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#manic pixie dream ghost - Simon "Ghost" Riley
eyes of a stranger // SUMMONED | john 'soap' mactavish x reader au | 600 words
part 2 of the SUMMONED series.
bad call (simon) | you're the boss (price) | take care (kyle) | patchwork (könig)
cw/tags: 18+, explicit sexual content. reader has a cock; johnny uses feminine terms to describe them (hen, girl, lass). the reader's body is otherwise not described. supernatural elements. rimming, handjob + anal sex. dubcon. possessive johnny.
In the movies, the ghosts are sad or vengeful, seeking closure or justice.
You happened to summon a horny one.
A little lol let's hold a seance mixed with a lack of judgment across the board mixed with you calling out for someone who matches my freak.
After a lot of internet research in incognito mode, from what you've pieced together, the ghost died at the height of 1980s. He's dressed like shit and got a raging erection constantly from the cocaine permanently buzzing in his blood, or…ectoplasm?
The research stops being fun after a certain point and doesn't help your case.
You've got a leering Scottish dude as a clingy ghost, constantly pressing his big boner into your ass or between your legs. Look, at first, the novelty of it was fun. But when you've got work in the morning, waking up with a cock sliding into your ass and a och dinnae mind me hen jus need to blow off steam against your neck and now you've got to hop in the shower in the middle of the night because you got…ectoplasm? running out of your asshole.
Can't be banished. Can't get closure because Johnny just wants a fun time and someone to party with. He's pretty confident he died in the toilets at a nightclub that closed down in 1989. "Shame, many a night with my heid in a girl's fanny there."
He never leaves your side. Never content to stay back at the apartment or do his own thing, never too curious about the world around him. Just wants a hole to fuck — yours.
"Ye called me, hen."
There's no escaping him. You can't outrun him, can't trick him, can't tire him out. You could grab a flight to some remote island, and his spectral ass would just accompany you on board.
"Johnny, please," you sob, beyond exhausted after a few years. "I need space. Time. Distance. Anything, please."
His mouth is busy rimming your asshole, lapping and circling desperately, his saliva — yes, he produces it all when he's this close to you for this long, how lucky — running down your crack to your cock.
"Shush, hen," he tuts, licking forcefully until you're buckling, face into the pillow. His hairy hand comes between your legs and begins the slow tugs at your cock, and of course you're already leaking everywhere. Starting to shake under his ministrations.
"Want yer cum, lass. All sweet an' just fer me."
"No," you protest with a long, insane whine as your toes curl and the heat spreads low in your belly, your hips fucking into his tight wet fist. "I don't want to. I just wanna sleep."
He spits on your asshole, loud and gross, and you moan. "Ye cannae sleep if ye haven't gotten tae cum, ye daft girl. Gi'e me yer cum an' ah'll let ye sleep."
He won't. He won't be done even then, his cock never falling asleep. Always hard and angry and throbbing.
He milks your cock harder and you pitch forward, pulling away from his warm corporeal tongue with a shrill cry, and och there she goes.
Your pleas are met with light, snapping laughter, and then his cock is being rubbed against your asshole enough times that you finally shift and wriggle into acceptance: please. He hums graciously like he's doing you a favour, slapping your ass hard and making you buck. "Open wide fer me," he coos as he pulls your cheeks apart for his inspection.
Your brain goes offline at this part, and he takes over completely in his dominating, hyperactive, body-buzz electric way about him.
bad call // SUMMONED | simon riley x reader au | 1.4k words
part 1 of the SUMMONED series.
eyes of a stranger (soap) | you're the boss (price) | take care (kyle) | patchwork (könig)
cw/tags: 18+. explicit sexual content. cis fem reader. supernatural content. dubcon (somnophilia/drunk) content.
The new house comes with a crawlspace.
You and your favourite cousin, PJ, decide to tackle it together because it freaks you out too much to do it alone. You haul out a few moldering boxes and over two bottles of wine, sit on the basement floor and rifle through them.
A few photo albums still wrapped in cellophane, a stack of Christmas cards bundled together with string, old baby toys, and a few board games make up your bumper crop.
"You don't wanna play this old trivia game from—" PJ squints at the manufacturing date on the box "—1963?"
You laugh at him, and push the others aside to check the titles. No games you really recognized, but clear as day: an Ouija board.
"Yes!" PJ crows. "Absolutely, we must."
"Dude, no. I'm not fucking around with that shit."
"You've literally said you don't believe in ghosts."
You shrug, pushing the game at his chest. "Every single movie in history, my guy. I'm not a fucking chump. I'm not taking that chance, because with my luck, that's when I'd get proven wrong."
—
Wine happens. More.
Spirits, we implore you to—dude, do you think this house's actually got ghosts?—
—
You see PJ off in his rideshare and slowly sway your way back up to your bedroom, your hands pressing carefully against the walls as you climb the stairs. You stop to laugh, hunched over, at absolutely nothing, just softly chuckling to yourself.
You're gonna be fucked in the morning.
Can't bear the harsh lights, you keep them off as you collapse into bed, phone on your pillow beside your nasty wine-breath mouth. Stay in that position for longer than you should, immediately asleep.
Rolling over at some point, your hand thudding against something hard. You and PJ must've moved your bed against the wall like you'd discussed…?
Out of the murky dark, the wall grows large pale arms that come down and around you, pulling you into a body that is materializing itself, ripping a shrill scream out of your sticky throat.
"Quiet," the new body in your bed — not the wall — says gruffly. The arms tighten around you, banding you until you can't squirm without nausea slithering out of your belly up your throat.
"—be sick," you croak, and pull away fast enough to puke over the side of the bed, hitting the mattress on your way. Hammered. Nightmare. Sleep paralysis. No different than being drunk in bed and continuously dreaming about someone in the doorway with a glass of cold water for you. "Fuck," you grunt. You lay your head flat on the cool bedsheet, trying to force your heavy eyes open. Should get up and clean it now, not wait til morning.
Sleep rips you away before you even feel ashamed.
—
You're moaning. That's what wakes you up.
Thick and gummy moans humming through your body, like you're a cat trying to heal itself with low vibrational purrs. But you're not moaning to heal your hangover; you're moaning because something hard is rocking hard and hot against your cunt, sliding against your slipperiness, between your plump lips. Staying in the shallow end.
"What'fu—" You lift your concrete block of a head with a loud, hot grunt, and twist slowly to not make your stomach roil.
Your sleep paralysis demon in the still-dark, a pale-bodied stack of muscles working in sync to fuck at your cunt without actually going in. It makes a disgustingly harsh noise of pleasure, and clamps a hand over your bare hip to keep you in the same position. Your face stays on its side, stretched flat where his rocking motions are pushing you forward and pulling you back.
