Whatever you do, don't think about being Ghost's childhood best friend. About making blanket forts to hide from the world, sharing secrets in the dark or sneaking a beer from your parents in your early teens. Don't think about simply being each other's person — the one you tell everything to.
Don't think about writing letters and talking on the phone when he first enlists. About the butterflies you'd feel whenever he hummed some pretty pet name in your ear. Don't think about calling him big guy when you see him for his first leave — definitely don't think about the eye roll and the fond smile and the rosy tips of his ears.
The letters get longer, the phone calls more frequent, and it almost feels like the beginning of something — something new, something beautiful.
Don't think about the devastation when you get the news of the Riley family's death and the emptiness that fills your chest. About attending the funeral and shaking the hands of his fellow soldiers — the ones who got to live instead of him. Don't think about visiting his grave, replacing wilting flowers with fresh ones every time as you talk to him about your life. Maybe sometimes it feels more like a conversation than a monologue. Maybe sometimes you can't get out a word at all.
Don't think about seeing his face one day, years and years later, in a stranger passing by the window when you're ordering a morning coffee. The anniversary of his death is coming up, maybe you just miss him a little extra this year? Except it happens again. And again. And suddenly what had been your dream feels like it's suffocating you. He's older — but you guess even ghosts can't outrun time — he's scarred and covers more of himself than ever before. But you recognise those eyes; you'd recognise them anywhere.
Don't think about coming up behind him in the grocery store one day, his name so so soft on your lips, but it makes him freeze anyway. Don't think about the way he pointedly ignores you, going about his shopping as if he hadn't just returned from the dead and turned your world upside down.
"Simon," you say again, louder this time, harsher, and grab onto his elbow. Because you need him to listen, you want answers.
"'s not my name," he murmurs, stepping away from your touch like it burnt him. His words reaches out with stained hands, cracks open your ribs and strangles any hope that had dared begun to blossom there.
Your face falls, feet rooted to the spot, but you don't try again, and you can feel your heart shatter anew.
Don't think how, for a moment, you thought you'd maybe get him back. Get back the boy you grew up with, the one you loved, the one who got away. Only for him to die all over again.
i don't like caitlyn but i love maddie and vi… at first i wanted to draw something funny, but then i saw that they seem to be a good couple! oops
( going to meet the vi sisters🌷)
I don't think Simon Riley is a sex god once you finally get him into bed. I think your first time sleeping with him isn't going to be perfect. He's awkward and fumbling and keeps accidentally tickling you with too soft hands, like he's afraid to put any real pressure behind his touches.
But you wouldn't change it for the world.
He makes you smile and giggle. Keeps murmuring and cursing to himself in a way you find just adorable, keeps running his hands all over you, like he can't get enough.
It's not perfect in any meaning of the word, but it's good because it's him, it's you, together.
Maybe he comes too quick, maybe not at all -- it takes time to work out the technicalities of sex with a new partner. You guide each other when you get your mouths on the other, and it shouldn't be sexy, shouldn't be hot, but his willingness to learn and your resilience makes it so.
It's sweaty and sweet and dirty and fun. It's not the most satisfying sex you've had -- but it's the best.
I LOVE ALL OF YOUR FICS! I had a request if your not cool with it scrap or but hear me out….poly tf141 x neighbor plus size fem reader! (Of your not cool with this honestly you can just pick Simon HES MY FAV lol) FERAL BODY WORSHIP SMUT AND FLUFF. Our reader lives next door to them and doesn't realize she's a juicy badass goddess well when her house mysteriously floods or there’s a break in in the middle of the night the 141 boys step in and convince her to stay at their place and they WILL CHANGE THAT and make her realize she’s a BOMBSHELL BADDIE! 🥵🥵🔥 If you choose to write this I will literally combust lmao
Oh baby oh baby, come here and let me kiss your brain. I'm sorry that it took so long (and it may have gotten away from me a tiny bit) but I hope you enjoy.
