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Pornstar!Simon who’s been told he can’t fuck you anymore because the way you sound when he’s inside you makes every other costar you’ve had in the past look bad.
The Director pulling him aside with the footage still looping on the monitor, voice low, telling him it was obvious your moans dripping out wet and broken were real in a way you’ve never given the cameras before, obvious now that every gasp and whimper you’d faked with the others was thin and breathy and hollow compared to this and your former costars were bound to complain.
Said it made the lads before him look like they couldn’t even get you properly wet, let alone fuck the sense out of you. Said pairing you with Ghost again was asking for trouble. Too risky. Too fuckin’ real.
Swinging the monitor around to show Ghost the way he had angled his hips so the camera caught his cock stretching your silky cunt half an hour before, thick enough that your walls flutter around him without any acting, slick spilling out around the base every time he bottomed out.
Your fingers scrabbling along the bed every time he ground himself down, too fucked out to really run from the pleasure the way you wanted to, body shaking brain reduced to static goo.
You having a hard time remembering the scripted words you were given, eyes rolling in your sockets, little whimpers and moans punched out “hn-hn-hn-“ every time his hips met yours and the head of his cock kissed your cervix.
Ghost cooing down at you when you miss your cue for the third time, hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other kept your thigh shoved wide, voiced amused when he asks “wha’s amatter? Cat got your tongue, dove?”
Ruined any possibility of you answering when he fucked you deep, making your cunt visibly pulse around him on the monitor, arousal drooling down his balls.
You tried. You really did. You mouth opened, some broken attempt at the first word, but it dissolved into another punched out moan the second he angled just right, letting the camera see the way your eyes rolled in their sockets.
His thumb stroking once over your clit, almost gentle, almost fond. “Tha’s it,” he murmured, “take it. Fuckin’ take it.”
Another missed cue. Another low, rough chuckle. He didn’t really give you room to think. Just kept you pinned and full and dripping while the cameras roled and the script stayed forgotten on the floor somewhere behind the lights.
The director was still talking but Ghost wasn’t listening, instead, just reached over and rewound the tape instead. Watched the part where you tried to speak again. Watched the way your body gave out for him and only him. Watched his own hand on the screen, thumb stroking your clit.
He hit play once more. Let it loop. Thumb hovering over the button, already deciding he didn’t give a fuck what the director had to say about it, he was gonna fuck you again no matter what.
Knight!Simon, who’s broad and brutal under normal circumstances, more scar tissue than flesh where the years have carved him open, now reduced to something small and shaking in Prince Gaz’s bed.
Massive frame trembling with every roll of Gaz’s hips, the full thick length of the prince’s cock buried inside him, stretching his hole wide, burn sitting constant and deep. Tears track down his scarred cheeks in hot, silent lines, sniffing wetly, the sound pathetic from a man who usually looms over everyone else. Broken whine slips free when Garrick rocks in just a fraction deeper.
Gaz bracing one hand on Simon’s scarred chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart beneath the keloid’s, coos low and sweet, soothing a skittish animal. “There now, my knight. Look at you, falling apart so nicely for me.” His other hand grips the back of Simon’s thigh, keeps him folded open, legs pushed high and wide. “Breathe through it. That’s it. Such a good boy when you’re stuffed full like this.”
Simon’s hands fist in the furs beneath him, knuckles white, muscles in his arms shaking with the effort to hold still. Every thrust dragging a fresh whimper from his throat, wet and choked, his own cock lying heavy and leaking against his stomach, untouched and aching.
Fullness too much, Gaz cock pressing relentless against his prostate, makes fresh tears spill over, rim fluttering and clenching around the the prince. Sniffs again, loud in the quiet room, and Gaz leans down to kiss the corner of his wet eye, hips never stopping.
“Shh, I know,” Garrick murmurs, voice warm and coaxing even as he fucks him deeper. “My big, fierce knight… reduced to tears on his prince’s cock. You’re doing so well for me. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”
Another thrust, deeper this time, and Simon’s back arches hard, a low, broken keen tearing out of him as the tears keep falling.
until we're rotten; a AKOTSK AU (Ghost x Johnny X F!Reader)
AN: your honor, they're all toxic and we love them for it.
Summary and complete CW (contains smut, violence, sex work and mentions of abortion)
Ghost had buried his sire beneath a tree in a field in a land that had no proper name. The hedge knight had stayed by the man's side until he drew his last breath, and even after that he had stayed, wondering what words he was supposed to say over the man who had been the closest thing to a father to him. His sire had not been a kind man, had never shown him anything akin to love, but he was honorable in the ways that mattered to Ghost.
Ghost had promised that dying man he would find the closest tourney, that he would fight the way Ghost had always fought with a brutality that most could not and that win or lose at the end of the tourney he would find himself a new master to follow. Ghost had never wanted to enter a tourney, he saw no point to play fighting when there were actual battles to prepare for. The only things he had to prove were on the battlefield. But the dying wishes of an old man were hard to say no to, even harder when that man bled out from a wound meant for him.
The tourney grounds are already lively when he arrives. The division between the common folk and the knights and the nobles is clear as he makes his way between tents and bodies. The common folk are densely packed together near the edges of the grounds, their tents shabby compared to the ornate fabrics that decorate the tents of the lords and noble knights that come from houses with prestigious names.
Ghost causes a stir. How could he not with his size, his mask and his mysterious origins. Each theory is more wild than the next. He’s the bastard of a lord come to seize his rightful place, he’s the crowned prince in disguise, he’s one of the old gods made man here to test his followers.
He hears the whispers and pays them no mind, he has always been a spectacle even before he joined his sire. He had been a large child and an even larger teen. Though, he hadn't always been so violent. Much like the sharpest blades, Ghost had been forged in the flames, his will and his desires beaten and ground and hardened until he was a weapon for others.
When it comes time to add his name to the roll, the master of the games is hesitant to add a man without a title wearing battle beaten armor who know one seems to know? There are noble knights fighting here, they shouldn’t have their reputations sullied by some common hedge knight with no master and no name. He tells Ghost to come back with someone who will vouch for him.
Ghost is smart enough to know that he is no proper knight, there were no fancy words shared between him and his sire, no oath, only his loyalty and his accomplishments in battle. He has fought alongside many of the men, he recognizes their banners and names, but it was always his sire who took the lead, who broke bread with the lords and their families, who had jokes for the men, soft words for the women. His sire was the one they should know and yet they all feigned ignorance.
Only one man claims to know of Ghost, even more shockingly that man is willing to vouch for him.
Ser MacTavish is a known scoundrel and rake. The other knights and lords know to keep their women away from the unruly and boisterous northerner, despite the fact that he had traveled to the tourney with his own pets. It was said that he could never be truly satisfied.
MacTavish stands out among the others knights of noble birth, today his hair shorn short on the sides, the rest plaited down his back and adorned with flowers. In place of pants or a tunic he wears a tartan kilt, often forgoing a shirt. As he follows along with Ghost to visit the master of games he complains about the southern heat while winking at him.
He reminds Ghost of the old gods he saw stitched into a tapestry in a sacked keep. There was a man surrounded by other ethereal beings dancing among the weirwoods, but the one with the flowers in his hair had caught Ghost's attention the most. He had only ever seen men adorned in metal, leather and blood. He had never seen a man look so soft, so pretty.
Ghost observes him, curious and apprehensive of his sole supporter. The man is more than a pretty face, his chest covered in thick hair and battle scars, each more ragged and raw than the last. Ghost studies each, a mace, a broadsword, the glancing blow of an arrow. His own body is much the same only he would never put it on display in such a garish way.
MacTavish drags Ghost to join him in his tent for a pre-tourney banquet, the northerner telling Ghost it's the only way to repay his kindness. The cups overflow with wine, the plates with meat, and pretty men and maidens dance around the crowd moving in ways Ghost has never seen before.
It’s at this banquet that he sees you for the first time. He sits next to MacTavish, a seat of honor according to his host who has one arm slung over the back of Ghost’s chair, the pressure heavy and hot, while the other swings around a chalice of wine that seems always on the verge of spilling over despite the way that MacTavish drinks heavily from it.
You are not alone. Your arrival, and the arrival of the other dancers is announced with cries from around the room. Each dancer moving with a gracefulness that Ghost could only dream of achieving. The moves seem both planned and spontaneous, bodies twisting around each other and undulating, pulsing as they fill the empty spaces between tables, between seats, between the throngs of people who feast on MacTavish's generosity.
Each dancer is more pretty than the last.
But you are the one that Ghost cannot look away from.
You move like gravity is only a suggestion, something to keep others tied to the world while you move about untethered and free of its weight. The dress you wear is made of a fabric that looks like smoke, it moves as fluidly as you do and covers nothing. Every inch of your skin is on display as your body twists languidly to the music. Ghost can't look away as you pass through the crowd, each time you appear he sees another part of you, another glimpse of the woman who is surely not of this world.
You are a whore.
Even now as you dance around the tent giving the guests a taste and a tease of what you can offer there is only one man who will enjoy the soft caress of your fingers, the plush press of your thighs and that is because he pays with the prettiest piles of gold coin.
You’ve played this game before with him. Pretend to be the entertainment, pretend you aren’t one of his pretty pretty pets that he drags from tourney to tourney, to battlefield to feast. You don’t look his way, you don’t break the illusion that you are some random woman he has never met before. It’s the same every time. He pretends not to see you, while you pretend to ignore his advances.
Johnny likes the chase. Likes to think he’s worked for your pussy. And you would be lying to say you didn’t enjoy it, Johnny might have a voracious appetite but he leaves none of his lovers wanting.
Tonight though you can't help but peer up at the head table, it's as if something pulls you there, calls to you. Through the throng of bodies you see him. Not Johnny, although you see him as well, a woman on one knee, his beefy hand kneading at her thigh as he speaks to the man next to him.
Can you call him a man? The top half of his face is covered with what looks like a mask made of bone, only his eyes visible from two black pits. The lower half is covered by a cloth that he pulls down to eat bites of dripping pieces of meat or swigs of his wine. Each time you hope to see more of his face before he pulls the cloth back up.
He is the biggest man you have ever seen and you wonder if he is big everywhere, for certainly it would be a waste if that was not the case.
This is the man the others have been whispering about, the secret prince or the beast sent to slay them all. A hedge knight that comes from nowhere yet claims to have been everywhere. You've also heard he is honorable, he's curried the favor of the lowborn attendants in some unspoken way. You have not cared to listen to them because you are not honorable. You are a whore from a disgraced house who sold your body to the highest bidder until you got lucky. 'ave tae call me Johnny if yer goan tae suck mah cock like ye like it he had whispered to you the first night you met after dragging you out to the stables when you should have been entertaining the man who had already paid for your services.
You are also smart, you know it's only a matter of time before Johnny loses interest in you.
Perhaps he is already losing interest in you. He stares up at the mystery knight enraptured by him, the same as everyone else. You know what it feels like to have those blue eyes peer into your soul, you know what it feels like to have the heavy hold of his arm grounding you, you know what it is like to have that man whisper to you switching between the common tongue and the language of his ancestors.
It is more intoxicating than even the finest wine. And when you dine with Johnny, Ser MacTavish, you only drink the best.
You are certain he will lose interest in you soon because you have a secret, easy enough to deal with if you found yourself a maester. But every morning as you wake up feeling more and more sluggish, the fatigue creeping up your spine as you perform your duties, dance this same dance from place to place, you start to think that maybe you don't want to get rid of it. If you had someone honorable, someone strong who could protect you and the babe maybe you wouldn't have to sell yourself anymore. Maybe you could sell yourself one final time, give one man the rest of you.
Maybe it could be enough.
When Johnny catches your eye you are shocked that he bids you forward, a wolfish smile across his face as he whispers to his companion. The other man watches you too, his eyes just as hungry.
This is not the game you are used to, but you allow yourself to be swept up in Johnny's hold, arms sticky with sweat as he pulls you against him, jostling you until your barely covered pussy is flush to his cock that strains against his kilt. The tartan rough through the silk of your dress.
He leans his chin on your shoulder, pressing his face to yours as he looks at the knight by his side.
Nae a bastard in the realm luckier than me. tae 'ave such bonnie company, ah must be favored by the old gods
You've thought the same of him, because how could he be so careless and so carefree, not once in his employment had you ever seen him training and yet not once had he been unseated in a joust, or bested at hand-to-hand. After battles and skirmishes he always returns alive, bloodied, bruised and later scarred, but never anything that doesn't add to his allure.
You don't know about the old gods, but perhaps he is blessed by The Warrior so that no true harm will come to him in battle, or by The Crone so that he has the foresight to keep himself safe.
Or, perhaps he is blessed by The Stranger. It feels the most right as you meet the eyes of the hedge knight, his mask hiding his face, the mystery that surrounds him almost suffocating this close up. With Johnny pressed to your back, his thick forearm around your waist and the hedge knight sat in front of you, his eyes heavy where they trail over every place that you touch Johnny.
It's hard not to imagine being pressed between the two of them in a much more private location. Spread out over the furs in Johnny's tent, the air thick with heat and the smell of sex. It wouldn't have been the first time you had shared a night with the northerner and a second partner, but never had it been with someone so large, so arresting.
is it the gods or your lord father's coin that buys your luck
You aren't surprised that the masked man's voice is deep, it matches the aura that surrounds him. His accent isn't one you recognize and you have been dragged across the realm and have met all kinds of folk. It bothers you that you cannot place this man, that you cannot see his face properly, that the tease of his lips when he pulls down the cloth to drink only drives your curiosity. And that when he speaks to Johnny, it is with a strange mix of the deference demanded by his high born name and a familiarity that speaks to years of camaraderie that the two men do not share.
The night melts in on itself in the way it does when the wine flows and no one seems quite ready to call it. Many of these men are meant to fight in the morn and yet the revelry continues until the light in the lanterns burns low and only flagons of wine remain on the tables. At some point Johnny left you to take a piss and when he stumbled back in it was with a woman on either arm, the three of them finding their way to the makeshift dance floor.
