Starting small with the hope to build. Welcome. :) Currently, I only write for the CoD fandom. Most of what I write is in first person. If you have questions, please ask!
tws: fauxcest, age gap (20s, 30s, and late 40s), reader is called “kid”/has a vagina, daddy/“dad” kink (eh, just kinda mentioned, price/reader/simon, m/m/f, bi!dom!john, bi!sub!simon, sub!reader), oral sex (f and m receiving), hair pulling, overstimulation, bodily fluids, language, sir!kink, mention of spanking, written at 5AM on my phone w a hand down my pj pants AHH; +18/mdni
“fuck—o-okay… si—ah, okay!”
“that’s time, lieutenant.”
the tongue between your legs—simon’s tongue—flicks along with rough laps right against your clit. his soaked mouth shines and squelches every time he sucks, hurrying to burrow his swollen lips as deep as he can until his nose squishes against you tight. a gasp ricochets out of you, followed by a teary whine.
“sssimon.” the word leaves you slurred and pitiful, like you’ve forgotten how to speak because you have. all you know to do is pant and arch your back from the bed, needing a sick mixture of more yet less of the man devouring you.
“that’s enough, lad. take a breath.” john’s words punch out a little harder than before.
sure, his cock twitches nicely at the sight of your dewey skin and jerking limbs hanging over ghost’s shoulders… but he’s john. captain. dad, daddy, or whatever else you and the boys can think to call him… so, when he says stop, that means stop. you’re his anyways, as is simon. that, a fact his lieutenant has somehow forgotten, is what makes his eyebrows furrow with a pinched frown.
simon doesn’t let up, feasting on you through low groans and leaking spit. he’s far too gone to hear the thumping footsteps that come up behind him. a groan chokes from simon as something tugs his hair. the grip isn’t as tight as it could be but it’s still enough to yank simon’s mouth from you with a juicy pop. chest heaving, simon catches eyes with you before flicking them to the face on his left.
“…what did i say?”
“said i could play, sir.”
“mm. what else?”
simon’s eyes nearly roll at the way john’s fingers tangle in his locks, and how the feeling mixes with hearing that little edge in the captain’s voice.
“said i could play if i was good, sir,” ghost recites, swallowing a mouthful of spit to keep enjoying the taste of you for the time being. you can barely watch the two as you try to catch your breath with shaking legs.
“correct. ‘if you were good.’ and good boys listen, don’t they?”
a nod bobs simon head. slow and knowing.
“then how come ‘m havin’ t’treat ya like johnny, hm? yank your locks cause you’ve seemed to have lost some sense?”
simon drags his gaze back to you, straight onto your drench hole. you’re clenching around nothing, sounding out little squelches, and simon is certain he can hear his name in the wet siren calls.
“sorry, sir. missed tastin’ a slit that sweet. tongue took on a mind of its own. s’easy t’get drunk off the kid—”
“my kid. same as you, so don’t let it happen again…” john declares, voice even but stare sharp. also taking in the pretty cut of simon’s jaws with quiet fervor despite his annoyance.
“yes, sir,” simon blinks, swallowing again. “sorry, love.”
john finally releases the younger man, resisting the urge to smack him on the ass as you grin at the men.
“s’okay. still felt good. too good…” you trail off, catching the subtle flair of john’s nostrils as he stares at nothing. “think he might need a little more than ‘sorry’, though.”
you pull yourself toward john, lugging his underwear-clad, frowny self across the bed until you’re leaning on a pillow against the headboard. john follows suit until his back rests against your chest. you rub a soothing palm along his warm pecks, then down across his belly. his muscles loosen at your touch but only slightly. then a bit more when you bend to press a kiss on his ear.
simon follows your lead without any instruction, waiting for price to settle against your front before snaking himself onto his stomach between john’s legs.
he knows what he did and what he needs to do to make up for it… to get that funny look off john’s face and back into his good graces.
peeling at john’s thin briefs, the older man’s cock pops out with a heavy slap against the bottom of his stomach. a thick vein runs along the underside, matching the stormy anger that fogged the captains voice mere minutes ago, causing you and simon to share a pleased huff.
simon quickly commences with a bold lick up and up john’s shaft, then sucks the tip into his mouth while tugging him the rest of the way free. john’s sack looks heavy enough to be aching, and simon makes a note to give them extra love once the cock between his lips is slick and sloppy enough.
you bite back a smirk at the feeling of john melting into you further. his hands finds the top of your thighs as an anchor, squeezing the flesh when a throaty moan slips from him. another one, louder and unable to be choked down despite his trying, sounds when simon sinks his head further. mouth wet and warm as he purposefully drools more than normal.
