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bigification · 1 month

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Tag You're Fat

"Bro, why the fuck are we playing tag, we are grown ass adults." John asked.

"Just go with it man, it'll be fun." Brad pleaded. "It's not just any game of tag, It's called tag you're FAT! The way it works is that one person gets selected randomly to be it. He will eat this." Brad holds up a large pill. "It will turn them into a fatass for a short time, the fatass will then be contagious. Any person he touches will also become a fatass. Everyone hides and the last person to get fattened wins."

"Dude this game seems weird." Graham spoke out.

"C'mon just try it, it'll be fun." Brad pleaded once again.

The group seemed to collectively sigh and agree to play. Brad then pulled up a random number generator on his phone. "Everyone pick a number, I'll be one."

Each man then says a number between one and seven. Brad generated a number. "It's 4, who's 4!"

A couple guys pointed at Graham. "Man this is bullshit, I didn't even want to play this stupid ass game." Graham complained.

"That's too damn bad, take the pill." Brad responded.

Graham grabbed the pill and stared at it for a bit. "This is temporary right?" He asked.

"Ya of course, just take it." Brad said as he pulled up a photo of Graham on his phone, just for comparison for after.

Everyone started to get impatient so Graham finally swallowed the pill. Almost instantly, he began to twitch and grunt. As he twitched, his body began to jiggle more and more. His once flat stomach grew rounder and rounder by the second, riding up his shirt in the process. It kept growing until he had a solid beer gut that sagged over his waist line and love handles that thickened his once slim waist. His defined pecs became soft and plump as they sagged onto his gut and his arms became plump with a thick layer of fat. His pants tightened under the pressure of his growing ass and thick thighs. Finally his face widened as fat filled his cheeks.

Graham stood in silence as he took off his tiny shirt. His friends waited in silence for him to say something.

"Huh huh huh, that felt good!" He said in a dumb voice.

No one could tell if he was being serious, but they figured he was when he kept giggling and playing with the fat on his belly.

"Ok everyone, HIDE!" John yelled as he ran to a hiding spot. No one had time to react, so they just ran. Each of them found a hiding spot as Graham started to slowly hunt them down.

John trembled as he heard the large man stomp towards his hiding spot. He struggled to keep quiet as Graham approached. "Boo!" Graham yelled as he turned the corner. John jumped and proceeded to plead for Graham to not tag him.

"Wait wait! You don't need to tag me. You can just go find someone else." He practically pegged.

"isn't that the point of the game though?" Graham asked as he reached for John's arm. John yelled in fear, but immediately stopped when Graham made contact.

His muscles seemed to tense up, and he started to grunt. John started to grow much faster than Graham did. Within moments his belly had grown so big that he looked pregnant. It grew and grew, almost never ending until it was larger than a beach ball, ripping straight through his shirt. His hands grew to twice their size as he held his massive gut. A thick layer of fat covered the rest of his body, giving thick arms and legs, and large man tits. His ass also grew to the point that it ripped through his pants, leaving him completely naked, though it's not like you could seem much under that hulking gut. Similar to Graham, his face was the last to change. His face rounded out until it looked like a circle and he grew multiple chins under his thick beard.

John sat there for a moment, getting used to the way his body felt. The thick legs that rubbed together and the giant gut that changed his centre of gravity made it hard for him to move around.

"Get up big guy!" Graham pulled John to his feet.

"Shut it pipsqueak, you try movin around with a gut like this." John snapped back.

The two men soon went back to searching for the rest of their friends, shaking the ground as they walked. Dewayne and Miguel hid together nearby and peered around a corner to see Graham and John searching.

"Dude is that John?! He's fucking massive, and he's naked." Miguel whispered.

"Shut up, they're gonna hear us." Dewayne whispered back.

Almost as if on cue, John and Graham turn and start walking toward their hiding spots. They were cornered, so they just curled up and hoped they wouldn't be seen. It did not work. Graham turned the corner, chuckled, and grabbed both men.

Dewayne started to grunt as his body grew. His soft gut spilled out of his black tang top and over his shorts. He grew soft man tits that stretched his shirt to its limit. His body quickly started to say under its own weight as a thick layer of pudge covered his body.

Miguel befell a similar fate soon after. Although the effects didn't seem as bad on him since he was such an athletic person, but that could only help him so much. His six pack rapidly turned into a beer belly larger than his own dad's gut, riding up his tiny gym shirt. His solid pecs swelled into a pair of moobs with nipples that showed through his shirt. The defined arms and legs he worked so hard for softened into pudgy limbs.

The two men emerged from their hiding spots, happy as ever without a thought going through their minds.

It didn't take long for them to find Andrew after that. He was the tallest in the group, making it hard for him to hide. He tried to run but quickly ran into John, knocking him straight on his ass. Unfortunately for him, his arms hit John's belly in the impact. Andrew sat on the floor as his mind cleared and his body started to grow. Within seconds he had a giant hairy belly hanging out of his shirt, only rivaled by John's. His limbs bilmped out and his ass expanded, popping open his belt and threatening to rip his jeans. Finally a thick double chin formed under his beard. Andrew stood up, towering over the rest and crossed his arms. "Well who's gonna find the rest?" He asked in a dumb voice.

Brad trembled as he heard someone approaching his hiding spot. He had no idea who it was, but it sounded like someone massive. He got scared and decided to get up and run from his hiding spot. As he got up, he was met by Andrews thick underbelly.

His forehead impacted Andrews belly, knocking him back. He grunted in pleasure and pain as the transformation began. His body was hit the hardest since John. His once unnoticeable belly soon became impossible to miss, riding up his shirt to his chest and drooping over his waist. His skinny chest exploded with fat, growing larger tits than he had ever seen before, with large sensitive nipples. His previously thin arms became engulfed with fat and his legs thickened until it was basically impossible for him to separate them. His love handles spilled over his waist and his ass fattened until his crack was visible above his pants. He got up once his transformation was complete, struggling to stay up due to his immense weight. He pulled up his shirt and looked down at his hulking gut and man tits, he smiled before following the rest of the men to find the last of their friends.

"Omar, you're the last one you can come out now!" John yelled.

Omar appeared from behind a couch and stood in shock at the sight of his friends. Each one of them bursting out of their clothes and sagging with fat, John had even ripped out of his clothes. Omar started to laugh hysterically, pointing out how fat his friends were. Once he regained his composure he asked his friends, "so when does this wear off?"

"What do you mean wear off, why would we want it to wear off?" John responded.

"No no, you said it would wear off." Omar's expression quickly changed.

"What do you say boys, this guy is lookin a bit too skinny for our standards, how about we change that." John asked the rest of the boys.

Omar backed away, but quickly became cornered by the horde of large men. It didn't take long for one of them to grab his arm. He froze in place and started to grunt as his body began to change. He tried to resist, but there was no point. His gut burst out of his shirt, popping off the buttons in the process. His pecs grew into thick moobs, and he grew multiple chins under his light stubble. His ass fattened until it ripped through his jeans, and his thighs ripped what was left of them, leaving him naked from the waist down. His arms fattened up as he held his gut.

"Now for the best part about the game." John started as he approached Omar. "It has made up who we were meant to be, it made us hot." John gets really close to Omar, pressing both their bellies together. "Now we can do whatever we want with each other." John grabbed Omar's dick as he spoke, making him moan.

With all the tension built up over the game, it didn't take long for all of them to rip off their tiny clothes. Nothing in their heads other than sex and food.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #reality change #male wg #hairy #dumbed down

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships.

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing.

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel.

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe.

For years they did this until they were gone too.

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time.

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman.

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder.

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance.

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more.

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified.

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you.

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders.

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away.

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind.

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock.

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation.

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you.

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind?

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant.

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back.

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel.

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt.

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all.

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued.

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned.

Nothing.

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins.

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting.

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south.

And then you lock eyes once more.