He's a man, but not human. Not earthly. In an instant glance, some deep-primal part of you understands that without turning any cerebral senses on. This is when your tether to reality snaps altogether. The surreality blunts fear and panic and confusion into a dreamy film that casts itself to your skin, present, but part of you.
"Am I dreaming."
"If y'want to tell yerself that, be my guest."
"Am I dead."
"Nah."
You moan and it might be the start of tears but you don't actually know anymore.
"Are you real."
Something shifts behind you, and then his cock is stroking up inside you, hitting your walls and stretching tight against you. This is when the dream would break apart and you'd wake up, a sensation too vivid and too real — achingly hot flesh against yours — yanking you from the cloudy haze of unconsciousness. But instead, it only takes a couple strokes until you're crying out, your pillow wet under your face still turned away, your body pitching itself up and over the climax all on its own while the thing behind you grunts and groans heavy and dark, dragging you down with it. Its hand is bruising on your waist until it's fucking you so hard that all you can do is sob and take it, a receptacle for its tension and urgency until the voice is ragged and hollowed out, and you feel heat slipping out of you. Liquid and silky.
You cry yourself back to sleep, unwilling to turn around and pretending the hand on your hip isn't there.
When you come to, the room is light and still. You roll over to see an empty bed. The covers are all fucked up, but it's empty.
Your pillow's marked up with mascara and a small dried puddle. You lean over the bed blearily; a little bit of bile on the floor. Fuck.
Between your legs — the throb, the wet.
You pull on baggy shorts and a t-shirt and clean up the puke while trying not to gag. You scrub at your face in the bathroom and do not make eye contact with yourself.
The pale thing is sitting on your couch. It's naked, arms crossed over its chest and legs resting out on your coffee table. Cock slumbering fat against its hairy thigh. Its eyes open to see you standing there, shaking like a little dog.
"Y'wanna know what you did?"
You just stare.
"Yer little game. Shouldn't poke around with things you don't know, bird. Heard your sweet little voice. You never know who's gonna answer back."
You don't make it to the bathroom. You catch it with your hands.
The thing grunts in disgust. "God, yer a right mess. Can't handle yer liquor."
—
He makes the rules clear over time.
You called out; he answered. There's no returning him. When you try to flee to a hotel, he just chuckles low and dark in your ear in the big king bed.
House didn't summon me, lovie. You did.
The spectrality of his form depends on the day. The days you ignore him, he's amorphous and weak. Terrible housemate, not able to carry his own weight. When you argue with him, which is useless because he has no earthly concerns and derives joy from pissing you off, he looks as real as a human. Those nights are the most haunting; his cock is the hardest, stiffest, driving up inside you as you push against him and fight it the whole way. You can't let yourself actually accept your reality: that you hate him with your whole being and that he is the best sex you've ever had. He tells you later that fucking you makes him feel, for a bit, at least "put back together," although the sensation never lasts.
He doesn't remember how or when or where he died. Doesn't matter to him, so the matter's dropped eventually. Given that he loves your bed better than any place in the whole house and doesn't recognize any modern conveniences, you surmise he'd been milling around wherever, waiting to answer your call, for hundreds of years.
All he tells you is that he thinks he was probably a shit.
"You still are," you grouse as he grips your thick thighs and pries them apart.
"Exactly my point. Now be quiet," he grunts between your legs, his tongue lashing out at you. Never tiring. No ego between his sucks and laps of your cunt. No impatient tongue trying to roll you over the edge so it can be his turn. No sore back that means he has to change position constantly. A real thing eating your cunt until you yell at him to stop, uttering a low unbothered chuckle.
You tell yourself that at least you didn't summon something that's a bad fuck.
i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. like in the airbnb i was at i guess it used to be a kids room cause you could see the imprint of one little glow in the dark star that had been missed and painted over in landlord white. like that's a poem already what's the point
Notes: Another old bit. Been sitting in the drafts forever and I'm releasing it into the wild. Heavily inspired by @sentientcave's exploration of Price and his ex-wife and brought to the fore again because @anneofgreengabagool keeps reminding me of how much i love hating these men.
---
You've been up for almost 36 hours now, between living your own life, the call, and traveling back to England to sit at Kyle's bedside. The doctors say he's going to make a full recovery. All of the pieces of metal are accounted for, his lung is patched up. They hadn't told you over the phone quite what had happened, but now you've pieced together that a combination of bullets, an explosion, and a partially collapsed building chewed Kyle up and spit him out.
He wakes up slowly. His eyes are a bloodshot but clear as they flutter open. He groans, and you know his throat hurts; he was intubated until just a couple of hours ago. When you open the straw for his little glass of water, he turns to see you with a wince that turns into a tired grin.
"Hey," he rasps.
You press the straw between his lips. "Don't talk. Slow sips. When you're done with this, I'll get your captain."
He obediently, painstakingly, drinks. A third of the way done, he says, "Thank you for coming."
You clench your jaw and resist the urge to dump the rest of the water over his head. "Update your emergency contact." When he opens his mouth so say something else, you jab the straw into the top of his mouth, gentler than you would like. He winces, but starts drinking again. "Don't, Kyle."
The door opens, and in walks Captain John fucking Price, right on time. His beard fluffs up around his smile when he sees Kyle awake.
"Broken, Gaz?"
"You tell me, Cap," Kyle wheezes.
"Well, the building fell, and apparently you tried to catch it." He comes to a stop on the other side of the bed from you. He crosses his arms, you assume to keep from touching and also to be a little intimidating to you.
Now that Kyle is smiling up at him, you put the cup of water down and take a step back. "I'll let the nurses know he's awake."
"You don't have to go." Kyle's puppy dog eyes are both hindered and strengthened by the bruising around his right eye.
You turn your back to pick up your purse and book from the recliner in the corner. "I'm also going to grab something to eat."
"Grab me a sandwich, love."
If looks could kill, Price would be dead three times over. "Eat shit and die."
---
When you make your way back to the room, you find Lieutenant Riley and a man you vaguely recognize as another sergeant waiting for the elevator. You almost don’t clock him. The hood of Simon’s jacket is down, leaving his hair looking ruffled. His plain black surgical mask doesn’t stand out. And then he turns to you enough that you can see the scars on the other side of his face, his eyebrows popping up.
“You look exhausted,” he says as a greeting. His companion - the slightly overgrown mohawk is so familiar but you cannot remember his name - looks between the two of you curiously.
“I’m creeping up on forty hours without sleep,” you answer, taking a sip of your coffee and staring at the elevator door instead of looking at him.
“Look good, then,” is all he says.
“John MacTavish,” the other one introduces himself, extending a hand.