“how’s that? feel any better?”
john sucks in a shaky inhale through his nose at your question. squirming just a touch during a wet-sounding gag from simon.
Ends up twitching and drooling on a mattress at 1AM.
My favorite SoapGaz dynamic will always be "two dudes who are fucking for no reason other than they happen to be available when the other is horny."
The idea that Soap has, on more than one occasion, been sitting next to Gaz and gone, "could use a shag" because he knows Gaz will 90% of the time be down for something quick and dirty, tickles me. They are just two dudes that hang out and also fuck each other. Ghost showed up early for footie night at Gaz's flat and saw Soap blowing him. Price walked in on Gaz fucking Soap during a bed check. They are like rabbits. Young and blood drunk and looking for something to take the edge off, so they reach a hand down the other's pants and see what helps.
Soap doesn't have to be curious about Gaz's game, he knows Gaz's game, and he thinks they're both pretty fucking good in the sack. Spectacular dick from both of them, they're givers at heart, never had a bonnie thing shared between them that didn't leave with stars in their eyes.
the now king's wife. The first time the knight sees her is cloaked in pure white, white and silks and jewelry from your homeland. The crown bestowed upon you was made specially for you, fully of an impossible amount diamonds, rubies, and gold. Of course the knight found you beautiful: everyone in the kingdom did.
But the flutters of attraction didnt die as the weeks passed. The scent of rose on your skin from your floral baths, the ring of your laughter in the hall, the way you lounge in the courtyard grass in such an unbecoming way, reading and eating figs that dribble down your lips: it haunts the knight. It nearly pains him to stand by the king and watch you there, by his side, your hands gliding into his.
Its unbelievable that the king doesnt seem to like you at all--
"she's unruly-" the king complains to his knight. "Disobeys me, speaks out of turn, lays in the grass with her skirts about her knees-"
The knight's eyes flicker to the window, where you are, again reading in the courtyard.
"If her hand did not come with so much land, I would nullify our union," the king huffs. "I was hoping a baby would bring her to her senses, but she hasn't bed with me since our wedding night."
The knight tries not to think about how you must be, naked and sweaty, bathed in candlelight and bedsheets, legs open and mouth parted-
hes sent to get you one evening, you hadn't come down for dinner promptly and the king was fuming, pacing the grand hall with a growing impatience.
When you aren't in your room, he goes to the baths, where you are sitting in a warmed pool of milk and floral. When he enters, you sit up breasts just above the water.
"My queen-" He covers his eyes with his arm. "I will-"
"There's no need to hide, knight. Have you not seen a woman naked before?" you rise from the water and grab your towel. You dry yourself casually, unaffected by your exposure. "Do not act so modest. I know the trouble you men get up to at nights while your wives are at home."
Awkwardly, he drops his arm, still glancing away as he speaks. "My only loves are the kingdom and the monarchy."
"How dull." Your braids have loosened, bits of hair wettened to your neck. "Men have no virginity to protect. You could gallivant around with every chambermaid and no one would know the wiser-- except the maids, of course."
The thought heats his cheeks. Other knights have certain made their way around the castle and its ladies, but none of them ever seemed to catch his eye.
Not until you, at least. He takes a quick glimpse at your chest and tries to seal the image into his memory.
"Your husband waits impatiently."
"If I was a man, I would have made love to whoever I wanted. Servants, many of my teachers," you ramble on as you begin to dress, stepping into your pooled skirts and pulled them back around your waist. After a moment, you look back at him, expectant. "Help me with my dress, knight."
It wouldn't be proper for his hands to be on you like that, so close to your bare skin...
"I will grab a maid."