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself.

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him.

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

“Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.”

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements.

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples.

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?”

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills.

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear.

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before.

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.”

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind.

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?”

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly.

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in.

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising.

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave.

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze.

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.”

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships.

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living.

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.”

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.”

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids.

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting?

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart.

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him.

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still.

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash.

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face.

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel.

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish.

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him.

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck.

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked.

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head.

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand.

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings.

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.”

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.”

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden.

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment.

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them.

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles.

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.”

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping.

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you.

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you.

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?”

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching.

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch.

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement.

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up.

Feels nice.

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing.

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following.

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist.

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t.

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose.

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.”

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?”

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look.

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.”

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening.

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?”

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does.

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.”

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips.

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different.

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment.

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.”

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship.

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne.

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.”

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.”

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt.

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often.

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle.

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen.

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.”

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—”

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh.

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…”

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.”

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?”

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat.

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction.

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat.

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

“Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once.

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers.

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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rookiesbookies · 4 months

Note

Please I need more strength kink like you wrote for König but for the text of the COD men. Does Soap show off and lift heavier when he sees you saunter into the gym? Does Ghost try not to pay attention as you stare? I am down bad for these boys

So this is the most recent ask Ive gotten but dont fret my other requesters, yalls are taking more time bc they’re longer form pieces (I dont want to spoil but honeymoon/consummation night with Ghost (doing some research for this one), some Konig wifey bits (there’s two or three), and Ghost’s wife wearing his mask) Im so excited you all are interacting with me I just wanna say. I love you all *MUAH* big kiss.

Also I took Keegan off this one bc I don’t think I have a lot of Keegan fans reading? (ik I love him tho) so if anyone wants it just put a comment and I’ll write one and edit it so its in here.

Edit right here: I put Keegan down at the bottom. Dw Keegan girlies he’s here now.

Another edit: I put Krueger bc a reblog asked for it

Without much more here’s:

Strength Kink with the 141

Masterlist is pinned as always, also let me know if yall want any as full blown fics.

Price

Price is an “old dog” as he calls himself. He knows he’s getting softer, the wrinkles are setting in, he doesn't quite have the body he used to as a LT. Kinda got a dad bod after adopting 3 boys.

First time he sees you drool over him? He is down fucking bad. Will do anything to see his sweet lady all red in the face over him again.

Fucking saunters over to you, hits you with “you can feel if ya like, love. Go on.” just holds his arms away from his chest while he’s in his tank top.

If you take him up on this offer (and I assume yall are dating at this point) and even just grab at a peck, he is tense. His abs are tight, his butt is clenched, he is doing it all to seem like he still has his young and sharp LT body.

He knows you dont care and love his dad bod and all his soft pillowy goodness but sometimes he feels like the pillsbury dough boy.

Absolutely would pick you up and carry you bridal style at any chance.

Tells you he’s “just practicing” however he is very clearly showing off.

If you come find him at the gym to drool all over him, that max he was only supposed to do one of per set, he is not repping.

“John, are you sure- I’ve never seen you lift this much you look red-”

“I'm alright, love, just doing my reps trying to set a new pr.” Little do you know that by repping this, this is his new pr.

Gaz and Soap are sitting there mouth open because Price has never done that and not fallen over and now he just KEEPS. GOING.

And Price’s wife just keeps drooling over him as Simon spots the poor guy.

(This is what i mean btw)

Soap

The worst about it of them all.

I'm telling you right now, if you have an oral fixation on his muscles, he will mate for life like a swan. Because if you mark up his muscles he will do EVERY SINGLE WORK OUT shirtless until Ghost is like “Johnny. You look like a slut and smell like a whore with all that cologne. We’re in the bloody gym.”

He will walk around shirtless in the tightest sweatpants to show off his thighs and abs to you.

Will bench press you.

Put your weight on the hip thrust and will call you over or send videos of him doing it.

If you’re sitting somewhere he will just pick you up and move you for the hell of it under the excuse he wanted to sit there just to see you get red.

If you compliment his body once, I'M TELLING YOU ONE TIME, he will buy the TIGHTEST shirts imaginable around the house to show off his shoulders, back, pecs, biceps, and abs.

If you even mention having a bad day, your face is going between his pecs. He also absolutely can do the thing where he can flex them one at a time and he does it 24/7 for fun.

Catch him planking at the gym?

Feeling bold?Let’s shimmy under the poor bastard to look up at him.

“Do push ups.”

“Bonnie, the fuck you mean-”

“Come down, get a kiss, and go back up?”

“And if I fall? Which I won’t but I gotta ask.”

“Can’t feel any worse than when you dive onto the bed to wake me up in the mornings.”

He’s floored. Goes down, gets his kiss, comes up.

Price has watched Soap do more pushups than he ever has outside of a punishment when he was in basic training. Johnny has half the mind to let himself drop, smoother you in sweaty hugs and kisses. But he doesn’t. Not until he’s shown off. It’s embarrassing how much sweat is dripping from him though. He’ll just say you both need a shower.

Ghost

Totally doesn't flex when he hugs you.

Oh you think he does?

If you ask him, you’re wrong. Simon is the most casual of them all.

He’ll just randomly pick you up.

Like throw you over his shoulder, hold you like a koala, bridal style, you name it. Unlike Price, who is more careful about it, Simon has been doing exercises to work on his balance so he can safely carry you down a flight on stairs.

If he catches you staring, its over for him. He’s blushing under his lil mask, acting like he doesnt see you.

If you walk up and open your mouth to talk to him, he’s not listening to a word of that blabbery. He’s focused on the way you watch his legs while he’s in the leg press. How if he flexes a bit more you have the pause so you don’t choke on your words.

If you’re the bold on and you get down to the level of his head because he can’t easily escape this machine right now to say something. I'm thinking like a “Simon, I’m going to need a thigh riding session at 1800 hours. Put that on your damn schedule.” And just walk out. Don’t elaborate.

He’s struggling to get out of the machine, considering chasing after you, possibly having a stroke over it. He’s so flustered he’s down right gasping for air. If he didn’t have shit to do today he’d scoop you up and show you want all these muscles could do just to get you to feel like how flustered he is.

Konig

(see the fic about his wife seeing him lift, its on my masterlist (its pinned))

Gaz

By the time you’ve started dating, you know Gaz is jacked. Just look at him ffs. Anyone could see it.

So you do the only reasonable thing and insist on being his gym partner.

And in turn he will insist on spotting your squats.

If you get so nervous you fail a set his plan springs into action. Bro has it lifted in one hand. He doesn't care if it's a lot. He WILL be lifting it in one hand just so you can see how strong he is.

“Kiss for your savor?” He asks.

“Sure.” You reply, pecking his lips.

But no no no.

“Love, I meant you’re actual savor.” He’d say, flexing that one arm and pointing to it.

Just roll your eyes and do it. It’s easier.

He is GLOWING for the rest of the day. He will now take any and all opportunities to lift heavy things for you.

That big box? Lifted. Come kiss his muscles. Cuz if you don’t he's picking you up and putting you in air jail for being ungrateful.

I feel like because Gaz is so lean its kinda a sleeper build situation? Could be completely using that term wrong but IDC.

Lowkey loves nothing more than you feeling up his abs under his shirt when yall are going to bed. Like your hands feel so nice on them when he’s flexing extra hard so they’re rock solid for you.

First time yall cuddled he almost passed out because he was trying to keep his muscles flexed for so long.

Edit: here’s Keegan

Keegan

Keegan was always walking around the house in the sluttiest tank tops and the lowest waist line sweatpants you’ve ever seen.

He had been showing off since he first met you, so I’ll tell you how it happened.

What did he wear on your first date? Tight ass t shirt and a leather jacket with black jeans.

He essentially was giving a strip show when he slowly took off that jacket, made sure you were watching when he did it with a smug look.