A Taste of You
MDNI 18+ | Read on AO3 |
Poly!141 x Reader | fem!reader, established poly relationship, body worship, voyeurism, praise, unprotected sex, PiV, oral (f and m receiving), some fluff but mostly just pwp
It’s Gaz that points you out first. While enjoying a morning cigarette out on the porch, he watches as a moving truck drives up to the house next door. It’s been empty for quite a while — the paint’s peeling in places, and the flowerbeds running along the sides of the porch look overrun with weeds. Probably a good deal for someone with the willingness and time to freshen it up.
He keeps his eyes on you as you guide and explain to the movers where your many boxes and furniture go. He can’t quite hear you, but your smile feels warm even from afar, and he can only imagine how sweet your voice sounds.
You turn his way after waving goodbye to the people driving the truck, and he flashes you a bright smile, raising his nearly done cigarette in the air as if to say ‘cheers’. He can see the way your shoulders shake in a quiet laugh before you disappear into your house with the last box.
“Got a new neighbour,” Gaz says once he makes it back inside. It doesn’t take much more than that for their appreciation to start.
Price lazes in a hammock, gaze roaming your curves appreciatively as you bend and stretch while repainting the window trims on the front of the house. You can just barely reach the top part, and he thanks whatever deity is up there that you don’t have a stepladder. Every time you go up on your toes, your back arches, and your arse and tits jiggle mouthwateringly when you bounce back down on flat feet.
Soap uses the warm weather as an excuse to work out shirtless in the backyard once you move to those windows. Iron in his mouth as he bites his lip to suppress a groan every time you bend forward to dip the brush in the paint. Your jeans frame your arse perfectly, and he can’t make up his mind if he wants to keep staring or rip them right off.
Gaz smokes twice as much as before, making sure to time his cigarettes to your time weeding the flowerbeds. Mesmerised by the way your thighs expand when you sit down on your heels in the grass, wiping the beading sweat away from your forehead with your arm; careful not to accidentally smudge the soil on your dirty gloves across your face.
And Ghost. Well, Ghost doesn’t bother with false pretences. A lingering presence with sharp eyes whenever the other three makes up an excuse to watch you. He’s the one to bring you up in the throes of passion, the one to fuel their desires with whispered fantasies and delectably dirty words.
It’s only fitting he’s the one to open the door when you knock on it for the first time. A tupperware container filled with brownies offered in your hands and a polite smile on your lips.
“Pretty bird’s ‘ere,” he says over his shoulder, beckoning Gaz and Soap to his side as they nearly trip over themselves in their haste to meet you.
“Oh, erm, hello,” you say, stumbling over the greeting awkwardly before thrusting the box of baked goods into Ghost’s hands. “I made brownies.”
“Aye,” Soap agrees as he plucks the container from Ghost and opens the lid. “‘n’ they smell delicious.”
Your smile widens at that, reaching your eyes and creasing the skin around them as it turns from polite to genuine.
“Old man’s gonna be miffed he missed ya,” Gaz chuckles, fingers already in the container to pick out the perfect piece.
Proper introductions are made, and something close to a friendship develops after that. Just small things at first; waving good morning across your yards, late conversations leaned against the fence, and of course they just have to repay you for your brownies when you come back over to take back the tupperware. A dinner. Homemade. They won’t hear any arguments or excuses.
It’s not a regular thing, but often enough that it satisfies their hunger.
Until one night.
Ghost wakes up to frantic yet soft knocks on their back door. He grumbles as he eases out of Price’s hold without waking the older man, dragging his feet as he makes his way to the door — knife hidden in the palm of his hand just in case.
Wrenching open the door in frustration, Ghost stops cold as he takes you in. He had been prepared for a fight, to scare away a stranger. Instead, he sees the fear in your eyes and immediately jumps into action.
