price could be an asshole sometimes, he knew it. and you knew it too. he always made you cry during arguments, storming out of your shared place by slamming the door and only coming home the next morning with an apology and some flowers.
you always forgave him, much to his surprise.
but today was different, he had been really mean and price knew that he messed up badly this time. he hated how he could be when angry.
"i forgive you" price eyes looked up to you, a hint of hope in it.
"are ya serious ?" he asked with his rough voice, his heart beating a little faster. he released the breath he didn't even realize he was holding when you nodded yes. you opened your mouth, "one condition" you looked at the floor, "I want to spend one night with lieutnant riley." price cringed at the way you said his name, bliking at you with big incredulous eyes.
"she really said tha' ?" price hated simon's smug smirk, the man visibly flattered by his captain's woman's wish. "who am I to disappoint the missus"
price hated even more watching you and simon have sex, even though he insisted on being here.
your body was smashed against the mattress, the bed hitting the wall as the lieutnant's hips roughly pounded into you. you were enjoying it, john knew by the loud moans that were uncontrollably leaving your mouth. he saw how you tried to hide it at first, probably in order to not make your husband insecure ; however as simon fucked you dumb, you became a moaning and drooling mess.
price clenched his jaw as he watched you both make out, he couldn't help but observe intently how simon's angry cock would thrust in and out of your pink pussy, all slick with the previous orgasms you had.
"gonna cum..." you whimpered pathetically as you shut your eyes, your nails piercing the lieutnant's back. a whimper escaped you as you felt simon's hand come rub your clit to help you climax, the delicious feeling making your toes curl.
after you came, price watched you lay on your shared bed, completely cock drunk. he completely ignored the cocky expression simon had on his face.
"next time don't be a dickhead, captain" price mentally cursed as the lieutnant walked out of the room, enjoying the situation too much for his liking.
Sure, John knows how much energy his sweet little wife has tucked away at all times, but you're definitely a whole other person when you don't feel well.
You wake up and crawl out of bed, tugging your blanket behind you like Linus from the peanuts, heading to his home office. He doesn't bat an eye when you whine and wiggle your way into his arms.
He sits back to adjust himself better to make you comfy, wrapping you in your blanket and pressing a kiss to your temple as he works. He doesn't realize how he's changed but you do.
He stops working every five minutes like clockwork to tug you closer and rub circles on your back, it's started as nausea and after a week it hasn't gone away.
You find out in a doctor's office, that you're not sick, you're pregnant with your little girl. From that day on, he coos to your tummy, "Don't ya be hurtin' yer mama, that's my wife, young lady" every time she kicks your ribs, the same voice the boys hear on base but softer.
She's gonna be a daddy's girl.
And Simon's girl.
And Johnny's.
And Kyle's.
And mama gets to relax knowing her babygirl is safe no matter who she's with.
tws: public (?) nudity, boat sex (is that a think) hints of price’s breeding kink, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, very much “he fell first and harder” vibes, dacryphilia, +18/mdni!
more on vacation!price, who can’t help how he’s grinding his pulsing, swimming-trunk-covered bulge into your ass while the two of your enjoy the pretty waters of the early evening. the man's already unstrapped your top, replacing the fabric with the warm cupping of his hands and pinching fingers. he's mumbling something against your neck in between every other kiss, accent thicker than usual. tipsy off you and the drinks from dinner.
the man cock's feels as if it's going to burst through his shorts when your hand wraps along the back of his neck, tugging at him with a needy grip. he receives the message instantly, unlatching his mouth to slot his mouth onto yours. he kisses you until your lungs start to burn and then a moment longer before rutting his thick against you a grunting at the heating twitches at his core.
john has you back on the rental boat and cock sinking inside your hole before you can think about anything else except how loud he’s grunting and panting like a man possessed. his belly presses into your front as the both of you hang halfway off the cheap leather seats, your legs hooking around his waist to clutch him for dear life. you don’t even bother complaining about your bikini bottoms that he’d yanked in half, voice stolen and restricted to choking groans while john rails you at a godly angle.
out loud, all he can do is croak about how good you take it when he stretches you out. tell you how stunning your eyes look when they get all they like this. on the inside, he’s concocting up a half-impossible, lust-driven plan so he gets to see this, you—whining under him and begging for cum he was thinking of stuffing you with from the moment he laid eyes on you—for the rest of your lives.
hmm. he’ll figure it out. there is absolutely no way he’s leaving this place without you in his arms and his mind racking up names for your first kid.