“What wrong, doll? Distracted?” He was definitely flexing hard. Pecs and biceps on full display and don't get me started on how he was clenching to get his abs to show through.

He made sure to get real close to.

Oh dear is that a dirty puddle, let him just… yk… casually pick you up to carry you over the smallest puddle ever.

And when he’s at the gym? You are getting tons of selfies. Those videos of him curling weights that are slightly too heavy all because he knows you like the sound of the groans he makes as he struggles to lift it. Oh he is hip thrusting your weight and a half, so you know you’ll never be too heavy. There’s a video he sent that was 10+ minutes of just him thrusting your weight. You honestly thought it was looped.

Oh and he carries your weight when he runs on the treadmill so he knows he and run and keep you safe if need be.

Here’s Krueger (i got carried away, enjoy)

Krueger:

Sebstian knows he’s already strong.

Picking you up and benching you is his favorite hobby. The way you can't help but giggle and he has to scold you to stop wiggling.

He’s always throw around his weight with you. He knows he’s a big. He loves to lay on you to stop you from moving.

Loves to have you lay on his torso with the weight at his hips as he works on his hip thrusts. Got kicked out of a gym because it was dangerous so he got weights to do it at home. Will do it shirtless so you can trace his tattoos.

Definitely has never told you he committed murder because he doesn’t want you to stop looking at him like he’s your savior as you rub his sore muscles.

God he loves having you rub his muscles, he just tries not to drool as you rub his calves and biceps with all the force your hands can muster to gently rub the knots away. One time he felt so good he almost cried as you rubbed one out of the back of his neck, he got so bricked he couldnt help it he felt like he was gasping for air the pleasure was so intense.

He’d never tell you that tho, no he’d rather die and speak up and tell you how good it feels when your massage his muscles while planting small kisses after every knot you work out. Definitely going to keep asking you to work his aches away… wonder if he can convince you he has a knot in his dick, no no wouldn’t do that to you not yet.

#cod x reader #call of duty #john price #captain price #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #soap cod #soap x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick

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l0v3tast3 · 10 months

Text

spring fever! — tf141 men

mw2 men helping catgirl!reader through her heat! (simon riley, john mactavish, kyle garrick, john price)

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, catgirl!reader, breeding kink, edging, overstimulation, oral, thigh-riding, praise kink, degradation, abuse of pet names, cockwarming, size kink, size difference, fluff mixed in <3

✎ word count: 2.3k words (not proofread)

✎ author's note: this is purely 100% self-indulgent because i can write whatever i want teehee :] ever since i realized i can just write the smut i want to read myself my life has improved significantly, also i am working on another one of these with phillip, alejandro and könig is anyone would wanna read that (o･ω･o)

masterlist | requests are open!

♡ simon riley — "don't act all shy now, love. weren't y'just begging me for this?" — simon isn't sure if you know what you're getting yourself into while you grind yourself down against his thigh, your juices already soaking through your underwear and quickly making a dark spot on his jeans. his resolve only lasts until you cum just from humping his leg. he has you folded into a mating press before long, your legs hooked over his elbows. — outside of your shared home, simon isn't much of a talker, but the sight of you absolutely brainless under him draws out the filthiest words from his mouth. "makin' such a fuckin' mess on my cock, y'gonna clean it up for me sweetheart? i know how much y'love when i fuck your mouth. or do you only want my cum stuffed into this little cunt? want me to put a baby in y'love? yeah? that's all you can think about right now, isn't it? all y'need is my cock inside you, such a good little whore f'me." — you should have known before you asked for his help that he would abuse the living hell out of your tail; how could he not when it's makes you cum nearly instantly? it doesn't take you long to learn that once he flips you over, you'll soon be an overstimulated mess. simon can't get enough of how you react when he pushes you to that point, clawing at the sheets to try to leverage yourself away from his onslaught and pushing your hips back against him to take more of his thick cock at the same time. your words get jumbled up and incoherent, broken little pleas choked out between moans and cries. eventually he'll slow down to shallow, drawn out rolls of his hips, laying his titan-sized body over yours and asking you what you want. when you keen and press up against him, whimpering his name and trying to push your hips into him again, he'll tell you that you're such a good girl for him and pick up the pace. — he won't edge you as much as he overstimulates you. simon edges you more as a "break", both for himself and for you. even with your heat making you able to take a lot more than what you usually can, he still knows not to push the limits of your body too far. so he'll make sure to tie your hands to the headboard and bury his fingers in your sopping wet pussy in a slow, languid rhythm and lave circles over your clit with his tongue, drawing away each time he feels you tightening up until you're sobbing. you beg him to fuck you and let you cum, trying as much as you can to move against the weight of his hand pressed against your stomach. once he's sure that just touching your clit would probably make you cum, simon finally relents. he'll graze his hands over your thighs, watching as your body twitches just from that. "'s alright love, i'll make you cum. so fuckin' sensitive, wish i could keep ya like this, all needy and sweet f'me," he says quietly, lining the head of his cock up with your dripping hole and bullying his cock in slow. he'll grip your waist tight enough to leave yet another set of bruises when you cum around him, fighting to not cum himself as he fucks you through your mind-shattering orgasm. — despite his roughness, simon will take care of you through all of it without a single (wholehearted) complaint. he'll grumble here and there, chastising you when you'd rather ride him than eat the food he's holding in front of you, but there's a hint of concern to it; simon loves you too much to hurt you or to see you get hurt, so he makes overly sure that all your needs (besides being fucked) are constantly met.

♡ john mactavish — "c'mon bonnie, if ya want my help then y'gotta ask nicely." — johnny loves you, every part of you, but one of the things that he especially loves is your heats. he relishes in the few days it lasts (rejoices on the rare occasion it lasts almost a week). your neediness, your dependency on him, the adoration and near-worship that you finally weren't too shy to show. he loved taking care of you, from bending you over every surface in your home and tugging on your overly-sensitive tail to make you cum fast to spoon-feeding you while you were semi-lucid. — he shows you the same love and worship as always, of course, but he can't help being a near-sadist most of the time. you're just so adorable like this, so pliant and always wanting more from him, anything and everything he would give you. it pulled out a different side of him. john was always a tease, almost always in control, but it was like your greed and lust became his too. "oh, i know bonnie, i know, i'll make ya cum, i promise." he, of course, breaks this promise until you're crying, choking out jumbled pleas for him to make you cum. every few times he pulls away just before you fall over the edge (which doesn't take long at all) he comes back up to be face-to-face with you and scratch and pet the ears sticking out from the top of your head. it just melts you, makes you so cooperative, so brainless and compliant. — when you're nearing your limit, about to pass out, johnny finally gets sweet. he'll give you whatever you ask for, smooth his hands over your overstimulated skin and fuck you slow. he sings you praises for how well you did and talks you through it before you slip into unconsciousness for a few hours, until your body wakes you up again (or his). "sweet lass, just one more for me- fuck, know you can do it. hah- doin' so good. you can, just a little more, i'll make it feel so- so good, bonnie. love y'so much like this, so cute, all f'me. ya gonna cum, sweetheart? fuck! ah, so tight around me, y'want my cum? yeah, good lass." — johnny doesn't leave your side until you're well past recovered; he'll take such good care of you, makes sure you drink excessive amounts of water, makes sure you eat plenty and washes your hair for you in the shower (he fucks you before he cleans you off). when you start waking up more sore than horny, he massages just about every muscle in your body, drags you into a hot bath, and swaddles you in a nest of his clothes and blankets and pillows to rest some more.