Johnny's raucous laughter could be heard over the instruments and the hum of voices.
Perhaps tonight he is the one playing hard to get.
The hedge knight is a mostly quiet companion, sipping his wine and watching the comings and goings of people around you. You didn't mind it for the most part, the rumors of the other folk could paint him some kind of saint and it would likely be far from the truth. The longer you had sat with him and Johnny the more you thought that to be the case.
He found humor in death and destruction. He is crass just like the other knights that you have met. You consider the possibility that he is honorable and that you could bed him and claim that the babe is his. Even if he is not honorable, he is strong and could protect you.
y'know 'im well
You wish he had asked you anything else. You don't want to talk about Johnny, don't want to see the way those other women paw at him, the way their fingers creep beneath the waistband of the damned kilt, the way their lips touch his skin.
It's not jealousy, but it burns all the same.
Don't know that anyone can truly know Ser MacTavish
Ghost is not known for his tact, he knows this and despite many attempts by his sire to teach him to talk proper, it had never really stuck. He just doesn't see the point in it, why should he bend the knee and talk all prettily to some pockmarked, backwards lordling who doesn't know how to hold a sword or his cock just because his father is lord of some shithole corner of the realm. And yet, he can sense it enough that you don't want to talk about the man currently spinning across the floor with two ditzy maidens.
He can try to talk prettier for you but he doesn't know how to spin fun little tales like Ser MacTavish, Johnny as you called him as he held you in his arms. Ghost doesn't know how to ask someone about their family, where they were raised, how they are liking the view. He can't very well tell you how he looks forward to bashing in the head of the man at the back of the tent, the one with the red hair and missing finger for no other reason than he was fuck ugly and once pissed himself in battle.
Do you have a tent, Ser Ghost
When you are the one to break the silence next he feels deficient in some way. He should be the one entertaining you after the way you entertained the crowds. He should live up to his knightly name somehow. He's even tried to keep his gaze away from your body, it's too easy for his hungry eyes to feast on the slopes of your shoulders, the line of your throat, the peak of your nipples through the dress you wear. He got more than enough of you when you were perched on Johnny's lap looking so pretty.
Aye
He answers while not meeting your eyes, looking back over the dwindling crowd. He knows that he should bid his host good morrow as well, even though he knows sleep will not come easy to him. But it will come better to him if he were in his own tent and not here, sat on this uncomfortable chair, surrounded by strangers and avoiding the first woman to have caught his eye in ages.
It's when you laugh that he finally drags his attention back to you. Back to the way your lips twist into a smile, the way the fire light casts shadows across your skin, the way you reach a gentle hand out and place it on his knee, fingers tightening as you lean closer.
Too close.
Would you like company
He can't help the way he looks to MacTavish before he answers, the man no longer dancing but now arm wrestling with some knight's squire, the baby faced boy looks no older than Ghost was when his sire found him.
Your hand leaves his knee, only to reach up and guide his face back to you. He wonders if you will shy away from his scars if you have no issues with MacTavish's. Ghost's are more, he's not a bonnie lad like the other knight, but perhaps he could be as eager of a lover? MacTavish strikes him as someone who wants to please.
Is it wise to steal you away from his more than gracious host, from the man who vouched for him even though they had never before crossed paths? A man who seems to crave violence and bloodshed with the same fervor as Ghost but with a touch more desire for debauchery and indulgence than Ghost has.
Yet, you are not married to the other knight and if you offer yourself up to Ghost who is he to pass up on the very generous hospitality of his host.
He stands, the movement shaky and abrupt after hours in that chair drinking wine and listening to Mactavish's stories. You stand as well, as if having decided for him that you will be joining him. Or maybe that is wishful thinking, maybe you only intend to retire for the night.
You follow him out the back of the tent into the dark night.
The tourney grounds are not quite quiet, not the way Ghost has grown accustomed to after years living off the land. Besides battles and skirmishes, he's spent most of his nights beneath the stars but MacTavish had insisted on him taking a tent for himself, calling it an investment in Ghost's performance at the tourney. Ghost had never needed it before, but, as he had quickly learned, MacTavish always got his way.
Ghost worries that you are used to finer things than a romp in a tent on a bedroll that is scarcely large enough for himself, however, you do not seem dissuaded by his accommodations because as soon as you are both plunged into the complete darkness of the tent your are plucking at the ties on his shirt.
He bats your hands away, capturing them both in one of his own and holding them between your bodies.
i am not some pretty little lord like MacTavish
don't need you to be pretty
i don't have any fancy words for you
don't need fancy words
what do y'need
i need you to fuck me like the whore i am
He doesn't need more direction than that. Ghost drops your hands, before tearing away the top of your dress, freeing the tits he had been coveting all night. You gasp as he takes each in a hand, pawing at them with calloused fingers. He wants his mouth on you and knows in the dark of the tent you won't be able to see his face, but you wouldn't be able to ignore the feel of his scars once his lips are on you.
You do not have the same qualms. Your own hands pull blindly at the mask, yanking it harshly until you have freed it from his head and toss it into a dark corner of the tent. You drag your nails over his scalp and through his roughly cut hair, uneven tufts that he hasn't properly seen for ages. It sends tingles down his spine, a sensation that is unfamiliar to him and yet leaves him craving more when your hand slips behind his neck in order to pull his mouth to your own.
You don't shy away from his rough kiss, from the cleft in his lip that leaves him face in a permanent scowl, or from the gnarled burn that took one of his ears and mars most of the left side of his face.
Folk believe the masked hedge knight named Ghost to be a monster but the skull mask is a kindness. Even the magnanimous Ser MacTavish would be tempted to turn him away if he were to see Ghost fully. Even his sire hadn't been able to stand the sight of him after a point, it was the old man that had given Ghost the mask, the skull of some unlucky bastard long bleached by the sun on the beaches of Dorne.
You pant into his mouth as his hands venture lower, tearing more and more of your dress until you stand before him bare. He might not be able to see you, but his hands paint a pretty picture as they explore each valley and peak of your body. The heft of your tits, the firm press of your peaked nipples, the soft skin of your stomach, pliant and warm, before his fingers dive between your legs, your wetness caught in the downy hair that covers your mound.
He wants to taste you, but you want to taste him more.
You drop to your knees hard, the ground unforgiving but you are determined to find out if he truly is big everywhere. You do not wait for his assistance, if he can ruin your dress you can rip open his trousers before you suck his cock.
You wish you could see it properly, because the moment you are yanking his pants down his cock springs free, thick and curved as your fingers dance over the only part of this man that is soft. The air is thick with his musk and you lean forward, trailing your tongue down the length of him until you find the tip, a pearl of pre-come waiting as your prize. His hands are quick to find the back of your head when you swallow down the head of his cock. You might be skilled but even you know your limits and taking him fully would only hurt you.
With time though…with time you could take more of him. For now you settle for sucking on what length you can take while you cup his balls in your free hand.
Above you Ghost grunts, his hands tightening where they hold you. You want to hear him come undone, truly undone. Would the giant of a hedge knight cry pretty tears as you bring him to climax over and over? Would he shout as he came? Or curse your name? Or maybe he is silent except for the prettiest little whimpers?
Maybe he would have no patience for your games and simply bring you to heel?
You could be happy with either, but if tonight is the only night you have to convince him to be with you, then you will need to focus.
Ghost pulls you away just when you are sure he is about to come. You whine, annoyed that he stopped you when you had been about to pull away anyway but then he's kicking off his boots, ripping off his tunic and pulling you down to the bedroll.
It's certainly not the most comfortable place you have taken a man, but then it's not the worst, and you are only there for a moment before his is moving your body as if you weigh nothing so that he is upon the ground and your legs are straining to straddle his waist, his cock pressed between your bodies.
You lean down and take is mouth again, enjoying the way he fights for dominance from beneath you. His cock is hot and hard as you grind down on it, it drags against your clit with each move, the tingle of pleasure more than you expected from a partner who isn't Johnny.
does Johnny fuck y'proper till ya come
You snort into his mouth at the outrageous question. Leave it to a man to have your pussy on his cock worrying about how another man fucks you. Would it bother him more to know your Johnny's whore? That you had fucked countless men before the northerner?
You bare down on his cock this time, his head notching just right, his hands flexing where they hold your hips as you press down further. He rolls his own hips up, pushing down with his hands. He is far from fully seated but already you feel the sweat dripping down your back. You take a deep breath, your hands pushing against his chest so that you can sit back, taking more and more on him until he is fully sheathed, his fingers so tight on your hips you are sure you will be bruised.
You certainly won't be able to walk right with the way his cock presses into your womb.
will you fuck me proper till i come
Ghost needs no further encouragement. He doesn't let you set the pace, he lifts your hips with ease before pulling you back down on his cock. Your nails dig into his chest as he pounds into you from below. You don't know that you have ever felt so full, so desired, so wanted.
You collapse forward on his chest as his hands continue to guide your movements. You pray to The Seven that he is not yet close, not at all ready for this night to be over and unsure if he will please you as promised, but perhaps at this pace you could come before he has had his fill of you.
When Ghost’s hips falter and you are certain he is ready to come you almost cry out in desperation, it’s too soon. Only the hedge knight slips a hand between your bodies, pinching your nipple hard before the wide expanse of his palm comes to rest on your throat, his fingers holding loosely as he pushes you up to ride him properly.
You roll your hips, relishing in the feel of him, the change in angle glorious, his own breathing is labor, his fingers twitching around your throat. His other hand drifts, kneading at your thigh first before shifting so that his thumb can press firmly against your clit, even just the pressure is enough to send a zing of pleasure up your spine, the heat growing beneath your skin until you can't help but clench around him, your own movements becoming unpracticed.
Come on my cock this time and next time I can ‘ave ya comin’ on my tongue.
You don't know if it is the promise of a next time or the press of his thumb, but you can't hold back your cry as you tumble over the edge. You slump forward into his hold, the hand against your throat holding you in place as he fucks up into you, finding his own release only moments after. The warmth of him spreads through you, and leaks out around his still hard cock.
Can he truly go again?
Perhaps you will find out.
Dawn comes slowly across the tourney grounds. Already squires, and servants and the hosts own staff bustle from here to there. You are already gone when Ghost wakes. It is the first time since he was a young child that he had shared a bed with another and he finds that he strongly wants to do it again. Maybe it was fucking you that had tired him out or it was the comfort of your face pressed to his chest, your warm breath against his skin, your hand clutching on to his wrist as you slept.
Ghost doesn’t expect to see you again, certainly not as he stands in the shit and the mud that leads into the makeshift fighting pit. He's there among the other fighters, most scarred and while not as frightening a visage as Ghost just as lethal. Sprinkled through the group are squires, baby faced and eager to please. Ghost has never had much use for a squire, but as he watches the boy nearest him fetch the knight he is with a wineskin he thinks it wouldn’t hurt.
It’s as he muses the benefits of a squire that he spots you.
You walk alone through the throngs of men, your face impassive as if unbothered by the sights and sounds and smells that surround you. When you spot him you smile and though you cannot see it he smiles back.
He doesn’t miss the way the other men watch you, some of the squires openly staring as you walk by.
You make your way to him with dainty steps, carefully avoiding the worst of the muck and the grime, but not all of it. The hem of your dress is quickly dirtied. This one more modest and far more fine, yet still not capable of hiding the curves on your hips, the thickness of your thighs, or the plushness of your tits. Is there a way Ghost could steal you away now? Or rip the eyes out of every one of these green little boys who don’t deserve the sight of you?
Ghost had come to the tourney in search of a master, but maybe what he was in search of all along was a wife? He could fuck you again tonight and pray to The Mother for her blessing, certainly you wouldn't leave him if it was his child that took root in your womb.
He shifts his stance, cock hard and uncomfortable in his armor but he can't stop his fantasies of filling you with his seed even as you come to a stop at his side. Still radiant, still smiling only for him.
Would you accept my favor, Ser Ghost
A lady’s favor?
He had seen other knights and noblemen receive favors from their women before battle. Tokens of luck and well tidings. A thing that he had never once received himself. He never made an effort to speak to the men around him, he was most certainly not talking to the women.
Ghost simply nods, not finding the right words to accept such a blessing. Your eyes shine with an admiration he does not deserve as you pull from your pocket a wispy piece of fabric, delicate and fragile, a piece of the dress he had savagely ripped apart because he had not been able to handle even that insignificant of a barrier between your skin and his touch.
You grab his wrist and pull it towards you. He cannot feel your touch through the gauntlet he wears, but he can remember the feel of your fingers, warm and persistent the night before. With ease you undo the gauntlet, handing it to him before wrapping the delicate strip of fabric around his wrist. You don't wrap it tightly, but you take care to ensure it is secure before replacing the gauntlet. You don't let go.
I'll pray to The Warrior for your safe return
You lift his hand up and place a single kiss to the cool metal of the gauntlet before pulling away. He watches you leave until he can no longer see you in the crowd of tourney goers. He is happy you left, for had you stayed by his side for any longer he was not sure he could have remained a gentleman.
Ghost eyes his competition again, this time with a far more discerning eye, each man here was an obstacle between him and you. He could not accept your favor and not win for you. Once he is victorious he will be deserving of you.
And if he must spend the whole night fucking a baby into you in order to convince you to stay with him, then he will do just that.
The tourney starts the same as all tourneys start. Johnny has grown bored of the airs that the nobles around him put on at these things. It's just folly for old men who were past their prime and green wee lads who had yet to see true war.
Johnny has done his part since coming of age to defend his own ancestral lands as well as fight the king's wars. The excitement of battle, the glory of victory, the parades of admirers had all grown old to him. Even the lavish banquets and perfectly decorated tents left him feeling unsatisfied.
The first thing to have caught his eye in a very long time had been you. Devious, discerning and oh so damaged. It hadn't taken much for him to convince you to follow him after he found you in that rundown, backwaters tavern. A few piles of gold coins and you were his.