“Uh huh.” You give him a quick glance up and down as the elevator arrives. John “Soap” MacTavish. You’re not surprised he doesn’t remember meeting you once, a couple of years ago. He looks a bit startled when you step into the elevator instead of taking his hand, but follows Simon’s lead and doesn’t comment further.
You let them enter Kyle’s room while you linger in the hall, scrolling through your phone. There’s a seating area just a little further down the hall, that you’re seriously considering, but then the door opens and Soap pokes his head out.
“Kyle’s askin’ fer ye,” he says.
You step inside, and put your back to the wall on next to the door. They’ve obviously left the recliner open for you, but they’ve also rolled it closer to Kyle’s bedside, so you stay where you are. Price is right where you left him, standing over Kyle like a sentry. Ghost is across from the foot of Kyle’s bed, while Soap takes a seat on the window sill.
They’re all looking at you. You want to ask if they’re waiting for you to do a trick, but you’re trying not to start fights you’re too tired to finish. “You need me to call the nurse?”
“Just wondered where you were,” Kyle says. He sounds better, but that’s not saying much. “Simon said you rode up the elevator with them.”
Traitor. “I was just in the hall. Don’t need to overcrowd you.”
“You could never, lovie.”
“Don’t.” You were willing to be gentle earlier, but lovie is several steps too far. You look at Price. “Are we divvying up shifts, then?”
One of his eyebrows arches. “You need a break?”
From anyone else, that wouldn’t be an accusation. But Price is a master of pointed questions. Too bad for him, you stopped caring about his opinion of you about a year and a half ago. “Considering I’m the one listed for overnights and emergency decisions, I should probably sleep more than a couple of hours every three days.”
“We can get you a hotel,” Kyle rasps.
“I’m set,” you answer, without looking at him. You arch an eyebrow at Price. “Visiting hours end at six. I can be back at five.”
“We’re approved until eight.”
“Then I’ll be back at seven.”
“’Ll walk you out,” Simon says. “Left somethin’ in the car.”
“No you didn’t,” you correct. “Don’t lie for my benefit, Simon, I don’t appreciate it. If you’re walking with me, I can’t stop you.”
“Sorry,” he says, standing and putting his hands in his pockets. “Force of ‘abit.”
You don’t tell him he’s full of shit, because you’re not going to be drawn into a fight that Price can take advantage of. You step forward to pick up the larger bag off of the recliner and push the rolling table close enough that Kyle can reach the water on his own. “Stay hydrated. I’m telling the nursing staff to make sure you stay on top of your pain meds.”
He looks a bit cowed and a lot sad. But he only says, “Okay.”
It tugs at your heart, just a bit. You’d feel worse if you didn’t know those sad eyes were step one of his emotional warfare campaign. You exit the room with Simon on your heels.
He doesn’t say anything until you’re in the lobby, calling a car. “C’n drive you.”
“No.”
“A’righ’,” he says. “Don’t be too harsh on ‘im, eh? ‘E almost died.”
“You know the last time he talked to me? Six months ago.” You counter. “He called me, drunk. Asked for another chance. No apologies. No therapy. Just ‘please take me back, I know you still love me.’”
“You do,” Simon points out. “Or you wouldn’t be ‘ere.”
“And that’s what’s so fucking tragic,” you tell him, finally looking up into his eyes. Simon’s always been your favorite of Kyle’s coworkers, because he’s always been honest and respected your honesty back. “He keeps reeling me back in because I love him. But the whole time he’s insisting he wants us to work, he doesn’t say he loves me, once.”
“’E does.”
“It’s never going to be enough,” you sigh. Your phone buzzes to tell you the car is arriving soon. “Loving me is never going to be his priority. He demands that I make even more concessions, goes silent for months, and then calls me in to make medical decisions. After I've told him repeatedly to pick someone else, anyone else, for this.”
genuinely cannot get the wording right on this but
john price on the run after killing shepherd ends up in some nowhere swamp town that's barely staying above the income line and falls in love in between the aisles of the smallest grocery store he's ever been in.
the man can't help it, the soft rounded vowels and lilt of consonants as you ask him, "darlin', you even know how to cook those?" he shouldn't, you picked him out too quickly as an outsider, it's a liability if anyone else came through asking about him, but you tip your head and your brows draw together and your teeth worry your lip and he can't reach for the gun. especially not when you lean down and give him a look down your shirt as you sort through his shopping basket.
harder still when you invite him back to your place for dinner, no questions asked about where he's from or how he got here, nothing about where he's going after this, just a hot meal that sticks to his bones and a cold drink that tastes closer to piss than beer, but makes his head swim as almost pleasantly as watching you press the can to the sweat on your neck.
sure, this may have started as a quick pit stop to refill his rations, but the longer he looks around your little house the more he thinks it looks like home.
Content warning: Serial killers, spiked drink, sexual threat (she gets away I prommy), lots of death-by-werewolf hehe :3c
Anyways if I was in charge of Hollywood there would be a movie that starts off with a sexy chubby woman (the chubbiness is IMPORTANT) living her best life out to the bar with her gal pals, and while there she is hit on by an unreasonably hot man* (*conVENTIONALLY hot. it's IMPORTANT). They start chatting about a huge current news story: dismembered women keep getting found in the WOODS holy shit and always the night after the full moon so the press are calling it "the werewolf murders" BECAUSE it looks like there's claw marks on the bodies I scream I cry I move on with the story-
So Hot Guy is charming he's witty he's respectful. He asks to buy her a drink and she's kinda into it BUT she tells him she doesn't accept any drink that's handed to her by a stranger and he's like "Say less babe, what if we went up to the bartender together, you order your drink, I pay for it, my hands are never on the drink :)" and she's like hmm okay I can trust like that so they spend the night having flirty banter and eventually she looks around and realises her gal pals have left with their own little romances and she's like oh shit I better go, and he's like awh okay if you insist, at least let me buy you a shot for the road.
So he buys her a shot, and same deal again she gets it straight from the bartender bc our girl is SAVVY even though she is having fun with this guy. Anyway she goes to leave and within a few mins of stepping out into the cold wet air the world begins to spin, her legs give out, she's like wtf, no no no how the fuck is this happening, this can't be happening. And of course Hot Guy appears and he's like awh no babe you don't look so good here let me help you into a CAR GIRL HELP DO NOT GET IN THE CAR but she's confused and disoriented and there's a degree of trust built up between them and it's only when the car door closes that she realises it's already too late and passes out SCREAM
anyway she comes to in the middle of the woods and relax she hasn't been touched YET because there's suddenly 4 men around her (henceforth known as: The Pack) and they're all laughing about how big girls are SO desperate they're so easy to trick BLARGH they're spouting a bunch of general misogynist BULLSHIT about "high value males" and "the female brain" and they call themselves "the Pack" because YOU KNOW these fuckers live their whole life by that fallacious Alpha Male ideology ANYWAY obviously they are led by Hot Guy AND the Bartender is ONE OF THEM that's how her drink got spiked, she was watching the wrong man's hands!!