♡ kyle garrick — "fuck, slow down, pretty. gonna help you, swear it." — kyle is so sweet with you, kissing you softly and guiding you up and down on his cock after he makes you cum several times with his mouth and fingers. he's so gentle; he'll do his best to calm your frayed nerves, kissing you all over and rubbing his hands over every inch of your skin, whispering choked praises to you as he lets you use him. kyle indulges in your every desire, happily doing whatever you ask him for; he just can't say no to you when you're looking at him with teary, pleading eyes. — once he really gets going, kyle gets more rough with you, manhandling you into different positions so he can fuck his thick cock even deeper into your sopping pussy. he's still sweet with you, groaning out how good you are for him and how much he loves you like this, so needy for him while you're cumming for the umpteenth time that night. once he finally placates you for the time being, he hugs you tight against him as you're both passing out. — he doesn't have much need to make you more content by scratching at your fuzzy ears, but he still loves doing it just to see you melt, just to see your pretty lips spread into a dopey smile and feel you nudge into his hand. kyle doesn't abuse your tail much either; he'll only tug on it when you're being bratty, trying to sink your little fangs in too deep or trying to claw yourself away from the overstimulation before he's done with you. "c'mon baby, just one more for me, you're doin' so- fuck, so good- ahh, that's it pretty, you can take it, know y'can. i know, i- i know, 's okay baby, fuck- y'gonna cum? cum for me, c'mon-" you're both coming together, bodies locking up against each other as he fucks into you a few more times before he collapses next to you, cupping your face with his hands and kissing you all over. — kyle's so good at taking care of you, he loves that you trust him enough to let him be with you for your heat, and he doesn't take that for granted. he'll basically treat you like a goddess the entire time (as if he already didn't the rest of the time). he'll carry you everywhere, chuckling when you cling onto him and nuzzle your face into his neck. he cooks or orders whatever you want, puts your favorite salts and scents in the baths he eases you into (despite your many protests), gives you however much of his wardrobe you need for your makeshift nest. kyle is just so whipped for you, his smile always stretching wide every time he sees your tail curl up in joy because of something he does or says.

♡ john price — "it hurts, sweetheart? can't have that now, can we?" — john swears up and down that he tries his damndest to be gentle and slow and sweet with you. and he is... at first. when you clamber into his lap, pleading for his help while you kiss and nip at his neck, he'll pick you up effortlessly and take you to your shared bed within seconds. after that, it's only moments before he's stripped you down and is worshipping your body- partially because he loves every inch of you and never goes a day without showing you that affection, and partially because of how much more sensitive your entire body becomes during your heat. — it's something he becomes obsessed with pretty rapidly; john will practically study the effects your heat has on you. he won't admit it, but it's obvious how much he gets off on it. how you're so desperate for him, his touch and voice and anything and everything he'll give you. how upset you get when he tries to get you to stay in bed while he goes to a different room of the house. how you need him. it's what slowly drives him to his breaking point where he just can't hold back with you any longer. — you can feel his touch getting heavier, fingers digging into your hips deeper and tongue pressing harder against your clit. when you're coming down from your second high and already being pushed towards your third of the night, your grip on his cropped hair gets tighter and the only sentences you can form are various versions of "mmnh- ple-ease! john- ah, please, need you!". that's when he can feel the last of his self-control slipping from his hands. in record time he'll be throwing your legs over his shoulders, smashing his lips into yours and easily pushing into your drenched cunt. — john always finds it incredibly difficult to say "no" to you, but it won't stop him from being a horrendous tease. he'll tie your hands together behind your back or to the headboard or to your ankles and edges you until fat tears roll down your cheeks (which doesn't take very long). when he gets you to that point he'll wipe away your tears and kiss you sweetly. "shh, i know sweetheart, i'm sorry- just love hearin' you beg. y'did so well for me. think you deserve a reward, yeah?" john will always act sorry after he edges you or doesn't let you touch him or ignores your pussy for more than ten seconds, but with each broken whine and sobbed plea his cock grows impossibly harder. — it's a given that john will exploit the hell out of the effects of playing with your ears and tail. each time he edges you, the number of times he takes a minute to scratch at your ears and coo honeyed words down at you increases. it becomes a routine that after those sessions, when he's fucked you slow enough that you've calmed down a bit, he'll start up with your tail. and when he's gotten his fill of your begging for him to give it a break, he'll act sorry about that too. — as each stretch of your sex marathon comes to an end before you both pass out, he'll wind you both down by sitting you on his lap and having you cockwarming him while he smokes a cigar. you'll bury your face in his chest and start dozing off, worn out for the time being. john will use his free hand to trace his fingers up and down the curves and lines of your back, grinning to himself when you let you little whimpers whenever you move. "finally getting tired, hm? gonna wake us both back up if you keep moving like that, sweetheart."

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ghostlywhiskey · 6 months

Text

price x reader - clean up

pervy price i'm not sorry <3 cw: masturbation, cnc

price who doesn't hear you when you come home from running errands as he's kneeling on the bed, hand grasped around his cock as he pumps himself.

and he doesn't stop either when you walk through the door frame, frozen in shock as you see his upper body hovering over the bed. one hand gripping the sheets to support himself while the other is working to get every last drop on to the sheets. thick, white juices pooling and seeping through. eyes glance up at you, a tired grin forming on his face when he sees you shift awkwardly in place. "c'mere, sweetheart."

you want to ask questions, but your brain shoves them all to the side as he asks you to come to him. feet instinctively walking towards the bed, stopping at the edge of it. "made a mess, you're gonna help me clean it, yeah?" he coos, nodding towards you. "get undressed for me."

knowing better than to resist his orders, in little time you're stripping from the clothes that cover every inch of you. crawling onto the bed when undressed, he grabs you to position you onto your stomach. your heat aligned with the damp spot on the mattress as his hand presses your lower back down. "let me see you move those pretty hips, hmm," he hums, the hand sliding up your mid back to grab your neck from behind. and as ordered, the wet sheets rubbing against your warmth as you gasp when he gives your neck a squeeze, eyes fixated on the movement of your hips.

"like this?" you whimper, seeking the validation from him you craved so badly when it came to being in bed together.

"just like that." the words a soft growl as you quicken your pace, your own arousal building from the friction. and the unexpected grab of your ass causing you to yelp, but your body pushing pack towards him, not away as would a normal response would be to the sudden action.

"i'm not gonna last very long," you warn him, hands gripping the sheets under you to keep your body in place as you grind against the pool of cum. forehead pressed against the mattress as you try to control your breaths in an effort to prolong your release.

and sure enough, your thighs shake slightly before you're dripping in the same exact spot price did moments earlier. his chuckle bringing you back from the high of your orgasm. and when you're about to sit up and get off the bed to clean yourself, he tugs you back. "said you're gonna help me clean it, didn't i?" hands grabbing to pull you away from the mess on the bed before he's directing you facedown again, this time your face hovering over the spot. "john," you gasp at the realization, glancing back at him.

"eyes forward and tongue out, sweetheart." he mutters, hand grabbing your hair to control your head movement. pressing your face closer to the sheets as your tongue meets the pool of your juices combined.

#john price smut #john price x reader smut #john price #john price x reader #captain john price smut #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price cod

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the-californicationist · 2 months

Note

Just wanted to drop you a note to say that I just found you and I am loving the fact I am not the only Price lover here. When I can think straight after all the sexiness....I may think of something to ask you for... Like Female Reader and Price reconnecting after years apart or somesuch Meg xoxo

Thank you so much! You are definitely not alone. If you ever need a Price fix, you know where I'm at 😅 over here! obsessing. lol.

Hope this is sort of what you envisioned!! A million thanks for the ask!

Origami Tigers

It had been a long time since you had crossed his mind. But, as he gingerly plucked the intricately folded origami tiger from his desk, he knew you were there. You were on his base, somewhere.

Part of him wanted to rush off to find you. He let his thumb slide over the shining golden paper, thin as tissue, folded and folded and folded in on itself to make this tiny, stalking beast. It was soft, and so carefully made, and it reminded John of those same qualities that he had found in you.

Why had you left?

It had been out of your control. Your career and his career and the bombs and the guns… it was all a blur. But, ten years had passed since he had held evidence of your paper menagerie in his fingers, and even the thought of your return made his body tingle with the numbness of his shock.

