying to catch up to the present.
John Price tries to act as if everything is in it’s right place, he goes on missions, he drinks with the crew, he works a bit of overtime, hangs out with his old mates and their families, dates with his new girlfriend, take the dogs for a walk, family dinners at his parents house with his siblings— he puts his best foot forward.
It makes him laugh sometimes, that maybe the routine will help him remember what’s missing. And hes asked the boys, if he was missing something— and he knew he was, the question was almost rhetorical— but they dance around the question. Can’t look at him straight. Simon, sturdy as ever, lips stay in a thin line. He won’t lie to him, he just stays silent.
Is it frustrating?
Yes. Obviously yes. Half truths getting told to you is never good.
But John, this one time in his 38 years of life, he doesn’t push for an answer. Partly because he’s afraid of the answer, afraid that even if they do tell him what’s wrong, he won’t remember. The doctors say he might not get those two years back, that it’s best to move forward. And maybe things will come to him along the way.
He’s hopeful. Weary, yet hopeful.
But sometimes he wakes with these annoying headaches that can’t be relieved till he lays flat on the hardwood floors for at least five minutes. Strange, he knows, but it helps. His brain trying to remember something, he figures.
The hairy man will close his eyes, let the house creek, he can hear the dog collars rings as the dogs walk around downstairs, the birds tweeting, cicadas singing, the cars in the distance. It’s calm. But he sees it sometimes.
A memory he can’t exactly make out, but you’re there, head in his lap, or tugging at him to look at something, but he can’t make out your face. John can hear your melodic laughter, your voice ringing in his ears like a wind chime, your curls in a ponytail, in your favorite pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt. And he wanted to stay there, stay in that moment for eternity because it felt like he should’ve been there, with what once was. You. In your arms. Or in his.
But he always wakes up, be it from the dogs he got licking his face, the uncomfortableness of the floor on his back or, from his girlfriend calling out to him. Back to that ache of reality, not remembering.
This time it’s just from the floor. He groans at the feeling, he’s getting too old. But something catches his eye, theres a half of floorboard missing right under his bed. And hes surprised he hasn’t noticed it till now. He reaches into the floor, hoping to find the broken piece of wood but his hands touch something— paper? Something laminated? He’s not sure but grabs it with the grunt, lifting himself off the floor and onto the bed.
It’s someone else’s hand writing on the back, ‘another endless beach day, me + Price, June 6th, 20XX.’ signed off with a heart. John turns the picture over and his heart aches all over, chills rolling down the hairs of his arms.
It’s you.
Sunset behind you, winking at the camera, Johns arm wrapped around your bare waist holding you close, sharing a towel on both of your heads, covering your wet hair, the swimsuit and your bodies are both soaked. And John can almost hear it, your voice rings in the back of his brain telling him to hurry up. It makes his heart pound a thousand times faster.
And there’s another picture, in the backyard, Johns swinging you in his arms, you have a baby blue sundress on, curls in a side part, the biggest smile on your face. Gorgeous, gorgeous thing, John remembers it, the feeling of his lips on your cheeks, over and over, till you’re laughing and playfully shoving at his shoulder.
It’s warm. John knows it is.
He huffs, your name is at the tip of his tongue, yearning to get out, but it’s not easy. Clearly you’re someone who John loved. More that important, more, more, more, he mumbles.
And he goes through the house one more time, just like he did before he started fresh. Maybe he missed something like he’d just done. Maybe he’d find another few memories— bits of you, in a kitchen drawer, or the bathroom closet, or in the spare bedroom, the reading nook at the end of the hallway, in the old guitar he hasn’t played in ages, the ring that’s sat on his nightstand that he’s been too scared to touch, the attic—
“If you knew how to paint professionally, you could turn this attic into a studio.” You said, sitting a box down the last of the box.
It was long due for a cleaning, and everytime John needed something from up there he was left in a fit of egregiously loud sneezes. So you both got up there and cleaned it, reorganizing what did and did not need to be there. Which led to a lot of John’s old man wining ‘what if I need this’ and ‘I haven’t seen this in ages.’
You had his old blue varsity jacket on from when he played football with his mates, David & William. It was large on you still, down to your hips, the shorts on you hugging your ass perfectly. You looked so cute, all his, which lead to him being sidetracked while you tried to do your tasks. Off guard pictures taken on that polaroid he had that had a little film left, feeling up on you while leaving kisses all over you. It was late now, around ten a clock and you’d finally finished cleaning. You were both exhausted.
“Well I’m no artist, but if you want a studio to paint—“
“I don’t want a studio, I’m just throwin out ideas.” You giggle, throwing yourself in his hold.
“A studio for our child then?” He quips, moving the braids out of your face, entertaining your fingers. He’s in no rush to start a family, but the idea of one, with you, swirls his mind. You with his baby in your arms, looking a little bit like you and a little like him. Ugh, so cute.
“And if they can’t paint?”
“At least they’re taking after their parents.” He grunts, pulling you into his chest. You laugh, resting your chin on hard muscles.
“But raising our kids in this house,” he breaths out, hand trailing under the jacket you had on and to your back. “I’d like to do that more than ever with you, sweetheart.”
Your heartbeat speeds up, you want a future with John. To grow old with him, start a life together, but— “I want them to have consistency.”
“And I’ll give you that.”
“John.” Your voice is soft, but you get his attention in an instant. your brown eyes meet his blue ones, and you’re praying what he tells you is the truth. He knows you’re scared, to lose him, to be left behind. You’d talked about it before, how your family was difficult. But Price understood, he was there for you. Apart of him took on that role for you. John knew he was your constant, he was your family. Even if everything went to shit, John would swoop in and save the day.
But his job was dangerous, and sometimes John himself didn’t even know if he’d make it back home. Uncertainty. You hated that.
You’d settled in the feeling, gave him a pained smile.
He winced at that, was he really so faulty? So used to empty promises. Or were you just not used to someone willing to do anything for you? He'd crawl back to you with one arm if he had to. All for you. Only for you.