I’m fucking gagged thank you for getting my first post to 1500 wtf guys 🤍😵💫 ANYWAY have some bear!price on the house 🐻
Bear hybrid!John Price x sleepy!reader 2k
Cw: slight dubcon (sleepy sex ig)
It starts when he has to wake you from a well-deserved nap. A what-year-is-it kind of sleep. It was the first thing taught at military school, how to fall asleep on your feet. You took that personally and made it an artform. That's how Price finds you, knocked out on the rec room couch after cleaning up after someone else’s mistake as soon as you got back from deployment. Poor little scrapper.
He’s horribly endeared by it and his deep-seated instincts pull him to join you when his duty demands otherwise. Not his fault you look so cozy, curling around yourself and burying your nose in the blanket Gaz threw over you when he found you.
He tries calling out to you but you are dead to the world, so he lays a warm palm on your shoulder, rocking you gently to ease you back to the waking world. He answers your soft sleepy sound with a deep chuff, his bear endlessly pleased you feel safe enough to sleep so heavily around him and his team. You’re awake but definitely not alert, so he lets himself sit by your legs as you shake off the grip of sleep.
“Cap?”
“Meeting in ten, grab some joe.” He tells you, paw heavy on your head as he gives your adorable bed-head a ruffle. You’re too gone to sleep to wrinkle your nose at the treatment.
“Yessir.” You slur, and he has to make himself walk out the rec room at the sound of your sleep rough voice.
When he sees you again your eyes are brighter and you grip your coffee cup like a lifeline. You don’t get much of it down before you’re pulled to another task, looking down at it, forlorn, before putting in front of Price. A silent offering and he’s not one to turn down caffeine and if he does, take him out back and finish him off. And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact he gets to swallow down the lip-print you left on the rim. Honey-flavored chapstick. He doesn’t stop the happy rumble coming from his chest and you give him a small slight smile before you’re off. He adds the look to the catalogue of secret smiles he's won from you.
Next time it’s you that catches him napping. You come well prepared, armed with coffee and the flask of whiskey you keep hidden in your vest. He doesn’t even hear the door to his office open, chin tucked to his chest, still gripping a pen. The approaching winter had him at its beck and call, quick to sleep and slow to wake.
“Your neck is going to kill later, Cap.” He rouses at the sound of your voice, soft and to his right. You’d lingered a little longer than you’d like to admit, barely controlling the urge to rub the fuzzy little ears he usually keeps hidden under his hat. He looked younger in his sleep, without the furrow in his brow and stern frown on his lips, like a big oversized teddy bear, but you’ll keep that one to yourself.
On que he lifts his head, neck cracking loudly. His wince has your hands itching to lift and massage the soreness out for him. You sigh, a little frustrated at yourself for fanning the flame of the embarrassing crush you have on your boss. You told yourself it was the trauma bond, nothing like shedding blood to bring two people together. It’s just the inevitable coworker crush you tell yourself, even when he’s the last thing you think about before falling asleep and the first when you wake.
It gets exponentially worse when he yawns, not looking as he reaches out to the general direction he heard your voice and patting around lazily. You can’t help but step up from your extremely respectful and professional distance away from his desk. The meaning of the words fizzle out when he catches a belt loop and reels you in.
“You got something for me?” He rasps, prompting you for an update, and the way his voice rumbles out of his chest and buries itself between your legs is beyond unfair. You start with the coffee, waiting a second before putting the flask down next to it. He lets out a grateful huff and you know you’re going to need to change your underwear after all this.
“Laswell touches down in twenty.” You ruin your own pleasant haze you’ve been floating in since he pulled you close enough to feel the heat coming off of him. The frown and furrow are back. He’s all squint, 90% bushy frown, hat forgotten on the desk in front of him.
“We best be meeting her then, hm?” He sighs, coming to a stand. You cannot be bothered to step out of his space but especially when you get a delicious whiff of his cologne and cigar smoke. Drenched. Ruined. In need of some alone time in the showers later.
