Whiny Alpha!Price who just absolutely begs to pup you up. Big warm paws grasping your hips, cock snug in your cunt as he noses the shell of your ear. Voice raspy, pants hot against your warmed skin.
“C’mon, love— f’er me, I’ll be good, so good f’er you— jus’ wanna see you full and round-“A groan cuts him off, the mere idea of you swollen with his pups making his cock throb and knot swell with life. It’s embarrassing, really, how just talking about it in the heat of the moment makes him pop a knot like some teenager.
“Fuuuck, love— I’d give you so many, as many you’d like- please, love- oh fuck- please, lemme knot you- fuck—!”
With a slick pop and the gentle give of your cunt, his knot was wedged inside of your warmth just right.
You couldn’t help but give him what he wanted when he begged so sweet.
Some mornings, it’s soft and filled with cuddles. Simons warm hand splayed over Johnny’s hip with gentleness that rarely shows. Johnnys fingers curled in blonde locks as hazel eyes trace features, staring back at the Scotsman. Before two pairs of eyes dip down to your sleeping form between them.
Johnny loves staying in bed with you, voice raspy and cracking with morning dryness as he mutters to you, planting kisses all over your face. Simon peels himself away, the throb of a caffeine headache urging him to be the first to get up and make a pot of coffee. But he returns after a few sips and crawls back into bed.
They take turns, spoiling their sweet bird.
Johnny slipping away for his morning jog as Simon keeps you warm under the blankets.
“C’mon, luv… almost nine, need ta’ wake up.” He rumbles beside you, digits trailing up and down your spine as if memorizing each vertebrae.
Other mornings, you wake before them. You squirm your way out from between them, bare feet padding along the wooden floor boards until you’re in the kitchen. Coffee brews as eggs crackle and pop in a greased pan. Simon is first to wake, calling out to you with a twinge of worry lacing his voice.
It’s not until you appear in the bedroom doorway with two mugs that he relaxes, Johnny smiling big and lazy.
“There’s our wee bird… so pretty this mornin’.” Johnny snorts when you grin and plant a wet kiss on his cheek before handing him his coffee. Simon draws in a breath of contentment when he too gets his morning kiss and a sip of his coffee.
Either way, the three of you have soft mornings. One way or another.
Thinking about Soap after he got shot by Makarov, the recovery being hell on wheels.
Oh, but his sweet Hen, his sweet girl coming and visiting him in the hospital was just purely beautiful. Seeing you, feeling your hand in his all the while he's drugged out of his mind on pain medication. The soft glow of the hospital light above you, almost like a halo.
His angel, his sweet Hen.
Of course, his sweet Hen also gives the most beautiful shows. The second he was settled in at home, he was grabbing at your ass and thighs, mouthing at your wrist and neck, begging for you. He nearly died, can't a man wish for a good fuck?
He groaned, hands grasping at the fat on your hips as you bounced on his cock, a feverish heat running up his neck as he watched you. All flushed and fucked out, mouth hanging open as you moaned and rolled those pretty hips for him.
"Och, pretty girl f'me hen... missed seein' ye bounce f'me." He groaned, rolling his hips, fingers digging into your flesh. The soft velvet heat of your cunt squeezing his cock nearly sent him over the edge as he choked out another groan and tilted his head back.
Snug at home, all within his sweet Hen. He should promote you to Nurse Hen with how good you're taking care of him.
Jealous Bastard Ghost being mean and fucking his sweet girl.
It was a simple twitch of your lip, a small smile with an unfiltered laugh. You didn't intend anything by it, but Simon didn't care. He didn't like how that bloke at the bar was leering at you, eyes practically undressing you. The way he leaned in just a fraction to catch a whiff of your perfume, a pretty scent Simon bought for you.
He could be so mean when he got like this. Hips snapping against yours, heavy palm pressing your head to the soaked sheets beneath you. A hand that had a tight grip on your hip slipped, pressing down on your spine to make your hips raise just a little more. Sinking in deeper, the fat head of his cock bruising that soft spongy spot inside your fluttering walls as you mewled in pleasure.
"Fuckin' bloke was eye fuckin' you, didn't you see?" Simon all but snarled, snapping his hips practically hard, balls slapping against your clit. Your nails sunk into the sheets, clawing, grasping. You didn't want to get away though. You loved it, how rough he could be, how his jealousy sparked a mean streak you rarely saw in bed. He was often so gentle, so sweet and soft with you.