Of course, you weren't his sole source of entertainment then, but it hadn't taken long for you to become his favorite. Yet, you vexed him so as you sat next to him in the viewing stands, using his position as a lord's son to get a prime spot to watch the fights. Never before had you been so engaged in the men fighting in the tourney, your attention had always been on him.
That is what he pays you to do, but he had come to hope that maybe a bit of it was a mutual fondness.
Although, he can't blame you when it is Ser Ghost who is taking the field. Johnny has seen many kinds of men in battle from all across Westeros. Never has a man drawn him in the way Ser Ghost has. He had heard talk of a hedge knight's companion who was inhumane on the field, a monster that haunted his enemies' dreams, the kind of warrior that played the villain and never the hero.
Johnny had been curious about him long before they had met.
Even Johnny can't help but lean forward as Ghost approaches his opponent. In full armor Ghost is stunning, with Johnny's help and coin he could be a sight to see, polished steel with gold trim would not do for a man with such a dark aura yet Johnny can't help but imagine him so before imagining the other knight covered in blood as Johnny removes each piece of armor before revealing the man behind the mask.
Have you seen his face?
It had been hard to ignore the fact that you had abandoned him at his own feast. That his guest of honor had absconded with his favorite pet had hurt, but to think that you had had the honor of seeing Ghost's face first? Johnny felt a stab of jealousy that he was not quite used to.
You gasp at the first hit, hand finding his and gripping it tightly. You wore the dress Johnny had brought for you, the kind of thing that wouldn't stand out among the other noblewomen who sat around you. You did not often talk of your past, but you wore this type of garment with ease, too much ease for someone who had been born to a lowborn family. Over time Johnny has dressed you more and more like the type of lady he was expected to be seen with, so slowly, and so carefully that he is certain you haven't realized what he is doing.
You also had yet to realize that he no longer took pleasure in his other companions, all of them knew not to tell you. It surprised him as it was your wit that endeared you to him after your beauty had lured him in. You were oh so clever until it came to this one thing. And had you noticed, you would have realized that by leaving him last night you had sentenced him to servicing himself.
Johnny had come twice to the image of you sucking his cock while Ghost fucked your pretty pretty pussy.
Does it hurt through the armor
Ghost doesn't even flinch when the other man's long sword hits him in the chest. A well calculated blow that allows Ghost to disarm the man as he attempts to pull back the sword that is far too heavy for him. If it hurts, Ghost makes no move to indicate it as a man runs onto the field to claim him the victor of this match. Two more opponents and Ghost win the prize for hand-to-hand. A handsome sum of money awaits the victor, but not nearly what Johnny could offer him.
Will ye kiss it better if it does
You drop his hand in shock, turning away from him and pretending to look very interested in the next pair of fighters.
Could it be that you like Ghost more than him?
You choke down a squeal as he pulls you into his lap, the boning in your dress sticking into his chest as he holds you tight, resting his chin on your shoulder the same way he had done the night before so that he can still see the fight. It does not seem this one is nearly as interesting to you as Ghost's.
Johnny wishes he hadn't given you such a well-structured dress for today, the stiff bodice is tragically separating him from feeling your plush stomach, it comforts him to feel just how alive you are. He settles for one hand holding you in place while the other grasps your thigh through layers of thick fabric. He hopes you will let him fuck you in the dress before dinner, then it will be his come dripping down your legs while you sit between him and his guest of honor.
It does not surprise him when the last match of the day is between Ghost and a knight from Storm’s End who looks like he has been mauled by a bear and put back together. Johnny has met this man, more than once, and luckily only ever as allies. While not quite as tall as Ghost, he is broad and barrel chested, and Johnny once saw him rip a man'ss jaw off with his bare hands. Ser Ulric the Jawbreaker.
Johnny would be terribly disappointed to see Ghost meet a similar fate today.
Seriously maiming or killing your opponent wasn't the goal of these tourneys, the lords and king would not approve of all of their best knights dying for the spectacle of it. Yet, on a day like today where the crowds pressed in close, the sun bared down on the folk gathered and the wine skins had been drained thoroughly it wasn't a surprise to hear calls from the crowd demanding blood.
You stiffen in Johnny's hold when the match starts, your nails digging into his skin where you grasp his wrist. He doesn't mind it, he is the one who has gotten the pleasure of keeping you in his lap all day, feeding you fruit from a bowl and sips of wine from a chalice.
Your hold on him tightens each time Ghost takes a hit from Ulric. From the viewing platform most are on the edge of their seats, many have coin bet on this match. Ulric is the favored fighter, despite the rumors around the tourney grounds that Ghost is some unworldly being, Ulric is known to the nobles. The gathered lords and ladies have seen him at tourneys before, the other knights have fought along side him. He is more than just speculation and whispered rumors.
Even you have seen The Jawbreaker take down countless opponents.
It's why you are crying out when you see Ulric land a blow on the back of Ghost's leg, the place unprotected by armor, the move of a swordsman who knows how to take down an opponent one-on-one. You squirm in Johnny's hold until you can hide your face in his neck, a completely undignified move that gets you curious stares from a few of the ladies that sit nearby. Johnny does not care, let those other ladies sit stiffly next to their husbands, stuffy old fucks who probably couldn't even get it up.
Johnny holds the back of your head gently, keeping your face turned away from the fight but not able to look away himself. He whispers to you in words he knows you do not understand but have always found comfort in, even now you melt into his hold, flinching each time the crash of swords on metal echoes through the field.
Ghost is limping now, blood dripping down his leg and pooling on the crushed grass as he studies his opponent. Both men are breathing heavily, this has been by far the longest match and they won't stop it until the winner is clear and by the cacophonous shouts from the crowd it will only end when one of the two has died.
For the briefest moment Ghost's gaze flicks up to the crowd, to the stands where Johnny sits with you. Its' a subtle movement, something that Johnny only notices because he hasn't once looked away from Ghost. He can't make out the other man's eyes from here, shaded by the helm he wears, but Johnny can feel that gaze, heavy and dark.
Is the other man jealous? Does he covet you, the woman Johnny holds so carefully in his arms? Does Ghost think there is a future with you that does not include him? Does Ghost think there is a future where he is not at Johnny's side?
Johnny grins, because he knows Ghost can see his face, can see the way you are tucked in close. He leans in and kisses the side of your head, smoothing his hand down your back in a move that to anyone else looks like he is comforting you, but its more than that. Ghost needs to understand that you are his, that it doesn't matter that you fucked the masked man, the knight with the skull helm, the mysterious hedge knight who might be a god that walks among them.
None of that matters because at the end of the night it was Johnny's tent you came back to smelling of sex with another man's come dried on your skin. It was Johnny who held you now in the stands with the other fancily dressed folk that even as a proper knight Ghost wouldn't be able to join.
Ghost knows this, knows that Johnny could never beat him in the field but has him beat in so many other ways. Maybe it is jealousy, or rage, or simply Ghost's nature, but the man merely tilts his head in acknowledgement before his gaze turns back on the other knight.
They circle each other, each step leaving behind a print in the mud, the trodden grass a map of their fight, each divet and scrap tracking their path. They come together again, swords clashing, one man grunting as the other swears, the two scrambling for control, for dominance. Even Johnny freezes as they fall to the ground, no longer a fight between two knights, they are simply animals who know that the only way to live is for the other to die.
The crowd has reached a fever pitch, there's no way you can hear Johnny's voice as he tries to assure you its almost over. Ulric has Ghost on his back, a heavy knee bearing down on Ghost's chest. In the fray Ulric has lost his helm, but Ghost has lost his sword. Ulric spits in Ghost's face, bloody globs drip down his helm as the other knight grins, his mouth full of bloody teeth. Its the look of someone who knows that they have won.
Johnny doesn't often pray to the old gods, it has been ages since he stepped foot in the godswood of his youth. There may be no heartrees in this southern land and no gods to hear his prayer, but he asks it of them anyway. It has only been a day but he does not want this knight to die. How utterly disappointing it will be to win you merely because Ghost has died at the hands of another man?
He will never know if it was the will of the gods, or simply the determination and strength of the man who has captured his attention, but Ghost raises hand, Ulric's discarded helm clasped in his fingers and smashes the other man in the side of the head. It is enough for him to lose focus, allowing Ghost to flip the two of them. Ulric is still armed, his sword now pressed beneath the fauld and grazing Ghost's stomach.
Ghost doesn't give the other man a chance to gut him. With the might of a knight not fully man, Ghost bring down the helm again, Ulric crying out first in surprise and then in pain as his face is hit over and over, the ornate edge of the helm breaking through his nose, then his eye socket and then the soft grey matter of his brain.
Ghost doesn't stop until there is nothing left but viscera. When he stands, the other knight's sword falls to the ground with a clatter, covered in blood. A man runs to the field, grasping Ghost's hand and raising it to the crowd as he proclaims him the victor.
When Johnny tells you it's over, you pull away from him, face tear stained and eyes wide. It doesn't seem you believe him until you see Ghost for yourself.
I want to go to him
Of course you do, not even a day since you met this man and you are pulling away from Johnny for him.
he's injured, he needs help
The tourney has a maester that will tend to him, Johnny had spoken to him when you had snuck away to give the knight your favor. Johnny knew what you were doing, saw the little strand of dress wrapped around your fingers as your nervously searched the grounds for the man you had only left hours before.
Johnny lets you go.
If he is in a foul mood that night no one mentions it to him. No one approaches him to dance, no one dares to take the seat next to him, no one dares to ask about you or Ghost. But he hears them whispering about Ghost regardless, late in the night when he typically would have sought you out, when the lights shimmer and the world spins, that's when he hears them.
'e's a monster, a'right
aye, 'eard 'e snatches up men's wives in the night
well i 'eard 'e eats the 'earts of the men 'e kills
ah 'eard 'e steals bairn tae bathe in they're blood
You do not return to his tent in the morning. He dresses for the joust, attendants scurrying around him as they attach his armor. You've never missed sending him off, never not given him a kiss to his helm before he mounts his horse. It reminds him of the days before he found you, different women in his bed each night, none lasting more than a few, very few willing to follow him into battle.
Johnny learns how Ghost felt the day before. The other knight is in the crowd of common folk, his height making him easy to spot. You are with him, huddled in between his arms, peering over the barrier to watch the knights who joust before him. When he is announced you smile and cheer for him just as you always did, but this time you are not alone.
The joust ends with little fanfare, Johnny lets himself be unhorsed early in the day. It would have been more dangerous to continue on distracted as he was. He doesn't see you after the joust, nor at his tent that night. It isn't until the next morning that you reappear in his orbit, your shadow not far behind.
There is a defiant challenge written across your face as you approach, some decision having been made between when he saw you last and this moment. Ghost is unreadable behind his mask, but he drapes a possessive arm over your shoulder.
Cannae believe ye stole mah pet
Ghost's hold tightens and Johnny doesn't miss the way you lean into the other man's touch.
I'm pregnant and it's Ser Ghost's and we are leaving together.
Pregnant? Your hand comes to rest on your stomach, the move drawing both men's attention down. You look no different, tired maybe but you spent the last three nights with a man that strikes Johnny as a thorough lover. And you shouldn't look different, its far too early for you to be showing, too early for you to even know. How could you know unless...
Johnny smiles. It's too early for you to know that you are pregnant by Ghost, the man could have spent all night fucking his come into you and it would still be too early to know, but it wouldn't be too early for you to know if it was someone else's.
Johnny congratulates you, praises The Mother for your good fortune. Ghost nods, but says nothing. Johnny lets them leave thinking they will part ways, start their new life with Ghost's winnings, but Johnny has other plans.
Even if that child were to be Ghost's it wouldn't matter. Johnny has grown tired of tourneys, and fighting, and sleeping in tents and pissing in the woods. His father has grown old, maybe he will suffer a fall, catch a cold from which he cannot recover or pass peacefully in his sleep and it will be time for Johnny to take his place as the lord of their lands.
And a lord needs a lady, and an heir, and a knight dedicated to his service. Lucky for Johnny, he knows where to get all three.
Ghost is hardly a jealous man, he doesn't really care about things enough to be jealous.
Well, except for you.
You, and the bloke who's practically been attached at your arm for the past two weeks. You two talk like old friends, like you've known eachother for years. Ghost knows from eavesdropping that "me and him were always close, you know? Kind of impossible not to miss eachother after I had to move."
The thought of it makes ghost seethe. It's a startling feeling considering he's never felt so territorial over someone before. All ghost wants is a moment alone with you, just to talk, and everywhere he turns your boyfriend is there.
Well. He assumes boyfriend, with the lack of a ring. But it's impossible to know when ghost avoids him and by proxy you. The worst part? Ghost didn't realize he liked you until that dickhead came around.
"Oh, ghost! I've been meaning to catch you!" You smile when ghost finally breaks during lunch, boyfriend sat across from you at the table.
You gesture to him, missing the way ghosts hand pulls his balaclava just above his nose, "this is my—"
Ghost kisses you, both hands holding yout jae steady.
The whole mess hall goes dead silent, not that he'd care. He leans in further, having to bow down at the awkward position, licking into your mouth with a wet tongue. You can't help but melt into it a bit, ignoring the gasp from next to you.
When you finally pull away, ghost is blushing beneath the mask, your own face heated.
"This," you say, all smug and pleased as you point to the man ghost has genuinely considered killing, "...is my brother. He's visiting for the month.
....oh.
....ghost grabs your arm and drags you away. He can deal with an angry brother later, right now he's aching to kiss you more and he knows you are too.
Contents: afab reader ("lass" and "ma'am" are used to refer to the reader), period and PMS symptoms mention, breast + nipple play, dry humping, handjob, oral (fem receiving, implied)
Word Count: 1,624
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
Roommate!Johnny, who tracks your period and knows everything about your cycle.
You're not dating (minus sharing a bed most nights and hooking up sometimes), he's just being a good roommate. The cabinets and fridge are stocked with whatever you crave the most, he'll fetch the heating pad for you if you need it, and he has zero qualms with running to the store to get some pads or tampons. When migraines hit, there'll be painkillers and water on your bedside and the lights will be dimmed.