"If my husband is impatient, we shouldn't waste time." You awkwardly walk over to him, presenting the undone ribbon done youe back. "Tie it tight- the king is happier when my tits are nearly at my neck."
The knight grips it and pulls ever so carefully.
"Tight." you urge. "I wish to use the fainting couch tonight."
He pauses, then pulls, stopping only when you wince.
"How mad is he? Am I in much trouble?" you ask.
"Do you wish for me to be frank, my queen?" when you nod, he sighs. "You're fucked."
You sigh, more forlorn than anything.
"Pull it with all your strength then. And find my ruby lipstick. I wish to look my best." you turn with a laugh. "I'll have to let him fuck tonight then."
You do, somehow, look your best. Fresh out of the bath, no make up other than your lipstick, nipples visible through to thin fabric of your summer linens: you glow as you enter the grand hall, an unusual smile painted across your face.
The king is at the head of the table, brow furrowed to hard that it must hurt. The rest of the lord's and ladies have come and gone, leaving only you to absorb his ire. "I have been waiting for your presence."
The way you glide has around has the knight captivated. No worry, no rush, just as if you were in no trouble at all.
"I fell asleep in the bath." As you cup his face, the king's boiling simmers down slightly. Much to the knight's surprise, the man does glance down at your chest almost immediately, clearly beeitched by what the dress is doing for you. "At home, we eat dinner much later in the evening.'
"This is your home."
Your hand trails down to his neck. Knight is thankfully that neither of uou are looking his way when he swallows thickly.
"Now, I am rejuvenated for when we retire tonight."
"If you were ever this lewd and disrespectful in front of court, I would have to punish you." The king seats your hand away. "A knight will be by your side from now on, to assure you manage your time."
Without hesitation, you gesture towards the knight.
"I choose him as my guard dog."
"No."
"He is your favorite, yes?" you ask. "Only the king's favorite is good enough for the queen."
"You were not given the power to choose anything."
"As queen, I have some power." You pull away. "The power to choose when to give you an heir, for example."
The air gets thick as the king mulls this over, burrowing his brow with a deep resentment. Finally, he breaks, leaning back into his seat with a sigh.
"Fine. Take him. I expect an heir soon."
"Wonderful." You turn towards the door, smiling at your new dog with a mischievous look. "Come, pet."
Reader who adopts a dog, not realizing it was Wolf!Hybrid Simon all along (NSFW)
You were robbed some nights ago on your way home from work.
After many sleepless nights spent checking the locks on your front door, you finally come up with a solution: a dog.
A big, mean, scary-looking dog would do the trick. So, you pull up your boot-straps and head to the shelter.
And that's where you found Riley, silently tracking you through the bars of his cage with riveting, deep blue eyes. You'd taken one look at his long claws, sharp teeth, and mangey coat before you ran for the nearest shelter attendant.
"He's a character alright," the attendant laughed as he handed you the leash, "Apparently he was a street dog before he was surrendered. Some shopkeeper on the south side kept him around as protection for a while, but the lady couldn't get over his, uh....distaste for male customers."
A hyper-vigilant mutt with a vehement and categorical hatred for grown men. Sounds like the perfect protector to keep your assailant at bay, no matter the cost.
The first day you traveled home with Riley on your heels was the first day you could breathe easy in your own city.
And soon enough, Riley became your most devoted companion and friend.
He laid dutifully on the foot of your bed each and every night, ears twitching anytime a floor board so much as creaked.
He wasn't erratic. He was careful, quiet, never tugging on his leash without good reason. He was too smart for his own good. Even when you were down in the dumps, shaking in fear of your own memories, he'd stand guard at the door of the bathroom while you retched into the toilet bowl.
No matter how pitiful you must seem to a beast like him, he'd patiently lick the tears off of your cheeks, silently laying his head in your lap until you managed to pull it together.
Before long, you came to love him more deeply than some of your closest friends.
You didn't feed him dog food. No, you made sure to buy only the thickest, bloodiest steaks at the butcher just for him. You'd scratch behind his black-tipped ears while those pointy teeth gnashed through the guts and gore.
