Something about price not showing up for his own kid's graduation, couldn't be bothered when "it's just uni, sport. I'll be there for something important, yeah?"
And you fully expect to find no one sitting in the seat you pre-emptively reserved, all too hopeful that your dad would finally see you. Except...it's not empty.
Ghost is sat in your dads seat.
Ghost, the man who practically saved your degree when you were on the verge of a breakdown and dad was on vacation. Found you crying in a gas station parking lot and recognized you from price's wallet.
And....it feels weird, ghost where price should be, almost like you're replacing your dad...but it's also nice?
Ghost has always been there when you needed him, more than your own dad ever was.
He drives you to get shitty fast food afterwards in celebration, hand heavy on your thigh and you don't try to stop him. Of course you've thought about it, but never acted on it...
Not until ghost pulls over on the back roads, parks his truck in the start of an empty field and lays you down in the dirty bed of it. Rough hands pulling your thighs open, a mouth leaving bites against skin. He makes you feel all the things you missed out on, too busy studying for your dads approval.
He groans "fuck, kid, can't believe i waited this long. Didn't want to distract you." When he ruts into you, thick and hot and too big for you to do anything other than gasp.
That night, you sleep in ghosts bed and not once does your dad call asking where you are. Seems like you made the right choice.
Imagine being price's kid that he hardly seemed interested in raising, right? [CHECK THE TAGS]
He liked the idea of having a sweet little kid to keep in his wallet and show off to his work buddies, but he wasn't so fond of actually having you around. Since you could remember you've been fighting for your dad's attention, begging for a "good job, kid." or at least you used to.
That whole dream died when he couldn't be arsed to show up after you landed in the hospital. You spent the last days in that house hardly speaking to your father, then moved out the second you could. You celebrate your 25th birthday alone, finding it difficult to make friends, but it's still more comfortable than any birthday in that house was.
And now you're here.
In a shitty bar, trying to feel anything close to something. It probably says something about you that all of your partners so far come from the kind of bars full of veterans and men old enough to be your dad.
Which, ironically, hadn't meant you expected to see him tonight.
Your dad, captain john price.
...you don't know what compels you to slide up next to him, but whatever plan you had is instantly destroyed when he rests a hand on your hip, mutters a deep "hey there, lovie. Wots a soft thing like you doing here?"
Holy shit.
...your own dad doesn't recognize you. He's looking at you without a hint of recognition, eyeing you up like he's assessing if you're worth the effort of flirting with.
You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. That's your dad, your literal fucking dad.
....john still has the same bedsheets he had when you moved out. His body bowed over yours, panting and groaning as he ruts into you. Fuck, it feels good. It feels wrong and horrible but this is the most your dad has looked at you in years.
"So good for me, love. Fuckā mghā doing goodā" you've never heard your dad say that before, and in your mind you store that memory and scrub the context around it clean.
Some sick part of you loves this, loves the attention and the praise and the usefulness. You can pretend he loves you when he kisses your lips and bites bruises into your neck.
You almost wish he wasn't wearing a condom when he groans, hips stuttering. Now this is what you've been waiting for.
You arch your back, clench down on him in a way that doesn't need to be faked, and moan out "fuck! Yes, dad! Dad!!"
For a moment price just grinds into it, believes it's some little fantasy for you. You can feel the exact moment it clicks, price pulling back to stare at your face.
The disgust at realizing what he did, the horror when he realizes how much he enjoyed it.
Let him try to ignore you now, you're not letting go.
cries bc Dex should rly just let the tip of his fat cock just froth n tap all over ur swollen clit ugh ): idk
GODDDDDDDDDD ! ! ! ! ! !
ą«®ź°ą¾ą½² āŗĢ„Ģ„Ģ„ āøāø ā¹Ģ„Ģ„ ź±ą¾ą½²įā” itāz such an icky sight . lightin of the room dim n overcasted which has the muscles of his abdomen and arm of the hand that holds his long , steel hard cock ā glossy wif remnants of ur past two orgasms ā shadowed . he looks stronger tonight somehow . . Bigger .
heāz bitin over his bottom lip , gaze lowered to the view between ur legs which you hold back and wide opened with your arms hooked around the backs of your knees . . Plap plap plap! . . Sticky little strings of the mixed concoction of both your cum plays between the space of your clit and his tip each time they separate amidst each dick smack . it reminds you of webs of glue .