He knew pretty much everything about your cycle and how it affected you now... Or so he thought. After the two of you got back from a shopping trip, he noticed you were kind of tense on the ride home. You dashed to your room as soon as he unlocked the door, but he didn't question it and just got to work on putting things away.
You complained loudly as you came back from your room. You just had to get out of your stupid bra... So sore. But he couldn't quite make it out... He just knew you didn't sound happy.
"What was that?" He called out to you as he put the milk into the fridge. "Didn't hear you."
Disgruntled, you flopped onto the couch like a ragdoll and let your head loll over the back of the couch. Your eyes were closed, legs spread wide, and one of your hands gently massaged one sore breast.
"Hey... Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny made his way to the couch, lowering himself onto the spot next to you. "You alright? Och, wait, is this because you tried lifting that one bag on yer own? I warned you, you put too much shit in it and--"
"It's not a fucking muscle strain," you interrupted his lecture, not moving your head or opening your eyes. "It's my tits, man."
"...Sorry?"
"My. Tits." You gestured to your chest and squeezed your eyes shut. "I swear, this shit happens every month..."
Johnny was lost, you could just tell by the silence that followed. Your Scottish roomie was never silent.
"So, your breasts hurt...?" He asked cautiously after a moment or two.
"No, they're just tender or sore--"
"That's the same thing, yeah?"
"Not the same thing." You sighed deeply and finally lifted your head to look at your confused roommate. "Every month, my breasts get a little bit sensitive like a week before my period. Just another stupid period thing because of some stupid ass hormones. It's nothing, just PMS." You waved a hand dismissively, letting the hand that was massaging your chest fall onto the cushion beside you.
You'd told Johnny that you had aches and pains before your period, but the breasts thing? You somehow never mentioned it... And his eyes were glued to your chest now. It wasn't until you cleared your throat and waved a hand in front of his eyes that he seemed to realize it himself.
"Hey, I know we've fucked before, but that's still rude." You teased as you sat up straighter so you looked less like a limp ragdoll.
"So we have..."
Johnny, still taking in the information given to him, scooted a bit closer to you. A sly smile came to his lips, an idea had clearly formed in his head.
"Could I help?" He asked, hands moving to the hem of your shirt. "I'll be gentle..."
"I don't really trust your hands, Johnny... No offense, but your definition of gentle is not the same as mine." You reminded him, but didn't stop him as he pushed the shirt up more. "You're too rough, and usually that's not an issue but..."
"C'mon, bonnie... I can be gentle," he protested as he moved your shirt up and over your breasts. They were bare, no bra to hide them from his hungry stare. "Fuckin' look at them... They look bigger, too."
You lifted your arms, letting Johnny pull the shirt off the rest of the way as you grinned. "You would notice that... They're a little swollen, it's totally normal."
Johnny tossed your shirt aside and slid his hands up your sides before carefully cupping your breasts. One of his thumbs grazed over a nipple, a low groan leaving him as it pebbled under his touch. His other hand squeezed as gently as he could manage, and you sighed gently as he did. It felt really good... Better than your own hands, his were larger and warmer, and yes... Gentle for once.
"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" He asked, his voice lower as he rolled one of your nipples between his fingers. "You know I would've helped you."
"Didn't think it mattered," you said, and a moan followed your words. You watched, pupils blown wide, as your roommate gently kneaded at your tender breasts. Your eyes moved to his face and zeroed on his mouth, watching his tongue dart out. "Mmh, wait... Hold on, I have an idea."
"An idea...? Ye say that like it's a good thing." Even as he's painfully turned on, he somehow found the time to be sarcastic. But he did remove his hands when you gestured for him to let go.
Not bothering to tell him to shut up or even laugh, you wasted no time and climbed into his lap. You straddled him, one leg on either side of his own. His obvious arousal pressed against your inner thigh, and you rolled your hips down for good measure.
"Fuck-- Bonnie, this is for you, remember?" Johnny's hands pawed at your hips, gripped them for dear life as you repeated the motion.
"I know..." You placed a hand on the back of his head, and with your free hand you cupped one of your breasts. "So help me by using that mouth for something other than talking, MacTavish."
Johnny's eyes darkened with hunger, and he didn't need to be told twice. He leaned forward slightly and laved one of your nipples with his tongue. It was leagues better than his fingers or hands, the hot weight against the sensitive peak felt like nothing you felt before. Your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him to continue. After lapping and circling the nipple a few more times, he gently took it into his mouth and sucked.
"Oh...! Oh, fuck, do that again!" You ground your hips against his, a damp patch forming on the cotton panties under your pants as he did it again. "Feels s'good… Again."
"Yes, ma'am..." He moaned before doing it again and again... In between sucking, he swirled his tongue around the bud. As you continued to ground down against him, he pressed a kiss to the breast before switching to the other.
Johnny gave the same amount of attention to the other breast, laving and swirling and sucking gently all while you humped his lap and begged him to keep going. As he switched back again, he began to lift his hips slightly to press against you more. The friction and the arousal he felt from this moment alone was pushing him closer... Closer to the edge. Your nails against his scalp are what really did it, though. He was going to cum right there if you kept going.
"Fuuuck, lass... I'm..." He tried to warn you, pulled back from your breasts so he could get the words out. "Please... If you keep fuckin' squirmin'..."
You were moaning, not slowing down. Deliberately, you locked eyes with him and moved faster, rolling your hips against his with a cruel smile.
"Hmm... Yeah? What're you gonna do?" You asked teasingly, breathlessly. "Say ‘please’ again..."
"Please, fuck, please...!" His words were a growled plea, but the moment you stopped moving your hips he let out an honest to god whimper.
You lifted yourself enough and slid back just a bit on his lap, enough to wrestle with the waistband of his basketball shorts and boxers. You pulled him out and stroked him from base to tip a few times, coating his length with precum. A half strangled moan left him as his hips tilted up as much as they could. As you jerked him off, you sat up more on your knees and brought your chest back to his face.
Both of you moaned, filling in the silence of the living room. He suckled and lapped at your nipples as you stroked him faster. Johnny came with a louder yet muffled moan against your chest, eyes screwed shut as you milked his orgasm. Pearly ropes of cum landed on his shirt and on your hand, dripping down onto his shorts. His dick throbbed in your hand as he laid his head against your chest.
"You were so good... Helping me like that... So good, Johnny," you praised, bowing your head slightly to kiss the crown of his head. "Feels better..." And they did feel better, in all honesty.
Whatever Johnny said, it was muffled against your chest. His dick softened in your hand before you let go to climb off of his lap, and you licked up whatever you could from your hand.
"Y'need help with anything else...?" Johnny asked, looking over at you with lust-clouded eyes.
You thought for a moment and laid down, resting your head against the arm of the couch. But you already knew what you were going to say.
"I think... I might need your mouth again," you mused as you glanced up at him. Your fingers undid the button of your jeans, but you didn't move to take them off at all. "If you're alright with that...?"
Your pants (and panties) were gone within seconds, legs over his shoulders as he helped you a bit more.
Here is my super late popemira sunday drawing!! They go to the beach for popes birthday, he def pretends he didnt bring sunscreen just so samira will put it on for him!! its been super hot where i live so all i could think of was the beach
No thoughts just price scrolling through various porn accounts when he notices someone who looks too familiar.
Maybe there's something to be said about his ability to identify you solely by your hands, the subtle and unique marks on them. Your hands wrapped around a silicone toy.
You. His fucking secretary. Advertising a new video on your private page, criminally undercharged if you ask him. Price glances at his locked office door, then back to the page on his phone. It's dark out, no one on base besides him and a handful of others who won't cross paths.
...he shouldn't.
It's irresponsible, immoral, and bound to get him in trouble when not if laswell finds out. But then you show off the squirting mechanism of the dildo and fuck it, price is too old to worry about consequences.
He pays for the full access, tells himself he's just supporting you when he scrolls to your latest video.
"Fuck! Mmhhh– ah!" Your moans fill the room, rough and ragged as you bounce on the toy. It's too easy to imagine his own cock sliding into you, making you gasp and groan on top of him.
You always use the same shampoo, a subtle scent he imagines now. The feeling of your palms against his chest, weight rocking him into the mattress.
Price cums embarrassingly fast, far sooner than he expected. He watches the rest of the video, of course, absently groping himself in the afterglow.
The sight of you popping off the toy and spilling an obscene amount if fake-cum has price clubbing up all over again. Christ, what he wouldn't do to be the one to fill you up. To touch you, to have you like that.
Had price been more aware, a little less drunk on the thought of you, he would have noticed the black shirt you wear is the same exact one that disappeared from his gym bag two weeks ago.
I truly believe Soap has three wants when he comes to America to watch Scotland play in the World Cup: support his team by watching some games, get wild drunk, find a wife. Those aren’t necessarily in order of importance either.
He barely makes it out of the airport, walking with the lads in their matching kilts, putting on a show for the cameras that have come to see the Scots arrive, before he sees a pretty girl walking down the street, thinks ‘oh, she’s the one’ and just never lets her go 😔.
He doesn’t even book a hotel room, decides he’s gonna move into hers after the first second. She agrees to drinks and he follows her home after and barges in. Makes himself cozy in her bed. Their bed now. She thinks he’s just forward and Scottish people are weird. He doesn’t understand American customs…..he’ll will sneak out after they fuck. He stays all night and swipes her key in the morning, attaches it to his key ring.
Tells her to hurry in the morning with a slap on her ass, they’ve got places to go, beer to drink, games to watch. The lads are waiting to meet her.
Of course he makes her watch all the games with him and the boys. Makes her wear a skirt that somewhat matches his kilt, he wants everyone to know that she’s his girl just by the pattern on her clothes. It doesn’t hurt that it gives him easy access to run his fingers over her panties whenever he wants. Doesn’t hurt that he can lift her skirt up as they walk down the street, get a nice look at her. Doesn’t hurt that he can slip a finger inside her while they wait for beers at the bar. Doesn’t hurt that when his friends are turned away, he can put his hand up her skirt and quickly press his thumb against her asshole, tell her how he’s gonna fuck that pretty hole later, laugh at the shriek she lets out. It’s humiliating. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happen to her. She feels like everyone can see her dripping down her thighs.
When they get to the pub, he pulls her down next to him, pulls her so close she feels like she might start getting claustrophobic. He makes sure she never takes her hand off his upper thigh, even when his friends laugh or complain he’s gonna flash everyone with how high he’s dragging his kilt up. Keeps her hand locked under his, moving her hand around as he sees fit, as the night goes on he pulls her hand closer and closer to his cock.
He turns and pushes his mouth against her ear to tell her what a tease she is. Like he’s not dragging her hand along his cock himself! Tells her she’s gonna make all the boys jealous. Tells her that his team is very important to him, that this game is serious, and if she doesn’t stop he’s gonna have to drag her to the ally and fuck her, he’s gonna teach her pussy a lesson for making him miss the game. He coos at how red her face is.
She’s confused by him and slightly (more than slightly) creeped out by some of the things he says and does. But fuck it. She’s young, he’s actually very good with his tongue, he doesn’t live here, he’s gotta go home eventually, and it all reminds her of some of those cheesy smutty romance books she finds herself reading. She thinks it’s just a fun, weird World Cup hook up….Scotland can’t possibly go that far into the tournament right???
Soon he’ll be gone and she’ll have just a funny but strange story to maybe post on tiktok someday or tell her daughter years from now. But no. He buys a plane ticket for himself AND her, has her stuff packed and ready to go the night before. Tells her she’s coming with him. He can’t just let her go now, she’s his girl! He’s ready to settle her down with a baby back in Scotland. She’s the one.
As soon as they get to Scotland he takes her over to his mums. His mum and sisters greet them at the door with “oh! We’ve heard so much about you! We’re so happy you’re finally here!” He’s been telling his family about his American fiancé back in the states for 6 months now…
thinking about gaz, who has conflicting thoughts and feelings about your relationship with his captain...
18+ mdni !!! (pure, depraved, smut)
cw: sub!fem!reader, sub!gaz, dom!price,‼️HEAVY FAUXCEST ‼️, cumplay, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, gazprice (is that even a warning ?), reader is an instigator, implied control issues!gaz, brief jealousy, i think that's it ?, word count: 2.3k
Kyle’s never quite been able to place exactly when his feelings for his captain shifted beyond loyalty and admiration. He’s unsure where the heavy feeling of want that’s long settled in his stomach came from.
Maybe it was somewhere in the middle of all the late-night paperwork. The two working in silence at Price’s desk– the very desk he’d pictured himself bent over and stuffed full of his Captain’s cock.
It could have been one of the after-work celebrations at the pub. Their booth filled with whiskey-fueled laughter as they watched their teammates run off to the bathroom for a not-so-subtle quickie.
Deep down, he knows that it was always there. From the very moment he met John Price in London, he recognized that the man’s presence would change his life– change him.
His feelings for you, however, have been very clear from the get-go.
He’d just gotten back from a solo mission that lasted over a month. He finds himself stumbling into his captain’s office under the usual guise of paperwork– when he’s really just desperate to see him.
“Cap, you got a minute? I need your help with–” he pauses mid-sentence. Slowly blinking as he stares at you, sitting in his usual seat at John’s desk.
You smile so sweetly at him that he can’t even bring himself to be properly pissed at you– for what? He’s not sure.
Your voice is timid when you introduce yourself, and your hand reaches out to shake his own. “It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Garrick. Captain Price speaks highly of you.”
From the moment you first touched him, he could tell that you weren’t a new member of the team– not in the way they are. Your skin’s soft, gentle, not made to hold the same violence and blood that makes his palms itch at night.
“Call me Kyle, love,” his voice comes out rough, mouth suddenly dry. He just hopes you don’t notice his reluctance when he drops your hand– or how he's half-hard just from the brief contact.
Price’s hand on his shoulder only makes the aching feeling of want worse. “Got an assistant while you were gone, she helps us with paperwork, scheduling, things of that sort– does a damn fine job.”