You hardly breathe when his sleep-warm palm comes up to hold the back of your neck, steering the both of you out of his office. You stop moving all together when he lets go to open the door. He looks down at you when you don’t follow him through the door, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Keep up, trouble.” He chuckles, like he wasn’t the one caught napping on the clock.
“Right behind you, sir.” You hum. He doesn’t have to pretend to hear the warmth in your voice.
It isn’t long before John’s instincts have him searching you out at night, driven by your raw scent, fresh from the shower before you get ready for bed. It's getting worse day by day, so drawn in by your earthy sweetness that he lingers silently outside your door for far too long, holding his bear by the metaphorical scruff. You look longingly at the shadow under your door, fingers slipping through your folds wetly hoping he hears your need.
It’s not until he comes home limping that he finds his control slipping through his fingers, frost in the air. His senses are fuzzy and nothing feels right, his bear huffing and puffing just beneath his skin keeping him from sleeping off the pain. He barely hears the medic giving the usual warnings to take it easy before he’s bullying past them back to the barracks. His den calls to him, nearly dead on his feet when he smells you. It feels like every knot, every inch of tightness in his shoulders unravels as he breathes the remnants of you that linger in the common room. He doesn’t even realize he’s darkening your door until it pushes open under his palm. The sight of you asleep on your bunk, rolled half onto your stomach with your leg hiking up, settles him. The long line of your body has his mouth watering and teeth aching to sink into your plushest parts. You don’t stir when he looms over your bed, only when he sinks a knee down on the mattress. He lets out a pained groan when he sheds his shirt and drops down next to you, mattress squeaking violently under his weight and stitches in his side pulling tight.
“Mhm. Price?” You slur, head lifting off your pillow. He makes a pleased chuff, you don’t sound alarmed that he’s crawling in your bed at this hour, the fact you knew without even seeing him.
You try to roll over, giving him room, but he hushes you and presses a big paw on your back. You jolt, remembering you went to bed without a shirt when you feel his palm on your bare skin. He soothes you, big palm petting down your back as he urges you down with a grumble in your ear. His breath is hot on your neck as he rolls over onto you, thick pelt of his chest meeting the sensitive skin of your back as he eases his weight onto you with a satisfied sigh. You make a high pitched squeak at the contact, body going tight as he maneuvers you how he likes. Hooking a heavily furred thigh around your own and giving the padding of your tummy a grope as he settles. Your room was coated in your scent, your pillows and sheets even more so. He wanted to roll around in it until it settled under his skin permanently.
“Shush now, let ‘m get a feel cub, that's it.” He pushes a hairy arm beneath your chest, thick fingers groping your tits as he presses wet bristle-y kisses to your shoulders. You can’t stop the sleepy whine that leaves you, oh god please don’t let this be a dream, please please please-
The bulge pressing under the cleft of your ass is too hot and hard to be a dream. You can’t help but roll your hips back to feel more of him. You can feel how slick your lips are, slipping together wet and syrupy with your want.
“Price-“ the want in your voice and the smell of your need in the back of his throat is all the approval the bear needs.
“Settle down.” He slurs, but the way he humps against the plush of your ass has you doing the opposite. One particular rut has him pressed right up against your heat, underwear clinging to your folds as he pushes around your slick with the heft of his cock. You can do nothing but lay there with the way he has you pinned, legs tangled together as he grinds into you with sleepy rolls of his hips.
“Perfect thing, huh? Feel so good and you’re not even on my bloody cock yet-“ his moan has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“oh-“ your throat closes up on a desperate whimper when the hand pinned between your chest and the bed falls lower and cups your pussy, playing the damp fabric keeping him from your slick and pinching your puffy lips together.
“There she is.” His hips fall harder as he stuffs his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like it would get him high. He pulls them to the side and his thick calloused fingers are there to catch the obscene amount of slick, pooling on his fingers and down his palm. He knew it would be fucking good, knew you’d drip down his fucking balls like this-
You reach back, hands patting at the thick of his stomach hanging over his waistband before finding your prize, pulling his throbbing cock free and feeling it bounce up against your thighs. He wraps both his arms around you, banding you to his chest and hooking his chin over your shoulder as his thick cock slots against your pussy, drooling pre against your clit.