The tiger fit in his chest pocket, right over his heart, and he went on the hunt.

He stalked through the main rooms, searching faces, looking in office windows, waiting for that shock of hair to catch his eye, that shallow sloping shoulder, those tiny frag scars on your left hand…

Just when he thought he had lost you again, he spotted you. You were sitting on top of the hood of his TAC-V, flipping through pages on your datapad, lost in your work. He couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of you. Ten years had been good to you. A woman’s wide hips, a body full of hard work and muscles to show for it, that same glowing skin. He felt like a starving man who had just been fed. He was a machine that had just been plugged back in, a paint pot ready for a brush. Alive.

“Sparrow?” His voice cracked, low and dark in the quiet of the warehouse.

You turned to him and took him in. He had deep smile lines at the corners of his eyes, and his beard had grown out in full. But, that voice. He was your John.

“Hey, tiger,” you grinned, “You found me.”

You jumped down from the vehicle, not knowing how this first meeting would go. Would he be distant? Had he moved on? Did he string a golden ring through his neck chain every morning, or was he single? Did he even want you anymore?

Your questions were all answered at once.

He scooped you up in his arms, big and heavy, crushing you to his chest. You cried out in relief, saying his name, muffled, your face pressed into his broad chest,

“John…”

“Little bird.”

He pulled you away from him, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and you saw those bright blue irises gleam with fresh, unshed tears. Worry and concern were at war with hope and certainty all over his face, and without so much as a breath of hesitation, he crashed into you with a kiss.

The softness of his lips was so familiar, so comfortingly known, your body responded on instinct, remembering all of the rewards that came with this feeling of his skin on your skin. You celebrated in each other, tasting the inside of your mouths, licking each others’ tongues, trying to scent the other’s past.

It was as if each kiss and suck and nip at each other was asking: Where have you been?

Another kiss answered back: Away from you, my love.

A deep caress with his tongue begged for clarity: Away? Come back to me.

You convinced him with a chaste kiss on his shaven chin: I’m here.

And here was all that mattered.

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #call of duty #captain john price x reader #captain johnathan price #price cod #john price x reader #john price cod

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hecateslore · 1 month

Text

🐾❤️

Farmer!Price RAAAAAAAHHHHH

You stood outside with your arms crossed waiting for John to cross the street. He does a little jog towards your front yard, Beau running up to him and getting her dirty paws all over his work clothes.

"Beau, down!" You yell. "She's fine," He brushes you off, petting the big girls head. She eventually backs off and runs into the house, passing you making sure to bump your knee.

"You been good?" You ask watching him walk up your porch steps, small grunts leave his lips as he takes each step. "Could be better." He chuckles finally meeting you at the top.

"How're you?" He follows behind you into the older home, You let out a dramatic sigh, "Jackass stopped by, So I've seen better days." You roll your eyes at the mention of your ex-husband. John snorts at your reaction, "And your Dad?" he asks.

"He's in the living room, You can go say hey." You grin, heading into the kitchen to pull the lemon cake from the oven.

John walked into the Living room, Your father laying in the hospital bed facing the window, outlooking the backyard. A sad sight before him. He stands by the bed, looking at the older man who's body's now frail was once a tall cheery figure, A lot like you.

"The nurse stopped by Tuesday, said It's now a matter of waiting." you appear behind him, "That's why he's been so sleepy, and in and out of it ." You finish a sad look in your eyes as you glance over your fathers tired body. You place a hand on Johnny's shoulder, "Why don't you go eat some cake." You give it a light squeeze and walk out of the living room back into the kitchen.

You serve him a nice, thick, slice of the lemon glazed cake, sliding it over towards him. "Thank you," He lifts the fork, digging in.

"So what am I doing with the cinder block?" He says, mouth stuffed with the lemony goodness. "My dad's got this empty shed, and The block is just sitting in this one spot taking up all the grass, So I need them in there." You explain, "Whenever you want to get started let me know."

And when he does, boy do you have a show. His work shirt discarded after the 10th cinder block he moved. You watched him from the kitchen window, His buff arms glistening with sweat.

You grab a glass from the cabinet, filling it up with some water and Ice and walk out to the back yard, "You alright?" You yell, approaching him, "It's humid." He breathes, "Don't know how you do it." He takes the water from your hand, "It's cause you're not from here," You watch him suck down the water intently, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. He hands you back the glass, thanking you. "Looks like you're almost done," You comment, shading your eyes from the sun that was setting.

You felt like a loser, lusting after your neighbor, who clearly has no interest in you. He's just being polite and you were peeking through the kitchen blinds crossing your fingers that he'll take his under shirt off. Insanity, it has to be.

Once he finishes you give him one of the "good plates" filled with slices of cake, you cover it with some tin foil and hand it off. Doping he'll take the hint, bringing back your fine china.

And maybe so he can see you again.

#farmer!price #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #captain price #price x reader #141 #captain johnathan price #cod mwf2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

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libraryofgage · 8 months

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@holyangelstudentuniverse requested the following: Steve working at Bath & Body Works while Eddie is the mall pianist?

I love it omfg, your brain is fantastic I hope I did the idea justice

(if you see any typos no you didn't <3)

The old food court pianist was...okay. Technically, she was good; she knew how to play and rarely made mistakes. She was also clearly just there for the bi-weekly check (not that Steve can blame her), and her playing reflected that. The piano became the ideal white noise, loud enough to lessen the awkwardness of any silence but not so amazing that people couldn't ignore it in favor of conversing with each other.

The new food court pianist? He's a fucking enigma.

He's very clearly skilled, and he seems to actually enjoy the job. He plays like Billy Joel and Elton John met one night, had a piano contest, and then had a baby to create the perfect pianist. He's great and energetic and can play anything from Mozart to fucking Cardi B, and Steve wishes he'd quit already so he can actually focus on his own shitty mall job instead of getting absorbed in the guy's playing.

"You should just hook up with him," Robin says one day, hip-checking Steve as she passes by with a box of Cherry Blossom products. She restocks the soap bottles first, then the perfume, then the lotions, and finally the tiny hand sanitizers with their shitty little plastic flip-caps that Steve swears break for the fucking fun of it.

Steve, meanwhile, is replacing last week's sales signs with new ones. They're the exact same. They rarely change, actually. The only difference is the "expiration" date at the bottom, which changes if only to continually sell customers that sense of urgency that results in them buying $50 worth of products they'll forget about until the holidays come around and they need white elephant gifts.

He's almost done, too. All that's left are the signs by the metal gate pulled down over the store's entrance. They'll open it in about an hour to prepare for the mall's opening, but for now, it's staying down to discourage the mini-bodega clerk in the middle of the hall from flirting with Robin and trying to sell her shitty perfume like she can't just steal shitty perfume from Bed Bath and Beyond at the end of the day.

He waits until after he's switched the sign to turn around, arms crossed over his chest. His back is to the gate, and Steve would normally be too fucking paranoid about a blind spot to withstand it, but he's in argument mode.

"I barely know the guy," he says.

Robin snorts as she crouches, stocking extra hand sanitizers in the tiny drawers at the bottom of the shelf. "Yeah, but I know you, dingus," she says, her voice light and bouncing. "You hear the guy's muzak version of a Lil Nas X song and you're ready to marry the guy."

"I can just recognize artistic ability! Have you ever tried to make a pop song sound like a classic?" he asks.

"My point," Robin says, pushing some hair out of her face, "is that you should ask him out. Maybe you two can play piano together."

If she hadn't already heard it before, Steve would be immediately launching into an explanation of why that wouldn't work. Steve has never met someone he liked or trusted enough to actually play with them. Sure, he's tried playing with a partner before if only to say he gave it a shot, but it sucks. Especially when you don't like the person. You're squished together on an uncomfortable bench, sharing sheet music, elbows bumping as you both try to reach the proper keys to keep the song from sounding horrendous. It's Steve's personal version of hell on earth.