he starts to frot his shaft in between da chubby lips of ur pussie , usin the tendons in his underside to apply some satisfyin friction to that bead and your body twitches as if youād been dunked in ice water . your hand shoots out to his lower abdomen . you push at it, ād-daddy, waitāā
āāno, no, no,ā he murmurs, voice raspy, tone bored like he could honestly care less about what youāre saying when he swiftly swats your hand out of his way and pins it beside your head . ā. . . . my f . . . god, you hear that? . . you hear that shit?ā
sshlck, sschlck, sschlck.
the sound fills the entire space around you both . he shifts his weight ā presses you deeper into the mattress as the springs groan beneath you . hiccuping , gasping and shaking , your hips squirm incessantly beneath his , overstimulation sparking at the ends of your nerves . however , thereās only so far you can get. he remains pushing his cock through the petals of your sopping pussie , gaze heavy lidded and dark as he flatly murmurs, āmm-mm. nope, youāre not going anywhere. stay.ā
the first time bakugou fucks you it's like he'll never be able to hold you again. he's in disbelief that you even like him, let alone that you're actually here in his bed, squirming and squealing to get closer, pawing at his biceps like a needy kitten.
"kats, please," you whine. the searing heat of your pussy grazes the tip of his dick and your eyes roll up. "please touch me, baby - you already feel so fucking good."
maybe it's the praise, maybe it's the casual way you call him baby, or maybe it's just the silken weight of your thighs on either side of his head as he licks and bites and suckles at your pussy until you're screaming - whichever it is, bakugou can't help rutting against the mattress in time with your undulating hips, his own cum soaking into the sheets as he gulps down yours
āās my favorite of u.. bet u cant even remember this happened,ā jack smiled at the picture he took of u, blubbery smile on ur face, eyes closed n beaming for the camera. jackās cum sitting in pretty ropes on ur skin.
he slid ur hand faster across his cock, letting out broken moans. āure so cute wearing my grandkids, baby.. u make me such a proud dad,ā he jerked up into his fist, gripping the phone tighter as he swiped the screen.
āawh, sweetheart..ā jack watched himself gently pinch ur clit on screen, rubbing at the little bud, video capturing another one of his inspections. flash on, making ur juices sparkle, nd a tiny flutter at ur opening. ācant believe she can take me.. she looks so small here.ā he brought the phone closer to his face, taking slower strokes w ur hand.
āmy perfect girl.. shes jus for me, yeah? ur tiny pussy made for dad cock? fuck, sweet girl..ā jack softly gripped himself, talking to ur unresponsive body, āi promise ill be soft w u, i know my baby needs to sleep..ā
he guided ur hand to his tip, his grip making u fist the head, circling it. he shivered, pulling a face, ācant even beat off by myself, i jus need u so much..ā his chest twitched, breath punching out of him. ām always calling u spoiled, but m the one who cant get enough of u..ā
he swiped the screen again, loosely letting ur hand stroke him. he got to a picture of his cock resting on top of ur face, u on ur knees, still smiling. it took up most of ur face, but jack could make out ur pretty smile underneath.
he matched ur expression, āalways so excited to play. so fuckinā happy when my cockās out. did i do good?ā he applied more pressure to ur hand, making it speed up, his little spurts of cum making the glide easier, āgive u my dick so good, u get excited when ās out? dadās cock treated u that good, baby?ā
he ranted on, feeling so proud of himself. he slightly lifted his knee, adjusting ur grip on him. ācan i get another one?ā he was already opening the camera, pointing it at ur little hand, engulfed in his. he shifted the camera to ur sleeping form, unaware of what u were doing. he bit his lip.
āmy good girl, ure doing so good, sweetheart. play w it, baby, go ahead,ā the strokes got sloppier, jack withering on the sheets, āshit, m jus ur little fuck toy.. my babyās toy dick..ā
TENDER IS THE CONCRETE āā .ā¦ Ā°āā.ą³ąæ*:ļ½„
you scrape your knees by the pool, pope attempts to fix it
pairings: pope cody x bunny reader
warnings: fem!reader, reader wearing a dress, minor injury, scraped knees, blood, wound clearning, hurt/comfort, protective pope cody, possessive thoughts, pope calls read kid, pope calls reader doll, reader has freckles bc i wanted to be self indulgent!!!!, grumpy caretaker pope
wc: 2k
Pope finds you sitting on the low concrete step out back with your legs folded to one side. Delicate and stunned-looking in the harsh afternoon lift. A figurine dropped by accident and left there because nobody wanted to be the first to check for cracks.