And they're like "haha don't worry we didn't do anything to you while you were out because it's only worth doing when you KNOW what we're doing to you >:)" PUKE they are basically a bunch of sick fuck serial killers who abduct women every full moon and then hunt them down in the woods THEY ARE THE WEREWOLF MURDERERS AAAAH anyway they're like "haha babe we'll give you a 10 minute headstart. You'll know we're coming after you when you hear us HOWL" 🤢 but these sad wimp shit heads are using high end hunting equipment including an infrared camera and night vision goggles they have NO respect for the art of the hunt I DIGRESS-
obviously our sexy chubby heroine runs for it but oh no she can't see in the dark, she's still wearing her cute but impractical heeled boots, she's still dizzy from the drugs and more importantly feeling like a worthless, pathetic FOOL for falling for Hot Guy and now she's going to get killed for it. Her heart is breaking with every step and then she hears them howling behind her and oh god, she's not gonna make it is she-
WHUMBLE TUMBLE she trips and tumbles down a ridge!! Our angel just can't catch a break and to make everything worse she lands in what is clearly some predator's den, full of old deer carcasses - and one FRESH carcass oh god something is growling at her from the darkness. With only the light of the full moon to see, she watches in horror as a dark shape advances on her. It must be a bear, she thinks, but then it rises on it's hind legs, and rises, and rises, and holy shit, what the fuck is that thing it's not a bear it's a FUCKING WEREWOLF
and then one member of The Pack catches up to her, and he's giddy with anticipation for what he wants to do to her, and he's the one with the night vision goggles and he stops laughing when he sees that... That THING next to her in the gorge, and he's like. What the fuck that can't be real. And in my movie we'd be cutting this between dark moonlit scenes and his night vision goggles of course, through which we'd get to see the werewolf's huge sexy teeth and eerie (sexy) glowing eyes and that the wolf is looking at HIM and this guy freaks the fuck out and tries to run but GUESS WHAT YOU SHOULDN'T DO BITCH. YOU SHOULDN'T RUN FROM A WEREWOLF because it launches at him and rips his fucking head off!!
And our heroine is like FUCK as if this night could get any worse now werewolves exist?!?! So she flees while the Wolf is busy with Pack Guy #1. Cut to: the other men in The Pack are regrouping, irate that Guy#1 got so far ahead of them because "He never shares 🙄" but ahead the guy with the infrared sensor is like "I see a big splatter of heat on the ground, he's finished her off without us that bastard!!" But lo and behold they get there and IT IS HE WHO IS SPLATTERED ACROSS THE GROUND!! The Pack are at first like wtf did this but they're all pieces of shit so they don't mourn their dead friend so much as lament the inconvenience of his death and assume a bear did it. Hot Guy is actually a little excited because he's never hunted a bear before and they have guns so, in his word, "we can mount a bitch and a bear in our trophy room tonight" and they leave Guy#1's body BUT they do take his night vision goggles.
Meanwhile the sexy beautiful apple of our eyes (Protagonist) has made it to a RIVER and she's like fuck it's cold but maybe I can follow the river downstream, there will be a town eventually right??? BUT who is right on her tail?? The werewolf of course! He's snarling and advancing in a mixture of animal curiosity and hostile territoriality and our darling beloved Protag is like FUCK I can't run I can only back away slowly oh god I'm going to die but JUST as the Wolf reaches her-
Howling! Those stupid shitfuck Alpha Bros are howling as a way to terrorize her so she knows they're closing in. But you know what that does to werewolf?? Immediately tells him who the REAL territorial threat is. The Pack burst through the trees to the river and Wolf wastes no time latching his teeth into one of them and ripping his throat open ( 🥵 ) and the Pack are like WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING and bang bang they SHOOT werewolf in the torso AAAH! He's not dead because the bullets aren't silver teehee but it HURTS and he's knocked into the river. Protag tries to run but they shoot at her too so with nowhere else to go she also jumps into the river SWIM BITCH SWIM
She and the Wolf are swept downriver in the rapid current, both gasping for breath between being dunked underwater. Protag manages to grab a hold of some logs to save herself. The Wolf tries to grab them too but oh NO he's too big and heavy and the water-rotted wood SNAPS and he continues swirling down the rapids. He manages to cling to a boulder in the center of the river and claw his way up for air, fast water frothing white around him, filling his mouth, trying to drag him under again.
Protag drags herself to the shore and breathlessly looks back, ready to run again as she hears the Pack howling in the distance. She sees the Wolf clawing desperately to life, and turns to leave him - but stops. She can't help herself. She looks back at him. The whites of his eyes are showing with their wide, confused panic. One hand is held tight to the boulder, the other flails desperately for some purchase. A high pitched, frightened whine pierces the air. He looks as afraid as she feels. He looks so HUMAN, so honest, so earnestly in need of someone's kindness. God, she HATES herself for being weak (*cough cough* NOT WEAK SHE'S FUCKING KIND!! but anyway *cough cough*)
She DRAGS a thick, sturdy branch to the riverside and feeds it into the water. She has to anchor herself in the deep, squelching mud to keep the branch (and herself!) from being yanked back into the current. The Wolf reaches with that helpless, human desperation. Monstrous hands close around the branch. She heaves, roaring with the effort to support his weight as he claws his way to shore. The howling is getting real close, now.
Once the werewolf can sink his paws into the mud, she abandons the branch and runs for the treeline. The two remaining Pack members are upon them now - but trapped on the wrong side of the river. They fire their gun at her. The Wolf launches a huge rock in their direction, which misses, but forces them to back off.
Protag runs for her life in the woods. She can hear the weight of the huge, loping animal behind her. She feels the shift in the air the moment before it makes impact. The Wolf tackles her from behind, bundling her into his arms while she kicks and shrieks in raw, animal defense. The Wolf, unable to contain the flurry of protesting limbs, throws her into the wet, sloppy mud and slams one of his heavy hand-paws down on her chest, pinning her down forcefully. He roars directly into her face, sharp teeth inches from soft skin, breath hot and rancid with the stench of dead deer. His message is very easy, even with the animal-language barrier: "SHUT THE FUCK UP."
Defeated, exhausted, and resigned to her fate, Protag goes limp. The Wolf half drags, half carries her across the forest floor. She accepts that she's just a slab of meat now - to both the Wolf, and the Pack. The drugs and the despair and the post-adrenaline crash all surge upon her in a wave of sudden sleepiness. She closes her bloodshot eyes.