“I’ll be here lovie,” he reassures you, caressed your cheek, his lips meeting yours, sealing your future with a kiss. Putting your foreheads together,
“I promise.”
And it’s when John decided to put you as his emergency contact, just in case. Put your name in his will. His life hand wrapped and tied with a bow and ready to be given to you, one of the few things he was certain about.
Just in case.
It’s there, in that chest to the far right of the attic that you moved when you cleaned it out, his copy of his will. Your first, last and middle name written in print, that’d you get every last thing in his name, a promise that you'd be taken care of even if he wasn’t there— consistency.
And maybe he lost track along the way, but Price knows, your his. Still his, and he’s yours. That the love he has for you was only sitting dormant, waiting to flourish in the depths of you.
And Price is sure it will.
┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈
“You’re not gonna tell me how your date went?” Your co-worker, Dani, pestered as soon as you got your apron on.
Dating was- well- they were opportunities to enjoy food.
Even if the date was shit.
Everything in your life had changed.
The first right after moving out of his place being fired from the job John got you. And God did it fucking hurt when they let you go, ‘missed too many days’ it was a week max.
Maybe two.
You just couldn’t get out of bed. It’s hard to move on from a relationship you spent so much time building all for it to crumble in an instant. But it was probably for the best, right? It was one of your last attachments to Price.
A life without being so reliant on him.
One where you were fully independent. Just like you’d always been before him.
You found a job as a waitress at some cafe and you were good, dropped a couple orders, but got closer to the rest of the staff, got on your feet just fine. The dating scene though? Mortal enemy #1.
Your friends wanted you to quickly get over the breakup- hell— so did you. That didn’t mean you didn’t need to immediately start dating someone. You couldn’t be a heartbroken girl for a second without your friends pushing you to find someone better, younger and hotter than him.
Well, was there?
Another hard task you didn’t know if you could accomplish. You’d put it with your list of things ‘to do’.
Last night was another failed date, with a man who couldn’t stop rambling about women needing to stay at home and take care of the family while he worked as a "entrepreneur." AKA, a scammer, probably in some pyramid scheme. Your burger was dry but you ate it anyway, a way to avoid the topic of discussion but he made it worse. Saying something along the lines of, “why are you eating a burger with your hands? A proper woman would eat with a fork and knife.”
You paid for your end of the bill and went home.
You roll your eyes, grabbing a note pad and pen from the counter, “I’ll never let you convince me to go on a dating app ever again.”
She whines, right on your tail as you make your way to the order station, giving a few hellos to your other coworkers, “Was it that bad? I thought he said he was a real estate agent!”
“Are we shocked the real estate agent is good at lying? Let’s be serious—“
“—[+]! We need you at booth 7!” The manager interrupts, nodding toward the section.
You shrug to Dani, feet already on the move, “The dating scene just isn’t good. Let’s give up.”
She give you a smile, “We can’t give up! Have some faith [+]! There’s gotta be good person for you somewhere!”
Yeah, there was. But he wasn’t yours anymore.
He was a memory in the back of your brain, long cherished and stuck there.
Your John wasn’t coming back, he'd looked you dead in the face at the beach a year ago like-no- you were a complete stranger, and you had to bathe in that feeling. You’d settled with being stranger #6 and background character 2 in your own life now, getting a few scrapes and bruises from this harsh this we call life and blowing the dirt off it instead of properly patching it up. It’s what you knew how to do best.
The shift went by smoothly this time, no weird guys or uptight older ladies, getting home in your car and eating a bowl of instant ramen. The tv volume on low because you don’t want to bother anyone.
It’s simple routine, simple enough that it gives you the comfort you need: eat, drink water, shower, a bit of skin care and then a book or journaling on a good day. No electronics right before bed, not unless it's to set the alarm, or to play music. It keeps your mind at ease for once.
The light on your nightstand brightens up the space but keeps you tired, touching different parts of your room some shape or form, some objects getting little to no light. But there’s a jar that sits on your bookshelf, stuffed behind a bunch of books and trinkets, you just barley miss it. But it’s there. Light shimmers on the gold and silver objects that sit inside it.
It’s filled with jewelry you should be wearing before they start to rust, but it fills you with heartache, a little spite. It’s filled with things you used to wear, rings, a few bracelets, random scrunchies and rubber bands and a couple other things you got from him, a few things that you gifted him. You’d shoved everything in there last minute when you hauled ass out of that house. You took anything that could make him think about you. But you didn’t have the strength to go through it. Didn’t have the strength to let go either.
It was a memory now, stuck in time.
And you couldn’t ignore it, never. You give it a quick glance as you go about your day, or when you’re bored out your mind it’ll feel like the object is staring back at you. Just begging for you to look at what could’ve been.
But you don’t, because it’s at arms length, watching over you like some alter, and you give it a pained look as you shuffle over to your bed— maybe praying to the little thing, because truly, that’s the closest thing you’ll get to him.
And you were okay with that.
Because at least there, your John Price is something to you.
Even if it’s stuck on a shelf.
┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈
“I didn’t take ye for one ‘f these kind’a places Captain.” Soap teased from his seat at the outdoor table.
They were at some bo-ho, “modern”, yet uptight cafe on a Saturday afternoon.
Did Price belong here? God, no.
Took him too long to decide what he wanted because there were too many options on the menu, the staff all looked to be in 21 or younger with customers who were 26 age or younger, and they were playing some generic indie music he thought was god awful.
The four of them stuck out like a sore thumb.
But he wasn’t exactly there for the tea that was just okay or the overprice the danish— he was staking out the place across the street.
A little stall outside a clothing shop, it sat there every Saturday. And you came there almost every weekend.
Sometimes just browsing, other times buying, and then sometimes donating, because it was a thrift type of stall.
It wasn’t like you disappeared off the face of the earth, you’re a civilian, if you wanted to hide from Captain John Price of the task force 141, the first step should have been to move to another country by car, with cash only, not 40 minutes away. But that’s like Usain Bolt giving you a five second head start. You’d still get caught sooner than later. It wasn’t hard to track you down, well, tracking people down was also apart of the job. You had a small one bedroom flat that John felt had you too cooped up, a job that overworked you no matter how “nice” people were there, and a small group of friends who seemed to have good intentions.