You open your mouth as if to argue– diminish your work– only for John to cut you off. “What’d we talk about, Kid?”
You huff, playfully rolling your eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
The second he finally makes it back to his barracks, the first thing he does is palm at himself. It isn’t the thought of John inside him or licking at your sweet cunt that makes him cum in his jeans– no, that’d be too simple.
Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and pictures you bent over Price’s desk, lips parted, crying out ‘Sir, please!’ as John thrusts in and out of your dripping pussy.
He feels sick with guilt when you walk in the next morning, passing out some papers before taking a seat at the table. Price sets a protein bar in front of you, eyes crinkling as he smiles down at you. “Eat, kid– know you must’ve skipped brekky, yeah?”
Soap snorts, “Would’ve made a damn good father, eh, Cap?
You glance over at Kyle, looking him dead in the eyes, before turning back towards the Captain. “He already is, aren’t you, Da’?”
It’s enough to make Soap coo at the pair of you and cause Price to flush, shaking his head before insisting everyone focus on the paperwork.
The rest of the meeting, he observes your interactions– taking mental notes of every subtle glance, all the gentle touches, and soft reminders.
The more he watches the two of you, it becomes obvious that Price sees you as a kid– as his kid.
Images of his fantasies from the night before flash through his mind– the shame threatens to crawl up and out of his throat at the realization.
He doesn’t mean to barge into the Captain’s office without knocking; it’s just a habit.
“Takin’ me so well, sweet girl,” John coos, hands gripping your hips as he bounces you up and down on his cock. His eyes trail down, staring where the two of your bodies meet, licking his lips at the mixture of slick and cum glistening against your skin.
He should cover his eyes and apologize, or better yet, turn around and leave, but when he finally looks up and meets his Captain’s gaze, his body freezes.
He’s helpless, standing still as John’s eyes trail down to his painfully hard cock. His thrusts don’t falter, his hips only picking up speed as broken cries fall from your mouth. “Please, Daddy, gonna cum,” you sob, fingers digging into his shoulders.
His length twitches in his boxers; the feeling of the thin, sticky fabric clinging to his tip only makes it worse.
John’s eyes don’t leave his as he presses a kiss to your exposed shoulder. That’s all it takes for you to cry out, body shivering as you cum all over his captain’s cock.
“It’s okay, kid, let go,” he mumbles, fucking you through your orgasm.
To this day, Kyle still doesn’t know who he was really talking to.
It's horrible; he has wet dreams that border on being nightmares for weeks after the encounter.
Every time he closes his eyes, his mind betrays him– vivid images of you in between the two of them with your eyes rolled back, both holes filled while you whisper ‘Thank you, Daddy’.
Sometimes the picture shifts– he thinks about taking your place– can practically feel John’s hand on his cock and your lips on his neck. Can hear a low, gravelly voice mumbling ‘Be good for Daddy.’
He tells himself it's fine. That he's not fucked in the head, that you're not gross, and he doesn't think anything of the nicknames– plenty of people call their partner that in bed.
He jerks himself off until he can't even touch his cock without hissing in pain.
The way he starts to avoid you is undeniable– it’s obvious to everyone, even his teammates.
Ghost’s eyes always trail to him when you walk into a room. Soap teases him about having a crush– he’s not that far off. Price is the worst of them, though, eyes crinkling as he just keeps giving him this look that screams: ‘I know what you’ve done’.
It’s maddening. Yet, it doesn’t stop him from fisting his hard cock to thoughts of the two of you every single chance he gets
He hoped meeting the team at the pub would be a safe space– one where he didn’t have to constantly avoid staring at Price’s hand on your lower back. He should have known better.
He’s been unknowingly betrayed by his mates. The two fucking off to give each other a wristy in the bathroom stall– like usual.
You and John sit across from him, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulder. He knows that if he glances under the table, he’ll see John’s hand cupping your covered pussy.
The air surrounding the booth is thick– the kind of tension that builds and builds until it’s suffocatingly heavy.
“Da’, can you go get me some water?” The nickname spills from your lips too casually– he can instantly tell it’s something normal between the two of you.
He can’t look away as you capture Price’s lips in a messy kiss. You pull away first– lips swollen– giggling as he shakes his head.
He swallows hard when his Captain stares at him, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “You need anythin’, kid?”
He sucks in a breath and shakes his head. Tells himself the nauseous feeling is from disgust at the sudden nickname– that it has nothing to do with how painfully erect he is.
John’s hand grabs his shoulder, and he just laughs when he flinches. “Let me know if you change your mind, son,” he mumbles, before heading off to the bar.
You stare straight at him, one look into your eyes, and he can just see that you know.
“It’s not what you think it is, Kyle.” He can’t help but shift in his seat when your honeyed voice says his name. “It’s not… entirely perverted. A lot of it’s about letting go.”
There’s that ugly phrase again– he can hear Price’s words ring in the back of his head.
Your hand reaches across the table, fingers interlocking with his, before you softly speak. “Have you ever been properly taken care of? Had someone who can make all your choices for you– tell you what rules you have to follow? Let your mind just… rest?”
Your questions make his chest burn with envy. You talk about it like it’s just that simple, that easy. “No, but that sounds… nice,” he whispers, skin on fire as you trace shapes onto the back of his hand.
You smile at him like you’re about to share a secret, leaning in so close to him that he can feel your breath on his ear.
“You know, I’ve always wanted a brother.”
You’re both stripped of your clothes, and his knees are sunken into the pillow John placed below him– you’re kneeling next to him with one of your own.
His captain– your captain– sits on the edge of the bed in front of the two of you, thighs spread wide open. His hard cock slaps against his stomach when he frees it. The sticky pre-cum smears against his happy trail.
“The two of you gonna play nice?” He asks, staring down at the pair of you. It’s a command– not a question–, but you both rush to reply anyway.
You nod up at John, hands folded neatly in your lap. “Promise,” you whisper, glancing over at him.
“Yes, sir.” His voice comes out shaky. A mixture of anticipation and nervousness takes over his body.
Price’s fingers trail along his cheeks, a shiver running down his spine at the touch. “That’s not what you call me, kid– not in here.”
“Yes, Daddy,” He whispers. The words send heat straight to his stomach– yours as well, judging by the way your thighs twitch.
You’re the first to move, gripping the base of John’s cock before grabbing his arm and pulling him in closer. His breath hitches at the sight, pre-cum coating your palm as your hand slowly moves up and down.
“C’mon, Kyle, be a good brother and help me.”
He’s never moved so fast in his life, his hand resting over yours, forcing you to speed up. John throws his head back, mouth open as he lets out a deep moan.
Your other hand grabs his jaw, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. Your mouths crash together, swallowing his groan as your tongue slips past his lips.
“Good boy, Kyle, getting along so well with your sister,” Price mumbles, eyes staring straight at the two of you.
You pull away with swollen lips, looking at him as you giggle– it sounds like trouble and makes his cock twitch.
“Fuck,” he cries, hips bucking when you suddenly brush your finger along his tip. Your free hand wraps around his cock as your lips close around John’s tip– the two of you continuing to jerk him off together.
“You like that, sweet boy?” John coos at him, thumb dragging along his lower lip. “Your sister’s making you feel so good, yeah?”
You let out a muffled whine, grinding your hips against the pillow, leaving a wet patch where your cunt drags along the fabric.
Price chuckles, reaching down to pull your mouth off of him. “Why don’t you share with your brother, poppet?” You don’t fuss, lips shiny with spit and slick as you eagerly nod at him.
He doesn’t hesitate, placing both hands on his thighs, eagerly sucking at the head of his cock. His eyes stare straight ahead, watching as you continue to stroke the base of it lazily.
Your hips start to move faster, letting out a pathetic moan each time your swollen clit gets brushed against the fabric. It’s too much for him; the wet noises and needy moans filling the air, your hand around his cock, the salty taste on his tongue– it’s better than he ever dreamt about.
He groans around John’s cock, his cum spurting all over your hand that's now right in front of your face. Your tongue darts out, licking some of it off your skin before reaching down to grab at John’s balls– smearing the rest of the sticky, white seed all over them.
“Daddy, please, please, wanna see you cum in Kyle’s mouth,” you beg, eyes wide as you glance over at him.
That’s all it takes to push him over the edge– a salty taste settles on Kyle’s tongue. He doesn’t wait for John’s cock to soften before he pulls away, cum sitting in his mouth as he kisses you. You gently grab his jaw, prying open his mouth as you wrap your tongue around his– licking and sucking the cum out of his mouth before pulling away.
“Da’, let me, let me help her…” The words fall from his mouth before he even registers the thought.
He should feel filthy, but as John looks down at him with a smile, he can’t bring himself to be ashamed. “Look at you, being so sweet to your sister– so proud of you, kid.”
He doesn’t hesitate, ignoring your whines when his hands on your hips force you to stop humping your pillow. You bury your head in his neck, licking and sucking at his skin as his finger circles your clit. It doesn’t take much for you to fall apart, teary-eyed and whimpering as you clench around nothing.
It’s silent, the room smelling like sex, musk, and sweat. You sniffle, wiping away your tears before crawling into the bed, dragging him with you as you force him to lie between you and John.
— gn!reader ♱ dark content + smut, fauxcest, dad kink, praising dumbification if you squint, cockwarming, dubcon (?). 766 words.
⁶⁶⁶ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝓢𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 — inspired by @superhoeva and @rawme-price's fauxecst and almost dad!price works <3 slowly getting the hang of writing again raaahhhh work and uni are kinda messing me up a lil
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
fauxdad!John Price is a filthy, filthy man for climbing into your bunk every night. Does it make him a filthy man to take advantage of how good of a soldier you are for him? You’d always take his orders without a second thought, without a single challenge. Maybe it makes him a filthy man to take advantage of your oral fixation sometimes. You’d get a little mouthy, chewing on a wooden pencil or constantly biting on the rubber straw that Gaz got you because there was a sale.
But surely it doesn’t make him a filthy man to use your warm, little mouth and throat for his cock when he’s busy with paperwork.
“‘S good for resistance training, kid.” He’d chastise you gently when you whine around his cock for a break. He pinches your nose slightly before giving your hair a gentle ruffle. He’s always so gentle with you—that doesn’t make him a filthy man, does it? “Gotta make sure my favourite’s a good soldier and a good kid, no?”
You always squirm whenever he calls you kid. He loves it. He loves the way you get a little shifty, the way you’d try to hide yourself and press your thighs together. He knows you get wet because then he’ll call you into his office for a uniform inspection. A uniform inspection is what he calls it, but it’s really to push his fat fingers and wet tongue into your hole so he can ‘check’ how much you love being called his kid.
You know he’ll eventually make you bend over on his desk when he’s done with his paperwork. It’s inevitable when you’re pressing your thighs and whimpering around the weight and size of his erection nestling in the wet cavern of your mouth, his cockhead nuzzling against the back of your throat every time you’re trying to adjust your position so you can sit comfortably but your thighs and calves are burning from kneeling on the pillows so much.
You swallow around his cock only to gag around it. Hot tears spring from the corners of your eyes as you whimper, looking up at him and pleading for him to give you a break.
“What’s that, kid? Speak up f’me.” Price gently drags you off of his cock and it feels like you can breathe lighter now.
“Dad, need a break.” Your words melt into a soft sigh the same moment you melt into his touch. His hand reaches out to cup your soft cheek, brushing the calloused pad of his thumb across your undereye. “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?”
“Been just the best, kid. Good job.” He can’t possibly be a filthy man when he’s so attuned to your needs. His hawklike gaze doesn’t miss the way you’re trying not to squirm under his heated gaze. Large hands hook underneath your armpits to hoist you up and he does it without even a single grunt of effort.
Your legs tremble from the ache of being in one position for too long, like a fawn learning how to walk. Price chuckles at the sight before he’s turning you around and pulling your pants down.
“Dad!” You begin to protest but he shushes you sweetly with a soft kiss to the low of your spine.
“Shh, just be a good kid and do as I say.” Price spits at your quivering hole and without a warning, he’s sinking you down onto his fat cock. Your high-pitched whine turns into a needy moan, a melody compared to the throaty groan coming from his chest when you bottom out. He’s already so deep inside of you that your thighs are beginning to tremble because his cock is pushing against your G-spot greedily. “Just sit still on Dad’s lap while I finish my work. Can you do that f’me?”
All you can do is moan meekly, nodding in agreement as you do your best not to grind your hips.There’s a small, nagging part of you that just wants to act out a little to see if he’ll still keep up with this sweet, nice Dad act.
As if sensing your mischief, Price grabs your hips, lifts you up halfway before slamming you back down in warning. A cry of his name is ripped from your throat, stars dotting your vision in the back of your eyelids from the sheer strength.
“Now be a good kid and sit still.” He gives your hip a gentle squeeze before his attention drifts back to the paperwork before you. You just hope that the one hour passes quickly.
— gn!reader ♡ dark content + smut, reader's hole is referred to as "cunt", fauxcest, dad & uncle kink (icky!), mask / balaclava kink, bondage, oral (m receiving), mean!price and mean!ghost, p in hole, dacryphilia, degrading praise, dumbification, double penetration (mouf an' hole), implied gangbang, implied almost brothers!gaz and soap.
ᝰ 860 words. inspired by this post.
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
you look so pretty like this—wrists bound in a princess pink silk ribbon behind the back of your knees, ankles wrapped with the same material, where they’re pressed up to your chest; tears springing from your stunning eyes; a mix of spit, sweat, and precum staining your kiss-swollen lips; your pretty little cunt drooling down to ruin the sheets underneath you.
although your muscles and body burn from being bound like a sex toy for your lieutenant and captain, it doesn’t compare to the euphoric feeling of their cocks filling you up from both ends. you can’t see anything but the infamous skull balaclavas covering ghost and price’s faces above you.
“sucha nice valentine’s day here on base, eh?” your captain smirks as he languidly uses your throat, standing by the edge of the bed while your cheek is supported by the pillow underneath your head. “nice an’ warm mouth for my cock. y’gonna let me fill up your little cunt once uncle si’s had his fill, kid?”
a mix between a whine and a moan sends vibrations around price and he groans appreciatively.