She opens them to the muted daylight of an overcast morning, seeping through the mouth of a cave. Soft sounds alert her to the fact she is not alone: a nude man is hunched over in a corner beside her. Blood drips down his side. She shrieks and he jumps in surprise. She scrambles for the entrance to the cave - he grabs her and pulls her back. Shut up! He tells her, They're still out there! They're still looking for us!
She stops. Brain starts working. Realises where she is, what's happening, who THIS is. She shoves him away and accuses him of being the werewolf. He's like "uh. Ya. Who else were you expecting."
He's not thrilled about how he spent his full moon, either. He was shot several times in the arm and abdomen, and his accelerated healing means he's healed with one bullet still inside him. He's trying to dig it out. Horrified, but feeling obligated, Protag forces herself to help him. (It's an "EWW" moment, but also... A lil bit of an "awwh" moment ;3c )
In the quiet cave, reluctantly working together, they start to talk. She tells him who she is, who those guys are, what happened. He tells her he's a software engineer from the city. But yeah, also a werewolf. He's been using these woods for his full moons for his entire adult life. Recently, the so-called "werewolf murders" made him worry another wolf had moved into his territory - but now he realises it was these shithead men all along.
He tells her he'll help her get to the road, where she can flag down a car and get help, but she has to swear not to tell the world about his kind. She's like "Say less my guy, 1. I don't want a werewolf coming after me in vengeance, 2. who the fuck would believe me, they're probably not gonna believe me about these evil men either". He's like Well, don't freak out or anything, but I am 100% going to kill those guys. They've defiled my woods. They've perverted the air they breathe. And if I don't kill them, they're just gonna keep coming back here with more victims. She's like (*the following dialogue is expressed through facial expressions ONLY, no words) "Okay why is it so unbelievably sexy to hear this weird naked wolfman say he's going to kill those guys. I think he's actually quite fuckable suddenly."
Oh how they bond over extracting that bullet and the dire circumstances they find themselves in! His clothes are safely stashed on the other side of the woods, oh bother. The audience will just have to enjoy hairy burly naked man as Wolf and Protag trek to the road 😇
They walk, they talk, they have real romantic chemistry - but they are principally focused on the task at hand (not dying). They almost make it to the road, when they hear men's voices nearby. They duck into the hollow made by a fallen tree's roots.
It's Hot Guy and Pack Guy#3, the two surviving bad guys. They are using the infrared camera to track our heroes!! Those shitheads!! There's latent heat on the leaf litter and a few trees that were touched. Fuck!
By a small miracle, Wolf notices a doe grazing about two hundred meters away. He throws a pebble to startle her, and she takes off into the brush. The infrared camera only sees a flash of heat sprinting into the trees and the Pack take off after it. Wolf and Protag run the opposite direction, forced to abandon their way to the road as they would be too exposed in the thinning trees.
Instead, they make it to a disused ranger station that Wolf knows about. He manages to change into some shorts there (tragic) and they use the rain water tanks to wash the blood and mud off themselves. Forced to wait inside until nightfall, the pair finally begin to open up to one another (they both have trust issues for OBVIOUS reasons).
Protag asks if Wolf will recognise her when he transforms that night. He's like "Um, ya. The hollywood stereotypes that we're all these deranged, rapacious monsters is really hurtful actually. It's true I don't have my human decorum when I change, but I'm no more a monster than any real wolf. I hunt to eat, I kill if threatened. I'm not some unstoppable bloodlust predator, I'm just a fucking wolf."
She jokes that she could teach him some commands. Sit, stay, roll over, Good Boy. He BLUSHES (teehee). Their conversation turns a little flirtatious, in a "we both might die tonight" kind of way. He jests that he'd kill anyone who tried to put a collar on him, but... He MIGHT just make an exception, for a beautiful, resilient, ferocious woman. You know where this is going. THEY FUCK NASTY. Use your imagination and make it whatever you want :) In my mind she rides him hard until he's brainless and begging, and then animal instinct takes over and he rolls them over and fucks her into the bed until it breaks. But you can make it whatever you want :)
ANYWAY. In the quiet, cuddling aftermath, they both agree that it's Us or Them. There's one way out of these woods, and that's killing the Pack.
Night comes. The moon rises. Painful Wolf transformation. Awh he's a big scawy pubby :) Dressed in Wolf's improvised shorts and her dress from the night before, Protag leaves the cabin with Werewolf by her side.
They start a firepit to lure the Pack in, hoping to use the infrared camera against them. It works. While Wolf is monitoring their make-shift perimeter, Guy#3 sneaks up and manages to get to Protag. A bloody, violent fight ensues. She's armed only with a burning torch she made out of a branch, tree sap and leaf litter. He's got a gun - but he's too arrogant to use it. He wants to have FUN with her, first. He describes what he's done to all the other women they brought the woods. He laughs at how gullible she was, how desperate for a "high value man" to want her that she didn't see the OBVIOUS trap. Despite a commendable struggle, Protag is overpowered. Guy#3 gets her on the ground and takes out a large knife, taunting her over just HOW he plans to use it on her, when-
CRUNCH. Wolf arrives and rips his fucking head off, babay!! In a literal way. His clawed hands sink into Guy#3's throat, and with a violent jerk upwards, he tears the head from its shoulders. Poor Protag is showered with blood (but in a sexy movie way).
But alas!! T'was an OBVIOUS trap all along! The King Shithead, Hot Guy, knowingly sent his friend in first to lure Wolf out into the open. He shoots Wolf in the back, again and again and again and again, until poor Wolf collapses in a wheezing lump on the floor. Protag screams in horror, but there's nothing she can do.
She lunges at Hot Guy, and the final scrap for survival begins. He's out of bullets, but he has physical strength on his side; he's bigger and stronger than she is. He beats her to the ground, but - Protag grabs Guy#3's knife and stabs Hot Guy through the knee!! A total wuss for pain, he backs off immediately - but Protag isn't done, she isn't about to let this snake slink away into the shadows. She charges him, stabbing him in the groin, the stomach, the chest. She's more wolf than woman, now. She looks him in the eyes, and tells him "It's only worth doing when you KNOW what I'm doing to you," and stabs him straight in the heart. He is dead.
Exhausted and wounded, she crawls to where Wolf lies motionless by the fire. She strokes his fur and tells him everything is going to be okay. Over the trees, she watches the sky turning orange with dawn.
ONE MONTH LATER. Protag, still sporting some bandages from her ordeal, gets ready in her apartment for another night out, just as she did at the beginning. She texts her gal pals to say she'll meet them at the bar. All appears to be as it was before.
She leaves her bathroom, freshly made up, and stops in at her kitchen, asking "Are you all ready for the night, love?"