“Get in,” he grumbles out, pulling you by the arm until you’re safely by his side. The sleeve of your shirt has fallen off one shoulder, leaving your collarbones enticingly in view. If he tried, he could surely peek down the shirt; get an eyeful of your naked tits. “Wot’s goin’ on?” he demands instead, eyes glued to your face.
“I-I heard– someone– I think,” you begin, voice quiet and wavery. He instructs you to take a deep breath before motioning for you to continue. “I think someone’s in my house.”
“Stay ‘ere,” Ghost orders, banging a large fist against the bedroom wall to wake Price, before disappearing out the back door.
You’re left alone to stew in your fear for all of ten seconds before Price emerges. You cling to him the moment you spot him, and your tears break once his strong arms encircle you with soothing shushes. He doesn’t question your presence, nor where Ghost has gone — just holds you and keeps his breath even for you to mimic.
“‘f’ there was anyone, they’re gone now,” Ghost says in lieu of a greeting when he comes back.
You look up at him from Price’s arms with big, shining eyes. Still shaken. “Thank you,” you whisper out and extract yourself from the embrace.
“You’re not goin’ back there,” Ghost says, his tone making it clear there’s no room for arguments. “Not tonigh’.”
“We’ve an extra room for ya to use,” Price offers, already leading you farther into their house with a palm against your lower back. You don’t see the near predatory glint in Ghost’s eyes as he watches the way your pyjama shorts hug your arse when you walk away — thighs looking so plush and soft he’d want nothing more than to take a bite.
That night, with each other’s fists wrapped around their cocks, they come in sync with your name spilling from their lips.
---
Price makes you coffee when you wake up, and you politely decline breakfast while ignoring both Soap and Gaz’s stupefied, questioning looks — their staring makes you more than aware of your state of undress. You slink out the back door and before it even has the chance to fully close, Soap lets out a deep, appreciative groan.
“Bleedin’ Christ.”
“Came ‘ere middle of the night,” Ghost explains as he picks up your half-drunk cup. “Said she ‘eard noises.”
“Should she be goin’ back alone?” Gaz asks, more than ready to be your shining knight if need be.
“Found nothin’,” Ghost answers with a shrug. “Not even a trace of a break in. Think ‘t was just an animal tha’ spooked our girl.”
Before the idea even had a chance to fully form, Price fitted the former Lieutenant with a stern glare, reminiscent of their time in the force. “No.” Arms crossed, shoulders pulled back, the very essence of authority as he shut the idea down. “She comes willingly, or not at all.”
---
It takes only a few hours before you grace their doorstep again — the same tupperware container in your hands as that first day.
“A thank you,” you explain as you hand the salted caramel cookies over to Soap. “For yesterday. Most people wouldn’t let their neighbours hide away from nothing like you did.”
“Och, no need tae thank us, bonnie,” he says, waving your gratitude away with a loose hand before ushering you inside and toward their kitchen. He guides you to sit on a bar stool at the island, glancing over his shoulder twice while brewing a fresh pot of coffee; as if to make sure you’re still there, still within his grasp. Price had ordered you should join them only of your own accord, know what you’re getting yourself into. Soap smirked to himself as he decided there was no harm in laying out all their cards on the table.
“Ye ken,” he starts as he places a steaming mug down in front of you, voice saccharine sweet, “Ye’r a true beaut. Proper bonnie.”
He watches as your eyes flutter, gaze turning down to your coffee as if to hide your reaction. “Oh, t-thank you,” you eventually get out, tongue darting out before your teeth pull your bottom lip into your mouth. It’s only a second, a nervous habit many have, but fuck if he doesn’t want to chase your tongue with his own.
“Aye, been captivated by ye since we first saw ye,” he continues, watching intently as his words melt your exterior. You’re not used to compliments, he decides, not like these.
“We?” you ask once his words settle in your head, eyes snapping up to his — wide, open, glittering with something Soap can’t quite put his finger on.