But Robin has heard that rant before, so Steve graciously spares her from hearing it again. For now. Until he's drunk, probably.

"What, I'm just gonna waltz up to the piano and ask if he's free on Saturday? Or, I don't know, try some dumb pick-up line like asking if he comes here often?"

"I'll be honest, it's not the worst pick-up line I've heard."

Steve and Robin jump, both whipping their head to look at the grate to see the food court pianist grinning at them (well, more specifically, he's grinning at Steve) from the other side. He's wearing a button-down black shirt with ripped skinny jeans, old Converse, and more accessories than Steve can count. There are chains on his jeans and a guitar pick hanging from his neck and an ear cuff and a stud through the edge of his eyebrow and so many chunky rings that Steve could use as an excuse to stare at his hands for an hour.

Robin is the one who breaks out of the shock first. She jumps to her feet and walks over to Steve, resting her arm on his shoulder and leaning against him. "But would it work?" she asks.

The guy grins wider, obviously looking Steve up and down to check him out before looking at Robin. "From Stevie here? Yeah. He's really rocking the apron," Eddie replies, winking at Steve.

Steve is about to ask how the guy knows his name, but then he remembers the name badge on his apron. He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away to glance down at Robin.

She seems to be having the time of her life right now.

"Well, uh, I'd prefer to know your name before trying any pickup lines," he says.

"Eddie Munson at your service," Eddie says, bowing to Steve with a dramatic flourish that he finds more endearing than anything else.

One look at Robin and her scrunched nose tells him she thinks it's a little over-the-top and, dare he say, cringe. Her opinion doesn't actually matter, though, since she'd be down bad for any girl that curtseyed at her.

Steve looks back at Eddie, noting the now expectant gleam in his eyes. He can't help an amused smile as he says, "Well then, Eddie," Steve says, stressing his name a little just for the fun of it, "come here often?"

Robin groans next to him. "Fucking hell, Steve," she mutters, slapping him upside the head. "I know you suck at flirting but you really couldn't come up with something better?"

"No, no," Eddie tells her, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm into it."

"And I'm out of it," Robin says, raising her hands in surrender before scurrying back to her Cherry Blossom products.

She's definitely still listening, though.

Steve rolls his eyes are her reaction and focuses back on Eddie. "So, uh, are you free on Saturday?" he asks.

"Completely free," Eddie says, taking a step closer to the gate and shoving his hands into his pockets. "How about lunch?"

"Yeah, I know a great pizza place."

"It's a date then," Eddie replies, winking at Steve. "By the way, any song requests?"

Steve blinks and thinks for a minute before asking, "Do you know Vienna?"

Eddie's grin tells Steve that he does, in fact, know Vienna. "Vienna it is." With that, he winks at Steve once more before heading back to the food court.

"That was painful," Robin says once he's far away enough.

Steve rolls his eyes and flips her off. "You're just jealous I've got a date and you're still too chicken shit to approach the Nike girl."

Robin practically squawks at him. "Oh, fuck you," she says.

"I'll leave that to Eddie, thanks," Steve says, laughing when Robin gags.

#steddie #steddie fic #platonic stobin #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #lovingly gonna call this one the BBB Mall AU #steddie request #my writing #thanks for the idea btw i fucking love it hfjkds

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mangowafflesss · 6 months

Note

I'm back, 🥺 please don't get tired of me 😘

Can I request another John price x pregnant reader. Where she's so big she can't even see her feet. One day shes feeling insecure and wants to shave her lady parts for John. She gets emotional and embarrassed because she can't see enough to get the job done. Well here comes hubby to save the day telling reader he doesn't give a damn if he has to go through a jungle or not (wouldn't be the first time 😉) but to make her feel better he helps her shave. Then enjoys his good work 🤭

Thank you so much, send love ❤️❤️❤️

Hiiii <3, more Price x Pregnant Reader coming up :)

♡ You were so big, it was annoying and you were fighting the tears already as you tried to shave your intimate area.

♡ You had stretched in different angles, dropped the razor twice and tried to see into the handheld mirror but nothing worked because your arms weren't long enough.

♡ You had given up completely on your legs and puffed at a fallen piece of hair away from your face.

♡ "JOHN!!!!" you screamed but it sounded like a pained cry as there were tears lodged in your throat.

♡ You could hear your husband running up the stairs at the speed of light and he burst into the bathroom with a concerned look on his face.

♡ "What's wrong honey? are you hurt? oh my... is the baby coming?" he asked rapidly as he tried to slow down his fast beating heart.

♡ "No... its just- I can't reach and I want to shave but I can't because of this STUPID BUMP!" you pointed aggressively at the baby bump in front of you.

♡ Stepping closer he puts his hands on your naked shoulders and pulls you towards him, wrapping his arms around you he places a kiss to your forehead then grabs your face softly "Would you like me to help you?" you give him a small nod and he kisses you on the nose before telling you to lay down in the bath.

♡ You do as he says and feel embarrassed all of sudden at the exposure of your bush *Inserts Dave Franco saying bushy pussy*

♡ ^^^ Sorry I literally wrote that and then fell asleep... I'm keeping it in tho.

♡ Johns hand smoothed over the skin of your prickly shin and worked open your legs, his hands still caressed your skin as he moved them up your thigh and gave it a squeeze.

♡ "You know this doesn't bother me in the slightest right?" he says while looking you in the eyes, you had to cover your face with your hands but he moved them away.

♡ "okay, okay I'll stop. Tell me what names you've got planned out" he changes the subject which you're glad about and start to say the names you like while he deals with the jungle you've got going on.

♡ "Josie is a lovely name. Okay I'm done" he smiles at you while giving your bump a kiss before helping you out of the bath.

♡ You waddle into the bedroom to find some clothes until you felt Johns hands come around your body from behind, he presses a kiss to your cheek then neck and you sigh when you feel him lift your stomach slightly.

NSFW BELOW

♡ "Fuck that feels good" you hear him chuckle in your ear before he takes you over to the bed and lays you on your back "Well I have other ways to make you feel good"

♡ Licking his lips he kisses your bump again before sinking down the bed and settling himself between your plush thighs. He inhales your scent before flattening his tongue and running it up the length of your pussy making it glisten with his saliva.

♡ His tongue flicks over your clit, sucking and circling the small nub. You moan out his name and he smiles into your dripping pussy as he continues to run his tongue all over you.

♡ Delving into your warm, leaking cunt his tongue finds your favourite spot which makes you into a whimpering mess, you pant out as he continues to fuck you with his tongue.

♡ "Fuck- John! I'm gonna" you couldn't get the words out as you gripped onto the sheets beside you, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head but his strong hands have them tied down.

♡ "C'mon baby, cum on me" his hands grope the skin of your thighs as you let go and cum all over your husbands gorgeous face. He swipes as much up as he can and reemerges in your eye line with a cheeky grin on his face.

♡ "I think I did a good job" he says proudly as your see your cum shining in his beard.

♡ God you really loved your husband.

#captain john price x reader #price x reader #captain price x female reader #john price x reader #john price smut #captain price

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

Text

Don't Move (4 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, spanking, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, cowgirl position, established relationship

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What if Series

In private, Price bends you over for a bit of punishment.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // don't move masterlist

John hasn’t taken his hand off your ass all evening.

It doesn’t matter that you’re surrounded by his coworkers, or that there are plenty of higher ups here that he answers to. John never removes his hand from your butt. He uses your ass like a stairway railing, steering you and him around the room.

You turn your face toward him and John leans down, knowing that you want to speak with him. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” you ask.

John shrugs. “Not sure what you mean.”

“Your hand, John,” you reply, monotone.

The corner of his mouth twitches as he tries to hold back a smile. “What? Can I not touch my wife?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” You carefully place your hand on his, attempting to discreetly move it to your waist.