Wolf is in the kitchen, packing himself water, snacks, and a change of shorts. He wraps her in a huge hug, lifting her off the ground and peppering her face with kisses. He'll miss her for the full moon, he says, but he's glad she's going out with her girls. When he gets back in the morning, they'll have a lazy day together. She kisses him back fondly and calls him a good boy ;3 As they part ways, the news broadcast on the TV mentions the discovery of some remains - four men who were reported missing last month, now suspect to be the victims of a freak animal attack. The Reporter jokes about how maybe, they should take the "werewolf killer" a little more seriously. Protag turns the tv OFF.
its so fucked that not only did they erase our languages and beat and kill our people for using them but they stole the words of important tribes and important people and used them for the military and for trees and for food and for summer camps. average native american name is seen by non ntvs as a joke or something to use or consume, not a human being
i like that ppl r thinking abt town names and things thats very good to be aware of but just to be clear this is actually specifically about other things actually, the things everyone but those looking up their nation forget about
sequoyah was the man who created the tsalagi syllabary before it was ever a tree
if i try to look for apparel or crafts to show off my chickasaw pride, i get results for chickasaw plums which is just a specific species of plum before i get results about human beings
others have mentioned if they google their nations name they get boot companies before their nations website!
theres a tweet that still haunts me that was about a Quirky Quasi American Restaurant in europe or somewhere that was being funny by being cowboy themed and their steaks were named after native american nations. even outside the usa we are nothing but literal dead meat for others consumption
"blackhawk" "apache" - fuck theres a whole wikipedia page for the way weve had our names used for weapons used to colonize and kill us and others!
yes talk about town and location names but you need to look farther than that. it gets so much worse, i promise
The rookie mistake in fiction writing is assuming that short stories will be easier to write than novels because they're smaller. No. This is the equivalent to thinking that it's easier to make a pocket watch than grandfather clock. Short stories are complex engineering problems.
I think a lot about how in Ice Age 1 a huge theme is the slow but unstoppable advancement of the human species as they start to threaten previously unchallenged megafauna (hunting the pack of the antagonist sabertooth and killing Manny the mammoth’s family) and then in all the sequels they just fuckin disappear
I think a lot about how the first movie was actually pretty somber and dark with moments of lightheartedness and comedy, about three animals who had lost their own families finding family in each other while trying to return this baby to his own family…
The first sequel, while wackier, touches on the existential dread and loneliness Manny feels at being the apparent last of his kind, his exhilaration at meeting another like him, and the question of “be together because we want to be, or we HAVE to be?” as well as Ellie having been part of a found family herself…
….and then the franchise from then on out turns into “wacky animal hijinks.”
OKAY FOR REAL i rewatched the original ice age a little while ago for nostalgia and this movie is GOOD you guys—i literally rewatched it all over again the next day. there are a couple of key things i noticed:
1. they know how to shut up. the animals know how and when to shut up. yes, even the comic relief one. do you have any idea how important this is? yes, they play it for laughs when diego first confronts manny and they fight and then diego stops, clears his throat, and asks manny politely for the child (which was brilliant, by the way, i laughed aloud), but aside from that, when there’s a serious moment, they let it be serious. when manny accepts the baby from the mother, when he sees the paintings of the mammoths on the cave wall, when he returns the baby to its father, these are moments where everyone is dead silent, even sid, and the music is soft and heartwrenching and the next line is rarely, if ever, a joke that undercuts the prior moment. they let these scenes linger and it really makes this feel like an emotional, somber, serious movie with fun character interactions rather than a comedy that makes cheap appeals to emotion.
2. the way they characterize manny at the beginning is SUPER interesting to me. by the end of this movie, we know manny is a big softie who was deeply wounded by the loss of his family. we as the audience don’t know this yet, though, and the first time we catch a hint that there’s something deeper going on here, it’s when manny firmly, sharply insists to sid that partners should be loyal to each other. it’s not an obnoxiously blatant “hey i have trauma” flag, since it could be interpreted as the writers playing with the monogamy of mammoths and promiscuity of sloths, which i’m fairly certain they bring up in this movie, if not one of the others. still, though, it strikes that perfect balance of not making the Oh Frick Manny Had A Family reveal later on completely blindside us while also not telegraphing it too obviously. at the beginning, manny is clearly a loner who wants nothing to do with sid, but to avoid making him come off as a straight-up jerk, they make it abundantly clear in the introductory sequence that he has a strong moral code that he holds himself to (”I don’t like animals that kill for pleasure”). i just thought this was really well done, opening the movie with a scene that demonstrates both that manny is a complex character who comes off as cold but cares deeply (which sid basically sees straight through and i love it) and that sid is incredibly unlikable and as such nobody likes him. i didn’t realize it at first, but that’s such an interesting move. we open the movie with sid getting abandoned by his family, but then we find out how annoying he is and go “oh, well that explains it.” but then he tells manny all about how they regularly do their best to ditch him and it’s so clear that he’s just too pure and innocent to hold any malice towards them. under it all, though, it’s clear that he’s lonely, too, and has been for a while. these characters have depth, and feel like people, and every quiet moment just drives it home even more that they really don’t have anyone except each other.
3. DIEGO! we stan. i think it’s really interesting how instead of just throwing these characters into the world together, the writers make it clear that they had other people, before, but those people either were toxic and ditched them (sid’s family), were toxic and needed to be ditched (diego’s pack), or were loving but torn away by circumstance (manny’s family). i dunno, it just adds a really interesting layer of depth here. but anyway, diego’s arc was just really well done. he’s only there to get the kid, and though he does start to enjoy himself, he still has his mission. but when manny risks his life to save diego’s and sid makes that comment pointing it out, you can SEE how he starts to linger, starts to dread, the guilt builds up until he TELLS THEM. that’s so important! he tells them!!! there’s no stupid, “liar revealed” plotline where they figure out that he’s been tricking them because he comes clean himself, without provocation or pressure, and they do eventually forgive him and that’s SO important. diego wasn’t being honest with them, was living a lie and planning to betray them, and he made the incredibly difficult decision to stop in his tracks and come clean on his own terms because he knew it was the right thing to do. there were So Many Ways the writers could have handled that reveal, but to have diego just stop, think, change his mind, and confess was SO GOOD. also the dynamic between the three of them was just really, really great. i’m so emotionally attached to these early-2000′s CGI creatures okay.
4. speaking of which, this movie is surprisingly good-looking. like it came out in 2002. that is IMPRESSIVE. manny’s fur holds up shockingly well and my suspension of disbelief was never fricked up by poorly rendered CGI graphics. props to blue sky, man.