You were always smiling when they left or out and about with them, so they must’ve been doing something right.
The first time he laid eyes on you in person, he knew you were his.
So pretty, even dressed plainly, rolling your eyes at something your friend had showed you on their phone. Your curls in your eyes, but you keep surveying your surroundings, observant, quick to move your friend out the street when a car is coming. Or picking up a wallet someone dropped and quickly returning it to them.
Despite the tiny spec of uncertainty on your face about whatever was on your mind, you're upright. Headstrong.
Atta girl.
Just like he knew you could be. Knew you would be.
John brings the tea up to his lips again, eyes still trained on the stall, the passerbyers and the old chap handling the few customers surrounding his makeshift register, till you appear by one of the racks. Ever so beautiful in that off white long sleeve dress that went down to your ankles, the fabric clinging to every divine curve on you. Cute black clogs on and your hair done in two slicked down low buns, parts in a zig zag with little curly flyaways. His eyes soften at the sight of you, Gaz catches it first.
Mumbling a curse when he sets eyes on you, “Bloody hell—“
“How did you-“
“—Did you expect me not to figure it out sooner or later?” He takes a sip of the tea, unflinching.
Soap looks between Simon and Gaz, clearing his throat, “ ‘S not tha Captain. Just- just- we thought this would be for the best. Not tellin ye since loosin your memory is so much.” He stutters.
But it just sounds like an excuse. John looks to Simon, thinking he’d get another weary look on his face, but he has that irritated look in his eyes, he sits back in the chair, finger slowly tapping the table.
“She didn’t want you to know, John. That’s what it is.” He finally speaks. And that’s what knocks John down a peg or two. Simon continues, “[+]— the girl— all ‘f us only met a couple ‘f times. But this was the one thing she asked of us. Didn’t cry or ask a laundry list of questions about the incident, just held herself together best she could. Called your parents and then she said she’d take care of everything at the house. Make sure all your medical bills were straight. But Asked if we could keep her- the whole relationship— a secret. She didn’t want to be another burden to carry John.”
Gaz takes a deep breath, he grieved, “And if you’d seen that look on her face man- like life'd been sucked out of her face, you would've given her that too.”
The air is tense around the table.
You’d given it all up. Not like you wanted to, surely. It wasn’t just something John alone went though, it was a loss for you too. Something that would've pulled you apart if you'd stay or not. John figures, you leaving was you giving the older man a chance for him to move on from the incident as if nothing happened.
But everything happened.
Everything changed right before his eyes and John had to move past it like you idea of you hadn’t been stuck in his head.
But you ran through his mind, over and over, had the man praying for a life that he just wouldn’t be able to get back.
He let out a ragged laugh, humorless, rubbing at his beard, it was times like this he prayed it was all some sick joke. But it’s not, it’s reality and he has to try.
“I don’t remember everything from back then, it’s a given.” He swallows, finding you amongst the crowd of people once more. But he’s straightens in his seat and looks at the rest of the team around him, confident, “But there’s a few things I do. Clearly I’ve been given another chance. I dont— I won’t lose her a second time.”
It’s almost as if he’d never left, Price is still the old captain who’s dead set on getting exactly what he wants. No matter the cost.
“You should hurry up then,” Gaz nods over to you, “She might just get scooped up before you get a chance.”
And you’re there still, with some younger guy now, model-esc kind of guy following you through the few clothing racks. Smiling. You couldn’t have been so perfectly dolled up for the likes of some fuck boy, could you?
No, no you wouldn’t.
That's what John tells himself.
John grimaces at the sight, taking a swing of his tea, he gruffs, “Won’t last.”
“Maybe her interests have changed mate, yer not the same ‘young man’ from a couple years ago…” Soap snickers.
“Gotten old, naps between missions, got some weight on you now, think she’ll like it?” Simon teases.
“Oh fuck off the lot of you, Jesus.” He scowled, still looking over at you.
You’re smiling, more that happy with the few items you’ve gotten but your face twists as you look at the guy, confusion and disgust flying all over. You shake it off, buying the items you have. As soon as you finish, he avoids your attempt to spark up conversation again, walking ahead of you while taking some phone call. The least bit of care about you as you trail behind him.
That cunt.
“So what do you plan on doin? Gonna go after her now?” Gaz raises a brow.
“Just looking for a soft spot.”
And it’s there, not just the way the prick walks ahead of you like you’re a stranger, that's an easy opening, but you rub your shoulder in annoyance. And there, or your right wrist, sitting between a stack of gold bracelets, is a watch with a green strap with a white dial with a silver bezel— a watch John remembers was his.
There are just a few glimpses of it, nothing serious. It was on the nightstand, and he remembered putting it on, and it came up in a few pictures with the guys. A gift for him, that was in your possession.
Hanging around some young guy but a bit of him lingering on you.
You were practically begging for Price to come and take you back where you belong.
Right up under him.
┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈
“I just wanna go home and take a fuckin nap—“
“Language baby,” he chides, but there’s no bite, wrapping his arm around you.
“Don’t- ugh! what’s the point ‘f doin this when we could be goin home!” You whine, throwing your weight against him. And he takes it with an ‘umph’ as always, pulling you closer.
“Gets your stomach ready for dinner, just take a moment and relax.”
You two were sitting on the bench a fair distance away from the movie theater you just exited. It was a movie you were dying to see, so Price made it a date. And then you’d go home and make dinner together with a little wine, maybe have Price fuck you right in the kitchen before you could even finish eating—
But you couldn’t wait to get home, eager thing, how adorable?
Right before you can whine again, Johns tapping your forehead, gently nudging it in the direction of the crowd of people that just got out the theater. They’re all different of course but they have a few facial expressions that are similar.
“What movie do you think they saw? couldnt’ve been good.” John says.
And it’s simple, really, you could just ignore it and press him again. But you always cave at his calmness.