“Oh aye,” he confirms with an enthusiastic nod, grinning at the way you walk into his perfectly laid trap without knowing. “Ah personally love those shorts o’ yers. The frayed ones. ‘n’ the ol’ man is partial tae yer skirts.”
Your gaze has lowered again, but Soap pays it no mind as he continues to reel you in. Knows he’s already got you hooked, otherwise you’d be halfway out the door already.
“Nearly did me in seein’ ye ‘ere this mornin’.” It’s a bold statement, but he can tell by the way your fingers twitch around the coffee cup that the risk was worth it.
“I thought–” you start but cut yourself off to wet your lips again. Your mouth opens and closes a few times in a way he finds entirely too endearing, before you’re both interrupted by the front door slamming open.
“Jesus, Si, tak’ it easy oan the poor thing,” Soap calls out with a wide grin as he spots Ghost by the entrance. He gives the other man no chance to respond before holding up a cookie. “The bonnie lass brought sweets.”
“So she did,” Ghost agrees, an eyebrow raised in interest as he practically saunters up next to you. His arm crowds you against the counter as he reaches past you for the container, and he can see the way your eyes drag over his tattoos. He shares a knowing look with Soap before pressing even closer to you. “Like ‘em?”
“Interesting motifs,” you finally say and meet his eyes. He can tell there’s something you want to say, sees the way the words sit at the tip of your tongue, the way the taunt shimmers in your eyes.
He gives you no chance to say it, though, as he bends down to whisper in your ear. “I’ve got more.” His breath fans over your skin, and he notices the way you try — and fail — to suppress a shiver. “If you’re interested.”
“Aren’t you–” The question is left hanging as your finger points between the two men.
“We all are, swee’heart,” Ghost answers, “and we’ve taken a likin’ to ya.”
They have you half-dressed and on your back in the closest bed before long; sucking and licking your heated skin, swallowing the noises you let slip as their hands dip underneath fabric to explore the softness of your body. They can tell you’re not used to being treated this way — the way you deserve — with how you squirm and hide away your face.
Ghost tuts at you as he moves your arm away from your face, gently anchoring it above your head with a steady grip around your wrist. “No need t’hide,” he says, running his thumb soothingly along your pulse point. “Ya look so pretty when ya feel good.”
Soap’s already making his way down your body, planting kisses on your chest and stomach as he goes. He drags your trousers off with ease before settling between your legs. “Jesus,” he groans as he stares at the juncture between your plush thighs, more to himself than for your or Ghost’s benefit. He lifts one of your legs, kissing his way from your ankles and up, making sure to just barely brush his lips across your underwear before treating your other leg with the same love and care. He can’t help it when he lets his teeth sink into the meat of your thigh.
Ghost uses his free hand to focus on your nipples, rolling and plucking at them both until they’re pebbled under his touch. Keeping his eyes on your face, memorising and cataloguing your reactions for future use, he can tell the moment Soap finally gets his mouth on you — both from your gasp, but mostly from the deep sound of appreciation that the Scot lets out.
“Taste good, Johnny?” Ghost asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer before the other man moans it out.
“Aye,” he begins, your underwear already pulled to the side, no patience to get them fully off, “sweetest thing a’ve tasted.” He leans back in, tongue laving over your clit, indulging in the juices already dripping down his chin.
“Hear tha’, love?” Ghost says proudly, licking a stripe up your neck until his lips brush over the shell of your ear. “Sweetest thing.”
This time, you don’t even try to suppress the shiver, and it only makes his hunger for you grow. He wants to find and pull at all the triggers for your pleasure until you’re nothing but a puddle in their hands.
“Hear ‘ow he moans?” he whispers as he palms one of your tits, squeezing and massaging it in rhythm with the hitches of your breaths. Your eyes close with a whimper, your free arm snaking down along your body until you find purchase in Soap’s hair. “Tha’s it. Ride ‘is face, take wha’ you need.”