But you didn't get nice, sweet Simon- oh no, you were getting Ghost. A mean bastard in Simon. The ugly part of your dear lover.
"Eye fuckin' wants mine, chattin' you up like he didn't notice those fuckin' marks on yer neck- outta just add some more, fuckin' bastards." He mouthed your neck, gentle at first as if waiting for you to snap at him and swat him away, but when only moans and sweet pleas rang in the air he sunk his teeth in. He growled, cruel and mean, laving his tongue over the bite before nipping at your ear.
"Pretty fuckin' girl, my pretty girl... fuckin' you dumb on my cock, yeah?"
Pairing: Captain John Price x AFAB Reader
Warnings; Alcohol, Absolutely filthy talk, hinted at commanding John Price
Masterlist
Your Captain— he was a large man. Sure, his hair had some streaks of grey, the lines on his weathered face told stories of his life that you weren’t sure he would ever utter. Eyes sharp, steely and energy commanding a room no matter where he was. Composure cold.
Just like his fucking hands.
You hated how fucking cold his hands were, it made you shudder just at the small number of numbers hands had brushed or he laid a heavy, chilling hand on your shoulder. How he was cold? You had no clue.
The Base’s heater was broken. John sent just about everyone home, deciding it was best given how freezing it was in the building. Your team? Well, Ghost made a small mention of how one of you should hang back with the Captain. He was a hard egg to crack when it came to admitting the fact he didn’t exactly want to be left alone. ‘It would be a shame fer Captain to be here alone’, Soap mumbled as he slid his coat on. ‘Sure would, poor bastard jus’ freezin’ his balls off w’th no one to keep em company, least make sure he didn’t die of hypothermia.’ Gaz added quietly, lacing up his boots, With a quick game of nose goes; you were the last to jerk your head up and tap your nose. Grinding your teeth, Soap cackled with amusement at your sour expression while Gaz gave a half sympathetic smile. Ghost simply chuckled as he walked past you, duffle bag tossed over his shoulder while the rest of the lads followed behind him and bid farewell with laughs and coo’s to your unfortunate circumstances.
You and John sat in front of a fire that he built in the fireplace. He chuckled quietly after you begrudgingly explained why you stayed behind. John was a hardass, but guilt gnawed at you when you hinted at the fact you didn’t exactly want to be there. Company is nice, but company that didn’t even want to be around?
That was just cold.
“Ah, I see.” He murmured quietly, the fire popping softly in the quiet room. “You know, you don’t have to stick around with me, love. I won’t take offense. Besides, I’ve been in worse conditions on missions.” He chuckled, the sound more of a deep rumble in amusement. You shifted uncomfortably, tempted by the offer. You truly were, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.
Boy, were you glad you didn’t leave. Alcohol mixed in with conversation, shifting from sharing stories about past missions and training to personal memories. John explained that he used to enjoy the holidays, used to spend it with his brother and sisters when his mother was alive. After she died though, it seemed the tradition of the whole Price family gathering for the Holidays passed with her. You shared some memories from your own childhood, bringing up the times your grandmother taught you how to bake a wide array of sweet treats, passing down the great family cookbook to you. John broke out into a hearty laugh at that.
“A cookbook? Really?” He asked, as if he didn’t believe a single word.
“Well,” You sheepishly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah.” You tilted your head to look over at him, holding his gaze before furrowing your brows. “Wait, why the hell is that so hard for you to believe?” John snorted in amusement at your defensiveness.
“Love, I just find it hard to believe you can bake. But I think it’s just because I haven’t tried your cooking let alone baking.” He paused to sip his scotch, chuckling. “Surprised you haven’t brought something for the boys to try.” You simply rolled your eyes at his question, eyes flicking back to watch the flames dance in the fireplace.
“Would rather not be harassed regularly for cookies or muffins.” You retorted with a grin. John arched a brow, amused by your confidence.
“Rather cocky of you, love. Surprised.” He grinned, his own gaze finding its way to the fire. “… Suits you.” You blinked, caught off guard for a moment. You felt your cheeks warm, blood rushing to your ears. Instead of acknowledging, you made the choice to sip your own concoction of a mixed drink. Your Captain, ever perceptive, caught the way your hands tightened around your glass ever so slightly. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The night continued on, temperatures dropping but it didn’t snuff the growing flame of tension. Especially when conversation shifted from light teasing to slurred, blatant flirting.