Day by day, you watched him grow. When you got him from the shelter, he was quite scrawny. But now...Gosh, you couldn't help but marvel at how well he'd grown under your care. He was muscular now, well over a hundred pounds -- and the growth was nowhere near stopping.
Still, just because your baby was a big brute didn't mean you weren't going to hug him close and kiss his little face until he begged you for mercy.....he always pinned his ears back at the affection, but you could see the way he secretly preened at your touch.
There were some parts of him that were wild, but still, he was yours, and now, he had the collar to match.
"There," you giggle at the dog's angry expression, running your finger over the bold 'RILEY' printed in sans serif on the metal tag, "Now you're stuck with me, big guy."
He grumbles at the words -- sometimes you swore he could understand what you were saying. And yet, he never once attempted to remove the blasted thing from around his neck.
-
You hum as you cut the steak into cubes. You feel Riley brush his body up against your hip. He was big enough to nearly clear the counter now, standing at more than half your height.
Your friends said he looked "scary" now, that he must have been a wolf accidentally taken in by the shelter, hardly a dog...they said you'd do well to consider handing him off to someone else.
You wouldn't entertain the nonsense. No, you'd just have to buy more than two packages of steak per week, that was it.
You kiss his cheek when you place the bowl on the ground, running your hands from his head down to the tip of his tail before you make towards the shower.
You're so distracted by your nightly routine you don't notice the full moon behind the glass of the window when you climb into bed.
The wood of the bedposts creak violently when Riley's massive form jumps up onto the mattress, but you don't care. You only sling your arm around his furry form, cuddling him close while you slowly doze off.
-
You shock awake to a sound in the middle of the night. Behind the curtains, you see the round façade of the moon drifting through the sky. However, just when you begin to fall back into sleep, you hear that same sound again.
Irked, you sit up, trying to find Riley's familiar form, but he's nowhere to be found.
"Riley?" you call lowly. Somewhere, in the living room, you hear what sounds like...a grunt? No, it was a growl, you were sure of it.
With a roll of your eyes, you drag yourself out of bed.
"God, what are you doing up at this hour?" you rub over your bleary eyes, "Seriously, it's, like, three in the morning--"
You stop dead in your tracks at the sight that greets you in the living room.
Sprawled across your coach, thighs spread wide and unashamedly, was an absolute monster of a man, towering frame wrought with muscle from his neck all the way down to his ankles.
And that's not a guess. No, that's a fact, because the wretched thing is fucking naked, bare form sprawled out in your living room like he owned the damn place!
Instantly, you gasp, drawing his attention. Your stomach drops when icy, deep blue eyes lock onto your form.
"Fuck, love," the man rumbles, voice rough with gravel. You tremble where you stand, eyes slowly falling down to what hangs between his bulging thighs.
God, he's big, his proud cock hard, red, and aching against his pale stomach. The thick trail of blonde hair underneath his belly button is matted with white, bubbly froth.
He's got a single, monstrous hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it furiously with a grip so hard it must hurt. On every upstroke, another spurt of stringy, white semen squirts out of the tip and onto the surface of your pristine hardwood floor.
You feel your body flush with heat, but the sensation is nothing compared to the arousal that floods you when he finally opens his mouth. Between every word, the sharp daggers of his canines flash in the moonlight.
"Jesus, girl," his slack jaw transforms into a cocky smirk, "If you're gonna insist on spoonin' every damn night, the least you could do is give a man the privacy to handle 'imself every once in a while -- fuck."
Confusion washes cold over your body. He only laughs at your innocence, "What? Don't pretend like you haven't seen me naked before."
Finally, your eyes prick up to his face. A pair of fluffy ears, hidden amongst messy blonde hair, perk up from where they were pinned back against his head. If it weren't for those familiar eyes, perhaps you could have denied it...
Yet, the camouflage dog collar wrapped snugly around his neck is the final nail in the coffin. Its metal tag jingles against his throat every time he fucks into the circle of his fist.
You feel a damning wetness begin to gather in your panties when you finally read the name inscribed thereupon.
RILEY.
Perhaps you should've listened when your friends told you he wasn't just a mutt.