You havenāt been drinking, he knows that much. You donāt really drink to begin with. Not in excess, anyway.
He scans you to find the problem. Head. Fine. Chest. More than fine. Stomach. Normal.
Knees.
Your knees are scraped raw.
The marks are not serious, technically. But serious enough that the skin has split open into two wet little blooms, blood bright against the grit, dust clinging where it shouldnāt. It runs down your shins in thin, crooked tributaries, and he hates it.Ā
Hates the sight so sharply it feels like a physical punch. Hates that the world got its hands on you for five seconds and already made a mess of what it shouldnāt have touched. Someone like you who is so pure and untouched.
Pope stops where he is.
His hand closes at his side. Opens again. That is his first correction. The second is his face, which he makes blank, or tries to, because youāre already looking up at him, head snapping back too hard, and his mind supplies the sound of it hitting the door before it happens.Ā
It doesnāt happen. Still, his jaw tightens. Careless with yourself, he thinks.Ā
You swipe at your face with the heel of your hand, and say, āIām fine.ā
No, youāre not, he wants to say. Who the fuck taught you to say that so fast?
Instead he takes a few careful steps toward you, keeping his face still, keeping everything locked down, even as the agitation climbs up the back of his neck.
If he gets close enough, heāll be able to see it clearly. Where the damage starts. Who heās supposed to blame.
āWhat happened, kid?ā
You sniff once and straighten your back. Brave little thing. Ridiculous little thing. āNothing.ā
Pope doesnāt respond. His eyes stay on you, molten enough to become a thing in the yard, another source of heat in the sun, and he can feel himself doing it only after your fingers move to your mouth. One neat pink nail presses into the swell of your lip, picks at it, worries the softness there.
He wants to tell you to stop. Wants to take your hand away from your mouth. Wants too many things, which is usually the first sign that he should do nothing at all. So he waits for you to fold.
He knows the first answer was bullshit. Flimsy as tissue paper and he lets it tear on its own.
āI tripped,ā you admit finally.
āWhere?ā he asks.
Your lashes are wet when you blink up at him, clumped together in little dark points, and your mouth does that small uncertain thing, twitching at one corner like youāre embarrassed to explain yourself.
āBy the pool,ā you say. āThere was, like, a crack. Or something.ā
He knows the crack. He can see it without looking, some warped seam in the concrete by the shallow end, something everyone steps over, steps around, ignores because itās just part of the house being what it is. Broken things everywhere. Broken people too.Ā
But you didnāt know to look for it. You move through the Cody house like bad things are theoretical, like the ground itself wouldnāt dare rise up and bite you. It did anyway.Ā
Pope lets out a slow breath through his nose and drops into a crouch in front of you.Ā
Bad idea, probably. Everything is worse down here. Itās inflamed, scratches packed with dirt, blood drying in jagged lines.
You donāt like that part. The mess. He can tell by way your hands twitch helplessly in your lap, like you want to wipe it away, clean it up, make yourself presentable again, but the pain is winning.Ā
Your dress, meanwhile, is perfect. Some pink little sundress cut high over your thighs. No wrinkles or stray staining.
From where he is, he could see up it if he tried. He doesnāt. He keeps his eyes where they belong, on the blood, on the damage, on the part of you he can pretend is the only thing he wants to touch. For now.Ā
You try to pull your leg back the second he reaches for your ankle, some quick little prey-animal flinch that mightāve worked on someone less ready for it.
Pope catches you easily. His hand wraps firm before you can get very far. Not hard enough to hurt, not gentle enough to suggest heās asking.
āQuit that.ā
āIt stings,ā you protest.
āYeah,ā he says flatly. āThat tends to happen when you eat shit.ā
Your bottom lip wobbles. You gather it back up so quickly it almost disappears, smoothing the expression off your face like a ripple flattening on water, and Christ, youāre pretty when you cry.
Itās a rotten thought. He knows that. He knows that, and still his body reacts before morality can catch up, because his body is old violence and bad wiring and appetite with a pulse.Ā
He drags his thumb down the line of your calf, feather-light, careful to avoid the scrape itself, as if gentleness in one place could cancel out the ugliness in another, as if he could make himself clean by touching you like youāre made of glass.Ā
āYou cryinā?ā Rhetorical. More of an indictment.
āNo.ā
āYou are.ā
āāM not.ā A tear slips free and runs down your cheek as you say it.
Pope watches the trajectory, the thin shine over warm skin. He wants to lean in and taste it. Salt. Flesh. Proof. He kills the urge under the toe of his boot.