“Cats, the movie’s shit.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“The trailer is enough to see that the movie's shit,” you giggle, you nod towards the couple of guys heading to their car, laughing their ass off. “What about them? What do you think they saw?”
And John thinks for a moment, eyes flicking to the large movie posters that hung then rests his head atop of yours, “John Wick 3 is good, I think.”
“Don’t tell me part of the reason you chose it is because of your name.”
“Oh come on lovie,” and now he’s laughing at his own corniness, “But truly I didn’t mean to. The first John Wick was good!”
“That poor puppy.”
“God that puppy didn’t deserve that.”
It’s a comfortable silence after that, one that’s got your heart thunking, a little more love blooming inside you. John’s kisses your cheek, getting up from the bench and stretching. And he gives you that stupid smirk with that perfectly trimmed beard, eyes gleaming—
“See? Hanging out with your old man isn’t so bad, is it kid?”
“Oh fuck off!”
Such a silly memory always led you to some movie theater.
Hanging on the hood of your own car, just casually watching people enter and leave, or from a near by bench. The moon was high in the sky, stars dancing while cars past. The cool autumn breeze was present tonight, just barely feeling it through the thick of the hoodie you had on.
A group of people leave out the theatre, faces either hipper or stone cold. A group walks down the block.
“What do you think they saw? Think they saw Forrest Gump. They’re replayin that, yeah?” And the voice is so warm, so familiar it sends a chill up your spine. But you keep your eyes on the ever moving people going in and out the theatre. Maybe your hallucinating what you just heard. Maybe it’s coincidence.
“Well,” you start, leaning back on the bench, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your oversized sweatshirt, “They’re replaying The Truman Show too, so maybe that, I guess. It’s pretty good movie, fuckin crazy in retrospect.”
“Never seen it.”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes, “You’re shitting.”
And he laughs inward softly, “ ‘M not! Who’s in it again?”
“Jim Carey! How could you not’ve seen-” And you turn, the end of your lips curved up, but the sight sitting directly next to makes your breath hitch. Makes you want to fall into a million pieces, “-The- the Truman Show.” You mumble.
It’s John Price there. Right in the flesh. He looks older, in that old bomber you wore once, And this has to be some sort of hideous trick of fate. A joke, someone up there’s laughing at you— hell, maybe you were in your own version of the Truman Show.
You needed to find the cameras and turn them off.
Your eyes look elsewhere, to the street, and then behind you— maybe he’s with someone. You’re willing to use all the strength you have left to divert this whole situation. Be stranger #6 and background character #2 like you told yourself you could be.
“Sorry,” you whisper, looking back at John. And it pains you, right to the core. You clear your throat, rambling, “Been yapping to you, and you’re with someone, right? I-I’ll be on my way.”
And just as you find the will to move your feet, John grabs your wrist, making you look back at him.
“No, I’ve come here looking for you, [+].”
And you want to snatch yourself away, run as far as you can, but you can’t. Something is making you stay, maybe grief of what you lost? What could’ve been is right here, sitting so close to you, with that glint in his blue eyes.
You let out a ragged breath, feeling the lump in your throat swell and your brown eyes glossing over, “Please, don’t do this Price. I really- I can’t do this Price."
You’d let him go. That was supposed to be it.
Be with him in another lifetime. You’d prayed and prayed and prayed for it. Maybe then you’d have the heart to hold onto him—
“I know I’ve made a mistake [+], forgetting you— bloody hell- Darlin, if I’d known that I would’ve gotten amnesia during that mission, I wouldn’t’ve taken it. But I can’t help what happened, and neither can you. I’ve forgotten things, and I’m not even sure if I’ve got enough memories from back then to count on two hands—“
You try to tug yourself away, because it’s too much, maybe it’s breaking your heart in two all over again, you can feel the tears wetting your face, but he pulls you into his big arms,
“But I still— I still love you [+]. More than anything, I know for certain that this feeling in me that’s been annoying me this whole time, for you, is love. And it has always been you that I felt was missing. I can’t stand being apart from you anymore sweetheart. Please [+], please!”
And your knees almost go weak, your clutching John’s arms. You want to squeeze your eyes shut, wake back to the reality you settled for, because it felt like a dream. John filling you to the brim with that feeling you’ve been yearning for, for two years.
“Been so alone, John.” You hiccup through your cries, it’s the only thing you can sputter out. No more strength to push him away.
“And I’m sorry about that [+].” He sucks in a weary breath, cupping your face in his hands and wiping your tears from your face.
“ I’m not sure if I’ll remember much from back then, but if I can’t remember, I still want to start over with you. Spend the rest of my life loving you. And I’ll be here every step of the way, ‘m not leavin you behind sweetheart.”
And your heart melts, a strangled noise comes from you, letting him capture your lips onto his and your body into his arms. His beard pricks your face, it’s a kiss mixed with emotion, hunger and desperateration, love and sadness. John presses your foreheads together, panting, squeezing your hand.
“Let’s go home.”
┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈
You’d never seen John Price so desperate in your life. The drive home was a short one, maybe from him speeding like his life depended on it. His hand clutching your hand in his, kissing the back of it, then your knuckles and your wrist every chance he got.
You couldn’t even get through the door properly before you got yanked into his grasp, lips smashing into yours. Pulling whatever jackets you both had on, off. The front door finally shuts behind you, John so lost at the thought of you, breath growing more and more feverish the more he kisses you, he doesn’t know if he locked the door.
“Joh-“ you couldn't even get a word out, him slipping his tongue in your mouth, intertwining your tongues together until you were both breathless.
John grunts, hosting you up so your legs wrap around him, his hand holding you close, “[+], let me hold you.”
You stupidly nod, reattaching your lips as he takes you upstairs.
It doesn’t take long got the older man yo lift your naked body on top of him, pulling your bare chest against his hairy plush one. His large calloused hands have been all over you, taking his sweet time caressing and touching you. As if to remind himself and ingrain your very being in his brain. You can feel his growing hard cock hit your thigh. You shift, already reaching down to put it in, but John moved your hand away.
“Price mmm- please,” you beg, oh-so adorably.