I'm a relatively new subscriber and I reaaallllyyyyy hate to be that guy, but could you go over the whole beau lore? Is it a fic or just a concept? I couldn't find anything in the navigation. Maybe that's just me being dumb.
Feel free to not answer. Again. Super duper awesome work <<33
Somehow its like. just a concept. I should actually sit down and write more of it lol but I aleays feel guilty about not writing inevitable
im so bad i need to make a masterlist BUT. here are the important parts.
-reader moves to a small town from the big city after her divorce. Readers ex husband knocked up a coworker (reader wanted a kid herself). they tend to hate fuck.
-reader is in a fixerupper home.
-beau is her closest neighbor (about two miles away). he owns a cattle ranch which is an ungodly amount of acres. He's the town hottie and a cowboy. he warns reader that theres danger in the woods behind her house, to be wary at night. he is using fixing reader's historic home to get close to her lol
-its uncovered that Beau is a werewolf. hes been stalking the woods because. well. reader is the closest woman by far. he just cant help it and he cant really remember anything in wolf form.
-they decide the best way to handle this is to tie up Beau at night, but it cant be in his home (lots of employees close) and the woods offers reader to protection if he gets loose, so they are doing it in readers home
-beau becomes an insanely filthy horndog as he turns into a werewolf. usually hes a polite lil charmer, but he's smooth talking reader until his mouth cant form words anymore.
-reader, whos falling for beau. gets horny back after a while. she starts getting handsy....
-Beau ends up blatantly turning her down and pushing her away after a little. reader fucks Ryan (ex) and imagines its beau. beau later let's it slip that Ryan smells like the other woman's perfume.
uuuhhhh
-Werewolfism is NOT transmitted through bite. Its hereditary. Beau's dad was a werewolf, his uncle isnt.
-werewolves mate for life. once you fuck as a werewolf, you can only ever fuck that person. your body just wont let it happen.
-beau is cagey about dating because of this.
- he's also cagey because. werewolfism has the potential to be progressive. its not all of the time. but it can. its revealed that beau's dad isnt dead, hes just werewolf full time now, pacing the outskirts of beau's territory. his human brain is barely conscious
-besu let's it slip that Ryan is still seeing the other girl and Beau had known for a while. reader gets MAD that beau wont commit, mad that he kept this a secret, so she tells beau to leave her alone.
-he does. beau leaves.
-full moon hits. scratching at the door, banging, howling. reader thinks beau's lost his cool without her. you leave him an angry voice mail saying he needs to leave you alone
-beau gets rhe message. its not actually a full moon- thats tomorrow. he had actually left town to lick his wounds. thats not beau at your door. and you're not answering your phone.
need reader to sit on her porch with a shot gun she bought for when her exhusband comes around. he starts pulling into her driveway and she just points it near his car. maybe even let out a warn shot, not AT him... right? but like near. scare him off. tho i do think he's crazy enough to not care. maybe need her to pretend to be pregnant with beau's baby. fake a baby bump so her ex husband can crash out and leave her alone.. that woman deserves peace.
the best revenge is having beau answer the door, shirtless and jeans unbuttoned.
"she's still in bed," beau says, leaning against the door frame. "She's all tuckered out, i'm afraid."
"Hm." Ryan crosses his arms, chin tilted up. "You're really fucking my wife?"
"Yup." Beau doesn't bother to correct him on the ex thing. "Everyday."
"So mature." Ryan adjusts a cufflink. "Can you get her, or-?"
"Nope."
The two men watch each other, Ryan sneering at the audacity.
"I'll come back later," he says. "Once you're gone."
"You know, I'm actually here all day." Beau taps a little rhythm on the doorframe. "Doing some work on the nursery."
its not technically a lie. the spare room could be a nursery someday. You'll be pissed when you find out about this, but its worth it to see the color drain from Ryan's smug face.
"What?'
"Speakin' of babies, you should get back to yours." Beau grins. "And I'm gonna get back to fucking your 'wife'."
a couple of drunken guards give you hassle one night, following you down the castle halls.
"Aye, maiden-" One calls. "You don't have many options, so you best me marrying me."