“No,” he nearly growls. “No. No. That’s not how this works.” John’s hand immediately returns to your ass. “Do that again and find out what happens.”

One of his superiors walks by the moment those words leave John’s mouth. You smile awkwardly at them, but they don’t appear to have heard him.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, lightly elbowing John in the side. The move surprises him, and his hold eases slightly, enough that you walk right out of it. But John is right there, tugging you against him.

The rest of the night is polite conversation and an endless number of glasses of champagne. By the time you and John return to your hotel room, you’re completely exhausted and your feet ache from the heels you have on.

As you follow John into the separate bedroom, you reach up to take out your earrings, and abruptly come to a stop when you notice John standing next to the bed.

“What is it?” you ask, immediately alert.

He has his belt folded in half in his fists. He snaps the leather and glances at you. Your heart promptly drops into your stomach.

“Take everything off except your heels,” murmurs John. It’s a command, one you cannot ignore.

Your hands fall away from your earring to unzip the side of the dress. When it hits the floor, the next thing to go is your bra, followed by your underwear. The lace material gets caught on your heel and you have to shake it off.

John observes your naked body for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Over my knees.” You go to him, and come to a stop beside his right knee. He pats his thigh when you don’t immediately bend.

Taking a deep breath, you reach across his thighs and plant your palms on the bed. Then, you ease forward, calves and thighs straining as you present your ass to him. John inhales and then runs one hand over your curves before lightly squeezing each cheek.

John sets the belt down by your head. But you’re not free. One hand stays on your ass while the other tangles in your hair, keeping you in place. The next breath is a smack to the right side of your ass.

You jerk in his lap and John repeats the motion.

“How many times should I do it?” he muses. “For stepping out of my touch?” John’s hand comes down again and you whimper.

“I only did it once,” you breathe as John massages the spot he just spanked.

“Once is one time too many.”

The next smack rips a yelp from you. John alternates, switching between spanks and firm squeezes, only lengthening the sting. But it’s a good sting, one that draws forth a wetness. It’s a stickiness that sits glossy between your legs.

“John,” you beg, not knowing what it is you want.

His answer is to lean forward and run his tongue over your pussy. The moan you emit is quickly interrupted by a sharp palm against your flesh. John’s other hand, the one that grips your hair, guides you up enough that he can look at you.

The hand on your ass disappears from your skin only to undo the front of his pants. “Come here,” he groans, pulling you onto him as he shoves his dress pants down to his knees.

John leans back on his elbows as you straddle him. His hard cock is already pushing in, your bodyweight making it easy to slide down his length.

“I’m not going to fucking touch you, love. You ride my cock, yeah?”

You nod, placing your hands on his chest, rolling your hips up, and then down. Little by little, you ease yourself down on him.

“That’s it,” he purrs when you begin to rock your hips. “Just like that.”

You start slow, finding an angle and pace you like before moving a bit faster. John’s gaze remains on your face. His stare is intense, and the hands at your sides curl and uncurl as he tries to not touch you.

“Fuck,” he groans. Your pussy flexes, squeezing down on him. “Fuck!”

John’s resolve snaps. He reaches up and grips your hips. All you can do is fist the front of his dress shirt, clinging to him as John bounces you on his cock. When he draws you downward, his hips thrust up, meeting over and over again until you’re a puddle in his arms.

Your forehead rests against his, noses and lips brushing up against each other.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Or you’ll spank me?” you tease.

John grins, and then his hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap that makes you giggle.

“I’ll do much worse, love,” he replies.

John’s grip on your hips tightens, and his grunts become groans. You’re right there with him, meeting him with equal need.

When John’s lips meet yours, he grinds up into you, finishing with a final groan that you swallow and hold within yourself. But John does not let you go or remove himself from your body. His arms go around your waist, holding you tightly against him. His cock remains where it is, preventing his cum from escaping.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses.

“I love you too, John.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf

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under-the-dirt · 5 months

Note

Hi hi!! I was wondering if you could write a Price x Reader one-shot. In the story, the reader was involved with Price but ended up pregnant, resigning and cutting off contact due to the fear of jeopardizing Price's job or their relationship. After some time, Price spots her and her baby outside and approaches her.

Angst to fluff would be nice and the baby’s name could be Evangeline, I find that name adorable 🥹

hihihi anon!!! this idea is so sweeeeeeeettt!! sorry it took so long to write i’ve been busy and very very tired </3

pairing: john price x afab!reader

tags: pregnancy/mention of babies, a little angst, implied sex, pov change, under 13 dni :3

Price was devastated when he heard you were leaving. He knew, no strings attached, it was simply giving and getting, helping each other with their needs, but he couldn’t help but fall in love with you. The way you smiled, the way you laughed, the way you moaned and whined, the way you clenched around him so nicely…

Next thing he knows, you’re leaving. He’d noticed something had been a little.. off about you, you’d been emotional, more quick to outbursts or tears, but he just assumed it was your period, as your cramps were pretty bad.

He didn’t think it’d come to this, to you leaving him. Leaving all of them. He watched you hug Soap and Gaz goodbye, he watched you shake Simon’s hand, and he watched you nod in his direction. He also watched the way your eyes changed when you looked at him. Your pupils grew, your eyes displaying all the love you had for him, but written on your face was purely guilt and shame.

As the time went on, he didn’t think he’d see you again. Ever. He found himself trapped in his work, rarely leaving his office to get food and water or go to sleep. He knew he looked like shit. It was obvious, with his beard growing out, the dark bags beneath his eyes and his hollowed cheeks. He looked like a ghost, frankly. So, the boys decided to get him out. They wanted to take him out for a day in the town, where he wasn’t allowed to work or do anything but have fun. So here he was, waiting for a coffee at a little cafe when he watched you walk in holding a baby. You were pregnant? As he stared, he noticed the baby girl looked so much like him. Her deep blue eyes, a fluffy head of brown hair, just a little carbon copy of him.

You took your baby out to grab a coffee and maybe get her a little treat. You were so focused on your task and your babbling little girl, you didn’t notice the large group of very built men. As you walked to the other side of the counter to wait for your coffee and the muffin you ordered for you and your baby, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned with a smile, expecting a compliment, but as you looked up you were met with the father of your baby. Captain John Price.

“C-captain?” You stuttered, confused and surprised. He looked terrible, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, out of instinct you reached your hand up and touched his cheek gently.

“Can we speak outside, love?” He asks, and god he sounds horrible too. You nod, walking out with him. He leads you into the alley and leans against the wall, hand over his face. “Is it..” He begins.

“Yes,” You answer quickly. rocking your baby gently.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble, if anyone found out what we were doing.”

“I wouldn’ ‘ave cared, bunny. You know this.”

“It’s- it’s whatever..” You say softly, rocking your baby gently, looking at her instead of price.

“What’s ‘er name?”

“Evangeline.” You answer, rubbing her head gently as she whined and babbled.

“Can.. Can I.. Hold ‘er?” He asks nervously, biting his bottom lip as he looks down at you and your baby- no, his baby, in your arms. He watches you slowly place his baby in his arms, adjusting his arms to support her tiny body and little head properly. He’d always been a man of little emotion, but all the tears he’d drowned in whiskey decided to come up now. You didn’t even quite realize he was crying until you heard him sniffle, looking up and seeing tears streaming down his face as his lips shook. He gently rubs Evangeline’s cheek with his thumb, feeling her soft, perfect skin beneath his rough, calloused finger.

“You’re a natural,” You whisper, placing your hand on his arm. He nods, letting out a small sob and squeezing his eyes shut.

This great, strong man, one who’d seen the horrors of war, death, blood and gore, the man who’d forgotten how to flinch even with a gun at his head, was sobbing over his baby. The one he never even knew existed until now. He was filled with regret and guilt. He couldn’t be there to support you while you were pregnant, to help you take care of the baby, to support you whenever life got too much, to make sure you could afford anything you needed, it hurt. He was supposed to be there for you, but he’d been too much of a pussy to ever try.