“raised you well, didn’t i?”
“wettest fuckin’ cunt i’ve had, cap.” ghost’s thick forearms pin your hips down to the bed as he fucks you with wild abandon, muscles flexing from the effort. he doesn’t even bother to take it slow, angling his cock into the roof in your gummy walls that forms dark spots in your vision. your thighs shake and quiver, aching from the soreness of being in this position.
“whaddya say t’your uncle after he’s praised ya, kid?” the patronising drawl from price’s baritone voice earns a whimper stuck in the back of your throat. instead of pulling himself from the warm cavern of your mouth, he fucks himself deeper until you’re gagging around him, spit dribbling down the corners of your lips. hot tears spring from the corners of your eyes from how mean they’re being but it’s making your walls clench tighter around ghost.
“didn’t raise this kid well enough, apparently.” ghost chuckles. “c’mon, ‘m sure y’know how to say ‘thank you’, don’t cha? or ‘s your cunt doin’ that fer me, eh? gettin’ tighter than a damn vice when yer dad’s bein’ mean to ya.”
price finally takes a step back, thick fingers wrapped around his base as he slaps his cock against your slobbering tongue. you whimper at the loss of the heavy weight of his erection in your mouth. you can barely think of what’s happening other than the intensity of the pain and pleasure burning through your veins.
“t-thank you—hic!—thank you, uncle si. your cock feels so– hn– so good.” you manage to stammer, your voice hoarse and raw from being abused by price’s cock. “d-dad, please, want kyle an’– an’ soap, want ‘em t-to—hic!—oh, fuck, ‘m so close, uncle, please!”
“did i fuck ya dumb already?” a loud smack reverberates throughout the rooms, a satisfying sting that has your eyes rolling back and toes curling when ghost spanks your ass. “you’re a big, strong soldier, ain’t cha? use your damn words.”
“listen to him, kid. whaddya want? want your brothers to play with ya too? or d’you wanna cum?” price watches with amusement how your mouth tries to chase after his swollen cockhead even with how your head moves in time with ghost’s unrelenting thrusts. there’s a crinkle in the corners of his eyes from the open holes of the balaclava and he’s chuffing out a derisive chuckle at the view. “‘grats, lieutenant. fucked our sarge well an’ dumb.”
“you train good soldiers on the field, and you corrupt ‘em well in bed, cap’n.” ghost hisses as he presses the fat of your thighs up and mounts you, driving his cock deeper from this angle and you’re crying out his name. “tight—fuckin’—cunt, just fuckin’– shit– fuckin’ squeezin’ me. gonna milk your uncle’s cock dry, nothin’ but a dumb cumdumpster fer yer dad an’ me, huh?”
hot, desperate pants of “yes, yes, yes!”, barely coherent moans of his name and uncle are falling from your pouty lips as he bullies your g-spot. your mind is blank, pleasure coiling in the base of your spine, heat flooding through your system until you’re squealing—high-pitched and so pornographic—as you gush around him.
ghost follows suit, cumming with a loud groan that makes your walls tighten around his throbbing length. he spills his hot seed deep into you, thick ropes painting your walls white and overflowing, mixing with your arousal and essence as it drools down the base of his cock and his balls.
mid-orgasm, price forces his cock past your lips until you choke and gag, pulling your attention back to him. he laughs through the balaclava, the low sound muffled, when your eyes roll back. you're taking him in so well despite the sudden intrusion.
“we’ve barely even started and you’re already fucked this dumb, kid?” rough hands push locks of your hair back, almost lovingly, whilst he grinds his cock into the back of your throat. “be a good kid and make your dad cum with your mouth and i’ll consider bringing in your big brothers f’you.”
Pt. 2 to this.
Careful what you wish for.
TF141 x reader
+18 mdni
TW: Heavy smut warning !!!!
Honestly, you didn’t know what had completely possessed you to suggest such a thing. Maybe it was the crushing lack of sleep, or perhaps the raw adrenaline of finally making it back to the safe house alive. But before you even realized the gravity of what you were doing, you were standing entirely bare in front of four hardened men whose intense stares burned into your skin with a nasty, unyielding need.
A volatile mix of too much testosterone and months of touch deprivation had completely sealed your fate. You knew exactly what they had in store for you.
With a slow, deliberate movement, you freed your hair from the towel, allowing the damp, dark strands to cascade down your bare shoulders. You watched with a smug satisfaction as the four of them stood entirely frozen, practically vibrating with tension as they waited to see who would dare make the first move.
Deciding to set the pace, you sauntered over to Gaz. His eyes were darting frantically between your bare breasts and the floor—a nervous little lamb caught in a trap. You stepped directly into his space and wrapped your hand firmly around his clothed erection.
A sharp, ragged groan tore from his throat the second you palmed the thick length of him through the fabric. A wicked smirk caught the edge of your lips as you watched him completely crumble from the faintest touch.
“Aww, I think little Gazzy boy is enjoying this, hmm?” you teased in a low, mocking tone. The taller man’s face scrunched up with pure pleasure, his hips instinctively bucking a fraction of an inch into your palm.
The other three just stood there, completely entranced as they watched you handle their teammate through his tight cargos. Almost in unison, their hands instinctively dropped to their own fronts, desperately trying to relieve the uncomfortable, suffocating tightness in their pants.
Before Gaz could pull away, you smashed your lips into his. A soft moan escaped your throat as his tongue immediately fought yours for dominance, tasting of raw hunger and desperation.
The dingy room only offered an old, weathered mattress resting flat on the floor, but it was more than enough for what you had planned for your boys.
“Strip,” you commanded, pulling back from the kiss just enough to look Gaz in the eye.
Without a single second thought, he scrambled to tear off his heavy tactical layers. You turned your attention to the remaining three, who were already standing there with their dicks practically in their hands, and gave them a sharp, commanding gesture to do the exact same.
As the clothes began to fly, you caught Simon about to pull his balaclava over his head. You stepped in immediately, your hand arresting his movement.
“Ah, ah, big boy. I want you to keep that on. Can you do that for me?” you murmured. You pulled the dark fabric back down into place, locking your gaze onto his wide, dark eyes before leaning down to press a slow, deliberate line of kisses down his heavily scarred chest.
Ghost could only nod eagerly, his massive frame shivering as he stood there, wanting nothing more than to completely lose himself in your touch.
As you continued to trail sloppy, hot kisses down Ghost’s chest, a strong pair of hands suddenly locked onto your hips from behind.
“Are you sure about this, Sergeant?” Price’s deep, raspy voice rumbled directly into your ear. His hot breath tickled your skin as you tilted your head to the right, leaning into his touch. “Because once we start, there won’t be any backing out. Not after you let us in.”
“I think I know what I’m doing, Captain,” you cockily retorted, though the sudden friction of his thick cock rubbing right against your bare ass sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
Price didn't hesitate. His heavy hands traveled up from your hips to the swell of your breasts, his thumbs ruthlessly pinching your hyper-sensitive nipples. Your back arched instantly from the pleasure of it, which only served to push your aching body closer into Simon’s space. Ghost took full advantage, his thick fingers slipping down between your thighs to tease your soaking folds, extracting a breathless string of moans from your lips.
“Aye, don’t you two go having all the fun here,” a gruff Scottish accent cut through the dark room. Soap stood just a few feet away, his eyes wild as he stroked himself, completely transfixed by the sight of you already coming apart under your superiors' touch.
“Easy, MacTavish,” Simon growled darkly, his fingers still rhythmically playing with your slick, needy entrance. “Why don’t you and Gaz break her in for us?”
He looked down at you through the eyeholes of his mask, a dangerous glint in his stare. “She’s going to need all the preparation she can get.”
Ghost chuckled darkly, finally pulling his hand away and stepping back to let his two sergeants have their way with you. The pure gravity of his remark stirred an unsettling, intoxicating wave of excitement deep in your stomach. Before you could even process it, Price let out a low laugh and delivered a harsh, echoing smack to your bare ass, causing your entire body to jolt forward.
You didn't even have time to register the shifting movement in the room before Johnny’s hungry hands locked onto your waist, lifting you effortlessly and pinning you flat against the weathered mattress.
Soap flipped you onto your stomach with terrifying ease, his rough hands immediately kneading the soft flesh of your ass as he admired the stark red handprint left behind by the captain.
“What’s it gonna be, Gaz? Heads or tails?” Johnny joked darkly, his voice thick with a heavy, predatory amusement.
Gaz didn't bother answering with words. He walked over to the head of the mattress and dropped to his knees, lining his swollen tip up mere inches from your face. He reached down, tangling a fistful of his fingers into your hair while his rough thumb stroked your cheek.
Any trace of his previous nervousness was entirely gone, replaced by a dominant, sinister look that made your insides coil tightly, leaving you completely soaked.
“Nah, I think heads suits me just fine, Soapy boy,” Gaz murmured, a dark grin spreading across his face. Without a shred of warning, he shoved his length deep into your mouth, forcing you straight down to the base.
Your eyes widened at the sudden, suffocating fullness. A muffled gasp caught in your chest as you choked slightly, your throat struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him.
“Not so bratty now, are we, princess?” Gaz mocked in a tone of faux sympathy. Clamping both hands around your head with a crushing grip, he began guiding his cock down your throat at an unforgiving, relentless pace.
Behind you, Soap wasted absolutely no time. He lined himself up with your slick entrance, dragging his swollen tip along your wet folds until your entire body shivered with desperate need. With a heavy, deliberate shove, he buried himself inside you, completely stretching out your tight little walls.
The sudden, overwhelming blend of burning friction and fullness made your eyes roll back, an involuntary moan vibrating directly against Gaz’s cock. The tight constriction of your throat made Gaz grunt, his teeth biting into his lower lip from the sheer intensity of the feeling.
“That’s it, lass. Good little slut for us, aren’t you?” Soap grunted. He delivered a hard, encouraging pat to your thigh before gripping your hips in an iron hold, instantly picking up a brutal, rhythmically punishing pace.
You were quite the sight—stretched and thoroughly used at both ends by your fellow sergeants, completely caught in the middle of their raw, unbridled hunger. From the shadows of the room, Price and Ghost could only stand and watch. Their dark eyes were completely fixated on the chaotic spectacle, slowly stroking themselves in heavy anticipation for their own turn to completely ruin you.
Drool escaped the corner of your lips as you continued to take Kyle deep into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you looked up at him through tear-stained, lustful eyes. The visual alone was enough to push Gaz straight over the edge.
“S-shit, you’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you? Such a fucking slut” he panted, his chest heaving.
You let out a muffled, wicked little giggle around his length in response, which only caused his thrusts to become entirely erratic. His head snapped back in pure pleasure, his face completely scrunched up as he released a hot, heavy load straight down your throat. He kept his hands locked in your hair, holding himself deep in your mouth to ride out his high and ensure you swallowed every single drop of his cum.
Behind you, Johnny was close behind. His brutal thrusts were becoming sluggish and heavy, his deep, guttural grunts echoing off the dingy walls as his climax neared.
The moment Kyle finally pulled out of your mouth, Soap gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your back, pulling his twitching cock out just in time to release all over your chest. You let out a shaky moan, watching the sticky, white substance coat your sensitive breasts. You dipped a finger into the mess, licking it off your skin as Johnny milked himself dry above you.
“That’s it, lass. Rub it all over that pretty body,” Soap growled, his voice thick and raw. He reached up, his firm hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you into a deep, bruising kiss, forcing you to taste his juices on your own tongue as you submissively allowed him to invade your mouth one last time.
You lay there flat on the weathered mattress, completely fucked out and floating in a haze of pure bliss—entirely unaware that you weren’t even close to being done.
From the shadows, the two older men stepped forward, stalking over to the edge of the bed like apex predators finally cornering their prey.
“Why don’t you lads go get cleaned up,” Price instructed. His voice was entirely calm, but it carried the unyielding weight of an order rather than a suggestion. Before either sergeant could even think to protest, they gathered their gear and slipped out of the room, quiet, satisfied smirks plastered across their faces.
Then, the door clicked shut, leaving you entirely at the mercy of your Captain and Lieutenant.
You could only let out a weak, breathy whimper as you looked up at the two men standing over you, their expressions dark with a terrifying, unyielding intensity. Your naked body was utterly dwarfed by their massive, towering builds, and the stark contrast only added to the frantic nervousness fluttering in your chest.
You knew right then and there that they had absolutely no intention of being gentle with you.
Dropping to your knees between them, you were completely caged by their sheer size. Their heavy, scarred hands began to roam freely over your already exhausted body—tugging at your waist, squeezing your hips, and delivering sharp, possessive slaps to your breasts that wrung helpless mewls of pleasure from your lips.
“Captain, I—”
You were cut off instantly by a sharp, stinging slap to your cheek. It wasn't enough to truly hurt, but the force of it was more than enough to put you directly in your place and let you know exactly who owned the room now.
“It’s Daddy to you, little miss,” Price commanded sternly.
His thick fingers clamped around your jaw, his thumb roughly forcing its way past your lips. Driven by the sudden, intoxicating shift in the dynamic, you immediately began to suck on his thumb, your wide, needy eyes locking onto his.
With his free hand, he reached down and pinched your nipple, calloused fingers rolling the hyper-sensitive bud so ruthlessly that a muffled yelp escaped around his thumb.
“Use your words, little miss,” his voice dropped to a deep, gravelly rasp.
“Y-yes, Daddy,” you managed to choke out, your chest heaving as you looked up at him through long lashes.
A low, gruff voice from directly behind you pulled you right out of your dazed thoughts. “Here’s how it works, dove,” Simon murmured, his tone cold, commanding, and absolutely unyielding.
“Since you were brave enough earlier to pull that stunt, we're going to see just how much you really mean it. You won’t disappoint us, right, little one?”