“Go on, honey, just put it- fuck, yeah.” He grunts, lips to your ear as your shaky hands obey and notch his cock against your aching hole, a twisted version of the kiss you always wanted from him.
He’s rolling on top of you, nearly pressing his full weight against your back and working your hips up with a meaty paw. Your brain is leaking out your cunt at the realization he’s mounting you-
“One big push, honey, sh sh sh-“ he’s cut off by his own groan as the tip pops inside you, immediately driving further into your tight heat. Your walls seize around him and the animal part of your hindbrain tells you to crawl away, but a firm hand on the back of your neck has you still. He clicks his tongue at you, silly thing, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run from a bear?
He’s quick to remove the thought from your head entirely, arm closing under your chin to keep you still as he leans over you.
“Come on luv, just a little kiss.” He meanly squishes your cheeks with his fingers, turning your head enough to plant a mess open-mouthed kiss on you. He swallows every little noise he’s punching out of you and in their absence the steady plap, plap, plap of his heavy balls slapping your mound fills the room. The next time his gooey tip presses up against your sweet spot, you let out a desperate whine and clamp down tight on him, a foaming, creamy ring forming around the base of his cock. You feel every throb of him against your sensitive walls, milking himself with your pulsing pussy as he pants and groans into your mouth.
You are taken down with him as he flops back down on his side, cock still chubbed in your pussy. He doesn’t pull out, not even when his breathing evens out and he’s humping your sticky pussy in his sleep. His warmth and the delicious stretch of your pussy around him eases you into a deep sleep, completely surrounded by your Captain and stuffed with another load by morning. He’ll even let you yell at him in the morning for crawling in your bed wounded when you find a little blood on the sheets, it’s all worth it as long as he gets to crawl home to his little mate again at the end of the day.
⸺ 'old man' used romantically, mw4 beard price, infidelity, oral sex (f!receiving), piv, price is a genuinely bad father, age gap (price is old!!), overstimulation, daddy kink, past mentions of virginity loss & 'cherry popping', light teasing & humiliation kink, outfit & hair descriptions. 18+ only / all characters are 18+.
“Come on then, give your old man a kiss. Put that down for a second.”
You looked up from the impeccably dressed box of chocolate-coated strawberries in front of you—Price's sorry excuse of a make-up present for disappearing on a military stint unannounced—blinking slowly at him like a feline, your legs kicking behind you with ballet-slipper-pink shimmering on your toes. You weren't supposed to be there and you knew it.
He could practically see the gears turning in your head. His very own calendar kitten, gauging whether the specimen in front of her was a hazard or a toy. Or rather, in this case, if John was a worthy playmate. Though it was too late from the moment you hopped into his Jeep, for what it's worth, you were still cautious, thoughtful—he liked that, even if it only served to delay the inevitable. Big or small, a cat is prideful.
His belt was level with your face when you lifted your head, his hands resting on the buckle as he shifted his weight. Your lips puckered around the heart-shaped treat and a ragged breath hissed past his teeth, strawberry juice popping in your mouth. The tent in his pants was hard to miss, but it's totally not your fault for holding out all that time, spending your time licking juice off your fingertips. Totally, wholly, completely, not your fault.
Before you could reach for a tissue from the nightstand, Price's hand slid to your jaw, swiping his thumb over your sugary lips. The same hand guided you up to kneel in front of him on the foot of the bed, the spill of your cheek in his palm. “Stop,” you giggled despite yourself as his thumb breached your mouth, reaching up to touch his wrist. He bent over your kneeling form, slanted his mouth over yours.
“You taste sweet.” At first, you'd thought the remark rather cheesy—a sign of old age, perhaps—but it was literal. An observation, one which he superseded with another, fuller kiss, sucking on your bottom lip for size. “I could just eat you right up,” Price teased with an affectionate growl, nipping the tip of your nose with his lips and eliciting a giggle right from your chest, your fists going up to bat his chest just before you fell over backwards on the bed.