Soap’s arms are hooked around your soft thighs, fingers digging into the fat of them, keeping you spread to his satisfaction as he lavishes your cunt; flicking your clit before sucking it between soft lips, widening his tongue to taste all of you as you leak into his mouth, dipping inside for just enough thrusts to leave you wanting more.
You’re well on your way to the first of many orgasms that night, when Ghost spies Gaz leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. There’s a knowing, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips, and the look of pure lust in his eyes makes even Ghost shudder in hot anticipation. Gaz knew it had only been a matter of time before you fell into any of their beds; and the fact that it was Soap getting his mouth on you first, didn’t surprise him in the slightest. That man had a silver tongue, and an addictive darkness hid behind boyish charms that he used to his full advantage. And Ghost, to his credit, was a brick house of a man, oozing mystery and an oxymoronic protective danger.
Gaz was pulled out of his thoughts as Soap moaned loudly again when he felt the beginning quivers in your legs, the way your fingers flexed in his hair, and heard the hitch in your breath. His own eyes rolled back as he lapped up your orgasm with vigour.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost groaned at the scene. God, the vision you are — flushed skin and fluttering lashes, back arched and toes curled, lips falling open on a silent scream. So fucking beautiful, good enough to eat.
Soap licks you through the aftershocks of your climax, reveling in the way you twitch with overstimulation. When you eventually manage to push him away, he stares you down while licking his lips in an exaggerated visual of his appreciation for your taste. “Sweetest thing,” he repeats with a kiss to your inner thigh, smirking as your muscle twitches.
“Looks like we go’ company,” Ghost whispers in your ear as he grips your chin to move it in the direction of Gaz. Your breath hitches on a surprised inhale and you squirm half-heartedly in his grip in a way that only makes their smirks grow deeper, darker — you’re not satisfied with just one, you enjoy being watched and pampered, even if you can’t or won’t admit it to yourself.
“Quite a show you put on there, darlin’,” Gaz says, the mattress dipping with his weight as he seats himself next to you. He drags his eyes over your naked body before letting a hand wander the same path — from your perfectly plush thighs, to your soft belly, to your mouthwatering tits that spill around his fingers when he grabs them. A body reminiscent of the statues so carefully chiseled into stone by ancient civilisations.
“C’mere,” he murmurs to Soap, catching the other man’s lips in a passionate kiss as he licks your taste from his mouth. Ghost is more than aware of the way you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.
“You like tha’?” he practically purrs against the side of your face, hand still gripping your chin to keep you watching them even if you had wanted to turn away; and it sure didn’t seem like you wanted to. He chuckled as you nodded, eyes nearly glazing over as you stared at the sloppy make-out happening right next to you. “What are ya thinkin’ ‘bout?”
“I-” you pause, wet your lips, flickering your gaze to Ghost’s face before quickly returning to the other two men still lip-locked and groaning into each other’s mouths. You don’t say anything else, just reach out with a shaky hand, cupping Gaz’s cheek before guiding his mouth away from Soap’s and down to yours. The kiss is soft, exploratory, almost shy in its carefulness, and it only makes Gaz’s already heated blood to surge.
His hand slips down to your sodden underwear, soaked with a mixture of Soap’s saliva and your arousal, and his fingers easily slide over your clit in lazy circles. “Fuck,” he murmurs into your mouth, cock already painfully hard inside his pants. “So damn wet for us.”
“Mhm,” you hum, hands running fervently up and down his back as you urge him in between your legs. “Want you, all of you.”
“Then you’ll get us, darlin’,” Gaz promises, metal clinking as he unbuckles his belt before tugging his trousers down to his thighs. His balls are heavy, full, and his cockhead is already leaking precum from having watched you with Soap. He pulls your underwear to the side to slide his dick between your folds, groaning deep in his chest as he coats himself in your slick. “Ready for this?”