5. okay point five is lowkey the whole reason for this rant because it’s a really really cool point i only noticed on my second watch through: the parallelism. why does diego have to kidnap this baby? because his pack’s leader (soto, apparently) wants to eat it alive as revenge for the humans killing half of his own. why does manny want to rescue this baby? because he, too, is a parent who lost a child and doesn’t want the humans to go through that. but, wait, hang on a minute, how did he lose his child? oh, yeah, the humans killed it and his wife right in front of him. both soto and manny lost most of the people they care about to the humans—these humans, specifically, since they seem to be the only community in the area—but where soto swears revenge, manny doesn’t want them to go through what he went through, even though this very act could be what perpetuates that. and they acknowledge it in the movie. diego mentions how this baby is gonna grow up to hunt them and sid counters that maybe the fact that they saved it means it will remember their kindness and things will change. but the whole movie carries the somber atmosphere of a tragedy because, as someone else mentioned above, the humans are steadily encroaching and all of these creatures are going to go extinct, and this one act of kindness may not have the intended effect and may soon be lost to the uncaring tides of history, but that doesn’t make it any less worth it. manny isn’t doing this to try and make a statement or change the humans’ behavior, he just wants to prevent them from going through what he did. calling this story one of “breaking the cycle of violence” cheapens it, i feel, because the humans are hunting the mammoths, not out of malice, but out of necessity for furs and meat and bone and tusk. it’s nothing personal—they’re predators. but still, manny seeks them out to return their baby to them. and when the baby’s father is raising his spear at manny when he’s trying to return it, you can just see that look in manny’s eyes, that he’s begging this human to understand, but he’s prepared to get speared if it means this kid gets to be with his father and MY HEART, YOU GUYS.
6. FOUND FAMILY FOUND FAMILY like i know found family isn’t really all that hard to come by, but this movie is REALLY explicit about it in a good way! they make the distinction between a pack—a group who wants you for what you can do for them—and a herd—a group who regularly looks out to see what they can do for you. and a saber-tooth tiger leaves his PACK to join this HERD! and they joke that this is the weirdest herd they’ve ever seen, but a carnivore has just joined a herd and that makes me feel SO MANY FEELINGS
ultimately, ice age is a movie about choices. manny’s choice to return this kid to its parents, even though he lost his own kid to those very parents, diego’s choice to come clean about his betrayal and his choice to join a herd even though he’s a carnivore, manny making the choice to risk his life to save diego, diego making the choice to return the favor, and all three of them making the choice to not give up hope that they can find a new family again after losing what they had before. this is a movie in which characters are more than the way they were born, are more than the circumstances of their lives, are more than what happens to them. they make choices and their choices matter and they choose to be kind, even when they have absolutely nothing to gain from it and everything to lose from it.
@anneofgreengabagool reminded me that i'm sitting on a lot of drafts so have some pre-sex breeding kink from may of 2024. it's short. the ending is abrupt. enjoy!
---
The knock makes Price pause, mid-signature. He’s not expecting anyone for another hour, and even if he’s early, Simon doesn’t knock. Gaz knocks, but he and Soap are in Scotland on leave for another three days.
“Enter.”
When the door opens, he has to fight the grin that tries to split his face in two. A woman steps inside, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. She’s gorgeous. Price lets himself admire the look of her, soft curves and hair pulled up in a simple bun. When she crosses her arms, he can’t help but admire the way the ring he put on her finger shines.
He leans back in his chair. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise. Hello, sweetheart.”
“Don’t you sweetheart me,” she says, primly. Her mouth is pinched with determination. Despite the steadiness of her voice, her hands nervously smooth down the skirt of her smart blue shirt dress. With a deep breath, she strides forward and sits in one of the chairs across from him. “You promised me.”
Price arches an eyebrow. “Did I, now?”
“You did,” she says, tipping her chin up. “You said you’d be home. I told you six o’clock.”
John crosses his arms. “And I told you I had a meeting that couldn’t wait.”
“And I told you that this is a priority for me. You told me being home was a priority for you, too.”
“It is.”
“We agreed on six o’clock. I didn’t pull that time out of thin air, John,” she says.
“And I don’t get to choose when the world needs saving next.”
Her jaw sets, and he can almost see whatever nervousness she had fading in the face of sheer stubbornness. She nods and stands. Then, to Price’s shock, she starts unbuttoning the front of her dress with deft fingers.
“Sweetheart,” he starts, then clears his throat when he sees sheer blue lace. “What are you doing?”
“It’s seven now, which means I’m ovulating. I’m leaving this base pregnant.” She shrugs out of the dress and drops it to the floor. John gulps when he sees what was hiding underneath, the bra, the garter holding up her stockings. The lack of panties has his eyes zeroing in on the neatly trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs. He almost misses what she says as she continues. “Either you do what you promised me, or I’m going to find a man on this base up to the task.”
just another tuesday | john price x reader au | 1.9k words | ao3
cw/tags: 18+, explicit sexual content, cis-female reader, reader is a bisexual Black older woman, casual + unsafe sex, john price cannot get his way, humiliation kink for the gentleman?, unedited
gift for @dragonnarrative-writes
"god, your tits are lovely," john grits out, cupping them, covering them almost completely with his hairy hands.
"thanks," you laugh chuffily, plumping your chest out. "gift from an ex."
"that right?" he bites hard down on his bottom lip and fucks up into you harder, the deepest stroke, and obviously in response to your breezy words. he tightens his fingertips around your nipples hard, pulling and flicking.
you prefer him like this: under you and sweating, his chest and torso hair brushed in wild directions from your hands on him as you work yourself up and down his cock. he's a good size for you, a hot stretch, a cock that always makes you hiss a little when it drives in the first time. lube's always on hand, anyway, but there's that delicious bit of friction and drag you like to savour on his first few strokes.
"anniversary gift, if i remember," you pant lightly, tipping your head back with your eyes closed. "he liked to give me gifts that he could enjoy himself. why he's an ex."
he scoffs. "you got your tits done for a man?"
your head tilts back down, eyes narrowing. "no, john. i had my tits done and my man paid for it." you shut him up by clenching around him, tight fist of silk that chokes him off and has him gasping, running after your first orgasm. it hits you like a crack of a whip, sharp and electric, and you squeeze him so snug that he's breathless and tumbling after you into his own orgasm.
"don't stop," you seethe, tightening your knees around his hips to keep fucking you, keep his cock hitting where you need until the first orgasm breaks fast into multiples, each one beautiful and stunning. "fuck, right there!"
and the motherfucker changes it up, tries some different pattern, crooning at you all thassa girl i'll give you what you need just me you only need this cock right here until your shaking encores fizzle apart like a dissolving dream. you groan loudly in frustration, trying to chase it, but it's gone into hiding now, hidden behind cramping muscles and sore hips.
fuck sakes.
you roll off john, both of you groaning, until you're recouping breath and stamina side by side on his bed. he heaves himself off the bed with a deep grunt and returns from the ensuite with a warm, wet rag. he hates wiping himself away from you, but you don't let him skip this step. he wipes the roughened texture over your bitten tits with his dried saliva, your neck, and your pubic hair and lips. removing all his come and residue.
he'd been plainly ecstatic when you first told him you were down to skip the condoms, as long as he showed you his results first. you'd laughed and told him your only risk at your age was an unwanted sti. his eyebrows had shot up a little at that. "john," you teased. "menopause is behind me." if he looked disappointed at that, you ignored it.