The sheets billowed around you as you landed while giggling behind your hand, your hair spread out like ivy along the gaudy floral print bedding. You felt yourself being dragged further down the bed weightlessly until your legs dangled off the edge, the springs of the cheap motel mattress squeaking as the pressure shifted, his arms going under your thighs.
Mr Price, nice and warm between your legs. Price. Your boyfriend's surname.
You peered down at him as if seeing him for the first time and wrinkled your nose with renewed embarrassment. “Hi, down there,” you murmured through a nervous laugh. The gauzy overhead lights swathed the room in a murky amber like swimming through honey, his stark blue eyes oddly anchoring through the fuzzy shadows.
“Hey there, pet.” The hem of your babydoll top tented over his head as he skimmed his lips across your navel, his wiry pepper-and-salt beard tickling your sensitive skin. A satisfied hum rumbled in his throat upon feeling the tremor of your skin under him—the way your breathing immediately fell out of rhythm.
The button of your denim shorts popped off with a soft clink and he dragged the shorts down with your panties without delay.
“Comfy?” Price asked, squeezing the ball of your heel in his big hand and rubbing the soles soothingly, then drifting his hand up to your calf as he held your knees open around his head. His warm breath fanned against your slick cunt unhurriedly, a shudder going through you as you wrought your fingers through his hair and dropped your head back.
“Oh, shush.” Between your legs wasn't the best place for conversation, you thought, your cheeks burning, though Price seemed perfectly in his element, mouthing against your inner thighs. It didn't seem right to affirm how good all of this, something so wrong, felt—you liked it far more than you should—but actions speak louder than words anyway.
He lowered his face to the top of your mound, kissing softly, a heavy breath rumbling through his chest as his big hands roamed along your hips and your belly with a certain reverence. You certainly weren't his to love and to hold, but the taste of you, so tangible and pooling on his tongue, felt like holding you in the palm of his hand, the heartbeat between your thighs a persistent flutter.
Before you, Price's relationship with his son may as well have been nonexistent. That was especially true after the fateful night when his son decided to rekindle their relationship to introduce his new girlfriend, and brought home… you. The same broad Price had shagged one year ago. A mindless one night stand between deployments. Price had popped your cherry before Tommy even got to third base.
It wasn't cheating at the time; you weren't dating anybody back then. Not officially, at least. You wanted to gain some experience before standing ten toes in with the guy you were seeing, learn what you were getting yourself into so you could do it right, on your own terms, when the time came.
Price could've, should've kept it that way—clean, in the past. You probably wouldn't have been able to stay with Tommy after knowing what his dad sounded like in bed, but you would've moved on eventually. But Price, when presented with the forbidden fruit right in his backyard, knew right then that he wasn't going to stay away. It wasn't in his nature. Tommy may have been the result of a mistake—another, one night stand—but you were no mistake. No one could convince him otherwise. He chose you and continued choosing you between every, 'We shouldn't be doing this,' and, 'We should stop meeting like this,' leading into bed.
His tongue dipped between your folds, just tasting, lapping up the slick that gathered there with your hips twitching against his mouth, his throat bobbing as he looked up at you and tilted his head.
“Is this cunt off limits, baby?” There it was. You hesitated, feeling quite dumb and exposed with your legs spread around his shoulders while he reminded you that you in fact weren't supposed to be doing this, and wanting to beg him not to stop now. Quite frankly, Price was having fun. Watching you get all wound up and off-balance with an amused crinkle around his eyes, though he presented a sympathetic croon at your plight. Price was unfair.
He bit a fair chunk of your thigh for a reaction. “Come on, baby, tell me. Should I stop touching you here?” You shuddered as the pad of his thumb circled your clit languidly, tugging on his hair on instinct, a traitorous trail of arousal running down the cleft of your ass.
“Stop it--”
“Stop touching-?”
“No!” A whiny, petulant noise unlike anything you've heard from yourself filled your ears, you may as well have been kicking your feet. “Stop bein' gross.”
That earned a truly hearty chuckle from Price—the old, distinguished kind, crow's feet deep. Pearly strands stuck to his fingers as he pulled his hand away from your seam, caressing your thighs as if calming a small, angry animal. “Gross? You're right, baby, we should stop. I mean, look at you—you're soaked. This is just filthy, darling. You don't want these dirty old hands touching you, do you? This is gross.”