"Not much of a maiden without her maidenhead-" the other quips, and they both tumble into laughter. You chew on the edge of your thumb as you scurry along, the two stumbling after.
"Maidenhead don't matter to me, as long as the maiden gives head-" the first calls. "A well used woman is a woman I can use well."
They howl again. Just as you turn a corner, you nearly collide with your knight, who's walking with even more drive that you are. He rounds the bend, coming face to face with the men in just a couple strides. Unlike the men, in their leather coverings and stamped linens, the knight is in a simple layer of clothing, sporting only his scabbard.
The men sober a bit, standing straight.
"Captain, what're-?"
The sword the knight is used to carrying is broader and heavier, so when he grabs his new weapon and draws, it flies at a spectacular speed. In less than a blink, the hilt is cracking into the man's jaw. The silver decorative seal meets the skin, followed but a horrid, ringing crunch. The weight of his hit rings out in the knight's joints, but the doesn't stop him from swinging his body weight into the guard.
The man drops, clutching out his mouth as crimson begins to seep between his fingers. The other man and you stand there in shock, horrified by the ease of it all. The knight is casual as he returns his sword to its resting place.
"Speak to the women of this castle like that again and you'll be meeting with the other end of my sword."
Been thinking about the knight escorting the nursemaid back to her rooms after knocking the guards teeth out. Just her marveling at the feel of his muscles under her fingers. Lightly squeezing his bicep, just coming to the realization that with all the raw strength he possesses- he chooses to be soft with her.
getting glimpses of his scarred forearms... maybe a silver of stomach, a healed gash across it. he's a man built through battle, yet that morning he held the baby prince so sweetly, up against his chest with this wonderful look on his face
My working name for him is Dell Russell. He's Beau's paternal uncle: his dad's older brother. The werewolf gene missed him. They aren't really sure how or why; its not like there's studies and punnet squares around lycanthropy to explain it. When it didn't happen to him, they assumed it would skip Beau's father as well, but it appeared in his late teens. Dell's always been kind of the. Shepard. of the town, keeping the wolf at bay.
he's a quiet man. tough, but not as tough as Beau's dad was. never laid a hand on anyone violently or otherwise. never dated. loved a soul. Treated Beau like the son he would never have, but also left beau with a lot of baggage around relationships, love, and children
Beau notices that there's someone Dell watches in the diner. He follows her with his eyes, but not in the way his brother does. He doesn't lean over to watch her skirt flit around her legs or peer down her shirt when she bends over, no. No, Dell watches her face, how she smiles at her customers, how she wrinkles her nose at the cook in the back. Sometimes, when she laughs, he nearly laughs too-- well, almost laughing for Dell Russell is his broom of a mustache twitching ever so slightly in the corners, but it's there and its real.
"You should-" Beaumont's voice cracks high with puberty. His shins ache with growth spurts, but he's taller than his mother now. "You should ask Miss Suzanne-"
"Boy." Dell slams his fork into his grits. Today, they're so thick that the fork stands up when he lets go. "When there's something wrong with your family tree, you don't give people the fruit."
Beaumont looks side to side.
"What does that even mean?"
Dell sighs, rubbing his temple in tight circles. It takes a long moment before he reaches back to his plate, grabbing that fork like a weapon, tight and overhanded.
"Means your daddy was cruel, havin' you." He shovels in a mouthful of the glop in, barely chewing before continuing. "Put a shot gun in your mouth and hoped it wasn't loaded."
Dell's mustache has a bit of butter stuck in it, right about his lip. He has another mouthful of food before he's even swallowed the first and Beaumont works really hard on swallowing the lump thats formed in his throat. He knows what his father is, even if no one will directly tell him.
"Best thing either us can do is never touch a woman." Dell leans back and catches the waitress' eye. She comes over, straightening her dress with a preened excitement that makes Beau feel weird inside.
"Suz', darlin', can you get the boy another order of eggs? Starting to think his ma don't feed him."
Beau stares at his empty plate, unsure if he should feel guilty or something else.
"Boy."
Dell's foot collides with his shin and Beaumont jumps in his seat.