So here he stands, holding his baby girl for the first time, sobbing as he admires her. His baby. His little girl. His.

omg i’m so sorry this took forever nonnie!!! i procrastinated way too much!!! i’ve just been super busy with a lot of things, mostly stress and sleeping. life’s been difficult!!! i’ve been falling asleep far earlier than i normally do and i’ve been unable to do most things i enjoy!!! but i really hope you like this!!! <3333 also, when i imagined price crying i imagined my dad. my dad doesn’t really do crying and stuff, like most dads, and the last time i saw him cry was because he was shown so much love by people he never thought even cared about him. it was so sweet, and so that’s what imagined when price cried <3

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apocalypse-shuffle · 6 months

Text

MICHAEL MYERS | THE SHAPE (Carpenter/Akkad Continuity)

────────────────────

Dating (or just coexisting with) Myers (Michael Myers x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

NSFW-ish, 18+, minors dni, black!fem!reader, brief mentions of sex, canon typical violence

mainly going off the continuity of the first two films because I don’t want to talk about magic.

Pic Source: John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) & Halloween H20

The man is using up all your resources. Does he let you feed him, not yourself, but he does eat your food (and then demand seconds so you have to make a big pot).

What’s yours is his (but what’s his is not yours) whether you like it or not.

Michael doesn’t speak, nor does he communicate through any surefire nonverbal means, so being with him is like constantly playing the most deadliest game of charades.

You’d been prepared for non verbal, what you hadn’t been prepared for was a heavy dose of malicious stonewalling. Michael almost wants you to fuck up and give him a reason, wants to see how far he can push you before you inevitably screw up and piss him off.

Every once in a while (after he’s significantly warmed up to you) you’ll get a grunt that you have to listen really hard for as he tries to get your attention. Any other time he’ll just be there, won’t announce his presence or anything, all of a sudden someone’s just breathing down your neck or something’s shifting in your peripheral vision and making your instincts go haywire.

Half the time Michael won’t even ask you to do something he’ll just carry you off to what he wants and set you down in front of it.

Michael communicates with his eyes the most though, it’s imperative that you learn how to interpret the different purposeful shifts of his eyes, the furrowing of his eyebrows behind the mask, and the stilted movements of his body.

Now, since you’re black you’ve gotta be extra careful. You being the person the real estate people were able to con into moving into the Myers house was definitely not why all eyes were on you.

Sure some people shake their heads at you for disturbing a house with that history, though none of them bother to actually tell you about it, but most people were just wary of you “on principle”.

You were black, this was a prominent residential street filled predominantly with white families who: “don’t want any trouble”. If you’re with Michael you’ve got to be careful because people are watching you hard already and will jump at anything just to justify their unreasonable wariness about you and get your ass out of town.

Soon as Michael starts killing again certain people immediately start pointing fingers at you. They claim it’s the house (maybe you were possessed or something) but you’re all more than aware that even if you’d moved into a different house with a less violent history you’d still somehow be suspect number one.

They were unfamiliar with you, and didn’t like the look of you, and you didn’t smile enough, and gave off a bad vibe (ie: was minding your business), and “These killings didn’t start back up until after she got here.” Nevermind the fact that you’d been living in Haddonfield for months before Michael showed back up.

There is no ignoring the extra problems Michael brings at your door. If anyone spots him coming into the house, and you don’t end up dead by his hand, you’re both going down by the cops.

The second he shows up and won’t leave, you accept the inevitable, you’ll be labeled an accomplice no matter how the actual situation plays out.

Personally I’m writing you taking the path of least resistance. You’ve accepted your faith, now it’s time to have fun.

I firmly believe that the only way you can stay alive with Michael is if you’re actively keeping him interested. The second he gets bored of you it’s over so you need to become a new obsession of his.

Keeping him interested can happen in a lot of different ways but sexually satisfying him is a pretty good bet. (This will only work if he’s feeling lenient enough to allow a relationship to form between you two though.)

Initially reacting a little abnormally to his appearance will allow a level of intrigue to form in Michael that will ultimately end up giving you a shot at continued life.

You’re not scared, or at least reacting how people usually do when they’re scared? Why? Everyone’s scared of him. *Interest piques*.

When in the mood he’ll want to figure you out, to test your limits after your first meeting, so use that to your advantage.

Sex with Michael is very one sided until/unless you push for otherwise, but will always be intense (it’s not always rough, but no matter what you’ll be trembling at the end). At the beginning Michael will also be incredibly clumsy, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing so if you’re gonna initiate then you better use your voice and instruct his ass on what to do if you want to have a good time.

Mild Detour: You wear waistbeads? Cool, I do too. Michael doesn’t give a shit. They’re pretty and instantly catch his attention once he’s actually able to see them, but that just marks the beginning of the end for you.

If you have waistbeads let me tell you something, he’s using those bitches like they’re a pair of handlebars. You’ll either need to have a backlog of beads, a girl on call, or the strongest waistbeads known to man, okay? He will be manhandling your ass wherever he needs you to be. It’s snap central with Michael; you’re being snatched one second and in the next the sound of little glass or wooden beads hitting the floor is reaching your ears.

Just in general if Michael wants anything sexual he’ll quicker physically maneuver you where he wants you to be until you get the hint than utilize any true acceptable form of communication. He could communicate properly mind you, he just finds it more fulfilling not to.

Non sexual ways to keep him interested enough in not killing you for encroaching on his space are if you meet his necessities and he’s in a mindset to care. There are times where in some movies Michael just has no problem living in a sewer when he could otherwise just kill someone and utilize their house and resources or secretly live in someone's house. He has options is what I’m saying and he seemingly doesn’t take advantage of them by choice so it’s hit or miss depending on iteration and mood whether Michael will deem basic care a priority enough to keep you alive as long as you provide him with it.

A delicate balance must be found between the two of you if you value your life. You’ve got to be assertive enough with him for him to be interested enough in you not to immediately kill you, but you cannot insult him or order him around. Ordering him around just reminds him of Loomis and you don’t want to remind him of when he was in the psychiatric facility.

The mask is off limits. Touch it without permission or attempt to take it off of him and it’s an immediate death sentence.

On the plus side though as a single black female he’s a great burglary deterrent and - once he likes you enough to regularly stalk you during his off time (ie: not October; that whole month is just one big trigger for him alongside any sight or mention of Loomis, Laurie, or Jamie) - Michael is also excellent assault and harassment deterrent as well!

The first night he sees you being harassed or assaulted, Michael splits the person’s skull open in front of you and you almost pass out from the strain of keeping in the highest, most terrified scream of your life. It’s horrifying and you're splattered with blood by the end. Michael is completely unphased in comparison, letting the body thump to the ground before casually walking off.

The obsession does pose an issue with your dating exploits however. A lapse in judgment you only allowed once after Michael’s bitch ass left the severed hand of the person you’d gone out on a date with in your bed (and that person subsequently turned up ‘missing’ afterwards of course).

You didn’t leave him out anything but some fucking oats for the rest of the month in revenge, but the fucker hadn’t even blinked at the bland splatter of food you’d laid out for him. Next time you’d go for something spicy (if you were feeling bold that is).

“You Time” is also impossible with Michael breathing down your neck for the majority of each month. Especially if you don’t want to engage sexually or “romantically” with him this is going to get wholly on your nerves. You want to read, play a game, masturbate, take a peaceful nap, or even take a bath without knowing he's waiting right outside of the door? Ha. Too bad, because you’ve got a six foot something obsessive asshole of a man insistent on breathing in the air that you breath out, and vise fucking versa at this point.

Michael and you are locked in for life if you’re still alive after that first encounter, and whether that means until one of you gets taken down or until Mikey Boy gets pissed enough at you to murder you himself is anybody’s guess.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This one was fun, I enjoyed writing this🧡.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

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