“That's not what I-” You were getting all puffed up and red, he knew. Overwhelmed, even. It required too much brainpower to keep up with his games while your cunt was all achy, and his mouth was right there. “Please don't stop, Iʼm so, so wet, I don't wanna think about him right now-”
All in one, long-winded breath.
“Atta girl.” The vibrations of his voice rumbling through your sensitive bundle of nerves made you gasp out, his middle and ring finger plunging inside your cunt before you could ever catch your breath. The achy throb between your legs was tuned into a deep, perfect fullness that left no room for thought as his fingers curled inside you.
You never mentioned 'him' in these moments, refused to acknowledge his existence altogether. But that was too safe, too easy. Price didn't offer you the respite of ignoring reality, to languish in a safe little bubble where you forgot your obligations to your lover for a while. That might have went over with another man, but not one like Price, who thought the forbidden—Or perhaps just seeing you compromise your morals for the pleasure he gave you—was half the fun.
Spit and arousal alike dripped down your cunt while he slurped and lapped at your center, thick, deft fingers squelching inside you. His lips closed around your hood, sucking gently as he let out a muffled groan that pulsed through you. "Christ,” Price hissed against you, drawing your hips closer as you mashed your cunt against his mouth. “There's my girl. Don't fucking come until Iʼm inside you. Wanna feel you come all over me.”
The sound of his zipper unfurling made your eyes fly open, met with the blurry sight of a water-damaged ceiling through tears you didn't realize had sprung in your ears. His moans down below had grown more feverish by the minute, and you realized he was fucking his fist. You propped yourself on your elbows as you guided Price's head down on you and let your gaze fall over him, the fabric of his trousers stretched across his thighs as he kneeled on the carpet with his hard cock in his free hand.
“Price-” You preened his name brokenly, only to earn a muffled grunt from him against your clit, his tongue flattening against your folds with each lap. The muscles in his forearm jumped and tightened, veins standing out as he crooked his fingers and worked that spot in sharp, merciless curls. Too close—your thighs cinched around his ears, your fingers curling in his hair like you meant to drag him off, but you only pulled him closer.
Price slid his fingers from your cunt with a wet spray and a whimper fell from your lips, your hips jerking against the air uselessly.
You scrambled up the sheets as he climbed onto the bed, one knee on the mattress, then another. “You close, sweetheart?” Price cooed while settling between your legs, knees pressed wide to accommodate the breadth of his waist, your thighs tender from being scratched by his beard. His big hands haphazardly reached for the fabric of your top and ripped it over your head.
“I-Iʼm close-” You nodded your head, fisting up the sheets restlessly. His heavy cock rested against your seam, dragging back-and-forth through the mess while your walls clamped around nothing. “Please, need it-”
“Fuck—” Your breath mingled together as he pushed inside your heat with a guttural sound, your sloppy cunt practically drawing Price all the way in. “—That's it,” he grunted, “Gonna come for your daddy, luvie?”
You were already close—so close—every nerve pulled taut from what he'd just done to you, but it felt humiliating to finish as soon as he was inside, like some inverse of a teenage boy. Yet, your messy head of hair nodded wildly in the crook of his shoulder, wobbly legs criss-crossed behind his back.
The air knocked out of you as Price bottomed out fully, breathless cries spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around his girth. His hips pummeled into you impatiently until your release slicked the way for his desperate strokes, a lewd, heavy slap of skin connecting with his beefy body bearing down on you, mattress springs groaning. A weak, trembling hand pressed against his stomach, trying to push him back, but his hand closed around yours, pinning it to the mattress as he drove into you through the oversensitivity, a guttural groan rumbling from deep in his chest.
“Ssh, I know, darling, I know,” he murmured, voice ragged, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It's my turn now. You can take it.”
— writing cheap sleazy porn intended to be sold at half-price bookstores as usual. just a quick oneshot to give my brain a break from my longer wips! you guys should be grateful i took a break from bingeing TWD to post something. + sorry if there's any inconsistencies in the tenses, iʼm a little rusty with using past tense ever since i started writing fics.