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Anything for Dell Russell." Suzanne reaches out and pinches his sunburnt cheek, then reaches then reaches with the other to pinche Beau's at the same time. "And anything for you, sugar."
It's five years later that Suzanne gets married. He's a fine guy, someone who buys her a house and gives her a growing belly that Dell can't stand to look at when he comes into the diner.
So how is Beau’s head game outside of being a werewolf? Like he’s got the size but can he prep her to take it?
hes suspiciously good at it. so good it kind of gets you angry because he had to be fucling around pretty hard in his younger years to have learned some of these tricks
Need to watch beau break a the new stallion. Wanna see him buck and keeping up with the horse as it tries to buck him off. Maybe he loses his focus when he catches sight of you- giving the horse a small advantage for once.
So, deepcut Beau lore, he actually broke a hip riding a stallion years ago! its what awakened the werewolf in him-- his body needed the werewolf healing factor etc etc etc-
But I think. maybe. he's trying to impress you by trying to be his little 25 year old bronc riding self again by plopping himself down on a bucking horse-
He does, in fact, get launched across the arena and has to pretend his hip isnt SCREAMING wheb he gets up-
His farm hands are going to be giving him SHIT later, but right now you're dusting the dirt off of his jeans and asking if he's okay with the WIDEST eyes and he truly feels like hes won
Was thinking about making Beau breakfast. Steak and eggs with big bowl of fresh fruit. Sitting it down in front of him with a fancy little flat white or cappuccinoin a cute porcelain cup with flowers on it from your fancy city girl expresso machine.
"Could've just gone down to the Waffle House-" Beau gripes, cupping that pretty little mug in his hands. It looks comically small and delicate in his calloused, thick fingers. "Would've saved you time and money."
"I don't mind cooking," you reply. "Besides, its the steak you gave me and eggs from your coop, and the strawberries are gonna go bad if you don't help me eat them."
"Still," he takes a deep glug. "I'm already too much in your debt."
Truthfully, this meal is a repayment to him, but not in the way he's thinking.
Its because last night, after his transformation, you had partially untied the man and let his beastial form eat your cunt out for hours-
god, thinking about how his rough tongue forced its way inside you, pressing against your cervix as he came on to the hardwood floor, completely untouched.
Thank god Beau cant remember anything in Wolf Form
there's an au that I have been noodling on in my head for like 18 months and will never write where Ghost and Goose meet during SAS training and start the most toxic situationship known to man only to break up with massively hurt feelings on both sides and while Goose tries to distance herself from Ghost, Ghost can't let her go (he's in love with her) so he keeps tabs on her until she goes undercover and he loses her for a few years. Only to find her again down the scope of his rifle, swearing into his comms that his bitch ex is down there only to be met with dead air before Price chimes in, "You mean my fucking daughter?"
John "6 ft on tinder" Mactavish who has always gotten the short end of the stick from the rest of the 141 for being 5'11". who has seen and heard beautiful women excuse all kinds of behavior just because they have to look up at Ghost or Price. who has had Gaz pat his shoulder one too many times and tell the bird he's chatting up, "man's lying about his height." and who is frankly, fucking tired of it. watching with barely disguised malice as Gaz (who is barely over 6'!! the nerve of that man!!) hits on you at the bar, strikes out. and is immediately replaced by Price, then Ghost, each man taller than the last. each one gauranteed the lay if only because of his height, sulking back to their seat after less than a minutes conversation with you.
"the height not workin' out fer ya, ya deciduous bastards?" Soap grumbles.
"bird doesnt date horses," Ghost grunts.
"they what?" Soap's mouth twitches.
"don't date horses," Price grumbles, his lighter sparking pathetically as he tries to light his cigar.
"and that means?"
"Anyone over 6 foot," Gaz slumps, tipping the last dregs of his pint back and forth in the glass.
Soap nearly vaults the table, scrambling to spin you from the bar and announce,
"Ahm 5' 11"!"
you bite your lip hard against your grin, its the sweetest thing he's ever seen.
"could wear tall heels around me and ah won't complain," he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "the horses have me well trained lookin' up."
"how about from your knees?" you laugh, hooking a finger in his belt loops.
"Aye, can do it from there tae."
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