You hissed, jolting when his cold fingers brushed the skin above your hip while he hooked a pointer on the fabric of your panties. “Christ— you’re freezing, fingers like ice cubes.” You muttered as he chuckled warmly.
“Is cold, love.” He rumbled, tugging underwear down and spreading your thighs. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of your slick cunt, his thumb moving to spread your folds. He groaned at the sight, gaze darkening as your hole clenched around nothing; needy, aching. John leaned down, hot breath fanning along your folds before running the flat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, sucking on the bud of nerves.
A soft gasp fell from you, stomach swooping with pleasure as you reached out and threaded your fingers through his hair. John groaned, low and guttural in the back of his throat, eyes half lidded while he sucked and lapped your needy cunt with growing fervor. Sloppy, messy; the Captain that was prideful on his pleasantries clearly didn’t exist the space of sex. The man took what he wanted, whether on the battle field or between your legs. And right now, he was ripping orgasm after orgasm from you like a starved man. Your back arched off the floor, tears clumping in your lashes as your cunt fluttered around the two fingers he pumped into you. Moans spilled, desperate for more. Desperate for him. He released your clit with a wet pop, hot breath fanning against the overstimulated pearl as he panted.
“There she is, pretty girl…” He rumbled low and gruff, the pads of his fingers curling against your g-spot filthily, a hiccup of a whine bubbling up your throat. His pupils were dilated impossibly wide, black practically eclipsing the steely blue. “Give me another. C’mon, love. You can do it.” That alone tipped you over the edge, moaning as your mouth hung open while a fourth orgasm was torn from you. John groaned, cursing under his breath as your walls clenched and fluttered around his fingers.
In your haze of pleasure, he manhandled you onto your stomach. The warmth of the floor welcomed the front of your body as he hoisted your hips up just enough so he could line his cock up to your cunt, leaking tip nudging against your severely slicked folds. “Perfect, jus’ perfect f’me, love.” He hissed through grit teeth as he slid the hefty thickness of his cock into your fluttering cunt. “There’s my good girl… takin’ me so sweet. Let me in—let me get you nice an’ full.” Your palms flat, nails digging into the floor as you gave a shuddering gasp— once he bottomed out with a groan, you felt full. Impossibly so. His palms cupped your hips, steady and firm as he slowly rocked his hips. Gentle, slow, shallow thrusts. A warm up.
“There we go, love…” A shaky breath escaped him, leaning down, body draping over you. The healthy layer of fat of his stomach pressed into your back making it arch, shifting the angle as his hips rocked. A groan warmed the shell of your ear, a heavy hand moving to cup your jaw and tilt it as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You whined, impatient as your hips rolled back to meet his shallow thrusts. John grunted against your ear, chuckling low and gravely. “Easy. Easy…” His hand slid from your jaw to the front of your throat, fingers brushing over your pulse just to feel it jump; not squeezing, just owning the space. He growled low in his throat when you clenched around, cock twitching in response before he gave a harsh thrust of his hips making you gasp as your body bounced.
“That what you want, sweetheart?” He rumbled. “Should’ve known you wanted it rough.” His breath hitched as he snapped his hips forward in a steady pace. Air was punched from your lungs, body trapped and pinned beneath the weight and warmth of his body. Up until now, you hadn’t a clue his body was burning up just as much as yours. The hair of his chest brushing along your spine, making you shudder from the additional sensation. Moans, broken sounds of attempts in saying his name falling from your lips as his balls slapped against your clit with each rough thrust that threatened to tip you over the edge once more. You didn’t want to come so soon, but the pleasure of being so full of John, the growls and grunts of his filthy words in your ear— the heavy weight of his command around your throat had your eyes rolling back. With a breathy snarl of, ‘Come on my fucking cock, sweetheart’— you keened, tears running down your cheeks from the pure pleasure that lit a fire in your core. You came with a shudder and broken cry of his name, hand flying up to grasp his wrist as his grip on your throat tightened a fraction. A guttural groan spilled from him, hips stuttering before he pulled out and spilled his load on the floor between the two of you. A breathy, shaky laugh escaped you as he released your throat and ran his palm up and down your spine gently, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he panted softly.
“Well…” You weren’t sure what to say, mind muddled with pleasure. John lifted his forehead from your shoulder, a dumb grin written on his face as he pressed a kiss to your temple.