"you 'round next week?" he pulls up a pair of pajama pants.
"nope, vacation with some friends," you chirp. "i'll let you know when i'm back in town."
he haus you in for a longer, deeper kiss at the door, which makes you bite down a laugh, like he's trying to impress his mouth onto yours, leaving a part of himself on you.
—
two weeks later, he's trying to play it cool — only two messages, but he has been waiting. you didn't intentionally keep him waiting longer, but your trip was loads of fun, jetlag had you in its chokehold when you got back, and then you started a big freelance job.
"got some colour to you," he remarks casually at the outdoor patio table he'd reserved, stroking a big finger down your arm where your warm brown skin has deepened considerably.
you hold up your arms as if it inspect yourself, your bracelets slinking down, jangling together. "mm-hmm. hard to stay out of the sun when you're on boats most of the time."
he's a good conversationalist when he's focused, and he's always focused with you. asks good questions, wants to know what you got up to on your trip, which places you visited. who you spent time with: unspoken, unasked, but shading every calm, sunny question.
happens a lot.
"john," you break gently, and you see in his eyes that he knows what's coming. he clears his throat for something to do. "we're not exclusive."
"i know that, darlin'." he takes a long drag off his sweating glass of beer, swipes a piece of crispy calamari through the dip, chews it thoughtfully. confident, sure.
you let your eyes roam around his face and relaxed posture. he's full of shit, but you won't push it for now. "okay."
you both end up drinking during dinner and booking a hotel room for the night — john's treat. he goes down on you until you come twice, then you both shower. tv on, lying naked next to each other under the chilled ac air, his finger stroking down the skin of your arm again.
"how many, d'ya think?"
"hm?" your eyes drag slow from the tv to his face, lit blue and soft. he looks comfortable and lazy, stretched out like this, his cock soft and heavy against his thigh. feet trying to tangle in yours.
"on your trip?"
the other shoe drops.
you sigh heavily, tip your head back to the ceiling, and think about how you want to respond. person like him thinks he's cut out for this, but he's really not. you'd hoped for the best with john; great lay when he listened, cheeky personality that made you laugh, and the type of handsome your granny would've approved of. it's not that he's possessive, that's not quite it. you're not even sure it has anything to do with you in particular.
john wants; john takes; john keeps.
a tale as old as time, and a dynamic you keep clear boundaries up against. we're not exclusive. i sleep with other people. you are not the only person. these conversations — because this isn't exactly your first with him — only seem to entrench him deeper.
"you wanna know?"
you're two grown-ass adults. he can take it. if he can't, let him take himself out of the picture.
you feel him nod and shift. a peek down tells you his cock is thickening up. he's not expecting your hand to come out and curl into a fist.
"slept with my friend on night two; she and i tend to hook up on vacations for whatever reason." thumb up.
"slept with the white-water rafting guide on the overnight trip." finger up.
"got my pussy ate by a local drag king." finger up.
"threesome. same friend and a bartender who didn't speak english." two fingers up.
his hand drifts down to tug at his cock, massage it out.
"oh! finally got to be with my first trans guy!" you sing brightly. pinky up.
john groans into his pillow, his hand gripping his cock hard now. you turn your head to gaze down at him, taking him in anew. as a rule, you don't talk about other people unless it's part and parcel of the dynamic. john doesn't want to share you, but you suspect the fact that you're not his to hold onto is what spurs his cock to harden at your words.
"want me to tell you about 'em?" you coo softly, rolling over to rub yourself over his cock as he grunts roughly.
"no," he hisses, but his eyes are dark-hot and liquid.
you laugh very gently. "okay, sure." let your clit glide over the silk of his shaft until you both inhale sharply. "if you don't fuck me exactly how i tell you to this time, i'm gonna tell you about them then. got it?"
desperate head nod. hates it. craves it.
when he tries to wrest back control during sex, positioning you face-down to fuck you from behind how deep he wants, ignoring your little grunts that tell him you don't actually want your cervix to be bludgeoned by the head of his cock, you start describing night two with your friend. he fucks you faster — better — and comes faster than he wants to.
—
against your better judgment, you go over to his place a few weeks later to fool around, see where the night takes you.
"who'd you see this week?" asked over drinks in his living room.
you roll your eyes and sigh. "jesus, john, i think we're good here. either you're into it, which is cool and we can explore that, or you're just jealous and need a girlfriend. which is not going to be me."
the look on his face is pure, stalwart determination. arms crossed, muscles on display nicely, and a twitching mouth that crooks his moustache up "i know that, darlin'. i just…you gotta tell me."
"i don't 'gotta' tell you anything, actually!" you laugh deliriously, slamming down the rest of your drink. "but sure! you asked! met a younger guy named john at a pub with friends. scottish. here for some job i don't remember. big cock, bit curved. ate my pussy! took direction. came fast because he was so excited, but was hard within the hour. is that what you'd like to know, john? you wanna know how many strokes of his tongue made me cum until i nearly blacked out? you wanna know that he made me squirt then drank it up, john? you wanna know that he's a lot like you and wanted to see his own cum dripping out?"
you almost stop talking when you see his expression change, like a storm cloud buzzing under his features, but you're more curious than anything. mace in your bag, close at hand, if you need it.
and of course, he's stock-still with a raging erection under his jeans.
"what, you got a kink for me fucking other people that aren't you? it's okay if you do, john. you just need to be honest with me."
his dark eyebrows pull down sharp. he didn't want to hear that. mouth in a deep angry frown. "no. no. what—" he has to stop himself. breathe deeply and start over. "what was his last name?"
"who?"
"the scottish bloke."
"i don't know, john. some scottish name. they're all the same to me. why?" but of course it's plain now, why the sudden change of expression, darkening and twisting at a specific person. he didn't get that face when you described your vacation flings. "ah…you know him."
his mouth is practically disappeared into his face, so firm and pressed flat. "correct."
"john, calm down." he really didn't want to hear that. "listen, two grown adults, right? you knew the score. no secrets or jealousy. i'm not into all that. i think we want two very different things, and that's cool."
"that's not—"
"it's all good," you say calmly. "listen, i'm gonna head. thanks for the drink. take care, john."
you think you might've broken him. you leave him standing in his living room like that, walk out of his house over to your parked car. connect to wireless speaker and dial one of your girls.
"hey, honey! you busy tonight? i think drinks are half-off on tuesday nights. you wanna go?"