“Gotta get you all wet sweetheart,” he says softly against your skin, sucking at it and creating little small hickies, “take it easy.”
He guides your hips, slowly rolling them against him, and he meets you. Rocking himself through your glistening folds and back, till you can hear how wet you’re making each other. You can’t help the little moans of frustration. It’s not enough, you want- no- you need more.
You whine, hazed brown eyes looking into his, hips bucking down on him when you feel his tip graze against your clit, “Ah- fuck- Need it Price-“
“What did Dad say?” His voice rumbles from his chest, deep, smooth, you shoot up, your own moans caught in your throat.
It’s electric, adding more fire to what’s already burning within you. Chills roll up your arms, and you feel John continue moving your hips with one hand, eyes low as he watches every twitch, every movement.
Part of him doesn’t know what’s come over him, truly, it’s completely different. But it rolls of the tongue like it’s instinct when he looks up at you, the way you bite your lip, face turning into one so obedient, longing— trying to contain yourself. The other half knows it’s a sweet spot for you. Like you need it, for him to come in and save the day.
Such a Daddy’s girl, despite being so independent. Or was it a façade—
His other hand dips down, pressing his thumb against your pulsing clit and rolling it around. “Such a needy little thing, hm? Always been like this?”
You can only moan in response, trying to hide your face with your hand over your mouth.
Just with you, just you, just you—
Your hand grips his shoulder, nails creating moons in his skin, you move your slutty hips faster at the friction, “Fuck lovie, look at you,” he sucks in a breath, gripping your hips tighter so you don’t fall on your back as you fall apart.
He flips you on your stomach, letting his fingers trail your back as he spreads your legs open just enough to get in between them. His fat, angry cockhead leaking pre, circles your sappy entrance.
He grits his teeth, “Gonna be a bit of a stretch honey, you’ll be good for Daddy ‘nd take it, yeah?”
He doesn’t even give you the time to respond, breaking you right in half as he slowly eased his massive girth inside you. Your mouth is left agape, clutching at the sheets, “S-so much, so muuuch Price!” And your voice goes up an octave.
Your hips wiggle, trying to adjust to only half of his thick, nine inches. Tears prick the corners of your brown eyes whilst he adjusts the arch of your back, “Eassy baby, breath out for me.”
You whine, face hitting the plush of the pillowcases, “Okayyy.”
And it’s just enough, with a swift motion, he rams it into you, your glutenous pussy taking every inch he’s got. He lets out a ragged sigh in relief, shuddering as your warm and dripping cunt encapsolizes him.
“Good girl darlin, so - hck- so fuckin good f’me.”
But he’s not stopping there, making sure his weight is properly onto, managing to get even deeper inside you, holding you close. You can’t help but let out a loud sob, the loud ‘clap’ of his hips meeting your ass with every slow pound of his cock.
“Missed you, shit dove, missed you so much.” He groans.
“I missed you- angh- much Daddy.” You so prettily moan.
His eyes flicker with mischief, leaving long kisses on your back as he breaths you in, he taunts, “Saw you- hah- saw you with that muppet not too long ago.”
If you were in your right mind, you’d ask, ‘how?’ But your brain has been turned into mush, only thinking of John, John, John, and the sweet feeling he’s giving your pussy. Every thrust rough but so painfully good as his dick kissed your sweet spots, doltish babbles leaving your two tone lips.
“I- nngh- I wasn’t- oooh fu- I couldn’t- with that guy—“
“I know pretty girl,” he hisses as you clamp around him, “But then I saw that green watch sitting right here,” his hands entertains with yours. Coming down and kissing your wrist.
“Why were you doing wearing my things while dating around?”
It was supposed to be a secret.
Your friend had dragged you onto a double date, and for once you finally gave yourself the leniency to try. Not just show up. But you just needed a little piece of him on you, for a little courage. John would want you to move on, is what you thought.
But he’s so thankful, thankful your head was so full of him that you couldn’t let go.
You’re too embarrassed, wanting to hide your face in the pillows, but John snakes a hand around yout throat, lifting your chin up with a squeeze as he keeps moving inside you, air barley getting to your brain, “let me hear you baby.”
You look back at him, his dilated pupils trained on, your pussy clamping down on him “Couldn’t stop thinkin ‘bout you- mmh- it’s always you Dad—“
And the words are like music to his ears, he mercilessly fucking you.
John isn’t stopping till you can’t walk tomorrow, with cum dripping out of your stuffed cunt and onto the bed. Sure to keep you in bed doing the exact same thing tomorrow.
You can see the sun peaking through, John has you both on your side, drilling his throbbing member into you once more. He peppers kisses all over you as your lashes flutter open, you let out a sweet mewl.
“You passed out on me kid, you alright?” He hums, brushing your curls back.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he licks around your ear, barely able to catch up. “Shit- ugh- feels so gooood Daddy, feels-“ you’re slurring your words.
Price’s cock manages to hike up further inside you, curved and slamming in you, his balls smacking against your sobbing cunt. You can’t help the shrieks that come out of you, your body molasses, your elastic walls barley able to let him go as he rolls his hips into yours.
John snakes a hand around you, groping your perfect tit in his hand, swirling a finger over your hardened areola and then tweaking your hardened nipple as your legs shake, “Fuckin made- fuck- just for me sweetheart. All I’ve ever needed.”
You don’t even know what’s come over you, mumbles of ‘cumming’ while you slap at his hands, it’s so much. Almost too much. But John tilts your head back, giving you a sloppy French kiss as you fall apart around him, your velvety walls clinging to him. He groans in your mouth, spilling every drop of his seed inside you.
“That’s my girl.”
a/n: ngl I hate this. It’s shit. But I needed it out my face cause I’ve overthink it too much. I wish I could get better at writing smut and dialogue and plot :/. Anywho, happy birthday to me and John (my libra twin🙂↕️)
Tf141 who plays strip poker but they all gang up on you until you’re fully naked and the worst anyone else has gotten is a lost sock or shoe.
“No fair!”
“Ain’t our fault youre shit at poker. Now you know the rules.”