Tongue laving over warm, sweat slicked skin. Wet muscle swirling and following the stretch of your clavicle, salvia trailing down the supple flesh.
Simon was hardly a man. He was more wolf than human, a beast truly. On the field, he hunted and killed. In the bedroom, he was a starved animal.
Big, calloused hands grabbing at plump flesh, spreading your thighs as he grinded his hips against yours in a slow and torturous movement. Gods above, Simon was always wound tighter than a drum. No words, just lips locked on yours, tongue carving a space against yours, cock invading whatever hole he wanted. Your body was his in everyway capable.
The marks proved it. The way your pussy fluttered and clenched around nothing, as if begging and pleading for his cock. How he could steal your breath and your body leaned into his whenever he pulled away. Your scent always masked by his from how he clambers on top of you, pinning you down with his weight like a dog mounting mounting a bitch in heat. You loved it though.
You loved every second he grunted and panted against the shell of your ear, kept you tightly against his body, how his cock slid in and out of your abused cunt in a steady but brutal pace as if reclaiming what was his.
Because, ultimately, you were his. And Simon Riley didn't take kindly to being far from what was his.
Simon Riley x Sick! Reader
Pre-established relationship, Reader is suffering from common cold
For my dear friend, @simoanriley
Common cold season. It was disgusting, vile- cruel. You hated every aspect of sickness. Children with snotty noses, rubbing mucus on their sleeves then reaching out with grubby little hands.
Currently, you laid in bed. Skin slick with perspiration, used tissues strewn about, a damp wash cloth on your forehead with the curtains drawn. Your head throbbed with pain, throat felt tight and dry no matter how much water or tea you chugged, and your congestion was an issue all in its own.
But when your dear lover came home, walking in from a long week, he was your saving grace. Carefully peeling the sticky sheets off your fevered body, running a nice bath, washing the sheets and redressing the bed. He was even sweet enough to order you your favorite food.
"Love," He whispered to you, curled up beside the tub while seated on floor as his fingers swished quietly in the water. "Oughta take you to the doc in the morning..."
You whined, displeased by the thought. He chuckled, deep and raspy. Rough like the waves of an ocean crashing against rocks of a cliffside.
"I know, dove, but it's best. Hate seein' you so ill..." His tone had shifted, concern ebbing and bleeding through. He brushed wet hair from your face, sighing low and quiet. Simon pressed a kiss to your temple, his thumb stroking the curve of your cheek. "Please, jus' need to make sure it's nothin' serious. At least to ease my own worries, yeah?"
With a huff, you cracked open your eyes to meet those big brown orbs of his. You studied his gaze, eyes tracing along the scar across his nose and along his cheek, how the pinkish hoe contrasted sharply against the paleness of his skin. How those pretty blonde lashes lowered as his gaze turned tender.
Such a lovely sight of an even lovelier man.
"... Alright, dear. Just for you." You whispered hoarsely before jerking your head to the side, coughing and hacking up a storm. In this moment, you felt like one of those gross, sick children. Reaching out for him with a pout on your lips and hands.
But all Simon saw was his lovely partner, ill and yet such a delightful sight to behold. In sickness and in health.
Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x AFAB Reader
Warnings; Possessive Kyle, vague alluding to "collaring/claiming", unprotected sex
Masterlist
A gift.
Should be simple enough. Buying something nice for his pretty bird.
Except it wasn’t simple.
Kyle was losing his mind over the fact Christmas was coming up and he had zero clue what to buy you. If something was needed; you bought it yourself. If you wanted something; you saved up for it. Except Kyle knew for a fact you didn’t have anything on your want list nor your need list. No new books, no perfume, no clothing items. Besides, he already called your friends and they all gave him the same reply,
‘You know how she is, Kyle. She won’t outright ask for something, she works for it herself.’
He mentally cursed himself for the fact that you were so independent. Yes, it was nice that you weren’t begging him for money or expected him to swipe his card.
But he wanted you to feel comfortable enough to lean on him. He was a gentleman at heart and if his Captain knew that Kyle wasn’t opening doors for his bird, walking on the outer edge of sidewalks to keep her safe, keeping her in sight when in public and paying for dinner dates— the Captain would simply have his head.
So, who else to call about gift ideas then the Captain himself?
“Garrick.” John’s voice gruffly greeted Kyle over the phone, shuffling as if moving around his side of the line.