You stare past him, surely furious with yourself for the anatomical betrayal.
He lets out a short, humorless breath that almost passes for a laugh and shakes his head. āTough girl, huh?ā
You nod right away, stubborn as hell. āMhm.āĀ
Another tear comes down. That settles it. Pope looks at it, then at you. Tough girl. Sure. Tough like a rabbit holding still under a hawk shadow.Ā
āCāmere,ā he says.
āWhy?ā
āSo I can clean it.ā
Your eyes widen immediately, suspicious now, all that fragile toughness collapsing into practical fear.Ā āIs it gonna hurt?ā
āItāll hurt more if I donāt.ā
Heās not actually sure thatās true, but he doesnāt know how else to sell this to you. He just knows he doesnāt want you leaving gravel in there and calling it day.
This patio has probably seen every kind of gross substance known to man. Beer, mud, oil, spit, ash, drugs, blood. A dozen things he doesnāt want in your skin. Enough random bacteria to make him think infection before anything else. Enough that he can already picture your knees tomorrow, swollen and pink and you still insisting itās nothing.
It seems convincing enough for you because you let him pull you up, though you hiss when your knees straighten.
Stiff little steps. Swallowed noises. A terrible attempt at limping in a way he wonāt notice, as if Pope has ever missed anything in his life, as if he might tease you for it.Ā
He probably will, a little, because sometimes teasing gets you moving better than sympathy does, but not much.Ā
Inside, he sets you on the bathroom counter and starts digging through the cabinet for peroxide and gauze. The bathroom is too small for both of you.Ā It shows in the way he can clearly inhale the flowery perfume you have on. Sprayed at the base of your throat and insides of your wrists, most likely.
When he turns back, youāve gone very still, hands braced on either side of your hips, shoulders pulled up nearly to your ears, eyes fixed on the brown bottle like it might lunge at you.Ā
āI donāt like that.ā
āNo one likes it.āĀ
You pull a face, and your foot kicks forward once, restless and nervous. Your heel brushes his side. Barely. An accident. Pope feels it through his shirt like a warning shot. You retract your foot immediately.Ā
āWell, I like it less than most people,ā you mutter.
He steps in between your knees before you can fuss any more, the cap twisting loose between his fingers.Ā
āI think youāre being a little bit of a baby,ā he says, then, before you can get offended, adds, āwhich is fine.ā The cap clicks against the counter. āYou can sit there and look at me like Iām about to torture you if that helps. But Iām still gonna clean it.ā His eyes flick to your mouth, to the pout already threatening there. āYou can do that too. Still not gettinā out of it.ā
You seem to consider pushing back one more time, then donāt.Ā
ā...Kay,ā you say, barely above a mumble. Giving in. Like youāve made up your mind, like youāve already accepted he knows whatās happening next better than you do and youāre fine with that.Ā
He isnāt sure how to feel about that.
āHold still.ā
The peroxide strikes the raw skin and you jolt under his hand, a soft whimper escaping before you can swallow it back, your eyes pinching shut like that might save you from the burning.
Pope gets a hand around your thigh before you can yank it your leg back, a quick learner when it comes to your habits.
āEasy,ā he says, tipping the bottle back. āYouāre alright.ā Another careful pour, less this time. Another little flinch. āYouāre doing good, doll. Almost done with the worst of it.ā
Your lips push out further, eyes going a little softer and shinier. You shift toward him, knees parting just a little more around where he stands, one hand coming off the counter to catch at his side, then his shirt, then just staying there.