Gaz takes you first, biting his lip to hold back the sly grin he has as he sinks you down on his cock. “So pretty perched on a cock.”
His hands gently guide you back and forth, musing nothing but praises. “I’m almost there, baby. I know you want it. Can you feel you wanting it.”
Eventually he holds you still, rutting up into you while his thumb draws soothing circles on your hip. The others watch intensely before he slams you down, keeping your hips pressed firmly against him as he pours his release inside.
Gaz combs your hair out of your face, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead before he peels you off. But not before he gives your cunt a gentle grope with the palm of his hand. “Thanks love.”
He passes you off to soap who’s been bouncing in his seat since you were in your undergarments. He’s quick to get you bent over the table before sinking his dick in with a deep groan.
He’s meaner than Gaz, insisting that you squirt for him before he lets you go despite you cumming multiple times. “I can’t, Johnny! Icanticanticant,” you sob, pussy puffy and swollen.
Soaps arm slinks down between your legs before his fingers repeatedly swipe across your poor clit. He has no aim, but it gets the job done and your vision nearly goes black as you’re leaking onto the edge of the table.
Soap grins victoriously. “So ye can do it. Fuckin’ liar you are.”
Then there’s ghost. He’s not trying to be an ass about it. It’s just that he’s so damn big that it’s bound to hurt no matter how many times Gaz and Soap have cum inside you.
He lifts you up from the underside of your knees, spreading you wide open before nudging inch by inch inside. “Nice view, LT.”
“Wish it were you, aye Johnny?”
Soap smirks. “Who? You or her?”
The conversation ends there, ghost too enthralled by the way his dick pumps out cum with every thrust. The position makes it perfect to see the tip of his dick bulging as he brings you down to the hilt.
“Fuck,” you pant, barely audible over those heavenly wails you let out.
“I know, doll. That’s what I’m doin’.” You don’t even have it in you to tell him to piss off and that’s exactly how he likes you.
Last is price, who lays you gently down on the table with a hand resting on each thigh. There’s no resistance as he slips his dick inside your warm and sloppy hole.
Immediately you shudder from oversensitivity, hands pawing at his abdomen to push him back but there’s no strength behind it.
He’s gentle, but the experience is there when he’s grinding up his dick to all the right places.
Two of his fingers scoop up the leaking cum (probably a mix of all three) before drawing delicate figure 8’s across your abused clit.
You squeak, legs tensing as sparks fill your vision. “There she is, nice and fuckin’ tight.”
And once he knows he has you teetering on that edge, he’s pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow.
The table shakes under the intensity and it proves to be worth it when you’re mumbling gibberish in hysterics.
Price finally pulls out, patting your pussy twice as a reward. “Good girl.” And you don’t know if he’s talking to you or your cunt.
You feel a hand cup your cheek but your vision is blurry and every voice sounds as if you’re underwater. “Ya look like you’re seeing stars, lassie.”
“I’m never playing poker again.”
Your comment earns a few chuckles from the group. “Oh don’t be like that. You almost almost had us!”
“Kyle’s right. You’re improving fast. You’re bound to win the next one, soldier.”
It’s a lie. Price knows it. The group knows it. You know it. But it doesn’t stop you from playing the next week.
"Oh fuck, where is it?" You muttered to yourself as you tore apart your desk. Frantically searching for your favourite 'stress toy'. It wasn't exactly professional to play with your clit during meetings, but it kept you calm. And it wasn't like anyone was paying attention to the little secretary in the corner with the dopey smile on your face.
But your personal portal pussy had been misplaced. The toy that had sat in your pocket during nearly every meeting was nowhere to be found. And while that normally wouldn't be a huge issue, you'd just get another one, you were so sure that it had been stolen. How could it disappear from the back of the bottom locked drawer of your desk. One of these meat head, pent up, deliciously and disgustingly beefy soldiers had to have taken it. God knows what they would do with the thing.
Your leg bounced as you sat in the briefing. Nervously tapping your pen against your empty notebook as you glanced around the room. Searching for the thief. Totally unaware of Sergeants Garrick and Mactavish sitting behind you.
Fingers trailed through your folds and you stiffened in your chair. Squeezing your legs together like that would stop whoever had your toy. It didn't. Obviously. And now you could tell there must be multiple culprits. Fingers teasing your hole while others pinched at your clit. It took everything in you to not gasp. Gripping the edge of your notebook till dents formed in your hands.
Johnny flicked your clit. Snickering as you nearly jumped out of your chair. Kyle was better at staying silent, but he was just as amused. Dipping just the tip of his finger inside you to see you squirm. Every time he went a little deeper he could feel you fluttering around him. God they both wished they could see your face. Pinched as you used every ounce of willpower to stay inconspicuous.
They watched you shudder when Kyle finally slid two fingers inside you. Leaning over to Soap to whisper about how wet you were. Curling them deep inside you and grinning when you clenched down. As if to suck the digits deeper.
Johnny teased his fingers as your entrance as well and for a moment you could have cried. Unable to handle much more. But instead he just collected the slickness around Kyle's fingers and used it to further tease your clit. Both of them working in tandem until you were shaking all over. Biting down on your knuckles to stop yourself from making a noise as you came. The toy no longer relieving stress, in fact you had never felt more on edge.
The moment the meeting was over you were gone. Running out the door and barrelling past a few confused soldiers before locking yourself in the bathroom. Legs shaking as you leaned against the wall and tried to come up with a plan. For now the thieves seemed to have paused in their touches.
Then something fat prodded against the portal. Sliding through your slickness until it notched at your entrance.
"No... no..." You gasped, gripping the edge of the sink to steady yourself as a thick cock filled your cunt. Knees buckling as it just kept going. Whoever had the toy was big. Bigger than you'd ever taken that was for sure.
And then another. The tip of a second cock grinding against your clit before pressing against the first. You slid to the floor before you fell. Doing your best to relax knowing that there was nothing you could do to stop them.
You knew you should've put your gas mask on. You were just in such a hurry to get that wing of Makarov's base cleared - you broke down the door of a laboratory-like room, no time to react before some sort of pink gas flowed out.