You nod in reply, but Ghost grips your chin again and tugs your face to his. “Words, swee’heart. Need ya to use your words.”
“Y-yes,” you stammer, and Gaz can feel the way your clit throbs at the command.
“She likes that,” he reveals, tapping his cock against you with a wet slap, “Your voice. Being told what to do.”
“Good,” is all Ghost says before nodding to Gaz, as if giving him permission to continue.
It’s a slow stretch as he finally sinks into you, inch by thick inch, and the synchronous sound you both let out is more than enough to set the other two’s blood surging.
“Look at tha’,” Soap marvels, eyes glued to the way your cunt seems to hug Gaz’s cock, palming himself over his jeans. “Go on then, Garrick. Fuck ‘er. Bonnie needs it.”
Gaz withdraws slowly, reveling in your wet heat, before snapping his hips and driving into you doggedly. You claw at his back, legs winding around his hips as you whimper at the pleasure and sheer force he puts into his thrusts.
Ghost’s hands are still on you, stroking up and down your abdomen, rolling a pebbled nipple between rough fingers — worshipping. Soap’s got a hand down his pants by now, rocking and grinding against his palm, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Gaz bullies his cock into you.
The room is a pornographic symphony of slick skin against slick skin, of whimpers and moans, of whispered words and dirty promises. So fucking wet. Feel so fucking good. Don’t tire the poor lass out before we’ve all had a taste. It doesn’t take long for Gaz’s thrusts to stutter and his hands to grip the sheets by your head, and Ghost runs his calloused pads down to your swollen clit — hellbent on making you come around Gaz’s cock.
“Fuck, darlin’,” he breathes as you squeeze down on him, teeth digging into his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his own sounds in favour of hearing yours.
“Close,” you mewl as you roll your hips, eyelids fluttering shut as your body hurls itself towards the edge, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Inside?” you practically beg, and Gaz can’t deny such a sweet request.
Gaz wants to hold out, to have you come on his cock before following you, or — ideally — come together, but the way you’re clenching and dripping around him, he can’t help but give in to that telltale tingle in his spine. He curses again, hips withdrawing before slamming into you one last time; balls taut and pulsing as he empties himself inside you. Ghost’s determined fingers never slow down, stroking your clit in tight circles and making you clench around Gaz’s softening cock. He hisses in overstimulation when you finally fall, yet can’t make himself pull out; not until he’s felt every milking twitch and captivating movement your orgasm has to offer.
“Look at tha’,” Ghost says, mirroring Soap’s words from before. “Stunnin’.”
He stuffs you full with two thick fingers when Gaz finally pulls out, keeping you filled and satisfied even as your body loses the comforting weight of another body. His eyes flick up to Soap, who’s pulled himself from his jeans, tucking the fabric just underneath his aching balls.
“Poor boy,” Ghost tuts, slowly withdrawing his fingers before sliding them back in again, grazing that elusive sweet spot inside that has you mewling underneath their gaze. Your eyes travel to the leaking head of Soap’s cock, all red and angry and ready. “You wanna come, Johnny?”
Soap nods, eyes glazed over as they roam over your naked body, seemingly too far gone for a proper reply. And even though Ghost would normally demand a verbal response, he can’t blame him — you’re a fucking vision.
“Open,” Ghost orders with a soft authority, one that speaks of power and respect both, and uses his free hand to cup your jaw, angling your head until your lips brush over the precum practically dripping from where Soap’s dick disappears and reappears with every desperate stroke of his hand.
You lick your lips, eyes traveling up Soap’s toned body — his shirt got lost somewhere next to yours at some point, no one can really pinpoint when — before slowly following the order and opening your mouth.
“And what do we have here?” a fresh voice joins, and it’s all it takes for Soap to come on the spot, a loud moan tearing from his throat as you stick your tongue out and let his cum pool on it. He strips his cock hard and fast, milking his orgasm for all it’s worth. He taps your lips twice with a satisfied grin, as if to say goodbye, before meeting the eyes of Price.