He wipes away the last of the pink fizz and dirt in slow passes.Ā
āThere. See? Survived.ā He reaches for the bandaids, peels one open with his teeth, and smooths it over the first scrape with the flare of his thumb. Then the second, just as careful. āWasnāt so bad.ā
āEasy for you to say.ā Your hand stays bunched in his shirt, fingers curled into the cotton like you forgot you were holding on or decided not to care.Ā
Pope looks down at it for half a second too long, then back to the bandaid before it can become anything. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely.Ā
āYeah,ā he says. āYouāre right. Sorry, kid.ā He presses the left bandaid down where itās already trying to peel at the edge.Ā āNext time watch where youāre going, yeah? Makes my life easier.ā
Your nose wrinkles. Itās cute. Freckles dotted across the bridge, fanning outward in a constellation of sorts. āSounds like victim blaming to me.ā
āYou can be a victim and careless with your well-being at the same time.ā
You cock your head at him, considering this, āSoā¦ are you done now?ā
āMhm. Done.ā His hands settle at your waist and lifts you back off the counter, steadying you once wobbling feet hit the floor.Ā
You look up at him then, and your mouth softens into a small, toothless smile. Itās already too much for him. Already better than the pinched-up expressions youāve been wearing since he found you outside.Ā
He almost makes the mistake of pointing it out. Before he can, you rise to your tip toes, light hands still at his sides for balance, and press those pretty lips to his cheek, just off his mouth.Ā
When you pull away, your teeth find your lower lip and you look at him from under your lashes. āThank you, Andrew.ā
He wants, suddenly and stupidly, to tell you not to thank him for things like that, not for basic shit, not for cleaning blood off your knees like itās some grand gesture. But then again maybe in your life it is. Maybe thatās the part that makes something protective rise in him.Ā
So all he says is, āYeah,ā low and rough, like the word cost him a little. He keeps a hand at your waist a second longer than necessary before he lets you go. Watches you walk away.Ā
Later, when youāre distracted somewhere inside the house, he goes back out and finds the crack by the pool.
He fixes it the next day.Ā
A/N - popping my pope cody fanfic cherry!!!!!! yipee
Itās a good day, which means Price is feeling- well, better than his usual self. Heās usually the brooding and quiet figure, strict with order, all knowingā the hermit in tarot.
But todayās different. Softer, more laughter, understanding.
Which really means, itās your āget out of jail freeā card. You could rob 3 banks back to back if you wanted to, and John would drive shot gun. On good days like today, John is so relaxed and kindā happiness thatās completely written on his face and not just in his eyes. Itās the raw authentic joy. And really you couldāve wrecked havoc, but you chose peace. Let John sit and relax while he went around the house like a madwoman, fed, cleaned and changed the baby, cleaned the living room, helped John move some boxes (he canāt sit still for too long), made lunch and dinnerā
You were the exact good girl John expects of you, everyday, which you usually are.
Youāve been eyeing him like a piece of your favorite cake in the bakery in town, itās adorable really. Catching your look before your scurry off, can practically see the smile youāre trying so hard to hide, heat radiating off your skin.
āTold you itās bad tāstare, didnāt I buttercup?ā He asks smoothly, eyes closed, as he leans back on the recliner. You gasp, turning your head and nervously rubbing your legs, āM sorry pa.ā
He hums, taking a drag of the big cigar between his fingers, āWhatādyou want kiddo?ā
Your heart leaps out of your chest, still not used to the feeling, you bite the inside of your lip, āCan I- can I take the lead today?ā
On a normal day, itās a no. You always need help, always end up crying and needing help- direction. But John canāt say no to you, not today when youāve been so good, made Dadās favorite for dinner, and were looking at him with those big brown hopeful for eyes. It was as if the word escaped his vocabulary.
He feels the end of his lips twitch, smoking entering the air, he motions for you to come over with his hand, leaning back, āLetās see what yāgot buttercup.ā
Itās like youād prepared yourself for the moment, your pussy already stretched to take him, straddling him as you pull his plaid pajamas down, thick and veiny member springing out and slapping against his stomach. You lip your lips, bringing yourself closer, eyes meeting his, āāS okay Pa, I-I got it.ā
You lay one hand flat on his chest, other hand guiding him into your awaiting hole. Itās a tight fit, always is, has you hiccuping as you try for best to fuck yourself down Priceās dick. Wet squelches as you take every inch, gasping for air. Priceās jaw is tight, hand resting on your hip, as he tries everything in him not to buck his hips up into you. The cigar is burning over the ash tray, āHah- gotta take it easy lovie.ā
You quickly nod but only a moan falls from your lip, the burn of him stretching you out rolling over you. Youāre eyebrows are knit together, shimming your hips down to you feel his mushroom tip hard and pressed against your soppy walls. John only grunts, spreading your legs a little wider to see the ungodly view, your cunt fluttering and clutching his girth like a vice down to his pubic hair. He gives you a smirk, bring the cigar to his lips, āGood work princess, took it all on your own.ā
You canāt help but blush, walls pulsing around him once, you bat your lashes, keening, āThanks Daddy.ā
You use his chest for leverage, slowly lifting yourself up and down, how your face gets screwed up in pleasure with every bounce, your fat tits in his face, nipple hard and staining the shirt.