“Ah, Captain. Jus’ calling to, well, perhaps get some insight on something?” Kyle grimaced at his own voice, hearing his own uncertainty. There was a pause on John’s side, before chuckling warmly.
“Such as?” “Christmas is coming up.” ”I’m aware.” ”Gifts and, well, what not.” ”Yes, people tend to do such.”
Kyle sighed, mildly frustrated. A trickle of embarrassment making his stomach dip before he spoke.
”Captain, I don’t know what to get her.”
Another pause. John shuffled, sighing as well. A beep could be heard, the sound of an oven door perhaps opening before being shut.
“Well, son, does she wear jewelry?”
… Jewelry. Kyle stared blankly at the floor of his flat, left brow twitching before both eyebrows pinched together in disbelief.
“Captain, jewelry?”
“That is what I said.” John said with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“… Barely. I mean, she wears a necklace but…” Kyle paused, rubbing the back of his neck like a nervous tick.
“… But what?”
“It’s a bit tarnished, sir. She stopped wearing a few months ago, made mention of…” Kyle blinked. It was as if a light bulb went off above his head. He laughed, jumping up from his couch and sliding his shoes on. “Nevermind, figured it out.” ”Good lad, Kyle.” John chuckled before Kyle hung up, the young Sergeant already walking out the door.
That’s how you ended up with a necklace jostling around the hollow of your throat, the soft shimmer and glint of the ‘K’ engraved into the metal charm catching the dim light of the bedroom. Kyle’s eyes were glued to it as he fucked you from behind in front of a mirror. The knickknacks on your dresser shook from the sheer force of his thrusts. Your soft voice breaking, slurring over words in pleasure while he gripped a fistful of your hair, a steady hand on hip.
“Looks right on you,” He murmured against your shoulder. “Right where it should be.” The possessive praise made you clench deliciously around his cock, eliciting a grunt from him. “Knew you’d look good with my initial bouncing on your neck like that.”
He wasn’t wrong; the sight was for sore eyes. When the jeweler pulled the necklace from the case, his breath caught in his throat and his cock chubbed up at the mere idea of fucking you like this.
Kyle hissed in pleasure between grit teeth, your warm, gummy walls hugging and fluttering around his cock as moans spilled from your mouth. “Jesus—this is what you wanted, yeah? To be fucked like this with my mark on your throat?” He rasped out the filthy words, groaning when you gave his cock another fluttering clench. Possessiveness swelled within him, gnawing at his heart. His hand slid from your hip, dipping down and rubbing your clit in tight circles. A whine was ripped from your throat, gasping raggedly as he canted his hips against yours while his cock throbbed. Coils wound tight, cunt clenching as he cock dragged ravenously through your walls. Your hands gripped the edge of the dresser, vision blurring from the sheer pleasure as you tried focusing on his eyes over your shoulder. How his mouth hung open while he panted, brows pinched in pleasure. That alone made you clench around him again. “You gonna come on me? Yeah? Fuck—say yes. Say it.” His chest vibrated against your spine as he spoke, breathing picking up.
“Y-Yes, fuck- God, Kyle—” You choked out the words, nails diggining into the wood of your dresser as your core clenched around his weeping cock. You grit your teeth, head dropping as you gave a shuddering cry, creaming around his cock, his name coming out in a broken prayer on your spit slicked lips.
“God, you’re squeezing me—fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop.” Kyle practically whimpered, hips snapping forward as he grunted. Warmth pooled in your cunt as he filled your cavern with hot cum, his breathing ragged and uneven as he slowed to a gentle roll of his hips, grinding lazily. His fingers abandoned your clit, hand traveling up your stomach and between your breasts before settling around your throat loosely. He planted soft, soothing kisses along your shoulder. A smile tugged at your lips, appreciative of his softness even when he has moments of being rough. Your grip loosened on the dresser, lifting your head to watch him in the reflection of the mirror as he gave you a soft smile and sighed contentedly.
“I’d say I picked a wonderful gift.” He pecked your cheek as a soft laugh escaped you. “What do you think?” His nose brushing against your ear, eyes shut as he basked in the afterglow and simply being inside with you.
“I love it, Kyle.” You whispered to him. You groaned internally when his eyes snapped open, cock twitching inside you as he grinned wildly. Like a proud bird with its chest puffed up in delight.
“Really? You do?” He asked with a chuckle, all too pleased with himself when you whimpered as he began thrusting into you once more.