It was terrifying how easily you crumbled into a desperate, eager-to-please mess the second Ghost gave you an instruction. But before you could even nod, a massive, gloved hand slid between your thighs, finding your over-stimulated nub and pinching it firmly.
“What did we say about using your words, princess?” Simon warned, his voice vibrating against your back.
“Y-yes, s-sir… I’ll b-be so good,” you breathlessly choked out, completely undone by the agonizingly beautiful pressure building all over again.
"Good girl", Simon praised from behind.
Price lay back on the mattress, his dark eyes fixed on your trembling form as Simon lifted you with effortless, terrifying strength, guiding you directly over the captain’s waiting cock.
If you had thought Gaz and Soap were big, you were in for a brutal, rude awakening.
Price’s large hands clamped securely onto your hips, providing the leverage to slowly and unyieldingly ease you down onto his massive, twitching size. He stretched your tight walls like nothing you had ever experienced before.
Panicking from the sheer fullness of him, you instinctively tried to pull away and escape, but the iron grip on your hips held you completely paralyzed in mid-air, forcing you to take him.
“That’s it, pretty girl. Nearly there,” Price cooed, his breath hitching as he felt your tight, aching muscles convulsively swallow him down, forcing you to sink all the way onto his terrifying length.
Your aching core finally bottomed out against him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. But just as you thought the worst of the stretching was over, Simon’s massive hands slid around your waist, adjusting your posture and tilting your hips forward.
His heavy palm pressed flat against your spine, pinning you in place as he lined himself up directly at your tight backdoor entrance. His tip was already leaking pre-cum with anticipation, rubbing in small, maddening circles against the hyper-sensitive skin of your second hole. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact.
“Be a good girl and breathe in for me, dove,” Simon murmured darkly.
Before you could even draw air into your lungs, a sharp, burning fullness invaded your lower half as he shoved himself straight inside you without an ounce of warning.
Your head flew back, your eyes rolling to the ceiling as a breathless, ragged scream died in your throat. The absolute pressure of having both of your superiors' cocks stretching both holes simultaneously was overwhelming. If it was even possible, Simon felt even larger and thicker than Price—which shouldn't have been surprising given the sheer, beastly size of the Lieutenant.
You were practically seeing stars. Your mind completely whited out as the two older men began a brutal, unyielding rhythm, bullishly pistoning in and out of your poor, tired holes with a relentless, synchronised force.
Your legs were shaking violently at this point, entirely spent and completely unable to keep you steady. But you didn't have to worry about collapsing; two sets of massive, heavily calloused hands held you in an iron vice, keeping you firmly locked in place as they thoroughly broke you in.
“Fuck…” Simon started
“That’s it. You’re so fucking good for us, little dove,” Simon growled, his deep voice vibrating right through your back. The raw praise only amped up your bliss, making your head spin. With what little strength you had left, you leaned back against his massive chest, hooking a tired arm around his neck to pull him even closer into you.
“Knew she would make us proud,” Price beamed, his eyes completely transfixed on your flushed, completely fucked-out face. He gripped your hips even tighter, brutally picking up the pace from below.
The room was filled with the lewd, echoes of wet friction and heavy skin slapping against skin, completely drowning out your strangled moans.
“F-fuck… i-it’s too m-much,” you practically begged, your voice cracking as you felt that familiar, tight knot in your stomach winding up all over again.
But your desperate pleas only encouraged your superiors to push you even harder, driving you right over the cliff.
Before you could even process the sensory overload, your climax tore through you yet again. Your entire body went completely limp against Simon, your muscles twitching helplessly. There was no physical way you could keep this up, but the two men had absolutely no intention of letting you off the hook just yet.
“What do you think, Cap? I think she’s got at least one more in her, don’t you agree?” Ghost asked. His breath was ragged and hot against your ear, and you felt his large, heavy hand slide up to wrap firmly around your neck, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to restrict your breath and force your head back against his shoulder.
The sudden restriction of oxygen made your vision blur with stars, your pulse hammering frantically against his palm as your tight, overstimulated cunt convulsed around them.
“Think you’re right, Lieutenant,” Price panted, his dark eyes darkening further as he watched your helpless, choked-up expression.
With that, their rhythm became even more brutal than before, their heavy bodies pistoning in a relentless, synchronized assault.
All three of you were completely slick with sweat now.
Simon kept his iron grip on your throat, using his other hand to reach around your torso, finding your hyper-sensitive, throbbing clit and rolling it at an evil, unforgiving pace that made you screech out a muffled cry.
At the same time, Price leaned up, capturing one of your sensitive nipples between his teeth and sucking hard enough to leave a deep, dark bruise.
You had never experienced this much overwhelming pleasure in your entire life. Somehow, your body found a second wind, and you crashed into another shattering orgasm—so intense you genuinely thought you were going to explode.
Both men were right behind you. With a final few deep, punishing thrusts, they both let out guttural roars, spilling their hot, heavy cum deep inside your holes, completely filling you to the brim.
As they finally pulled out, your legs gave way entirely. They gently lowered your trembling, spent body onto the weathered mattress before stepping back and standing up.
Lying flat on your back, you could only blink through the haze, admiring their toned, god-like statures. They stood panting in the dim light, their skin glistening with a mixture of sweat and your own slick juices as they proudly admired their handiwork.
“You did well, Sergeant,” Simon murmured, his voice returning to its usual quiet rumble. “Maybe that'll teach you to not be a brat in the future”, he teased, turning to leave the room to grab you a glass of water in a merciful attempt to bring you back down to reality.
“Think this should probably become a regular team-building exercise,” Price panted, chuckling to himself as he followed closely behind the Lieutenant.
You lay there frozen on the mattress, your muscles twitching as you tried to comprehend what the absolute fuck had just happened—while secretly hoping this was far from the last time they’d break you in.
Warnings: Heavily 18+, fmmm, light bondage, light name-calling, praise, fingering, oral sex female male receiving, overstimulation, squirting, vibrators, piv, voyerism, camera and recordings, anal adjacent, creampie, fishhook, male masturbation. Porn-what-plot.
Summary: Simon has one request for his team whilst he is deployed and of course they deliver.
AN: I am ovulating so this is filthy filthy. I expect to see you all in church.
Simon had asked his team to do one thing while he was deployed. One thing.
So of course they had to go and make a big deal out of it.
When he’d first asked them, with all the sterility of a pre-mission briefing, to take care of his girlfriend sexually while he was away there had been more than a few raised eyebrows and doubtful glances between his team. Simon sighed, refraining from pinching his nose.
“Is not rocket science ‘m askin’,” He said one afternoon, “All ‘m sayin’ is just give ‘er a good time every few days or so, keep her sated,” He grunted, clutching his mug of tea, “happy.”
John and Kyle had exchanged incredulous looks, obviously not believing him. Johnny however, could always be counted on to get his dick wet at any opportunity. His leg was bouncing under the table, a grin blossoming on his face.
“Ye want us te fuck ya lassie Simon?” He asked raspily, not believing his luck, “Though’ the day would never come, eh.” He said, with a glance over at the other team members.
John stepped up, clearing his throat. “If you’re sure,” He said, staring directly into Simon’s eyes, trying to read any sense of discomfort or untruthfulness. His lieutenant only nodded firmly. Of course he was bloody sure, he’d spent weeks thinking about this, not even daring to bring the idea up to you until a few days ago. When you had seemed excited, he knew what he had to do. “Alright then,” John confirmed with one sweeping glance over at the other men in the room, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, “Alright Simon, we’ll take care of your bird when she wants.”
Simon nodded silently in thanks, already making to leave the kitchen and hunt you down again, to spend as much time with you as he could before he had to go. The others watched him leave with his usual alert stiffness, wondering what on earth had come over their stone-cold lieutenant. Once the door had slammed behind him Johnny turned to the others, glee written on every inch of his face. Kyle sighed. John began roughly “Now don’t you start-”
“Ah cannoot believe this!” He exclaimed, almost jumping for joy, “What a treat lads!” He was looking happily at each of them in turn, deciding they were criminally underreacting. John and Kyle were not going to start celebrating prematurely, though, choosing instead to try and wrap their heads around having the express permission to fuck the girl they’d all been watching.
The team had been shocked and rather jealous when Simon finally introduced you to them. They’d been hearing for months about the lovely bird he’d got himself but when Simon refused to show them any pictures, citing your privacy, they had all started believing that he was making you up, imagining a pretty girl, or he was being catfished. So when you finally came to the pub one evening their eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Out of all of them they had thought that Simon would be the last to take a partner, if ever. So to have been beaten by him at this, watching the two of you interacting over the sticky pub table, was quite a punch to the gut.
Come to think of it, he’d introduced you exactly a month before he’d asked them to sleep with you while he was away. John had a feeling that they might never have met you, had Ghost not been summoned by Laswell. Now he knew he had to go he wanted you protected, safe and happy; that they could do.
So when Ghost, half way through his time away, received a long video, sex tape was a better term for it, for him to watch on his grainy emergency phone it felt like a gift sent from the heavens.
He lay spread out on his shitty camp bed, grasping his aching cock tightly with one fist, the other holding the screen inches away from his own face. He had finally managed to find a quiet place to indulge again; he’d already watched it about four times before. He tugged at his dick as the video began to play and the sounds of your gravely moans and the teams’ praise filled his ears, egging him on.
Someone had tied your hands behind your back, Ghost was pleased to see they had at least used the silk ropes, and you were on your knees. Your shoulders and face were smushed into the mattress, knees up, exposing yourself and keeping you completely at Johnny’s mercy as he held a vibrator to your clit and made sure to keep his fingers moving at a steady pace, stroking your sweet spot perfectly, praising you the whole while. It was one of the good vibrators too, as he had instructed, a proper weapon; one that plugged into the wall and had you keening within three minutes. In the rest of the shot Kyle could be seen near your head, brushing your hair away and wiping the tears leaking from your eyes at your sensitivity. John was sat in an armchair behind the three of you, cock out in all its glory, wanking, just like Ghost, at the pure sight of it all.
Johnny was enthusiastically working you up to your third orgasm. John had already given you one with his own meaty fingers, stroking your walls until you begged, and only then did he thumb your clit and let you cum with strict instructions not to look away from the camera as you did so; Ghost was very grateful to his captain for that. Watching your cheeks flush and how much you struggled to keep your eyes open as you lost yourself in pleasure had his cock twitching dangerously and he had to squeeze his base to stop him from cumming prematurely. He wanted to savour this.
Kyle had been much kinder, keeping you on your back and using his mouth on you to send you gently over the edge. He switched between eating your pussy with wide, flat licks of his talented tongue, moaning occasionally, sucking gently on your clit until you squealed and sucking hickies into your inner thighs until you calmed down again. Ghost watched your toes flex and curl each time you were denied release. His strong arms had remained wrapped around your thighs all the while and every so often you peered down to see his deep brown eyes staring back up at you as his mouth worked intently, set on his goal. You let your head fall back and came with a loud moan, triggering Kyle’s own noises as your cum filled his mouth. Ghost grunted with satisfaction, teasing himself to your moans. The sloppy noises from Kyle cleaning you up almost sent you over again, but it would be Johnny who next had that pleasure.
He had eagerly bounced over on his turn, hoisting you up and twisting you into position, talking non-stop all the while. How excited he was, how beautiful you were, how hard he was, how good he would make you feel, how kind Simon was to let them do this, the list went on. Ghost chose to tune Johnny out in favour of watching your eyes flutter as the vibrator made contact. Your fingers twitched, wrists straining uselessly against the ties, moaning loudly and shifting your hips back when Johnny pushed two spit-soaked fingers in, still cooing down at you.
Johnny was a little mean for a while, making you fuck yourself on his fingers so he could watch your ass bounce, but a stern word from John and the reminder that Ghost was watching and he would be pissed made him change his tune. He began moving quickly, finding and hitting your sweet spot like John had, watching your asshole clenching each time he hit it, wondering if Simon would ever let him- he had to stop that thought before he came untouched. Still, a little something couldn’t hurt. He dropped his head down and let his tongue explore your neglected hole, making you squeal. His words were muffled against your skin but Ghost heard them alright, “Such a perfect ass eh, so fuckin’ pretty lassie. Fuck, ah wish ah could do this every night.”
He ceased his praise and listened intently as your moans built quickly, sensitive. Kyle was still whispering down at you when you came, screaming out your pleasure as liquid gushed from your pussy. Delighted, Johnny threw the vibrator aside in favour of his tongue, sucking at your clit intently, not letting up on his thrusting fingers either, his free hand coming to grope at your ass as he ate you from behind until you were crying out, begging him to stop. Behind the three of you John had cum unceremoniously with a small grunt, his orgasm painting his hand. Giving you some mercy, and so he could glance cockily around at the others and flaunt his success, Johnny removed his mouth from you but continued to finger you gently, letting you slowly come down. He twisted his wrist so his thumb could brush over your twitching asshole, praises never ceasing, “So good bonnie, such a good hen, gonna give ‘im a good show, ay.”
You felt boneless when Johnny finally finished, letting your hips drop down almost immediately after Johnny removed his stabilising force. They, however, weren’t quite done with you yet.
Ghost watched intently as Kyle left your head in favour of replacing Johnny at your pussy. He shuffled you forwards into the middle of the bed before he gently pushed into you, holding you up by your hips until you were flush against each other, groaning all the while. Johnny took Kyle’s place at your head, gently coaxing it up so he could get your tongue on his sensitive cock head, already leaking pre-cum. John too moved to your head, offering you his cum-soaked fingers to suck on as Kyle began to move behind you.
Your moans filled the room again, static in Ghost’s ears as he watched Kyle set a steady pace on his knees, watched him watch your ass ripple with each impact, watched Johnny and his captain fight for a place in your mouth. His breathing grew heavier and he could feel his orgasm bubbling slowly, but he didn’t want to cum yet. He wasn’t at his favourite part.