He tugs your pale blue nightie off with one hand, milk dripping onto him as he watches your every curve of you, fully nude now, letting out a deep groan while he hand gropes your tit, āFuck buttercup, feed āem to me.ā
Your breath hitches, blushing, āBut Pa- nngh!ā you whine out, rolling your hips back then forward, snug cunt dragging his cock with you, āās embarrassin.ā
āMm mmm, not embarrassing when itās for your old man,ā he drags you closer by his beefy arm, pressing his face in your chest, mouth watering as he nibbles right above your areola. ā āM starved baby. Wonāt have too much, shit- promise.ā
Youāre desperate for more, more more, guide him to your right nipple, letting him wrap his tongue around your hardened peak. You go weak, hands going through his greying brunette hair as he sucks and licks your tit, drinking every bit of milk he can. Price finally sets his cigar down on the ash tray, hand flat on you back as to make sure you stay close to him. Let him tug your nipple between his teeth, other hand making sure you keep that steady rhythm, giving your sensitive bud wet suckles. Every bounce of your pussy on him only getting better, your body trembling, crying out, āShit- Pa- anngh! Pa!ā
Johns fingers tweak your other nipple, milk squirting out, he gripping your chin between his fingers and planting your lips on his coated lips. You can taste your own milk on his tongue, letting him suck your tongue, lips smacking with every filthy wet kiss. You wrap your arms around the older manās hairy broad shoulders, hips stutter, croaking out a moan as you hit your high. Your foreheads pressed against each other, trying to catch your breath but John sits you down, hips connecting.
Heās got that smug look on his face, āStill havenāt cum sweetheart.ā
He shouldnāt have teased you like that. Especially after you worked up all the courage to ride him.
The problem only starts after you drawls out that second orgasm Price knew he was in for it, brown eyes glazed over, bottom lip jutted out, hips somehow only getting faster, hungrier. His member only making it half way out as you throw your ass in a circle, over and over, hypnotic even from front. Your cunts filled to the brim with his thick cum, a ring of cream at the base of cock as you slam yourself down.
Youāre blabbering at how good you feel, how warm his cum feels inside your swollen folds, tears down your face, taking his calloused hands and letting them roam your body, your face to your chest, your stomach where he can feel himself pressed against your womb, to the perfect fat of your ass that jiggles with every bounce.
He chokes when you throb so tightly around him, hand lazily giving your ass a smack, āShit buttercup, ah- slow down!ā
āBut Pa,ā you keen, rolling your hips against him that makes him throw his head back against the recliner, āY- mmm! You said I could take the lead!ā
Youāve already fucked yourself dumb on him, using your old man like a damn dildo, Johnās red to his ears, delirious in the soaking and gushing confines of your pussy while you fuck him silly. His eyes roll back in his head when he feels you swivel your hips just right, cocktip slobbering your walls.
āD-does it feel good for you dad? Angh- want you to feel gooood pa. Pleaseā You tilt your head to adorably lust in your eyes, hopeful, desperate.
You hear your old man let out a whimper, a strangled grunt, he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, blue eyes low, āAlways- fuuuck darlin- always felt good. Hck- So good fāme buttercup.ā
The praise immediately going to head your pussy, moaning frantically trying your peak. Crying out as John gives you sloppily pumps himself up into you. Groans and moans filling the living room, till youāre both cumming and hard. Itās so warm in your stomach has you mewling just from the white substance being buried deep inside your velvety walls. ļæ¼
You finally lift yourself up, globs of cum dribbling down Price softening cock, his shaft spurting out cum. āShit honey.ā
Youāre sticky all over, letting John pull your tired body into his arms, he lets out a tired breath. Kissing your temple, āGood work buttercup, made Pa proud.ā
a/n: hey lol, lmk what you think. I too want older!Price sucking my shits.
youāre all hazy, face to face in front of dex on your knees just breathing so unevenly and shakily. youāre all fucked out from how harsh he was being, manhandling you into every which way he wanted, every position he wanted.
dex came home from a long day and only craved to make you feel good, so good that tears would stain your cheeks and youād be pleading for him, all to make himself feel better. and that he did, so much so that he broke you.
your thighs are so sticky, cum from you and dex dripping down your legs. making you shift uncomfortably on bed. quiet whines coming out as you look down his body with lidded eyes, batting your lashes naively as if you still wanted more. though dex knows how to deal with you like this, you often enter this state with him naturally, turning off your brain since you feel so safe with him. just not this intense unless hes really roughed you up. heās holding you up callously by the arms to keep you at eye level just trying to get you back, āwhere are you at pretty girl? gonna to come back to me?ā, dex keens, talking a largehand off your arm to slap your cheek, not hard but enough to make you look and focus on him.