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
“This for me?” John saunters over to the bed, absently rubbing his hairy chest. “And above the sheets?”
“No,” you warn, because you know that look. You know what John is up to. “Don’t think about it. Not tonight.”
He cocks an eyebrow, all flirty mischievousness. “Have I done something?”
“No,” you repeat. “It’s hot. And you’re a furnace. You’ll get me sweaty.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
John dives at the bed, crushing you beneath him. “Doesn’t have to be a cuddle, love. Could do something rigorous.”
You twist, evading a kiss. “Stop poking me with your dick.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
You and Kyle lay on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Overhead, the ceiling fan whips up a breeze but offers little to alleviate the heat. Worst heat wave in the last decade. That’s what they’re saying.
“I know,” you reply. “I hate it, too.”
The pillows are gone, bed stripped down to the fitted sheet. Both of you are freshly showered and naked, and still you’re sweating. Kyle’s arm shifts, the side of his hand brushing against yours. Your index fingers connect, hook around each other. Sweat immediately accompanies it.
Kyle reaches for his phone. “I’m ordering another fan.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Johnny,” you grumble, half-asleep.
His hand pauses on your bare hip. “Can’t touch you?”
“Too hot,” you mumble. “How are you not hot?”
The bedding is tossed aside, pushed to the edges of the bed. It’s the middle of the night but feels like the middle of the day. Has been for weeks. A goddamn heatwave.
Beside you, the bed shifts. “Not even a hand?”
“No.”
“What about a finger?”
“No.”
Johnny sits up onto his elbow. “A tit?” You open one eye and glare. “A quick squeeze?”
“Fine,” you mutter, relenting. “But only one tit. And only one squeeze.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Sleeping naked under the covers isn’t an option. It’s disgustingly hot out. If you just lay here, on your stomach and above the covers, naked, unmoving, you’ll cool off. You just can’t move. You can’t—
A hand comes down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap.
You bolt up, startled. “What the fuck, Simon? I’m trying to sleep.”
Your husband stands next to the bed, hand still raised like he’s aiming for another. He shrugs. “Couldn’t help myself.”
You roll your eyes but Simon is settling beside you anyway, handsy as always.
John “Just a taste” Price has you sitting on his face, burying himself between your thighs for the hundredth time tonight. Hands tied up to the bedframe after you tried to push his forehead away and escape this incubus den which he calls a bed.
Technically, that's on you.
But John grins at the touch of your trembling muscles, and sucks the delicate skin on your inner thigh, “Sorry, dovie. A few more, I promise.”
You whimper pitifully as a response. Then a high-pitched scream, bucking your hips up when he takes the clit between his lips. Again.
Brain turning into mush, the last thoughts remain: Not a few more licks, but a few more hours of this torment, you assume.
I'm just thinking about how Ghost came back injured from his last mission. Nothing too serious, but injured enough that he needs his secretary to basically do everything for him.
And I'm not just talking about filling out reports or taking notes during meetings.
I'm saying, in the middle of the entire base cafeteria, she was making airplane sounds while bringing the fork to the lieutenant's mouth.
"Come on! Just eat a little more! Look, the plane brrrruuuu, it's waiting to release the cargo!"
Or how she sat on his lap to help him brush his teeth.
"Just a little more, Lieutenant! You're doing great! Look at all that foam! Say goodbye, cavities!"
Or even when he needed to go to the bathroom. Because obviously, his two immobilized arms would make a simple task difficult. But thankfully, his lovely secretary was there to help lower his pants, pull his dick out of his underwear, and aim at the toilet. Ghost needed to stop thinking about how dangerously beautiful her Hello Kitty-themed painted nails looked around his cock.
"Am I aiming right? I've never had a penis before... it's kind of cool," she said, covering her eyes with her other hand, trying to give the man a modicum of dignity.
And finally, when the doctor finally released him from the immobilization, he missed being pampered by the lovely secretary. Even more so when - mysteriously - Kyle appeared with both arms in casts, causing the secretary to pamper him.
And then, a short time later, John needed to find out how his two sergeants and his lieutenant managed to immobilize every joint in their bodies with casts.
And now the poor secretary had to take care of each and every one of them...