“Sorry, cap,” Soap exhales roughly once, sounding anything but. “Coudnae help ourselves. Just look at ‘er! Bonnie lass.”
And look, Price did. You, naked except for the flimsy excuse of your knickers, face painted in cum with your tongue still out, waiting for instructions. It made him not care about how his men had managed to get you into bed, he just knew he wanted to keep you there.
“Swallow,” he demands, raising an expectant eyebrow when you hesitate and let your gaze flitter to his lieutenant. When Ghost makes no move to reclaim the authority he’d had just a second ago, you follow the order — go above and beyond as you lick your lips clean.
“My turn,” Ghost says and finally, finally, pulling your ruined underwear off, stuffing them in his back pocket. He flips you onto your front with little effort, something that makes you squeal and giggle before letting out a moan as his fingers dig into the fat of your arse to massage and spread you open for his viewing pleasure.
“And mine,” Price says, already unbuttoning his jeans and pulling off his shirt. He takes hold of your chin, licking up the remaining spend on your cheeks before pushing his lips against Soap’s, letting the other man taste himself as he licks into his mouth. The sight makes your toes curl, and Ghost chuckles at the reaction, just like when the sergeants had made out over you.
Price moves from Soap to Gaz, who has a hand on his cock — already half-hard again — before finally landing next to Ghost, capturing his mouth in a slow kiss. He kneels by your side then, bowing down to meet your eyes. “You doin’ okay, doll?” he asks.
“Uh-huh,” you answer with a nod, but the disapproving look on his face makes you swallow before forcing the words out from your cock-drunk mind. “I’m okay. I’m so okay.”
“Got another one in ya?”
“Yes, god yes,” you whine enthusiastically, pushing back against the prominent bulge in Ghost’s trousers.
“Good girl.”
The praise sends a shiver through your body, and it only makes the men smile to each other. This would not be a onetime experience. Not if they had anything to say about it.
Price strips the rest of his clothes off, fisting the base of his hard cock as he rubs it over your spit-slick lips. You don’t need to be told twice, opening up for him easily, making him groan as he sinks into your mouth. He pushes in, down, until he’s nudging the back of your throat, holding himself there for a moment before pulling back to let you breathe.
Ghost is still behind you, fingers dimpling your flesh as he watches you take his former captain’s length like a champ. You’re gagging when he speeds up and pushes a bit too far, eyes lined with tears threatening to fall, and the image is almost too much for Ghost to bear.
He doesn’t take his time like Gaz did, instead slamming home in one deep thrust, a satisfied growl rumbling through his chest as you stretch around him.
The two men move in tandem, Ghost’s thrusts pushing you down on Price’s cock, their hands roaming your body, never leaving you untouched for longer than a second. They roll your nipples between the rough pads of their fingers, they run teasing touches over your shoulder-blades and down your spine, flattening their palms over the small of your back and the nape of your neck to keep you in place as they fuck into you from both sides.
Gaz and Soap sit on either side of you, watching with rapt attention as your saliva drips down your chin and your slick wets the sheets underneath you as Ghost makes you come again and again with determined fingers and persistent rolls of his hips.
Ghost doesn’t ask permission before coming inside you, just slams his hips once, twice, three times with sharp exhales of praise as he chases his own high. The sight only makes Price work his own hips faster, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he nudges the back of your throat repeatedly before spilling down it. You gag around his cock when he gives you no choice but to swallow down his cum. A satisfied, dopey smile is on your lips when he eventually pulls out.
You fall asleep that night in a heap of tangled limbs, warm bodies all around you, keeping you safe and sound — even from imaginary intruders.
Ghost would 100% be the type of person to go "no" when you ask if he can pass you the salt or the charger to your phone or whatever, staring at you with a blank expression while passing it to you.