āthere she is.. you liked that? like what i do to you? so much that it made you dumb huh baby.ā heās mocking, a smile spreading across his face in amusement. and you smile back at him, āmn dex..ā you sigh dreamily, gaining back some strength to jump into his hold, embracing him with your arms wrapping around his neck. āhi baby.ā he retorts quickly.
youāre still naked and exposed while dex has some clothes on, semi hard dick in some sweatpants and a white beater. the different fabrics rubbing across every inch of your body. it makes you twitch and tense up in his grasp,āi know māsorry sweetheart.ā feeling him suddenly grab your ass and lift you up into his lap fully, you nuzzle into his shoulder tiredly just breathing in his scent. ādid a number on on you..ā he murmurs, a string praise leaving him after that, telling you how well you did for him as he lifts you up to stride to the bathroom.
Can't decide how seriously Jack would take to examining you (and your cunt) during foreplay. Probably very seriously, but you wouldn't know it from the way he's just so smarmy about it, like you can't see his cock painfully bulging inside of his scrub bottoms.
"You gotta strip, Sleepy. I need to perform a full physical. Can't have any fabric getting in the way of my diagnosis."
The words exactly sound like they'd be in the script for the worst porn video ever, but in the gravel of Jack's voice, they get you wet before he even touches you. Sorry, examines.
You peel off your scrubs, step out of your underwear, and lie completely exposed under him.
And, like the beautiful asshole he is, Jack doesn't take his stethoscope right over your chest. Nope, he just presses the freezing cold metal right up against your nipple.
He circles it until it peaks. You gasp.
"I don't think that's where the heart is, Dr. Abbot."
His head tilt works as a shrug.
"Don't have to listen in on it to know you're dangerously aroused...better settle down there."
And as he tilts his head forward to lick your other nipple---a taste test, Jack slips the stethoscope to where it's actually supposed to be, and you can't help but feel the heart he's listening to share its pulse with your cunt when he smiles.
He nearly whispers.
"She's hammering, kid. Can't imagine how your cunt's gonna feel when I get around to it."
You gasp again when the shock of the metal hits your slit.
Jack listens. If you're guessing right, if you even can with the way the nub rubs up against your cunt, your slick sticking to it, that he's wearing what is a clinical curiosity on his face.
The bastard. The beautiful bastard.
"Huh. She's pretty frantic down there, too. What'd I do to deserve that?"
him walking into the kitchen one morning in only his underwear, cock hard and heavy enough it bounces against his thigh when he walks. he doesnt acknowledge it; he pours himself a cup of coffee and gives you a nod.
"you're staring at me," he says.
neither one of you have acknowledged the tension between you. the way he watches your lips and the way you undo your bikini tops when you sunbathe by the pool.
"I'm just really hungry all of a sudden," you say. "Your son fed me before he left, but he just... didnt fill me up."
the next day, you get your coffee in just your panties and your favorite bra. he's back again, just as hard as he scooches behind you to grab the pot from the percolator. his cock is press against your ass and you can feel how thick he really is.
"did you get your fill this morning?" he asks from over your shoulder.
"no," you press back slightly. "I'm ravenous."
"You think he'd be more like his father. I always make sure my woman are stuffed."
You two get into a habit of hugging when you say good morning. He wraps his arms around you and keeps you tight so you can feel him against your stomach. Sometimes he lifts you on to the counter to "hug you better". like that his cock is pressed right up against your cunt, angled perfectly as if he's about to enter you.
"Best hug we've ever had," he whispers with a roll of the hips.
Licking on dex scar during missionaryā¦ that alone will drive him crazy. heād get sloppy afterwards mumbling and cursing bcs you could do anything to taunt him; he has the patience for it all but licking the scar??? wheww thatād do itā¦.
WHEWWW
and at first he would be thrusting into you slowly and lovingly, his cock sinking into your tummy and drawing little gasps from you. your quivering legs just closing in on his waist every time he draws back and pushes his length into your cunt. and with how tender dex is being it makes you so needy that you just want to kiss him :(( making grabby hands at him until he smiles and lowers his head down for you, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. āneedy girl..ā heāll mumble, knowing he totally loves it when you get like this.