Johnny eventually won. He managed to stuff half his dick in your mouth leaving no room for John’s fingers. He let his head tip back, sighing in relief as you tried to work him over with your tongue, letting the thrusts from Kyle move your head along his cock. Kyle’s cock was just the right size, not too long, short, wide or thin and his firm thrusts were sending you into orbit. Of course, you’d always love Simon’s cock the most, but at least this time you knew you could wake up tomorrow without the sting from the stretch he gave you as he bullied his cock into you.
Kyle meanwhile was growing tired. He wanted you to cum more than once on his cock and he knew how to make it happen. He dropped your hips and leant over you, covering your body completely with his own and braced an arm on either side of your head, gaining easy access to your ear. He managed to whisper out a few unrepeatable phrases, calling you a “filthy little girl,” right before he told you how proud they all were of you, feeling you clench around him with every dirty word. Soon he moved his forearms so that one ran horizontally under your neck, taking most of his weight, whilst the other came up to gently hold your jaw in place for Johnny.
He ducked his head down next to yours and gazed up at Johnny too, panting all the while as he never let his rhythm falter. Johnny swore loudly, seeing two eager faces staring back at him and he let one hand run affectionately over Kyle’s hair. You were loving this. Completely encased, smothered by another body that was set on giving you nothing but blinding pleasure, this new angle letting Kyle deeper, occasionally hitting your cervix. The sharp jolts of pain only heightened the rest of your pleasure and you were sure you were going to come again. Kyle seemed to sense your impending orgasm, your waning attention to Johnny as you moaned on his cock and he knew what he had to do.
He pressed one gentle kiss on your cheek before hooking his index finger in your mouth, pulling back your cheek and holding it open for Johnny. You instinctively let your jaw fall open, tongue hanging out for him. He heard John groan and mutter a dark “Fuckin’ hell sergant,” at the visual of this fishhook and the sound of skin on skin grew as he fished his cock out again. Johnny seemed to have short-circuited, brain finally quiet at the sight of you so ready for him. Your face was flushed and sweaty as Kyle leaned in to lick filthily at your gums, your teeth, Johnny’s cock, your tongue, anything he could reach. Johnny saw Kyle’s tongue darting out. He felt it on his cock. He watched Kyle slobbering all over you. He saw Kyle’s smug face. He moaned out. Loudly. Overwhelmed at this double attack.
You wriggled forwards a little way, but it was enough. Johnny took the opportunity to shove his cock deep into your mouth, brushing your throat and came loudly as you did your best to swallow around him. Kyle released your mouth so you could encase Johnny completely, taking everything he gave you, groaning out each time he felt your mouth contracting around him as you swallowed. Once Johnny had finished he flopped onto his stomach so he could kiss you gratefully, thanking you “so much, lassie, you’re so good to us, perfect, perfect girl,” and cradle your head as it flopped forwards, giving in to Kyle’s bruising thrusts, clenching and cumming loudly. Kyle tensed his abs in an effort not to tumble over the edge with you, but he knew you had one more to give.
Before your orgasm was even properly finished he reared up and pulled you with him by your upper arm, your hands still immobilised behind your back. He put you on your knees before him and pulled your back against his chest, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, looking down at Johnny still lying in front of you two. He wasn’t going to last much longer he knew, but he also knew that you weren’t either. You were gasping wordlessly and your fingers were scrabbling weakly at Kyle’s stomach, brainless as he whistled sharply, getting Johnny’s attention. He nodded down at where the two of you were connected. “Go on, boy,” He goaded lightly, “Go on, have a treat.” Johnny grinned, understanding. He crawled forwards until you could feel his breath on your flesh and cried out when his tongue found your clit again.
Between the two of them you were a goner. You moaned loudly, your bleary eyes searching for the camera, staring straight into the lens as Kyle’s thrusts picked up; you could hear his laboured breaths behind you. You must have been a right state; body covered in a sheen of sweat, hair akin to a rat’s nest, tits bouncing every which way. You didn’t care. You let out a string of nonsense, your last orgasm crashing over you. “Oh! Oh my god, Simon! Yes! fuckfuckfuck, yes, fucking- shit, fuck oh my god.” Ghost himself moaned, staring right back, finally letting himself cum as he watched his favourite part. Release coated his abdomen as he overworked his cock, breathing unsteady, your moans of his name filling his head up until there was no room for anything else. That was how he knew he’d made the right decision, hearing you moan for him with another man’s cock in you. He just had to hope Gaz wouldn’t be too huffy about it when he got home. Kyle too finally gave in, letting your clenching cunt draw out his own orgasm. He buried his cock deep into you as he came, filling you up. Johnny only let up on your clit when you begged.
Panting filled the muggy room. Kyle placed a kiss on your cheek in thanks and gently laid you down on the bed again; he straddled your thighs, untying your wrists and giving them a gentle massage, cock still twitching every now and then inside you. Johnny backed off too, disappearing to find everyone some water. John rose and sauntered over, giving you his own cock to clean up. You did so tiredly, blinking up at him. He grunted in satisfaction, taking his dick out with a quiet pop and also leaned down to give you a kiss. You hummed into his lips. Sated. He broke away and straightened up again, ruffling your hair affectionately, leaving to go start a bath. Johnny reappeared as John left, water in hand. Kyle finally pulled out, hissing as a stream of his own cum followed. He pushed your rubbery body gently over onto your back and, easing one of your legs up, couldn’t resist. “Johnny,” He snapped his fingers, “Here boy, eat up.”
You didn’t have time to protest. Johnny had jumped at the opportunity. He settled easily, moving so his broad shoulders prevented your legs from closing, cleaning you up. He worked his tongue over you, not aiming for an orgasm, just some comfort, as he gathered up his teammate’s cum, swallowing it without a second thought. He tactfully avoided your swollen clit, taking wide licks instead, slotting his tongue inside to scoop out the last dregs of it. You moaned, fingers carding through his mohawk, gripping and pulling his head away, too much. He relented.
He sat up, wiping his shiny mouth on the back of his hand, you shivered, and reached for the camera. Ghost was then treated to a tour of your body, close-ups of your pert nipples, your thighs Kyle had so thoughtfully decorated, your poor used pussy, your slightly red wrists, your flushed neck and finally your bright eyes and smiling, tired face. You waved to the camera.
“Hi Simon, baby, they’re all being real good to me. Come home soon, I love you.”
Johnny flipped the camera back to him and Kyle, naked and sweaty, and winked. “Aye, Lt, but there’s no rush. We’re havin’ a grand ol’ time.”
Kyle punched him wearily on the shoulder, turning his attention back to your and your sore body. Johnny flipped him off before replacing the camera on its stand, letting Ghost see them carrying you off to a warm bath, John re-entering with snacks and drinks, changing the sheets. They let him see that they were taking good care of you in every respect, so please don’t shout at them when he got back. Eventually you were carried back in, squeaky clean, by Kyle. They wrestled some pajamas onto your limp body and tucked you in. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.
They tidied up in hushed voices, Johnny stubbing his toe on the bedframe and almost waking you up again. They crept out of the room, taking the still-recording camera with them and gently closed the door. Ghost heard it click. It was Price’s face that appeared, the last scene of this little film.
No thoughts just fucking inexperienced!ghost and he's absolutely starstruck.
He can hardly believe it's real. you of all people on top of him, pressing him into the bed by his shoulders. You, the fucking beautiful mechanic that he's been crushing on since you yelled at him two months ago.
"Mmhhh, so well behaved, baby–" you moan, hips moving against his languidly, working his cock in and out in deep strokes. Ghost swears you look like an angel, the soft light of his lamp back-lighting you in a halo.
"Ah– ah– mmghh– please, love–" ghost whines, hands running along your skin like he can't decide where to settle. Switching between your chest, waist, thighs. Rough callouses digging into you like he's trying to make sure you stay.
He gasps when you clench down, hips bucking up and head tossed back. He settles down as soon as quick as it started, thigh muscles clenched to stop himself. He doesn't want to ruin it, doesn't want to disappoint you.
"Ah! Fuck– whoah, hey, si. Simon–" you have to grab him by the chin and force him to look at you. Fear and uncertainty under that heavy curtain of lust, insecure about everything, about this with you. Your lips press to his jaw, quick, almost sweet before you pull back to smile "hey, it's okay. You can move, I promise you'll be fine"
His hips give the smallest twitch in anticipation, but he holds back to ask "what– what if it's wrong? What do I do?"
"Then I correct you," you shrug, grinding back into him slow.
"Oh." Ghost stares for a moment, processing. Slowly, his hands creep down to your hips, grip tightening like the springs on a trap "okay."
That's all the warning you get before he's physically moving your hips, your entire body, for you. The thick muscle on his biceps bulging with the force, first replicating your movements then slowly adding his own thrusts. "Ah– ahh, okay, that's good, si— FUCK!"
he angled your hips just right, hitting that spot inside that you had been avoiding in hopes he came first. A hint of that confident soldier you know slips through when ghost chuckles, shuffling his shoulders to pound that sweet spot relentlessly.
Ghost is staring at you with stars in his eyes while he fucks you stupid on his cock, brows knit together and flushed down to his chest. Thankfully, he cums first, and it's in that desperate chase to ride out his own orgasm that you do too, having to catch yourself on the headboard to stop from face-planting against him.
"Fuck, good boy, simon. So good for me, yeah?" You mumble lazily– wait. Surely not.
You roll your hips to confirm, almost shocked when you ask "holy shit, are you already hard again?"
Ghost groans under you, thrusting up hungrily "never stopped."
Oh you are so fucked and you are so never letting ghost go.
The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows across the cramped bedroom of the safehouse, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning unit struggling against the desert heat.
You'd crashed hard after the op—exhaustion pulling you under like a riptide, your body limp and trusting in the king sized bed that felt like a luxury after weeks of cots and chaos.
Simon lay beside you, his massive frame a silent sentinel, one arm draped loosely over your waist. He hadn't meant to wake, not really, but the strain of his cock had stirred him, a persistent throb that no amount of discipline could ignore.
You were peaceful, utterly so—chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths, your lips parted just enough to let out the softest sighs. Your tank top had ridden up in your sleep, exposing the soft curve of your hip, and the thin sheet tangled around your thighs, leaving your shorts askew.
Simon’s dark eyes traced every inch of you, his hand reaching out tentatively. He shouldn't. He knew that. But the trust you'd built, the whispered conversations in the dead of night about boundaries and fantasies... it lingered in his mind like permission.
His fingers, calloused but careful, slipped under the waistband of your shorts. He moved like a ghost in the field—slow, deliberate, silent. The first touch was feather-light, brushing the soft folds of your pussy, already warm from the heat of sleep.
You didn't stir, not even a twitch, lost in whatever dreams you currently lived in. A low rumble built in his chest as he parted you gently, his index finger circling your clit with agonizing patience. Soft, lazy strokes, building friction without haste. He watched your face, the way your brows furrowed ever so slightly in sleep, but you stayed under, breathing steady.
"Tha's my girl.." he murmured, voice a gravelly whisper against the shell of your ear, lips brushing your hair.
"So perfect, even in your dreams. Letting me take care of you like this."
His thumb joined in now, rubbing slow circles over your clit while his middle finger dipped lower, sliding into you with ease. You were soaked already—always so responsive, even unconsciously—and he groaned, the sound muffled against your shoulder.
He pumped his finger in and out, unhurried, curling it just right to graze that spot inside you that he knew by heart. Your body reacted on instinct, hips shifting faintly, a quiet whimper escaping your lips, but your eyes stayed closed, lashes fanned against your cheeks.
Ghost's cock strained against his boxers, hard and leaking, but he held back, savoring the intimacy of it. The way you clenched around his finger, the subtle slick sounds filling the quiet room. He added a second finger, stretching you gently, his thumb never ceasing its worship on your clit.
"Fuck, you're so wet for me, love. Taking it so well. My sweet, sleeping beauty."
The praises slipped out unbidden, rough-edged tenderness that he rarely voiced aloud. He leaned closer, his free hand cupping your breast through your top, thumbing your nipple to a peak as he worked you open.
You moaned in your sleep, a soft, needy sound that nearly undid him. He couldn't wait any longer—the need coiled too tight in his gut. Withdrawing his fingers, he eased your shorts down just enough, freeing himself with a quiet hiss.
His cock was thick, veined, the tip glistening with precum as he positioned himself between your thighs. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, angling you just so, and pressed in—slowly, inch by inch, burying himself in your heat. You were tight, welcoming, your walls fluttering around him like you knew exactly what he needed.
"Shh, that's it.." he breathed, starting a gentle rhythm, shallow thrusts that rocked you ever so slightly against the mattress. "You're doing so good, lovie. Squeezing me just right. God, I love this—love you."
Each word was a whisper, laced with reverence, his breath hot on your neck as he nuzzled there. He kept it tender, no bruising pace, just deep, rolling hips that chased his release without waking you. Your body responded in kind, growing wetter, clenching around him as he felt the tension build, coiling low.
It didn't take long—he was too pent-up, too enraptured by the sight of you, peaceful and pliant beneath him. With a stifled grunt, he spilled inside you, hips stuttering as he filled you up, warm and claiming. He stayed buried deep for a moment, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses to your temple.
"Mine." he murmured one last time, easing out carefully your shorts back up over your hips. He wiped himself clean with the edge of the sheet, careful not to jostle you, then tucked it around your body like a protective shroud.
His seed leaked slightly from you, a warm reminder of his claim, but he didn't mind. He let it stay, letting it mark you in the most intimate way.
Simon settled back beside you, his arm sliding around your waist once more, pulling you flush against his chest. You sighed in your sleep, nestling closer instinctively, your head tucking under his chin as if this was the most natural place in the world.
His heart thudded steadily now, the post-release haze settling over him like a blanket. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his rough fingers lingering on your cheek.
"Sleep well, love," he whispered, voice barely audible even to himself. "I’ve got you now.. you can rest." The room fell quiet again, save for your synchronized breathing, the safehouse's isolation wrapping around you both like a promise of more moments like this. In the field, trust was a weapon; here, in the dark, it was something softer, deeper. And as long as you slept peacefully in his arms, Simon knew he'd guard it with everything he had.
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