You got several lungfuls of the sweet-smelling gas before you managed to get your gas mask over your face.
You needed to warn the others. You cried out into your comms, "Gas! There's some kind of gas, west wing! Get your masks on!"
The others responded affirmatives. You proceeded into the lab, gas mask firmly over your face. The pink gas had dispersed. You weren't feeling any different. No burning as you breathed, not even a headache.
The lab was empty. Not a soul in sight. There were still beakers of chemicals, equations, and lab notes scattered across the tabletops. You took everything you could.
You finished clearing the western wing when you started feeling... strange. You felt hot. Sweaty. Before you could really even realize what was happening, you were face-first on the floor.
You woke up in the back of the humvee. You'd been stripped down to your t-shirt and shorts. You still felt too hot. Every touch and brush of fabric against your skin sent sparks down your spine.
You let out a low whine, pulling at your remaining clothes weakly. What the fuck was that gas?
"Hey, hey, calm down, love. You're feverish, just lie back down," Gaz murmurs, capturing your wrists in his hand, "Cap, she's awake."
You moan at the feeling of Gaz touching you, even your fucking wrists. Gaz jerks back like he'd been burned, face etched with shock.
You could feel the stares of the other men as you writhed in your seat, tugging off the rest of your clothes. Your skin was burning hot to the touch and covered in sweat.
You kicked off your panties, moaning as your fingers brush over your clit.
"What the fuck..." You heard Price mumble, staring at you through the rear view mirror, "What the fuck did she breathe in?"
You hear Soap respond with something like, "We won't know till medical does a tox screen, but probably a chemical weapon of some sort..."
You grind up against your fingers, whining loudly. Your pussy is dribbling, leaking all over your fingers and down your thighs. Your clit was throbbing.
It took you less than five minutes to coax an orgasm out of yourself, moaning and shuddering. You don't stop pumping your fingers in and out of yourself.
Your head lolls backward, and you slump over onto Ghost. You feel Ghost stiffen under you. His hands latch onto your waist, tugging you into his lap.
You shriek, your oversensitive pussy throbbing against the rough canvas of Ghost's pants. You let out a weak little whine, grinding against Ghost's bulge.
"M not gonna fuck you, lovie. Not while you're like this." Ghost grumbles, grinding you back and forth on his bulge. Ghost grunts. Your pussy is boiling hot and sopping. "Easy, easy. You'll hurt yourself."
You manage to cum a few times, just like that. With your Captain watching. With the Sergeants watching. In a fucking humvee, speeding out of enemy territory.
You plead and beg for more. Ghost refuses to give it to you. You can hear Gaz frantically jerking his cock next to you. You can hear Soap sucking Price's cock in the front seat.
Something solid presses against your entrance. You instantly grind down on it, moaning. You sink all the way down to the hilt. You're whining.
"Fuckin' whore. She's fuckin' herself on it!" Soap laughs.
You look down, and you're riding the handle of Ghost's fucking knife. Your pussy flutters around it as you cum from the sight.
You stayed sat on Ghost's lap, the handle of his knife deep in your pussy, for the entire ride to the exfil point. Ghost was soaked from how wet you were.
"We're not done yet, baby. Still got our chopper ride yet."
Soap seems like the type of guy to want to share you with the task force. He definitely gets a stiffy thinking about his bonnie girl getting split open on Ghost's cock.
If you agreed to the sharing, Soap would be ecstatic. He'd pamper you all nice, give you a bath, brush your hair, and rub you all over with sweet-smelling lotion.
Soap would probably tie your hands together behind your back. Maybe he'd slide a plug into your ass, maybe he wouldn't.
Soap would definitely blindfold you. He'd make you guess which man's cock you're taking. A correct guess meant an orgasm. An incorrect guess meant a slap across the ass.
Soap would let Price fuck you first. Price has got a good sized cock, a little longer than Soap's, but not as thick. Soap would sloppily kiss you while his Captain's cock kisses your cervix.
"Who's fuckin' ye, lass?" Soap would ask teasingly, fingers gently rubbing your nipple.
"J-John, John!" You cried, Price's cock repeatedly striking that spot inside you. Soap's fingers would immediately be on your clit, coaxing you into an orgasm.
Oh, and Soap would let the men cum inside you.
Next in line would be Gaz. He'd be more gentle, slowly, sensually grinding into your already sloppy pussy. His fingers would gently tease your clit while you moaned and whined.
You'd easily be able to guess that it's Gaz. Soap would reward you with your second orgasm of the night. Don't worry, it won't be your last.
Ghost would always be third in line. His cock was too big for you to take without at least one orgasm and at least one other dick beforehand.
And when he finally split you open, it would feel like his cock was in your throat. You couldn't do much more than lay there and take it.
"Yeah, that's it... You know whose big cock is spreading you open." Soap breathed, lips placing sloppy kisses on your neck.
"Si-Simon!"
"Attagirl, good job, bonnie."
Soap's fingers would immediately rub and pinch your clit, throwing you into yet another orgasm.
Ghost doesn't stop when you cum. He'll fuck you harder after you do. Ghost would fuck you like he hates you. Maybe he does.
Once Ghost finally cums inside you, Soap is on you. One of his favorite things to do is lick other men's cum out of your drooling, sloppy, creamy pussy.
Only then will Soap fuck you. He'd tease you the whole time, asking if you knew that his cock was the only one that could make you squirt.
"Yes, yes!" You'd cry, pussy clenching around Soap.
He'd roughly pinch your clit just to hear you moan. If you squirt, Soap will laugh at you. He'll smack your poor pussy.
"I know, I know, needy little thing." Price grumbles, helping you line the toy up with your entrance, "Give me a damn second."
You sigh happily when the dildo is pressed inside. That's what you needed.
"Bought ya a new one. It can pump ya full of fake cum." Price muses, fiddling with the settings of the fucking machine. "'Cause I know your sloppy cunt needs to be filled."
You shiver. That does sound good.