youāre just pecking at his lips and his neck, whines of dex.. and feels sāgood.., sweetly leaving your lips after every smooch. youāve pulled him so close that your cheeks are pressed together and you could hear his breaths in your ear, hard panting and strained groans every so often. and you really werenāt thinking when you did it, your lips were already kissing at his cheekbones when you decided to lick a long stripe against his scar. tongue gliding over the damaged skin with a pant as you hold him close to you, tasting the sweat of darkened scar. and dex just stills in his movements, his cock still snug in between your legs as he takes in how fucking hot that was.
you hear dex groan out a rough, āfuck..ā, his hands moving from holding behind your head to gripping at your hips, sloppily pounding into your cunt with need. and he hits right at your g-spot extracting a sob from your throat, instinctively hiding into dexs shoulder. āhey, stop that. keep doing what you were doing sweetheart.. for me yeah?ā dex urges, taking one of his hands from your hips and pulling your head from his neck. with tears running down your face you start to lap at dexs face again, and you give him little kitten licks at his scar with a whimper.
his mouth curls into a grin and he bites his lip, eyes shut in pleasure as his hips rock into you harshly. āatta girl just like that..ā you hear, feeling your core tighten up with an intense orgasm creeping up on you.
you can barely keep up steady licks on dexs cheek, only managing a slick stripe on his skin every moment from how much heās rocking you back and forth on the bed. and his thrusts stutter when you clench around his length, tightly squeezing around him while you cum, his cock having to pry itself from your sopping folds. dex is mumbling curses in your ear and you know heās about to cum himself, cos he gets all sloppy and hazy, cock pulsing with the need to paint your walls. dex plunges his load in your hole with lowly moan ā youāre hiding in his shoulder again, and his face is all messy with spit because of you!
reader who inhales some experimental aphrodisiac while on the latest mission.
the transport home is awkward to say the least. youāre whimper, humping your seat lamely while youāve practically soaked through your panties, cargos, and down onto the seat itself.
āeyes forward, men.ā says price from the drivers seat. his calm demeanor gives nothing away if it werenāt for his sweating palms that have a death grip on the drivers wheel.
you whine- a fucking delicious and needy whine. āpleaseā¦please captainā¦please can someone help me? please? pleasepleasepleaseplease?ā
āoh lord,ā mutters soap from beside you. his eyes are oddly focused on the pattern of the roof. ālord please give me the strength right now.ā his fingers twitch with ache and his leg is anxiously bouncing up and down. he continues to mumble prayers- which is odd since soap isnāt known to be a religious man.
āplease- please itās so hot. need to take these off. please,ā you beg, hands fumbling with the button and zipper of your cargos.
āstop it, kid. Kyle, soap, hold āer down.ā
gaz and soap look at each other, face full of emotion- uncomfortableness, concern, arousal?
āS-sirā¦donāt think itās a good idea for me to touch the lass right now.ā Soap admits, taking a slow and deep breath as his eyes unwillingly stare you up and down.
Gaz steps up. Not because heās eager to touch you, not because he needs an excuse to get his hands on you- but because he genuinely believes that if anyone can have the restraint, it would be him. āIāve got it, sir.ā
he bunches your hands together by the wrist, bringing it away from your pants that are left unzipped but still fully on.
you let out a broken sob that just breaks his heart but stiffens his dick. āNonononono, just a little touch please? please? Hurts sābad. Need toā¦just once, please?ā
gaz gulps, and for a second his grip loosens on your wrist. āGarrick!ā
gaz jerks, meeting the stare of his lieutenant whoās sweating at the base of his mask. āweāre almost there. keep it together.ā
you squirm, crossing and uncrossing your legs in any attempt for a piece of friction that is just never enough.
the rest of the ride is painfully silent, each man thinking the same thing but none of them willing it out loud. It feels like ages when the transport is finally parked at the base and three heads turn to their captain for his decision.
I just know dex is so strict abt you putting hands on his stomach or anywhere to make him slow down when heās going too hard.. just one look makes you stop and gets you a āgood girlā from him
for you to even have access to your hands during sex with him is a privilege, knowing full well that if heās going too hard or fast youāre better off just sucking it up than pushing at his tummy. if heās feeling nice, heāll relent a little with a verbal āow, daddy!ā but for the most part, youāll get your hands pinned and a shaky, concentrated
ādaddy knows what you can take, stop whining okay?ā as he holds himself over you.
youāre trained up so good when you want to push him away he can tell, watching the way you get all teary trying to please him, fingers twitching to protect your little cervix from taking such a pounding from a big strong man and heāll smile, nodding when you draw your hands away, making in his eyes ā the right decision.
āgood girl. now stop resisting, itās ungrateful.ā he teases, knowing youāre doing your best.