Price switches the machine on, the dildo immediately thrusting harshly in and out of your pussy. You're whining and moaning. The fake cock is nudging that perfect spot with every thrust.
"Fuckin' whore. Falling apart on a fake cock. A bit pathetic." Price laughed, typing rapidly on his laptop.
You shudder, hips rocking back against the toy, seeking more friction. It feels fucking perfect. You squeak, being tossed into your first (of many) orgasms of the evening. You're lucky that Price laid a towel down first.
"Cumming already?" Price laughs, glancing up at you from his paperwork, "Slut."
Price discreetly presses a button on a small remote. The fake cock spurts cum into you.
You jolt forward in surprise, moaning loudly. You whine something about how the 'fake' cum is cold, sending shivers through your whole body.
"Aw, fussy little thing."
Price presses the button again, filling you with more cum. It's leaking out of your sloppy pussy, creating a frothy white mess that dribbles down your thighs.
"Next time I'll have the lads come fill your cunt in person, yeah?"
The first thing everyone notices about you is the color pink.
Pink scrubs. Pink pens. A pink clipboard covered in tiny pastel stickers—hearts, flowers, and a little cartoon bandage with a smiley face on it.
The second thing everyone notices is that you aren’t afraid of Ghost.
Which, according to the entire base, makes you either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
You hear the warnings your first week.
Soap leans against the med bay counter one morning while you organize gauze rolls, watching you with mild disbelief. “Ye know who that is, right?”
You glance up from the gauze rolls. “Who?”
“The big skull mask bloke who walks around like death himself.”
Gaz laughs from the doorway. “Lieutenant Ghost. Terrifies recruits for fun..? Breaks doors instead of knocking. That one?”
You blink once.
“Oh.”
Soap waits for you to react properly.
You simply shrug. “He seems nice.”
Soap nearly chokes.
The truth is, you’ve already met him.
It was two days ago. He walked past the med bay after training, boots heavy against the tile, gear slung over one shoulder. He’s massive—broad shoulders, tall enough that the overhead lights catch on the edges of the skull mask he never takes off.
You looked up from your desk.
And you smiled.
“Good afternoon..” a pause to look at the name Velcroed to his chest “Lieutenant Riley.”
He stopped walking.
People don’t greet him like that. You could tell by the way the hallway went quiet.
He stared at you for a moment through the black eye sockets of the mask, eyes dark and unreadable.
“…Afternoon.”
His voice was low. Almost.. hesitant?
You nodded politely and went back to writing on your clipboard.
Like it was completely normal.
After that, you greet him every time you see him.
“Hi, Lieutenant.”
“Morning, Lieutenant!”
“Hope you’re having a nice day Lieutenant.”
He never smiles—at least not that you can see—but he always gives a small grunt of acknowledgement. That’s enough for you.
What you do notice is that he never shows up to the med bay.
Which is a problem, because everyone is required to attend a monthly checkup.
Soap comes in complaining the whole time. Gaz jokes through the entire exam. Even Captain Price shows up on schedule.
Ghost?
Doesn’t come at all.
Three days after his appointment passes, you spot him turning the corner of a hallway and nearly run into his chest.
You stop just in time.
He looks down at you slowly.
Up close he’s even bigger.
You smile.
“Hi, Lieutenant Riley.”
“…What.”
You check your pink clipboard.
“You missed your checkup.”
He stares at you through the mask.
“…No I didn’t.”
You turn the clipboard around so he can see the neat list written in pink ink.
SIMON RILEY — MISSED APPOINTMENT
He exhales slowly through his nose.
“Not goin’.”
You tilt your head a little. “Why?”
“Don’t need it.”
The tone clearly says the conversation is over.
So you write something on your clipboard.
“Okay.”
He seems surprised by that. Like he expected an argument.
He steps past you.
Then you add sweetly, “I’ll just have to keep finding you until you do it.”
He stops walking.
Slowly turns his head.
You’re still smiling.
“…You serious?”
“Mhm.”
You tap the clipboard. “You’re overdue.”
He studies you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking.
You aren’t.
So over the next few days, you keep finding him.
In the hallway. Near the training room. Once outside the armory.
Every time, you smile.
Every time, you remind him.
“Your checkup is still overdue, Lieutenant.”
By the fourth time, he finally walks into the med bay himself.
You look up from your desk and brighten immediately.
“Oh! Hi, Lieutenant Riley.”
He sits in the chair like a man being sentenced.
“Do it quick.”
You nod happily. “Of course.”
You move through the exam like you would with anyone else. Pulse first. Your fingers rest lightly against his wrist while you count.
His skin is warm.
“Heart rate’s good,” you murmur, jotting the numbers down on your pink clipboard.
You reach for your stethoscope next. “Deep breath for me.”
He obeys, shoulders rising slowly.
The med bay is quiet except for your pen scratching across paper.
You don’t rush. You don’t treat him differently.
He’s just another patient.
“Alright,” you say gently after a moment. “Next I need to check your throat.”
He goes still.
You pause.
“Oh—right. Mask.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a small moment of silence before you ask softly, “Would it be alright if you lifted it just enough for me to see?”
You wait.
Most people would probably push him. Demand it. Try to force the issue.
You simply stand there patiently.
Eventually his hand lifts to the mask, pulling it up just enough for his mouth to be visible.
You don’t react. Don’t stare.
You lean a little closer with the small penlight. “Open please.”
He does.
You check his throat quickly, professional and calm.
“All good.” you say a moment later.
He lowers the mask again.
The rest of the checkup is quick—blood pressure, reflex test, a few more notes on your clipboard.
When you’re finished, you smile.
“All done.”
He stands from the chair.
There’s a brief pause before he gestures toward your scrubs.
“…Pink’s not regulation.”
You glance down at yourself.
“I know.”
“Why wear it then?”
You shrug. “Because I like it.”
He stares at you for a quiet second longer, eyes unreadable behind the skull mask.
Then he turns toward the door.
Halfway out, he stops.
“…Thanks.”
The word comes out rough. Quiet.
But genuine.
You watch him leave before looking down at your clipboard and writing the final note beneath his name in pink ink.
